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THE 


WOEKS 


OF 


WILLIAM  PALEY,  D.D. 

ARCHDEACON    OF    CARLISLE. 

OONTAIHINQ 

HIS  LIFE,  MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY,  EVIDENCES   OF   CHRISTIANITY, 

NATURAL  THEOLOGY,   TRACTS,   HOR^  PAULINA  CLERGYMAN'S 

COMPANION,  AND   SERMONS. 

PRINTED  VERBATIM   FROM   THE   ORIGINAL  EDITIONS. 


(TEiEiilrh  itt  niGJ  Ualume. 


NEW  EDITION. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

PUBLISHED   BY   CRISSY  &   IVIARKLEY, 

GOLDSMITHS'  HALL,  LIBRARY  STREET. 


CONTENTS. 


LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR 


Page 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


Dedication 

.       XXI 

BOOK  L 

PRELIMINARY    CONSIDERATIONS. 

CHAP.  I.  Definition  and  Use  of  the  Science 

II.  The  Law  of  Honour 

III.  The  Law  of  the  Land 

IV.  The  Scriptures 

V.  The  Moral  Sense      . 

VI.  Human  Happiness 

VII.  Virtue           .... 

.    27 
.   ib. 
.    28 
.    ib. 
.    ib. 
.    30 
.    34 

BOOK  IL 

MORAL   OBLIGATIONS. 

CHAP.  I.  The  Question.  Why  am  I  obliged  to  keep 

my  word?  considered 36 

II.  What  we  mean  to  say  when  a  Man  is 

obliged  to  do  a  thing      ....     37 

III.  The  Question.  IV/ty  am  /obliged  to  keep 
viyword?  resumed        .        .        .        .    ib. 

W.  Tlie  WillofGod 38 

V.  The  Divine  Benevolence         .        .        .    ib. 

VI.  Utility 39 

VII.  The  Necessity  of  General  Rules  .    it». 
VIH.  The  Consideration  of  General  Con- 
sequences pursued          .        .        .        .40 

IX.  Of  Ridit 41 

X.  The  Division  of  Rights   .        .        .        .42 

XI.  The  General  Rights  of  Mankind  .        .    43 


BOOK  III. 

RELATIVE   DUTIES. 

P^HT  I. 

Of  Relative  Duties  which  are  determinate. 

CHAP.  L  Of  Property 45 

II.  Tlie  Use  of  the  Institution  of  Property     ib. 

III.  The  History  of  Property        ...     46 

IV.  In  what  the  Right  of  Property  is  founded    ib. 


V.  Proniisi 

VI.  Contracts 

VII.  Contracts  of  Sale  .        .        .        . 

VIII.  Contracts  of  Hazard   .... 

IX.  Contracts  of  lending  of  inconsumable 
Property 

X.  Contracts    concerning  the    lending  of 

Money    .  ... 


ib. 


CHAP.  XI.  Contracts  of  Labour — Service 

XII.  Contracts  of  Labour — Commissions 

XIII.  Contracts  of  Labour — Partnership 

XIV.  Contracts  of  Labour — Otiices     . 

XV.  Lies 

XVI.  Oaths 

XVII.  Oath  in  Evidence      .        .        .        . 

XVIII.  Oath  of  Allegiance 

XIX.  Oath  against  Bribery  in  the  Election 
of  Members  of  Parliament    . 

XX.  Oath  against  Simony 

XXI.  Oaths  to  observe  Local  Statutes 

XXII.  Subscription  to  Articles  of  Religion 

XXIII.  Wills 


BOOK  III. 

PART  11. 

Of  Relative  Duties  which  are  indeterminate. 

CKAP.  I.  Charity      .        .  ... 

II.  Charity — The  Treatment  of  our  Domes 

tics  and  Dependants 

III.  Slavery 

IV.  Charity — Professional  Assistance 

V.  Charity — Pecuniary  Bounty 

VI.  Resentment 

VII.  Anger    . 

VIII.  Revenge 

IX.  Duelling 

X.  Litigation 

XI.  Gratitude 

XII.  Slander 


Page 

.  55 
56 
57 

.    ib. 

.    58 


BOOK  III. 

PART  HI. 

Of  Relative  Duties  which  result  from  the  constitution  of 
the  .Scsei. 

CHAP.  I.  Of  the  Public  Use  of  Marriage  In 
tions 
II.  Fornication 


III.  Seduction 

IV.  Adultery 

V.  Incest 

VI.  Polygamy 

VII.  Of  Divorce 

VIII.  Marriage 

IX.  Of  the  Duty  of  Parents 

X.  The  Rights  of  Parents 
XL  The  Duty  of  Children 


BOOK  IV. 

DUTIES   TO   OURSELVES. 

CHAP.  I.  The  Rishts  of  Self- Defence 

II.  Drunkunness    . 

III.  Suicide    . 


75 

76 
77 
78 
79 
80 
81 

a"? 

84 
88 
ib. 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  V. 


DUTIES   TOWARDS  GOD. 


Page 
U4 


3HA^    [.  Division  of  these  Duties    . 

II.  OftheDiilyandofthe  Efficacy  of  Prayer, 

so  far  as  the  same  appear  from  the 
Light  of  Nature 

III.  Of  the  Duty  and  Efficacy  of  Prayer,  as 
represented  in  Scripture 

IV.  Of  Private  Prayer,  Family  Prayer,  and 

Puhlic  Worship 

V.  Of  Forms  of  Prayer  in  Public  Worship 

VI.  Of  the  Use  of  Sabbatical  Institutions 

VII.  Of  the  Scripture  Account  of  Sabbatical 
Institutions 102 

VIII  By  what  Acts  and  Omissions  the 
Duties  of  the  Christian  Sabbath  is 
violated 105 

IX.  Of  Reverencing  the  Deity      .  .  106 


BOOK  VI. 

ELEMENTS  OF   POLITICAL   KNOWLEDGE. 

Page 
CHAP.  I.  Of  the  Origin  of  Civil  Government  .  108 

II    How  Subjection  to  Civil  Government  is 

maintained 110 

III.  The  Duty  of  Submission  to  Civil  Go- 
vernment explained      ....  Ill 

IV.  The  Duty  of  Civil  Obedience,  as  stated 

in  the  Christian  Scriptures   .        .        .  11,5 

V.  Of  Civil  Liberty 117 

VI.  Of  different  Forms  of  Government        .  119 

VII.  Of  the  British  Constitution  .        .122 

VIII.  Of  the  Administration  of  Justice       .  129 

IX.  Of  Crimes  and  Punishments  .        .130 

X.  Of  religious  Establishments  and  of  To- 

leration   142 

XI.  Of  Population  and  Provision;  and  of 
Asjriculture  and  Commerce,  as  subser- 
vient thereto 150 

XII.  Of  War,  and  of  Military  Establish- 
ments      IGO 


HOR^  PAULINA: 


OR, 

THE  TRUTH  OF  THE  SCRIPTURE  HISTORY  OF  ST.  PAUL  EVINCED. 


Page 
CHAP.  I.  Exposition  of  the  Argument    .       .       .166 

II.  The  Epistle  to  the  Romans     .        .        .169 

III.  The  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians      176 

IV.  Second  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians        .  181 

V.  The  Epistle  to  the  Galatians  .        .  190 

VI.  The  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians        .        .  198 

VII.  The  Epistle  to  the  Philippians    .        .  206 
VIU.  The  Epistle  to  the  Colossians    .        .  209 


Page 

CHAP.  IX.  The  First  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians  211 

X.  Second  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians     .  214 

XL  The  First  Epistle  to  Timnthv        .        .216 

XII.  The  Second  Epistle  to  Timothy  .        .  218 

XIII.  The  Epistle  to  Titus   ....  221 

XIV.  The  Epistle  to  Philemon     .        .        .  223 

XV.  The  Subscriptions  of  the  Epistles        .  224 

XVI.  The  Conclusion 226 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION  IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


THE  MANNER    OF  VISITING  THE   SICK. 

Page 
SECT.  I.  The  Assistance  that  is  to  be  given  to  Sick 

and  Dying  Persons  by  the  Ministry  of  the  Cleriy  234 
SECT.  II.  Rules  for  the  Manner  of  visiting  the  Sick   ib. 
SECT.  III.  Of  instructing  the  Sick  Man  in  the  Na- 
ture of  Repentance,  and  Confession  of  his  Sins      235 
Arguments  and  E.xhortations  to  move  the  Sick 

Man  to  Repentance  and  Confession  of  his  Sins    ib. 
Arguments  and  general  Heads  of  Discourse,  by 
way  of  Consideration,  to  awaken  a  stupid 
Conscience,  and  the  careless  Sinner       .        .  237 
SECT.  IV.  Of  applying  spiritual  Remedies  to  the 
unreasonable  Fears  and  Dejections  of  the  Sick      238 
Considerations  to  be  offered  to  Persons  under 

Religious  Melancholy 239 

An  Exercise  against  Despair     ....  240 
£ECT.  V.  Considerations  against  Presumption      .  241 
The  Order  for  the  Visitation  of  the  Sick   .  242 

The  Communion  of  the  Sick      .        .        .        .244 
Proiier  Collects  that  may  be  used  with  any  of 
the  Prayers  for  the  Sick 247 


AVERS   FOR   THE   SICK,   VIZ. 

*  freneral  Prayer  for  the  Acceptance  of  our  Devo- 
tions for  the  Sick 848 


Particular  Prayers  for  the  Sick 

A  larger  Form  of  Prayer  for  the  Sick 

Proper  Psalms  for  the  Sick 

A  Declaration  of  Forgiveness   .        . 


Page 
.  248 
.  249 
.  ib 
.  250 


OCCASIONAL   PRAYERS   FOR   THE   SICK,   VIZ 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  in  the  beginning  of  his  Sick- 
ness          250 

For  Thankfulness  in  Sickness  .        .        .        .    ib. 

For  a  blessing  on  the  Means  used  for  a  Sick  Per- 
son's Recovery ib. 

For  a  Sick  Person,  when  there  appears  some  Hope 
of  Recovery 251 

In  behalf  of  the  Sick  Person,  when  he  finds  any 
Abatement  of  his  Distemper  .        .        .        .    ib. 

For  one  who  is  dangerously  ill  .        .        .        .    ib. 

For  a  Sick  Person  when  Sickness  continues  long 
upon  him ib. 

For  the  Grace  of  Patience,  and  a  suitable  Behaviour 
in  a  Sick  Person  to  Friends  and  Attendants        .  252 

For  Spiritual  Improvement  by  Sickness  .        .    ib. 

For  a  Sick  Person  who  is  about  to  make  his  Will      ib. 

For  a  Sick  Penitent ib 

For  a  Sick  Person  who  intends  to  receive  the  blessed 
Sacrament 25? 

For  a  Sick  Person  that  wants  Sleep         .        .        .    ib 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

To  be  said  when  the  Sick  Person  grows  light-headed  253 

For  a  Person  when  Danger  is  apprehended  by  exces- 
sive Sleep 254 

For  a  Person  lying  insensible  on  a  Sick-bed    .        .    ib. 

For  one  who  hath  been  a  notoriously  wicked  Liver   ib. 

For  one  who  is  hardened  and  impenitent        .        .  255 

For  a  Sick  Woman  that  is  with  Child     .        .        .   ib. 

For  a  Woman  in  the  Time  of  her  Travail       .        .    ib. 

For  a  Woman  who  cannot  be  delivered  without 
Difficulty  and  Hazard 256 

For  Grace  and  Assistance  for  a  Woman  after  De- 
livery, but  still  in  Danger      ib. 

For  a  Sick  Child ib. 

For  a  Person  who,  from  a  state  of  Health,  is  sud- 
denly seized  with  the  Symptoms  of  Death    .        .  257 

For  a  Sick  Person,  when  there  appeareth  small 
Hope  of  Recovery ib. 

A  general  Prayer  for  Preparation  and  Readiness 
to  die ib. 

A  commendatory  Prayer  for  a  Sick  Person  at  the 
point  of  Departure 258 

A  Litany  for  a  Sick  Person  at  the  time  of  Departure    ib. 

Form  of  recommending  the  Soul  to  God,  in  her  De- 
parture from  the  Body ib. 

A  consolatory  Form  of  Devotion  that  may  be  used 
with  the  Friends  or  Relations  of  the  Deceased    .  259 


0CCASI0N.4L  PRAYERS  AND   DEVOTIONS  FOR  THE  SICK  AND 
UNFORTUNATE  IN  EXTRAORDINARY  CASES. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  whose  Illness  is  chiefly 
brought  on  him  by  some  calamitous  Disaster  or 
Loss,  as  of  Estate,  Relations,  or  Friends,  &c.      .  260 

For  a  Person  who,  by  any  calamitous  Disaster,  hath 
broken  any  of  his  Bones,  or  is  very  much  bruised 
and  hurt  in  bis  body ib. 


Pagt 

For  a  Person  that  is  afflicted  with  grievou  rains 
of  his  Body 260 

For  one  who  is  troubled  with  acute  Pain*  of  the 
Gout,  Stone,  Cholic,  or  any  other  bodily  Dis- 
temper      261 

For  a  Person  in  the  Small-Pox,  or  any  suchlike 
raging  infectious  Disease ib 

For  a  Person  in  a  Consumption,  or  any  lingering 
Disease ib. 

For  a  Person  who  is  lame  in  his  Sickness       .        .    ib. 

For  one  that  is  Bedridden 2ii-2 

For  a  Person  troubled  in  Mind,  or  in  Conscience    .    ib. 

Another  for  the  same,  or  for  one  under  deep  Melan- 
choly and  Dejection  of  Spirit  .    ib. 

For  the  same       .  ib. 

For  one  under  fears  and  Doubts  concerning  his  spi- 
ritual Condition,  or  under  perplexing  Thoughts 
and  Scruples  about  his  Duty  ....  263 

For  one  who  is  disturbed  with  wicked  and  blas- 
phemous Thoughts ib 

For  one  who  is  afflicted  with  a  profane  Mistrust  of 
Divine  Truths  and  blasphemous  Thoughts  .        .    ib. 

For  one  under  the  dread  of  God's  Wrath  and  ever- 
lasting Damnation ib. 

For  a  Lunatic ib. 

For  natural  Fools  or  Madmen 204 

Proper  Psalms  for  a  Sick  Person  at  Sea   .        .       .   ib. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Sick  Seaman ib. 

For  a  Sick  Soldier  or  Seaman 205 

A  Prayer  to  be  used  by  a  Person  afflicted  with  a 
Distemper  of  long  continuance      .        .        .        .   ib. 

A  Prayer  to  be  used  on  the  Death  of  a  Friend         .  266 

A  Prayer  to  be  used  by  a  Person  troubled  in  Mind    ib 

A  Prayer  to  be  used  by  an  Old  Person     .        .        .    ib 

For  a  Person  condemned  to  die         .        .        .        .    ib. 

A  Prayer  of  Preparation  for  Death  .        .        .        .26V 

The  Ministration  of  Public  Baptism  of  Infants,  to 
be  used  in  Churches ib. 

The  Ministration  of  Private  Baptism  of  Children 
in  Houses 269 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


Page 
Preparatory  Considerations. — Of  the   antecedent 
credibility  of  miracles 271 

PART  I. 

OF  THE  DIRECT  HISTORICAL  EVIDENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 
AND  WHEREIN  IT  IS  DISTINGUISHED  FROM  THE  EVIDENCE 
ALLEGED  FOR  OTHER  MIRACLES. 


Propositions  stated 273 

PROPOSITION  I. 

That  there  is  satisfactory  evidence  that  many,  pro- 
fessing to  be  original  witnesses  of  the  Christian 
miracles,  passed  their  lives  in  labours,  dangers, 
and  sufferings,  voluntarily  undergone  in  attesta- 
tion of  the  accounts  which  they  delivered,  and 
solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of  those  ac- 
counts; and  that  they  also  submitted,  from  the 
same  motives,  to  new  rules  of  conduct         .        .274 

CHAP.  I.  Evidence  of  the  sufferings  of  the  first 
propagators  of  Christianity,  from  the  nature  of  the 
case ib. 

CHAP.  II.  Evidence  of  the  sufferings  of  the  first 
propagators  of  Christianity,  from  Profane  Testi- 
mony         .  277 

CHAP.  III.  Indirect  evidence  of  the  sufferings  of 
the  first  propagators  of  Christianity,  from  the 
Scriptures  and  other  ancient  Christian  writings    .  279 

CHAP.  IV.  Direct  evidence  of  the  same  ,        .        .280 


Page 
CHAP.  V.  Observations  upon  the  preceding  evi- 
dence        284 

CHAP.  VI.  That  the  story,  for  which  the  first  pro- 
pagators of  Christianity  suffered,  was  miraculous  286 
CHAP.  VII.  That  it  was,  in  the  main,  the  story 
which  we  have  now  proved  by  indirect  considera- 
tions          287 

CHAP.  VIII.  The  same  proved,  from  the  authority 

of  our  historical  Scriptures 291 

CHAP.  IX.  Of  the  authenticity  of  the  historical 
Scriptures,  in  eleren  Sections  ....  295 

Sect.  I.  Quotations  of  the  historical  Scriptures 

by  ancient  Christian  writers      ....  297 
Sect.  II.  Of  the  peculiar  respect  with  which  they 

were  quoted 304 

Sect.  III.  The  Scriptures  were  in  very  early  times 

collected  into  a  distinct  volume         .        .        .  306 
Sect.   IV.    And    distinguished    by    appropriate 

names  and  titles  of  respect         .        .        .        .307 
Sect.  V.  Were  publicly  read  and  expounded  in 

the  religious  assemblies  of  the  early  Christians    ib. 
Sect.  VI.    Commentaries,  &c.    were    anciently 

written  upon  the  Scriptures       ....  308 
Sect.  VII.  They  were  received  by  ancient  Chris- 
tians of  different  sects  and  persuasions     .        .310 
Sect.  VIII.  The  four  Gospels,  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  thirteen  Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  the  First 
Epistle  of  John,  and  the  first  of  Peter,  were  re- 
ceived without  doubt  by  those  who  doubted 
concerning  the  other  books  of  our  present  canon  312 
Sect.  IX.  Our  present  Gospels  were  considered 
by  the  adversaries  of  Christianity,  as  contain 
I* 


CONTENTS. 


ing  the  accounts  upon  which  the  religion  was 
founded 

Sect.  X.  Formal  catalogues  of  authentic  Scrip- 
tures were  published,  in  all  which  our  present 
Sacred  histories  were  included  .... 

Sect.  XI  These  propositions  cannot  be  predicated 
of  anv  of  those  books  which  are  commonly  call- 
ed apocryphal  books  of  the  New  Testament  . 
CHAP.  X.  Recapitulation 


Page 


315 


OF  THE  DIRECT  HISTORICAL  EVIDENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 
PROPOSITION   II. 

CflAP.  I.  That  there  is  not  satisfactory  evidence, 
that  persoHs  pretending  to  be  original  witnesses  of 
any  other  similar  miracles,  have  acted  in  the  same 
manner,  in  attestation  of  the  accounts  which  tliey 
delivered,  and  solBly  in  consequence  of  their  be- 
lief of  the  truth  of  those  accounts  .        .        .318 

CHAP.  II.  Consideration  ofsome  specific  instances  324 


PART  IT. 

OF  THE  AD.XILIARV  EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

CHAP.  I.  Prophecy 326 

CHAP.  II.  The  Morality  of  the  Gospel     .        .        .329 
CHAP.  III.  The  Candour  of  the  Writers  of  the  New 
Testament 338 


CHAP.  IV.  Identity  of  Christ's  character 
CHAP.  V.  Originality  of  our  Saviour's  character 
CHAP.  VI.  Conformity  of  the  facts  occasionally 
mentioned  or  referred  to  in  Scripture,  with  the 
state  of  things  in  those  times,  as  represented  by 
foreign  and  independent  accounts 
CHAP.  VII.  Undesigned  Coincidences     . 
CHAP.  VIII.  Of  the  History  of  the  Resurrection 
CHAP.  IX.  The  Propagation  of  Christianity 
Sect.  II.  Reflections  upon  the  preceding  Account 
Sect.  III.  Of  the  religion  of  Mahomet 


Pag» 


'Ml 
345 


ib. 
3.54 
355 
35t5 
301 
363 


PART  III. 

A  BRIEF  CONSIDERATION  OF  SOME  POPULAR  OBJECTIONS. 

CHAP.  I.  The  Discrepancies  between  the  several 
Gospels 367 

CHAP.  II.  Erroneous  Opinions  imputed  to  the 
Apostles ,        .        .        .  3G9 

CHAP.  III.  The  Connexion  of  Christianity  with 
the  Jewish  History .37C 

CHAP.  IV.  Rejection  of  Christianity       .        .        .371 

CHAP.  V.  That  the  Christian  miracles  are  not  re- 
cited, or  appealed  to,  by  early  Christian  writers 
themselves,  so  fully  or  frequently  as  might  have 
been  expected 375 

CHAP.  VI.  Want  of  universality  in  the  knowledge 
and  reception  of  Christianity,  and  of  greater 
clearness  in  the  evidence 377 

CHAP.  VII.  The  supposed  Effects  of  Cliristianity     380 

CHAP.  VIII.  The  Conclusion 382 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


Pa^e 
CHAP.  I.  State  of  the  Argument      .       .       .       .367 

II.  State  of  the  Argument  continued  .        .  389 

III.  Application  of  the  Argument        .        .  390 

IV.  Of  the  Succession  of  Plants  and  Ani- 
mals    396 

V.  Application  of  the  Argument  continued  397 

VI.  The  Argument  cumulative    .        .        .  401 

VII.  Of  the  Mechanical  and  Immechanical 
Parts  and  Functions  of  Animals  and 
Vegetables ib. 

VIII.  Of  Mechanical  Arrangement  in  the 
Human  Frame 404 

Of  the  Bones ib. 

Of  the  Joints 407 

TX.  Of  the  Muscles 410 

X.  Of  the  Vessels  of  .\nimal  Bodies    .        .414 

XI.  Of  the  Animal  Structure  regarded  as  a 
Mass 421 


CHAP.  XII.  Comparative  Anatomy 

XIII.  Peculiar  Organizations 

XIV.  Prospective  Contrivances 

XV.  Relations 

XVI.  Compensation 


Paffe 
.  426 
.  431 
.  433 
.  435 
.  438 


XVII.  The  Relation  of  animated  Bodies  to 

Inanimate  Nature 440 

.  442 
.  446 
.  4.50 
.  4.55 
.  4.56 


XVIII.  Of  Instincts      . 

XIX.  Of  Insects    . 

XX.  Of  Plants 

XXI.  The  Elements      . 

XXII.  Astronomy 

XXIII.  Of  the  Personality  of  the  Deity      .  402 

XXIV.  Of  the  Natural  Attributes  of  the 
Deity 468 

XXV.  Of  the  Unity  of  the  Deity        .        .  469 

XXVI.  Of  the  Goodness  of  the  Deity  .        .  470 

XXVII.  Conclusion      ....  4a5 


A  DEFENCE  OF  THE  CONSIDERATIONS  ON  THE  PROPRIETY  OF  REQUIRING  A 
SUBSCRIPTION  TO  ARTICLES  OF  FAITH 488 


REASONS  FOR  CONTENTMENT,  ADDRESSED  TO  THE  LABOURING  PART  OF  THE 
BRITISH  PUBLIC -496 


CONTENTS. 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


Page 
SERMON  I.  Caution  recommended  in  the  Use  and 
Application  of  Scriptural  Language: — A  Ser- 
mon, preached,  July  17,  1777,  in  tlie  Catliedral 
Church  of  Carlisle,  at  the  Visitation  of  the  Right 
Reverend  Lord  Bishop  of  Carlisle  .  .  .  500 
ERMON  II.  Advice,  addressed  to  the  Young 
Clergy  of  the  Diocese  of  Carlisle,  in  a  Sermon, 
preached  at  a  General  Ordination,  holden  at  Rose 
Ca.nle,  on  Sunday,  July  29,  1781  .  .  .  .503 
SERMON  III.  A  Distinction  of  Orders  in  the 
Church  defended  upon  Principles  of  Public  Uti- 
lity, in  a  Sermon,  preached  in  the  Castle-Chapel, 
Dublin,  at  the  Consecration  of  John  Law,  D.  D. 
Lord  Bishop  of  Clonfcrt  and  Kilmacdaugh,  Sep- 
tcjuber  21,  1782 .507 


SERMON  rV.  The  Use  and  Propriety  of  local  and 
occasional  Preaching: — A  Charge,  delivered  to 
the  Clergy  of  the  Diocese  of  Carlisle,  in  the  year 
1790 


Page 


511 


SERMON  V.  Dangers  incidental  to  the  Clerical 
Character,  stated,  in  a  Sermon,  preached  before 
the  University  of  Cambridge,  at  Great  St.  Mary's 
Church,  on  Sunday,  July  5,  being  Commence- 
ment Sunday  517 

SERMON  VI.  A  Sermon,  preached  at  the  Assizes, 
at  Durham,  July  29,  1795;  and  published  at  the 
request  of  the  Lord  Bishop,  the  Honourable  the 
Judges  of  Assize,  and  the  Grand  Jury  .       .       .  521 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


Page 

SERMON  I.  Seriousness  in  Religion  indispensable 
aboce  all  other  Dispositions. — Be  ye  therefore  so- 
ber, and  watch  unto  praver.    1  Pet.  iv.  7.    .        .  525 

SERMON  II.  Taste  for  Devotion.— Bat  the  hour 
Cometh  and  now  is,  when  the  true  worshippers 
shall  worship  the  Father  in  spirit  and  in  truth; 
for  the  Father  seeketh  such  to  worship  him.  God 
is  a  spirit;  and  they  that  worship  him,  must  wor- 
ship him  in  spirit  and  in  truth.    John  iv.  23,  24.    530 

SERMON  in.  The  Love  of  Ood.—We\ovehim,be- 
cause  he  first  loved  us.    John  iv.  19.     .        .        .  534 

SERMON  IV.  Meditating  upon  Religion. — Have  I 
not  remembered  thee  in  my  bed ;  and  thought 
upon  thee  when  I  was  waking?    Psalm  Ixiii.  7.    536 

6ERM0N  V.  Of  the  State  after  Death.— Beloved, 
now  are  we  the  sons  of  God;  and  it  doth  not  yet 
appear  what  we  shall  be ;  but  we  know  that, 
when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like  him ;  for 
we  .=hall  see  him  as  he  is.     1  John  iii.  2.       .        .  538 

SERMON  VI.  On  Purity  of  the  Heart  and  .Affec- 
tions.— Beloved,  now  are  we  the  sons  of  God  ;  and 
it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be;  but  we 
know  that,  when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like 
him ;  for  we  shall  see  him  as  he  is.  And  every 
man  that  hath  this  hope  in  him  purifieth  himself, 
even  as  he  is  pure.     1  John  iii.  2,  3.      .        .        .  540 

SERMON  VII.  Of  the  Doctrine  of  Conversion.— I 
am  not  come  to  call  the  righteous,  but  sinners,  to 
rept^ntance.    Matthew  ix.  13 542 

SERMON  VIII.  Prayer  in  Imitation  of  Christ— 
And  he  withdrew  himself  into  the  wilderness, 
and  praved.     Luke  v.  l(i 546 

SERMON  IX.  On  Filial  Piety.— And  Joseph  nou- 
rished his  father,  and  his  brethren,  and  all  his 
fathers  household,  with  bread,  according  to  their 
families.     Genesis  xlvii.  12.  ....  547 

SERMON  X.  (Part  I)— ro  think  less  of  our  Vir- 
tues, and  more  of  our  Sins. — My  sin  is  ever  before 
me.     Psalm  li.  3 .549 

SERMON  XI    (PartlL) 552 

SERMON  XII.  Salvation  for  Penitent  Sinners.— 
Wherefore  I  say  unto  thee.  Her  sins,  which  are 
many,  are  forgiven;  for  she  loved  much.  Luke 
vii.  47 555 

SERMON  XIII.  Sins  of  the  Fathers  upon  the  Chil- 
dren.— Thou  shalt  not  bow  down  thyself  to  them, 
nor  serve  them ;  for  I  the  Lord  thy  God  am  a  jea- 
lous God,  visiting  the  iniquity  of  the  fathers  upon 
the  children  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation 
of  them  that  hate  me.    Exodus  zx.  5.  .        .556 


Page 

SERMON  XIV.  How  Virtue  produces  Belief  and 
Vice  Unbelief — If  any  man  will  do  His  will,  he 
shall  know  of  the  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God. 
John  vii.  17 553 

SERMON  XV.  John's  Message  to  Jesus. — Now 
when  John  had  heard  in  prison  the  works  of 
Christ,  he  sent  two  of  his  disciples,  and  said  unto 
him.  Art  thou  he  that  should  come,  or  do  we  look 
for  another?    Matt.  xi.  2,  3 561 

SERMON  XVI.  On  Insensibility  to  Offences.— Who 
can  tell  how  oft  he  ofFendeth  ?  O  cleanse  thou  me 
from  my  secret  faults.  Keep  thy  servant  also 
from  presumptuous  sins,  lest  they  get  the  do- 
minion over  me.    Psalm  xix.  12,  13.     .        .        .  562 

SERMON  XVII.  Seriousness  of  Heart  as  to  Reli- 
gion.— But  that  on  the  good  ground  are  they,  who 
in  an  honest  and  good  heart,  having  heaid  the 
word,  keep  it,  and  bring  forth  fruit  with  patience. 
Luke  viii.  15 :        .        .        .  564 

SERMON  XVIII.  (Part  J.)— The  Efficacy  of  the 
death  of  Christ. — Now  once  in  the  end  of  the 
world  hath  he  appeared  to  put  away  sin  by  the 
sacrifice  of  himself.    Hebrews  ix.  26.    .        .        .566 

SERMON  XIX.  (Part  Il.)—Jlll  staiid  in  need  of  a 
Redeemer 568 

SERMON  XX.  The  Efficacy  of  the  Death  of  Christ 
consistent  with  the  necessity  of  a  Good  Life:  the 
one  being  the  cause,  the  other  the  condition,  of 
Salvation. — What  shall  we  say  then  ?  shall  we 
continue  in  sin,  that  grace  may  abound?  God 
forbid.     Romans  vi.  1 570 

SERMON  XXI.  Pure  Religion.— Vare  religion  Rjid 
undefiled  before  God  and  the  Father  is  this.  To 
visit  the  fatherless  and  widows  in  their  affliction, 
and  to  keep  himself  unspotted  from  the  world. 
James  i.  27 572 

SERMON  XXII.  The  Agency  of  Jesus  Christ  since 
his  Ascension. — Jesus  Christ,  the  same  yesterday, 
to-dav,  and  for  ever.    Hebrews  xiii.  8.  .        .  574 

SERMON  XXIII.  Of  Spiritual  Influence  in  gene- 
ral.— (Part  I.) — Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  tem- 
ple of  God.  and  that  the  Spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in 
you?    1  Cor.  iii.  16 578 

SERMON  XXIV.  On  the  Influence  of  the  Spirit.— 
(Part  II.) 580 

SERMON  XXV.  (Part  III.) 582 

SERMON  XXVI.  Sin  encountered  by  Spiritual  Aid. 
— (Part  I.) — O,  wretched  man  that  I  am!  who 
shall  deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this  death?  Ro- 
mans vii.  24 534 


CONTENTS. 


SERMON  XXVII.  Evil  Propensities  encountered  by 
the  aiil  of  the  Spirit— {Part  II.)       .        .        ■        .586 

SERMON  XXVIII.  The  Aid  of  the  Spirit  to  be 
sought  and  preserved  by  Prayer. — (Part  III.)         .  588 

SERMON  XXIX.  The  Destruction  of  the  Canaan- 
ites.—^o  Joshua  smote  all  the  country  of  the 
hills,  and  of  the  south,  and  of  the  vale,  and  of  the 
springs,  and  all  their  kings;  he  left  none  remain- 
ing, but  utterly  destroyed  all  that  breathed,  as  the 
Lord  God  of  Israel  commanded.    Joshua  x.  40.      590 

SERMON  XXX.  J^eglect  of  IVarnings— Oh,  that 
thpy  were  wise,  that  they  understood  this,  that 
they  would  consider  their  latter  end!  Deut. 
xxxii.29 .        .  592 

SERMON  XXXI.  The  Terrors  of  the  Lord.— What 
is  a  man  profited,  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole 
world,  and  lose  his  own  soul?  or  what  shall  a 
mail  give  ill  exchange  for  his  soul?  Matt,  xvi.26.  594 

SERMON  XXXII.  Preservation  and  Recovery  from 


Page 
Sin.— For  the  grace  of  God,  that  bringeth  salva- 
tion, hath  appeared  unto  all  men,  teaching  us, 
that  denying  ungodliness  and  worldly  lusts,  we 
should  live  soberly,  righteously,  and  godly,  in 
this  present  world.    Titus  if.  11, 12.      .        .        .596 

SERMON  XXXIII.  This  Life  a  State  of  Probation. 
— It  is  good  for  me  that  I  have  been  afflicted, 
that  I  might  learn  thy  statutes.    Psalm  cxix.  71.  590 

SERMON  XXXIV.  The  Knowledge  of  one  another 
in  a  Future  State. — Whom  we  preach,  warn- 
ing every  man,  and  teaching  every  man  in  all 
wisdom,  that  we  may  present  every  man  perfect 
in  Christ  Jesus.    Col.  i.  28 601 

SERMON  XXXV.  The  General  Resurrection.— 
The  hour  is  coming,  in  the  which  all  that  are  in 
the  graves  shall  hear  his  voice,  and  shall  come 
forth ;  they  that  have  done  good,  unto  the  resur- 
rection of  life;  and  they  that  have  done  evil,  unto 
the  resurrection  of  damnation.    John  v.  28,  29.     603 


THE 


LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


Of  William  Paley,  whose  writings  have  exerted  no  inconsiderable  influence 
on  Ihe  moral  and  theological  opinions  of  the  more  enlightened  part  of  the 
English  community,  no  life  has  yet  appeared  that  is  worthy  of  the  subject,  or  that 
gives  us  a  full  and  satisfactory  insight  into  his  character.  Though  he  was  known 
to  so  many  scholars,  and  had  enjoyed  a  rather  enlarged  intercourse  with  the  world, 
but  {ew  particulars  of  his  conduct,  his  manners,  and  habits,  have  been  detailed, 
and  but  few  of  his  sayings  recorded.  Yet  there  are  few  men  whose  conversation 
was  more  varied  and  instructive;  and  as  he  always  expressed  himself  with 
cogency  and  perspicuity,  our  regret  is  increased  that  we  possess  such  scanty  de- 
tails of  his  familiar  hours,  when  the  internal  state  of  his  mind  was  exhibited  with- 
out disguise,  when  he  spoke  what  he  felt,  and  felt  what  he  spoke. 

The  best  account  of  Mr.  Paley's  life,  with  which  we  have  been  hitherto  fa- 
voured, is  by  Mr.  Meadley,  who  had  not  known  him  till  late  in  life ;  and  who, 
if  he  had  known  him  longer  and  earlier,  was  hardly  capable  of  analysing  his  mind, 
or  of  estimating  his  character.  Mr.  Meadley  was  a  man  neither  of  very  enlarged 
mind,  very  refined  taste,  nor  very  ample  information.  What  he  knew,  he  could 
relate  ;  but  he  did  not  know  enough  to  enable  him  to  give  much  vivacity  to  his 
narrative,  or  to  exhibit  in  his  memoirs  the  living  identity  of  the  writer  to  whom 
we  are  indebted  for  some  of  the  best  moral  and  theological  productions  of  the 
last  century. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  scantiness  of  Mr.  Meadley's  information,  his  narrative 
is  the  most  copious  which  we  possess ;  and  as  we  are  not  likely  soon  to  be  fur- 
nished with  a  richer  store,  we  must  be  contented  with  taking  his  memoirs  for 
our  principal  guide  in  the  present  biographical  sketch.  We  make  no  boast  of 
novelty.     All  that  we  can  do  is  to  give  a  new  form  to  old  materials. 

William  Paley  was  born  at  Petersborough,  in  July  1743.  His  father  was  a 
minor  canon  in  that  cathedral ;  but  he  relinquished  this  situation  upon  being  ap- 
pointed head-master  of  the  grammar  school  at  Giggleswick,  in  Craven,  in  the 
West  Riding  of  Yorkshire.  Here  the  family  had  long  resided  on  a  small  patri- 
monial estate.  His  mother  is  described  as  a  woman  of  strong  and  active  mind. 
At  school  young  Paley  soon  surpassed  the  other  boys  of  his  age,  by  superior  dili- 
gence and  abilities.  A  mind,  like  his,  could  not  but  profit  of  the  opportunities 
which  he  possessed  for  acquiring  classical  knowledge  ;  but  he  appears  to  have 
been  at  all  times  more  ambitious  of  enriching  himself  with  knowledge  of  other 
kinds.  He  was  curious  in  making  inquiries  about  mechanism,  whenever  an  op- 
portunity occurred.  His  mind  was  naturally  contemplative  ;  and  he  mingled  in- 
tellectual  activity  with  corporeal  indolence.  He  never  excelled  in  any  of  those 
boyish  pastimes  which  require  much  dexterity  of  hand  or  celerity  of  foot.  But 
B  9 


X  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

he  appears  to  have  imbibed  an  early  taste  for  the  amusement  of  fishing  ;  and  this 
taste  remained  unimpaired,  or  rather  invigorated,  to  a  late  period  of  his  life.  In 
one  of  his  portraits  he  is  represented  vi'ith  a  fishing  rod  and  line.  His  cheerful- 
ness and  drollery  are  said  to  have  made  him  a  favourite  with  his  school-fellows. 
Before  he  left  school  he  one  year  attended  the  assizes  at  Lancaster,  where  he  is 
said  to  have  been  so  much  interested  by  the  judicial  proceedings  he  had  witness- 
ed, that  he  introduced  them  into  his  juvenile  games,  and  presided  over  the  trials 
of  the  other  boys. 

In  November  1758,  Paley  was  admitted  a  sizer  of  Christ's  College,  Cambridge. 
He  proceeded  to  the  University  on  horseback,  in  company  with  his  father;  end 
in  after-life  he  thus  described  the  disasters  that  befell  him  on  the  way. 

"  I  was  never  a  good  horseman,"  said  he,  "  and  when  I  followed  my  father  on 
a  pony  of  my  own,  on  my  first  journey  to  Cambridge,  I  fell  oft'  seven  times  :  I  was 
lighter  then  than  I  am  now ;  and  my  falls  were  not  likely  to  be  serious :  My  fa- 
ther, on  hearing  a  thump,  would  turn  his  head  half  aside,  and  say — Take  care  of 
thy  money,  lad." 

Young  Paley  did  not  become  a  resident  member  in  the  University  till  the  Oc- 
tober in  the  year  after  his  matriculation.  His  father  is  said  to  have  anticipated 
his  future  eminence,  and  to  have  remarked,  with  parental  delight,  the  force  and 
clearness  of  his  intellectual  operations. 

Mr.  Paley  took  with  him  to  the  University  such  a  considerable  share  of  mathe- 
matical science,  that  the  mathematical  tutor,  Mr.  Shepherd,  excused  his  atten- 
dance at  the  college  lectures  with  the  students  of  his  own  year.  But  he  was  re- 
gularly present  at  Mr.  Backhouse's  lectures  in  logic  and  metaphysics. 

Whatever  might  be  his  assiduity  in  those  studies  which  the  discipline  of  the 
University  required,  he  had  little  of  the  appearance,  and  none  of  the  affectation, 
of  a  hard  student.  His  room  was  the  common  resort  of  the  juvenile  loungers  of 
his  time  ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  Mr.  Paley  possessed  the  highly  desirable 
power  of  concentrating  his  attention  in  the  subject  before  him;  and  that  he  could 
read  or  meditate  in  the  midst  of  noise  and  tumult  with  as  much  facility  as  if  he 
had  been  alone.  During  the  first  period  of  his  undergraduateship,  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  remaining  in  bed  till  a  late  hour  in  the  morning,  and  as  he  was  much  in 
company  during  the  latter  part  of  the  day,  many  wondered  how  he  found  leisure 
for  making  the  requisite  accession  to  his  literary  stores. 

But  the  mind  of  Paley  was  so  formed  that,  in  reading,  he  could  rapidly  select 
the  kernel  and  throw  away  the  husk.  By  a  certain  quick  and  almost  intuitive 
process,  he  discriminated  between  the  essential,  and  the  extraneous  matter  that 
were  presented  to  his  mind  in  the  books  that  he  perused ;  and,  if  he  did  not  read 
so  much  as  many,  he  retained  more  of  what  he  read. 

The  hilarity  and  drollery,  which  Mr.  Paley  had  manifested  at  school,  did  not 
desert  him  when  he  entered  the  University.  Thus  his  company  was  much  sought ; 
and  the  cumbrousness  of  his  manner,  and  the  general  slovenliness  of  his  apparel, 
perhaps  contributed  to  increase  the  efl^ect  of  his  jocularity. 

When  he  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  schools,  he  surprised  the  spectators 
by  a  style  of  dress,  very  difl^erent  from  his  ordinary  habiliments.  He  exhibited 
his  hair  full  dressed,  with  a  deep  ruffled  shirt,  and  new  silk  stockings. 

When  Paley  kept  his  first  act,  one  of  the  theses  in  support  of  which  he  pio- 
posed  to  dispute  was,  that  the  eternity  of  punishments  is  contrary  to  the  Divine 
Attributes.     But  finding  that  this  topic  would  give  offence  to  the  master  of  his 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR.  xi 

college,  (Dr.  Thomas,)  he  went  to  Dr.  Watson,  the  moderator,  to  get  it  changed. 
Dr.  Watson  told  him  that  he  might  put  in  non  before  contradicit.  Mr.  Paley, 
therefore,  defended  this  position,  that  "  ^ternitas  pcEnarum  non  contradicit  Di- 
vinis  Attributis,"  or  that  the  eternity  of  punishments  is  not  contrary  to  the  Divine 
Attributes.  As  he  had  first  proposed  to  argue  against  the  eternity  of  future 
punishments,  we  may  suppose  that  that  was  his  undissembled  opinion  ;  and  there- 
fore, it  would  have  been  more  honourable  to  his  candour,  to  have  taken  an  en- 
tirely new  question,  rather  than  to  have  argued  in  opposition  to  his  real  senti- 
ments. Through  the  whole  course  of  his  life.  Dr.  Paley  seemed  too  willing  to 
support  established  doctrines ;  and  to  find  plausible  reasons  for  existing  institu- 
tions ;  even  in  cases  in  which  he  must  have  felt  those  doctrines  to  be  at  variance 
with  truth,  and  those  institutions  in  opposition  to  the  best  interests  of  mankind. 
His  great  and  vigorous  mind  ought  to  have  disdained  the  petty  subterfuges  of 
disingenuous  subtlety,  and  interested  sophistication. 

Mr.  Paley  acquired  no  small  celebrity  in  the  University  by  the  ability  which 
he  displayed  in  keeping  his  first  act;  and  the  schools  were  afterward  uniformly 
crowded  when  he  was  expected  to  dispute.  He  took  his  degree  of  bachelor  of 
arts,  in  January  1763  ;  and  was  the  senior  wrangler  of  the  year. 

After  taking  his  bachelor's  degree,  he  became  second  usher  in  an  academy  at 
Greenwich.  Here  his  office  was  to  teach  the  Latin  language.  During  his  lei- 
sure hours  he  often  visited  London,  and  rambled  about  the  metropolis,  Avhich  af- 
fords such  numerous  opportunities  for  edifying  contemplation  to  an  active  and 
discriminating  mind.  He  pursued  knowledge  and  amusement  with  equal,  or 
nearly  equal,  eagerness  and  avidity.  The  mind  cannot  always  be  kept  upon  the 
stretch ;  and  those  minds  which  are  capable  of  great  intensity  of  exertion,  seem 
most  to  require  proportionate  relaxation.  One  of  the  characteristics  of  a  great 
mind,  is  flexibility  of  attention  to  a  diversity  of  objects.  Mr.  Paley  attended  the 
play-houses  and  the  courts  of  justice  with  similar  delight.  Every  scene  furnish- 
ed him  with  intellectual  aliment. 

In  1765,  Mr.  Paley  obtained  one  of  the  prizes,  which  are  annually  given  by 
the  members  of  the  University  for  the  two  best  dissertations  in  Latin  prose.  The 
subject  was,  "  A  Comparison  between  the  Stoic  and  Epicurean  philosophy  with 
respect  to  the  influence  of  each  on  the  morals  of  the  people."  Mr.  Paley  vindi- 
cated the  Epicurean  side  of  the  question.  He  had  afterward  to  read  his  disser- 
tation in  the  senate-house  before  the  University.  His  delivery  is  reported  not 
to  have  done  justice  to  the  merits  of  the  composition. 

In  June  1766,  Mr.  Paley  was  elected  fellow  of  Christ's  College.  This  oc- 
casioned his  return  to  the  University,  where  he  soon  became  one  of  the  tutors  of 
his  college.  Tuition  was  a  province,  in  which  his  clear  and  vigorous  under- 
standing, the  lucid  perspicuity  with  which  he  could  develope  his  ideas,  and  the 
diversified  modes  in  which  he  could  illustrate  his  positions,  combined  with  no 
small  share  of  hilarity  and  good-humour,  rendered  him  peculiarly  qualified  to 
excel.  Mr.  Law,  son  of  the  master  of  Peterhouse,  was  his  coadjutor  in  the  busi- 
ness  of  tuition  ;  and  the  union  of  so  much  ability  soon  raised  the  fame  of  the 
college  to  an  unusual  height.  The  intimacy  which  was  thus  cemented  between 
Mr.  Paley  and  Mr.  Law,  contributed  to  promote  the  interest  of  our  author  by  the 
friendship  to  which  it  led  with  Mr.  Law's  father ;  who,  on  his  elevation  to  the 
see  of  Carlisle,  in  1769,  made  Mr.  Paley  his  chaplain. 

In  his  province  of  tutor  to  Christ's  College,  Mr.  Paley  lectured  on  metaphysics 


xii  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

morals,  the  Greek  Testament,  and,  subsequently,  on  divinity.  The  whole  sub. 
stance  of  his  moral  instructions  is  contained  in  his  Principles  of  Moral  and  Po- 
litical Philosophy ;  and  it  is  well  known  that  hardly  a  single  idea  has  found  its 
way  into  his  subsequent  publications,  which  he  had  not  previously  promulgated 
in  his  lectures. 

In  his  theological  lectures,  he  very  judiciously  avoided,  as  much  as  possible, 
all  matter  of  polemical  strife  or  sectarian  animosity.  He  used  to  consider  the 
thirty-nine  articles  of  religion,  as  mere  articles  of  peace,  of  which  it  was  impossi- 
ble  that  the  framers  could  expect  any  one  person  to  believe  the  whole,  as  they 
contain  altogether  about  two  hundred  and  forty  distinct,  and  many  of  them  incon- 
sistent, propositions. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  liberality  of  opinion  which  Mr.  Paley  exhibited  in 
his  lectures,  and  constantly  inculcated  upon  his  pupils,  he  refused  to  sign  the 
clerical  petition  to  the  House  of  Commons  in  1772,  for  a  relief  from  subscription 
to  articles  of  religion,  though  he  approved  the  object  of  the  petition,  and  wished 
to  see  it  accomplished. — Ought  he  not  then  to  have  given  the  petition  the  sanc- 
tion of  his  name  ?  On  this  occasion  he  is  reported  to  have  said, — "  /  cannot  af- 
ford to  have  a  conscience  /''^  but  no  serious  stress  ought  to  be  laid  on  such  effu- 
sions of  jocularity  or  inconsideration.  If  all  a  man's  light,  humorous,  or  inad- 
vertent sayings  were  to  be  brought  up  in  judgment  against  him,  the  purest  virtue, 
and  the  brightest  wisdom,  would  hardly  be  able  to  endure  the  ordeal.  The  best 
and  the  wisest  men  are  often  remarkable  for  particular  inconsistencies. 

Though  Mr.  Paley  refused  to  lend  his  name  to  the  clerical  petition,  yet  he  ap- 
pears afterward  to  have  vindicated  the  object  which  it  proposed  to  obtain,  in  the 
defence  of  a  pamphlet  written  by  Bishop  Law,  entitled,  "  Considerations  on  the 
propriety  of  requiring  a  subscription  to  Articles  of  Faith."  The  defence  which 
is  just  mentioned  has  been  uniformly  ascribed  to  Mr.  Paley  :  and  though  it  must 
be  reckoned  among  his  more  juvenile  performances,  yet  it  must  be  allowed,  in 
many  instances,  to  have  exhibited  a  display  of  ability,  and  a  force  of  argument, 
worthy  of  his  more  improved  judgment,  and  his  more  matured  abilities. 

While  Paley  was  engaged  in  the  office  of  tuition  at  Christ's  College,  his  cele- 
brity induced  the  late  Earl  Camden  to  offer  him  the  situation  of  private  tutor  to 
his  son.  But  this  was  incompatible  with  his  other  occupations,  and  was  accord- 
ingly declined. 

In  1775,  Mr.  Paley  began  to  receive  solid  proofs  of  Bishop  Law's  regard. — 
The  ecclesiastical  patronage,  which  is  attached  to  the  see  of  Carlisle,  is  very 
scanty  and  poor;  but  after  providing  for  his  son,  Bishop  Law  conferred  upon 
Paley  the  best  benefices  which  he  had  to  bestow.  He  was  collated  to  the  rec- 
tory of  Musgrove  in  Westmoreland,  which  was  at  that  time  worth  about  £80 
a-year.  He  was  soon  after  presented  to  the  vicarage  of  Dalston  in  Cumberland : 
and  on  the  5th  of  September,  1777,  he  resigned  the  rectory  of  Musgrove  upon 
being  inducted  to  the  more  valuable  benefice  of  Appleby.  Whilst  he  was  in 
possession  of  this  benefice,  he  published  a  little  work,  denominated  "  The  Clergy- 
man's Companion  in  Visiting  the  Sick."  Such  a  book  was  much  wanted  ;  and  as 
it  contains  a  judicious  selection  of  prayers  for  different  occasions,  it  has  supplied 
the  clergy  with  a  very  useful  auxiliary  in  their  devotional  occupations. 

In  1780,  Paley  was  preferred  by  his  patron.  Bishop  Law,  to  a  prebendal  stall 
in  the  cathedral  of  Carlisle,  which  was  worth  about  four  hundred  pounds  a-year. 
And  in  August,  1782,  he  was  appointed  Archdeacon  of  Carlisle,  a  sort  of  sine- 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR.  iiii 

cure,  but  by  which  his  clerical  dignity  was  increased,  and  his   temporal  income 
enlarged. 

In  1785,  the  period  arrived  when  Mr.  Paley,  who  had  hitherto  published  only 
a  pamphlet,  or  a  few  occasional  sermons,  was  to  appear  as  an  author  in  a  larger 
and  more  substantial  form.  It  was  in  this  year  that  his  Principles  of  Moral  and 
Political  Philosophy  issued  from  the  press.  This  work  soon  experienced  a  de- 
gree of  success,  not  indeed  greater  than  its  general  excellence  deserves,  but 
greater  than  any  work  of  merit,  on  its  first  appearance,  usually  receives.  In  this 
most  useful  production  Paley  exhibits  no  dazzling  novelties,  and  makes  no  parade 
of  new  discoveries  ;  for  what  that  is  new,  was  likely  to  be  said  on  such  a  subject, 
of  which  the  great  principles  are  coeval  with  the  existence  of  man  upon  the 
habitable  globe  1  But  though  the  matter,  of  which  this  work  consists,  is  so  old, 
and  has  so  often  been  fabricated  into  a  diversity  of  forms  by  other  writers,  yet 
the  capacious  mind  of  Paley  has  formed  it  anew  into  a  system  in  which  there  is 
so  much  clearness  in  the  arrangement,  so  much  cogency  in  the  reasoning,  and  so 
much  precision  in  the  language,  that  there  is  no  moral  treatise  by  which  it  is  sur- 
passed in  the  great  merit  of  general  usefulness.  Mr.  Paley  did  not  make  his 
materials  ;  he  found  them  already  made  ,*  but  his  own  hands  raised  the  fabric  ; 
and  of  that  fabric  the  merit  is  all  his  own. 

Some  few  parts  of  Mr.  Paley's  moral,  and  more  of  his  political  reasoning  are 
liable  to  objections  ;  but  with  all  its  defects,  his  "  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy" 
constitutes  a  valuable  addition  to  that  department  of  our  literature.  As  it  forms 
one  of  the  lecture  books  for  the  students  in  the  University  of  Cambridge,  this 
circumstance  must  have  tended  greatly  to  augment  its  circulation,  and  to  extend 
its  usefulness. 

In  addition  to  his  other  honours  and  emoluments  in  the  see  of  Carlisle,  Mr. 
Paley  was,  at  the  end  of  the  year  1785,  appointed  chancellor  of  that  diocese.  In 
the  year  1787,  he  lost  his  venerable  friend  and  patron,  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle, 
who  died  on  the  14th  of  August,  at  the  advanced  age  of  eighty-four.  Bishop  Law 
was  an  honest  and  intrepid  inquirer  after  truth ;  and  though  he  was  inferior  to  his 
younger  friend  in  intellectual  energy,  yet  it  would  have  made  no  small  addition 
to  Paley's  fame,  if  he  had  equalled  his  affectionate  and  revered  patron  in  the  fear- 
less declaration  of  all  his  theological  opinions. 

It  is  highly  honourable  to  Paley  that  he  Avas  among  the  first  of  those,  Avho  ex- 
pressed a  decided  opinion  against  the  iniquity  of  the  slave-trade.  What  he  wrote 
on  that  subject,  and  particularly  his  unreserved  reprobation  of  the  abominable 
traffic,  in  his  Moral  Philosophy,  contributed  very  much  to  accelerate  the  abolition 
It  was,  for  a  long  time,  a  mere  question  of  interest  with  a  considerable  part  of 
the  community  ;  but  moral  considerations,  in  unison  with  the  amiable  spirit  of  the 
gospel,  and  the  tender  sympathies  of  humanity,  at  length  triumphed  over  the  sor- 
did projects  of  avarice  and  cruelty. 

Mr.  Paley,  much  to  his  honour,  suggested  a  plan  for  promoting  the  civiliza- 
tion of  Africa,  and  for  making  some  restitution  to  that  outraged  continent,  for 
the  cruelty,  the  injustice,  and  the  oppression,  which  it  had  so  long  experienced. 
He  proposed  to  export  from  the  United  States  of  America  several  little  colonies 
of  free  Negroes,  and  to  settle  them  in  different  parts  of  Africa,  that  they  might 
serve  as  patterns  of  more  civilized  life  to  the  natives  in  their  several  vicinities. 

In  the  year  1790,  Mr.  Paley  published  his  Horie  Paulinas,  in  which  he  ap- 
pears to  have  displayed  more  originality  of  thought,  more  sagacity  of  remark,  and 

2 


xiv  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

more  delicacy  of  discrimination,  than  in  any  of  his  other  works.  The  great  ob- 
ject of  this  volume  is  to  illustrate  and  enforce  the  credibility  of  the  Christian 
revelation,  by  showing  the  numerous  coincidences  between  the  Epistles  of  Paul 
and  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  These  coincidences,  which  are  often  incorporated 
or  intertwined  in  references  and  allusions,  in  which  no  art  can  be  discovered, 
and  no  contrivance  traced,  furnish  numerous  proofs  of  the  truth  of  both  these 
works,  and  consequently  of  that  of  Christianity.  The  Epistles  of  Paul  and  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles  mutually  strengthen  each  other's  credibility  ;  and  Mr.  Paley 
has  shown,  in  the  clearest  manner,  how  one  borrows  light  from  the  other ;  and 
how  both  conjunctively  reflect  the  splendour  of  their  united  evidence  on  some 
of  the  principal  facts  and  most  important  truths  in  the  memoirs  of  the  Evan- 
gelists. 

Some  of  the  coincidences  which  Mr.  Paley  discovers,  seem  too  minute  for  com- 
mon observation  ;  but  his  remarks  show  their  importance,  while  they  evince  the 
keenness  of  his  intellectual  sight.  The  merit  of  this  performance,  though  it  has 
been  generally  acknowledged  both  at  home  and  abroad,  is  even  yet  greater  than 
the  celebrity  it  has  acquired,  or  the  praise  it  has  received. 

In  1790,  Mr.  Paley  delivered  an  excellent  charge  to  the  clergy  of  the  diocese 
of  Carlisle,  in  which  he  forcibly  recommended  them  to  imitate  the  example  of 
Christ,  in  the  adaptation  of  their  sermons  to  local  circumstances,  to  times  and 
seasons,  and  to  the  general  state  of  mind  in  their  several  congregations.  Much 
of  the  efficacy  of  preaching  depends  upon  the  observance  of  this  rule. 

In  May  1791,  Mr.  Paley  had  the  misfortune  to  be  left  a  widower,  with  four  sons 
and  four  daughters.  In  the  following  year,  the  dean  and  chapter  of  Carlisle  ad- 
ded the  vicarage  of  Addingham,  near  Great  Salkeld,  to  his  other  ecclesiastical 
preferments.  In  the  same  year  he  published  his  Reasons  for  Contentment,  which 
he  addressed  to  the  labouring  classes  of  society.  This  work  appeared  at  a  time 
when  the  principles  of  the  French  revolution  had  been  widely  disseminated,  and 
when  the  richer  part  of  the  community,  terrified  almost  into  idiocy  by  the  wild 
alarms  of  Burke,  and  the  sonorous  declamations  of  Pitt,  trembled  with  a  sort  of 
paralytic  horror  for  the  security  of  their  property.  They  fondly  imagined,  that 
it  was  the  great  object  of  the  poorer  class  of  reformers  to  divide  the  possessions 
of  the  rich ;  and  thus  to  attempt  not  merely  to  establish  a  political  equality  of 
rights,  but  a  substantial  equality  of  fortunes.  Some  iew  fanatics  might  have 
cherished  such  a  delusion,  and  might  have  entertained  such  a  wish,  without  be- 
ing aware  that  it  was  only  one  of  those  frantic  chimeras  of  a  distempered  brain 
which  could  never  be  accomplished.  Inequality  in  the  mental  and  physical  pow- 
ers of  individuals  is  the  order  of  nature,  or  rather  the  appointment  of  God  ;  and 
consequently  no  equality  of  circumstances  is  ever  possible  to  be  realised.  If  it 
could  be  established  to-day,  it  would  be  altered  to-morrow. 

It  is  hardly  to  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Paley  really  believed  that  a  large  body  of 
the  people  ever  designed  to  equalize,  or  had  actually  conspired  to  equalize,  the 
whole  mass  of  private  property,  and  thus  subvert  the  foundations  of  the  social 
scheme  by  establishing  a  community  of  goods.  But,  whatever  might  be  Mr. 
Paley's  real  opinions  on  the  political  temper  of  the  times,  and  on  the  perils  to 
which  rank  and  property  seemed  exposed,  this  pamphlet,  which  he  addressed  to 
the  labouring  classes,  proves,  that  he  had  placed  himself  on  the  list  of  the  alarm- 
ists of  that  stormy  period.  Was  Mr.  Paley  anxious  to  rest  the  permanence  of 
his  future  fame  on  his  larger  works,  while  he  made  use  of  this  trivial  pamphlet 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR.  iv 

to  procure  an  ephemeral  applause  ?  or,  did  he  deliberately  labour  to  accomplish 
some  secular  project  by  seconding  the  wishes  of  the  court,  and  promoting  the 
views  of  the  minister  ? — If  the  real  object  of  Mr.  Paley,  in  writing  this  two-penny 
political  pamphlet,  which  consists  of  some  common-place  truisms,  clearly  develop- 
ed and  forcibly  expressed,  were  to  place  a  mitre  upon  his  brow,  the  attempt  pro- 
ved abortive,  and  the  wish  vain.  Mr.  Pitt  was,  no  doubt,  pleased  in  seeing  a 
great  mind  like  that  of  Paley  bending  to  act  in  subserviency  to  his  will,  and  co- 
operating in  augmenting  the  delusion  under  which  the  nation  was  at  that  time 
mistaking  its  bane  for  its  good,  and  pursuing  its  ruin  for  its  interest.  But  though 
Mr.  Pitt  loved  and  rewarded  flexibility  of  opinion,  it  is  well  known  that  he  loved 
and  rewarded  it  most,  where  it  was  accompanied  with  mediocrity  of  talent.  The 
haughty  premier,  in  his  treatment  both  of  Watson  and  Paley,  showed,  that  he  had 
no  fondness  for  intellectual  superiority ;  and  he  seems  to  have  been  particularly 
studious  not  to  elevate  any  mind  that  might  wrestle  with  his  own. 

In  1793,  Mr.  Paley  vacated  the  benefice  of  Dalston,  and  was  inducted  to  that 
of  Stanwix,  which  was  more  in  the  vicinity  of  Carlisle.  He  assigned  the  follow- 
ing reasons  to  a  clerical  friend  for  assenting  to  this  change  : — "  First,  (said  he,) 
it  saved  me  double  housekeeping,  as  Stanwix  was  within  twenty  minutes'  walk 
of  my  house  in  Carlisle  ;  secondly,  it  was  fifty  pounds  a  year  more  in  value  ;  and, 
thirdly,  I  began  to  find  my  stock  of  sermons  coming  over  again  too  fast." 

The  most  popular  of  Mr.  Paley's  theological  works  appeared  in  the  year  1794, 
under  the  title  of  a  "  View  of  the  Evidences  of  Christianity."  The  author  show- 
ed great  wisdom  in  not  mingling  any  controversial  ingredients  in  the  body  of 
this  work,  and  in  not  connecting  the  facts  of  the  Christian  Scriptures  with  any 
doctrinal  matter  of  doubtful  authority  or  ambiguous  interpretation.  He  has  thus 
added  very  much  to  the  usefulness  of  his  labours,  and  has  rendered  them  accept- 
able to  a  greater  number  of  readers.  If  he  has  not  silenced  every  gainsayer,  or 
converted  every  infidel,  he  has  at  least  established  many  in  the  faith,  and  has  in- 
duced some  to  study  the  evidences  of  revelation,  who  were  previously  disposed 
to  reject  it  without  examination.  Mr.  Paley  is  less  compressed  than  Grotius,  and 
less  difi'use  than  Lardner ;  but  he  is  more  convincing  than  either,  and  more  lumin- 
ous than  both.  His  reasoning  is  every  where  remarkable  for  its  cogency,  and 
his  statement  for  its  perspicuity.  There  are  several  works  which  evince  more 
research,  but  there  are  none  so  well  calculated  for  general  perusal,  and,  conse- 
quently, general  utility. 

Mr.  Paley  was,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  better  rewarded  for  his  Evidences 
of  Christianity  than  for  any  of  his  other  works.  The  minister  of  the  day,  indeed, 
showed  no  willingness  to  put  a  mitre  on  his  head,  but  three  bishops  seemed  to 
vie  with  each  other  in  remunerating  him  for  his  labours  in  vindicating  the  truth 
of  the  Scriptures,  and  serving  the  cause  of  the  church.  The  then  bishop  of  Lon 
don,  Porteus,  gave  him  a  prebendal  stall  in  St.  Paul's.  The  bishop  of  Lincoln 
made  him  the  subdean  of  that  diocese  ;  and  the  bishop  of  Durham  presented  him 
with  the  valuable  living  of  Bishop  Wearmouth.  These  several  pieces  of  prefer- 
ment amounted  to  considerably  more  than  two  thousand  pounds  a-year.  It  would 
be  well  for  the  church,  if  the  episcopal  patronage  were  always  equally  well  be 
stowed,  or  if  it  were  always  made  equally  subservient  to  the  remuneration  of 
learning,  to  the  cause  of  piety,  and  the  interests  of  truth.  After  being  installed 
as  subdean  of  Lincoln,  Mr.  Paley  proceeded  to  Cambridge  to  take  his  degree  of 
Doctor  of  Divinity.     In  the  Concio  ad  clerum  which  he  preached  on  the  occasion. 


xvi  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

he  unfortunately  pronounced  the  word  profugus,  profugvs,  which  was  noticed  by 
one  of  the  University  wits  in  the  following  epigram  : 

Italiam  fato  profugus  Lavinaque  venit 

Litora 

Errat  Virgilius,  forte  profugus  erat. 

Neither  Paley  nor  Watson,  both  of  whom  had  received  their  classical  instruc- 
tion at  private  schools  in  the  country,  ever  attained  to  an  accurate  knowledge  of 
quantity,  or  to  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  rules  of  prosody.  Watson  says, 
that  it  often  cost  him  more  pains  to  recollect  the  right  quantity  of  a  few  Latin 
words  than  to  solve  a  difficult  problem  in  mathematics.  But  both  Paley  and 
Watson  aspired  to  higher  intellectual  excellence  than  that  of  classical  erudition. 
Paley  was,  indeed,  by  no  means  deficient  in  Greek  or  Roman  literature.  He 
had  enough  for  his  purpose,  but  he  had  no  superfluity. 

Of  Mr.  Paley's  occasional  sermons,  not  the  least  memorable  is  that  which  he 
preached  before  the  University  of  Cambridge,  when  he  returned  thither  for  the 
purpose  of  completing  the  exercises  for  his  doctor's  degree.  In  this  discourse  he 
expatiates  with  much  force  of  expression  and  shrewdness  of  remark  on  the  dan- 
gers incidental  to  the  clerical  character.  He  shows  how  the  constant  repetition 
of  the  same  devotional  labours  is  apt  to  diminish  the  sensibility  to  religious  im- 
pressions ;  and  he  notices,  with  great  truth,  the  moral  perils  to  which  even  a 
secluded  and  contemplative  life  is  exposed.  The  clergy  are  earnestly  admonish- 
ed, that  it  is  their  duty  to  make  their  own  devotion  contribute  to  augment  that 
of  their  congregation,  while  it  is  instrumental  in  improving  their  own  hearts,  and 
saving  their  own  souls. 

At  Bishop  Wearmouth,  where  Dr.  Paley  fixed  his  residence  in  1795,  he  found 
one  of  the  best  parsonage  houses  in  the  kingdom,  and  associated  with  every  ac- 
commodation which  he  could  desire.  In  order  to  avoid  all  dissension  with  his 
parishioners,  he  granted  them  a  lease  of  the  tithes  for  his  life.  In  his  Moral 
Philosophy  he  had  represented  tithes  as  injurious  to  cultivation  and  improve- 
ment ;  and  he  now  acted,  as  far  as  circumstances  would  permit,  in  conformity  to 
his  opinions.  As  the  produce  of  land  was  considerably  augmented  in  price  soon 
after  this  period,  and  the  value  of  landed  property  in  general  experienced  an  ex- 
traordinary advance,  Dr.  Paley's  tenants  had  reason  to  congratulate  themselves  on 
the  good  bargains  they  had  made,  and  to  extol  his  forbearance  and  moderation. 

The  growing  prosperity  of  his  parishioners  and  his  tenants  was  a  source  of  un- 
feigned satisfaction  to  Dr.  Paley  ;  and  he  never  regretted  the  opportunities  of 
gain  which  he  had  lost,  or  by  which  they  had  been  enriched.  It  seems  to  mani- 
fest a  higher  degree  of  virtue  cordially  to  rejoice  at  the  prosperity  of  others,  than 
to  sympathise  with  their  adversities  and  sufferings. 

In  December  1795,  Dr.  Paley  took  for  his  second  wife  a  Miss  Dobinson,  of 
Carlisle,  whose  friendship  he  had  long  enjoyed,  and  whose  worth  he  had  long 
known.  His  office  of  subdean  of  Lincoln  obliged  him  to  reside  in  that  city  for 
three  months  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  ;  and  he  accordingly  now  divided  his 
time  between  Lincoln  and  Bishop  Wearmouth.  At  both  places  he  maintained 
the  relations  of  social  intercourse  with  his  neighbours  without  any  affectation  of 
superiority;  and  practised  the  rights  of  hospitality  without  any  ostentation.  He 
did  not  disdain  the  amusement  of  the  card-table,  and  was  partial  to  a  game  at 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR.  xvii 

whist.  When  a  lady  once  remarked  to  him,  "  that  the  only  excuse  for  their  play- 
ing was,  that  it  served  to  kill  time  :" — "  The  best  defence  possible  (replied  he,) 
thcugh  time  will,  in  the  end,  kill  us."  Dr.  Paley  possessed  as  much  of  what  the 
French  call  "  savoir  vivre,^^  as  most  men.  He  knew  how  to  make  the  most  of 
life,  with  all  its  diversified  concomitants  ;  and  there  were  few  even  of  its  less 
pleasurable  accessories  from  which  he  knew  not  how  to  extract  some  lesson  of 
usefulness,  or  some  particles  of  enjoyment. 

In  order  to  enlarge  his  sphere  of  doing  good,  and  to  comply  with  the  wishes  of 
the  Bishop  of  Durham,  Dr.  Paley  consented  to  act  in  the  commission  of  the 
peace.  Mr.  Meadley  has  informed  us,  that  in  discharging  these  functions,  he 
was  blamed  for  his  irascibility  and  impatience.  No  ordinary  tranquillity  of  mind 
is  requisite  in  investigating  the  wants,  ascertaining  the  claims,  or  composing  the 
bickerings,  of  the  poor. 

Dr.  Paley  enjoyed  the  singular  happiness  of  having  his  parents  live  to  witness 
his  celebrity,  and  to  rejoice  at  his  success.  His  mother  did  not  die  till  March 
1796,  at  the  age  of  eighty-three  ;  and  his  father  survived  her  till  September  1799, 
when  he  reached  the  more  advanced  period  of  eighty-eight. 

In  1800,  Dr.  Paley  experienced  a  violent  paroxysm  of  some  nephralgic  com- 
plaint, which  returned  with  increased  exacerbations  during  the  next  and  the  fol- 
lowing year,  and  by  which  he  was  agonised  for  longer  or  shorter  intervals  during 
the  remainder  of  his  life.  His  last,  and,  perhaps,  greatest  work,  entitled  "  Natu- 
ral Theology,"  was  principally  composed  during  the  period  in  which  he  was  sub- 
ject to  attacks  of  this  terrible  malady.  These  attacks  must  occasionally  have 
impeded  the  progress  of  the  work  ;  but  it  is  probable  that  he  had  been  long  previ- 
ously revolving  the  materials  in  his  mind.  In  this,  as  well  as  in  his  other  publica- 
tions, he  has  made  large  use  of  the  labours  of  others ;  but  he  has  illuminated 
what  they  left  obscure,  enriched  what  was  jejune,  amplified  what  was  scanty,  in- 
vigorated what  was  weak,  and  condensed  what  was  diffuse.  The  proofs  which 
he  adduces  of  the  Divine  Attributes,  are  clear  and  cogent,  and  calculated  to  carry 
conviction  to  every  capacity.  These  proofs  are  not  so  arranged  as  to  distract  by 
the  multiplicity  of  the  parts,  or  to  confound  by  the  enormity  of  the  mass.  They 
consist  of  a  few  simple  expositions,  but  of  such  a  nature  as  to  interest  every 
reader,  and  to  edify  both  the  young  and  the  old  in  the  prosecution  of  the  argu- 
ment.  Natural  theology  can  never  be  dull  or  uninteresting  when  it  is  occupied 
in  illustrating  the  perfections  of  the  Deity  by  his  works,  and  does  not  diverge 
into  the  subtleties  of  metaphysics,  or  lose  itself  in  the  labyrinths  of  interminable 
speculation. 

Dr.  Paley  was  never  more  at  home  than  in  the  composition  of  this  work.  The 
materials,  with  which  he  was  furnished  by  what  he  had  read,  and  by  what  he  had 
observed,  were  so  various  and  ample,  that  it  was  more  difficult  for  him  to  select 

than  to  amplify,  to  methodise  than  to  vary,  and  to  compress  than  to  dilate 

Though  the  proofs  of  the  Divine  power  and  wisdom  are  so  many,  so  vast,  and  so 
luminous,  that  they  hardly  need  any  explanation,  yet  there  is  no  one  who  can 
peruse  the  demonstrative  evidence  which  Dr.  Paley  has  produced  of  these  attri- 
butes, without  being  more  deeply  impressed  with  the  sentiment  of  their  presence 
than  he  was  before. 

The  chapter  on  the  Divine  Goodness,  though  it  evinces  strong  marks  of  the 
same  unclouded  and  powerful  intellect  that  predominates  in  other  parts  of  the 
work,  is  perhaps  upon  the  whole  less  copious  and  satisfactory  than  the  rest.     The 
C  2* 


xviu  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

evidence  in  this  division  of  the  subject  is,  in  fact,  more  perplexed  by  conflicting 
arguments,  and  more  exposed  to  contradictory  conclusions.  Dr.  Paley  has  well 
remarked,  that  when  we  consider  the  benevolence  of  the  Deity,  we  can  considei 
it  only  in  relation  to  sensitive  beings.  Without  this  reference  the  term  has  no 
meaning ;  for  it  would  otherwise  be  without  any  medium  through  which  it  could 
operate,  by  which  its  influence  could  be  felt,  or  its  presence  ascertained.  Gross 
matter,  as  long  as  it  remains  inanimate  and  insentient,  can  never  be  an  object  of 
good  or  evil,  of  pleasure  or  of  pain.  It  is  alike  unconscious  of  the  one  and  the 
other.  But,  while  the  arguments  for  the  power  and  wisdom  of  the  Deity  are  so 
completely  satisfactory  as  not  to  leave  a  doubt  upon  the  mind,  yet  there  are  vari- 
ous appearances  which  seem  hardly  compatible  with  the  idea  of  unlimited  benevo- 
lence, and  which  it  is  difficult  to  accord  with  that  supposition,  except  by  travel- 
ling out  of  this  visible  diurnal  sphere,  and  connecting  the  present  life  with  a  life 
beyond  the  grave.  That  the  plurality  and  the  preponderance  of  sensations  in  all 
the  different  classes  of  beings  is  in  favour  of  happiness,  cannot  reasonably  be 
denied ;  but  if  pain  and  misery  are  the  lot  of  many,  or  only  of  a  few,  for  a  whole 
life,  or  even  for  short  intervals,  the  argument  recurs,  how  is  this  partial  or  tem- 
porary suffering  to  be  reconciled  to  the  theory  of  Infinite  Benevolence  ?  If  pain 
and  misery  exist  in  instances  collectively  numerous,  or  in  portions  however 
minute,  yet  vast  in  the  aggregate,  how  is  this  to  be  reconciled  with  the  attribute 
of  Unbounded  Goodness,  unless  we  connect  an  eternity  of  existence  with  the 
present  transient  scene?  If  evil  exists,  it  is  hardly  a  satisfactory  solution  of  the 
difficulty  to  say,  that  it  is  not  an  object  of  contrivance,  when  the  world  is  so  con- 
stituted that  it  is  more  or  less  one  of  the  ingredients,  or  accessories,  m  the  con- 
dition of  all  sensitive  beings.  If  the  evil  is  not  a  part  of  the  original  intent,  it 
seems  an  adjunct  that  cannot  be  disjoined  from  the  present  scheme ;  and  if  it  be 
an  adjunct  of  the  present  scheme,  that  scheme  cannot  be  said  to  be  a  proof  of 
Infinite  Benevolence,  unless  we  consider  it  only  as  part  of  a  greater  whole,  and 
infer  that  the  present  is  only  the  commencement  of  our  sensitive  and  reflective 
existence. 

In  the  works  of  human  genius  or  industry,  the  object  of  the  contrivance  may 
differ  from  the  effect,  owing  to  the  imperfection  of  the  human  faculties ;  but 
when  we  consider  the  operations  of  the  Divine  Mind,  we  cannot  separate  the  ob- 
ject and  the  end  ;  or  say  that  one  thing  was  designed  and  another  produced,  with- 
out impeaching  the  Supreme  Power  of  weakness,  or  the  Supreme  Intellect  of  in- 
consistency. If  in  any  particular  contrivances  in  the  creation,  good  was  the 
object  while  evil  is  the  result,  can  we  reverentially  affirm,  that  God  willed  one 
thing,  but  that  a  different  was  produced  ?  If  God  is  the  author  of  all  things,  the 
evil  must  be  regarded  as  much  his  contrivance  as  the  good.  If  God  made  the 
teeth,  he  made  them  to  ache  as  well  as  to  masticate.  The  good  of  mastication 
is  the  principal  object  of  the  contrivance,  but  is  not  the  evil  of  aching  the  occa- 
sional effect  1  In  considering  the  sensitive  works  of  the  Great  Creator  in  the 
present  world,  all  that  we  can  truly  say  is,  that  good,  or  pleasure,  is  the  predo.iii- 
NANT  design,  the  primary  object,  but  that  evil,  or  pain,  is  one  of  the  concomitant 
effiscts,  or  subordinate  accessories.  There  is  too  much  good  in  the  world  to  ad- 
mit the  supposition  of  malevolence  in  the  Great  Author  of  the  scheme  ;  and  there 
is  too  much  evil  not  to  lead  us  to  expect  a  state  of  future  retribution.  Those 
phenomena  in  the  present  state  of  things,  which  militate  against  the  theity  of 
Infinite  Benevolence,  appear  to  be  only  presages  of  the  good  that  is  to  come,     [f 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR.  xix 

the  good  even  here  greatly  predominates  over  the  evil,  it  is  reasonable  to  infer, 
that  in  some  future  period  the  evil  will  disappear,  and  the  Divine  Benevolence 
be  resplendent,  without  any  apparent  spot  or  limitation,  in  the  condition  of  every 
individual. 

In  the  commencement  of  the  year  1805,  while  Dr.  Paley  was  resident  at 
Lincoln,  he  experienced  a  violent  paroxysm  of  his  agonising  malady,  which 
could  not  be  appeased  by  the  usual  remedies ;  and  symptoms  appeared  that  his 
end  was  approaching.  He  languished,  however,  in  a  state  of  debility  and  dis- 
ease, till  the  period  of  his  return  to  Bishop  Wearmouth,  where  he  expired  on  the 
25th  of  May.  His  mental  faculties  suffered  little,  if  any,  diminution  to  the  last 
moment  of  his  existence  ;  but  if  his  intellectual  vision  underwent  no  eclipse,  his 
corporeal  sight  is  said  to  have  failed  for  a  (ew  days  before  his  death. 

It  cannot  be  said  of  Dr.  Paley  that  he  lived  in  vain  ! — His  was  a  mind  of  great 
powers;  and  in  general  he  employed  it  for  the  noblest  ends.  He  was  particular- 
ly active  in  diffusing  that  knowledge  which  tends  most  to  exalt  the  dignity  of 
man  ;  and  raise  him  highest  in  the  scale  of  virtue  and  intelligence.  His  moral 
and  theological  works  reflect  the  highest  honour  on  his  memory ;  and  if  he  be- 
trayed a  little  seeming  political  versatility  in  smaller  and  more  ephemeral  pro- 
ductions, we  may  find  some  apology  for  his  inconsistency  in  the  times  in  which 
he  lived;  in  his  solicitude  for  the  welfare  of  a  large  family;  and  in  circumstances 
of  which  few  have  sufficient  energy  to  control  the  agency  or  to  resist  the  influ- 
ence. 

In  person.  Dr.  Paley  was  above  the  middle  size,  and  latterly  inclined  to  corpu- 
lence. The  best  likeness  of  him  is  by  Romney,  in  which  he  is  drawn  with  a 
fishing-rod  in  his  hand.  As  in  his  domestic  arrangements,  and  in  his  general 
habits  of  expense,  he  practised  what  may  be  called  an  enlightened  economy,  and 
observed  a  due  medium  between  parsimony  and  profusion,  his  income  was  more 
than  adequate  to  all  his  wants  ;  and  he  left  his  family  in  easy  if  not  in  affluent 
circumstances. 

A  volume  of  sermons  was  published  after  the  death  of  Dr.  Paley,  which  he 
left  by  his  will  to  be  distributed  among  his  parishioners.  In  clearness  of  expres- 
sion, in  harmony  of  style,  and  in  force  of  moral  sentiment,  some  parts  of  these 
sermons  are  equal  if  not  superior  to  any  of  his  other  works.  In  the  pulpit  he 
was  one  of  those  preachers  who  excelled  in  bringing  the  most  important  truths 
home  to  men's  interests  and  bosoms. — Though  a  few  will  rejoice,  yet  the  majority 
of  readers  will  lament,  that  in  these  sermons  the  author  has  abandoned  his  usual 
reserve  with  respect  to  certain  doctrinal  matters,  which  it  is  more  easy  to  find 
in  the  liturgy  and  the  articles  of  the  church,  than  in  the  precepts  of  Christ,  or 
the  writings  of  the  Evangelists. — Those  doctrines  which  tend  only  to  engender 
strife  and  to  produce  vain  logomachies,  would  always  be  better  omitted  in  the 
pulpit ;  and  it  is  greatly  to  be  deplored  that  in  these  sermons  Dr.  Paley  has  sanc- 
tioned their  introduction.  The  great  end  of  the  commandment  is  charity ;  but 
can  these  doctrines  conduce  to  that  end  ?  If  this  question  had  been  proposed  to 
Dr.  Paley,  it  is  not  difficult  to  conjecture  what  would  have  been  his  reply,  if  that 
reply  had  been  in  unison  with  his  unsophisticated  sentiments. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  not  be  displeased,  if  we  add  to  this  biographical  sketch 
of  Dr.  Paley  the  following  interesting  anecdote,  which  he  related  to  a  friend  at 
Cambridge,  in  the  year  1795,  while  they  were  conversing  on  the  early  part  of  his 
academical  life. 


XX  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

"  I  spent  the  first  two  years  of  my  undergraduateship,"  said  he,  "  happily,  but 
unprofitably.  I  was  constantly  in  society,  where  we  were  not  immoral,  but  idle, 
and  rather  expensive.  At  the  commencement  of  my  third  year,  however,  after 
having  left  the  usual  party  at  rather  a  late  hour  i*n  the  evening,  I  was  awakened 
at  five  in  the  morning  by  one  of  my  companions,  who  stood  at  my  bed-side,  and 
said,  '  Paley,  I  have  been  thinking  what  a  d****d  fool  you  are.  I  could  do  no- 
thing, probably,  were  I  to  try,  and  can  afford  the  life  I  lead :  you  could  do  every 
thing,  and  cannot  afford  it.  I  have  had  no  sleep  during  the  whole  night  on  ac- 
count of  these  reflections,  and  am  now  come  solemnly  to  inform  you,  that  if  you 
persist  in  your  indolence,  I  must  renounce  your  society.'  I  was  so  struck,"  Dr. 
Paley  continued,  "  with  the  visit  and  the  visitor,  that  I  lay  in  bed  great  part  of 
the  day  and  formed  my  plan.  I  ordered  my  bed-maker  to  prepare  my  fire  every 
evening,  in  order  that  it  might  be  lighted  by  myself.  I  arose  at  five  ;  read  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  the  day,  except  during  such  hours  as  chapel  and  hall  required, 
alloting  to  each  portion  of  time  its  peculiar  branch  of  study  ;  and  just  before  the 
closing  of  gates  (nine  o'clock)  I  went  to  a  neighbouring  coffee-house,  where  I 
constantly  regaled  upon  a  mutton  chop  and  a  dose  of  milk  punch.  And  thus,  on 
taking  my  bachelor's  degree,  I  became  senior  wrangler." 

Anecdotes  of  this  kind,  which  have  something  of  the  marvellous,  are  seldom 
related  with  a  punctilious  adherence  to  truth :  but  if  here  be  no  erroneous  state- 
ment, or  inaccurate  representation,  Mr.  Meadley  appears  to  ascribe  too  much  to 
the  occurrence,  when  he  attributes  to  it  "  not  only  his  (Paley^s)  successful  labours 
as  a  college  tutor,  but  the  invaluable  productions  of  his  pen."  A  mind  like  that 
of  Paley  could  not  have  been  long  so  indolent  as  is  represented,  without  some 
compunctious  visitings  of  remorse.  It  is  more  than  probable  that  when  he  first 
received  this  friendly  admonition,  his  bosom  was  a  prey  to  some  lurking  pangs 
of  self-condemnation  ;  and  he  was  consequently  predisposed  instantly  to  put  in 
force  a  plan  of  more  systematic  and  more  vigorous  application.  Where  the  mat 
ter  of  combustion  already  exists,  a  little  spark  will  set  it  in  a  blaze. 


PREFACE. 


In  the  treatises  that  I  have  met  with  upon  the  subject  of  morals,  I  appear  to  myself  to  have  remarked 
the  following  imperfections ; — either  that  the  principle  was  erroneous,  or  that  it  was  indistinctly  explained, 
or  lliat  the  rules  deduced  from  it  were  not  sufficiently  adapted  to  real  life  and  to  actual  situations.  The 
writings  of  Grotius,  and  the  larger  work  of  Puffendorff;  are  of  too  forensic  a  cast,  too  much  mixed  up 
with  the  civil  law  and  with  the  jurisprudence  of  Germany,  to  answer  precisely  the  design  of  a  system  of 
ethics, — the  direction  of  private  consciences  in  the  general  conduct  of  human  life.  Perhaps,  indeed,  they 
are  not  to  be  regarded  as  institutes  of  morality  calculated  to  instruct  an  individual  in  his  duty,  so  much  as 
a  species  of  law  books  and  law  authorities,  suited  to  the  practice  of  those  courts  of  justice,  whose  deci- 
sions are  regulated  by  general  principles  of  natural  equity,  m  conjunction  with  the  maxims  of  the  Roman 
code ;  of  which  kind,  I  understand,  there  are  many  upon  the  Continent.  To  which  may  be  added,  con- 
cerning both  these  authors,  that  they  are  more  occupied  in  describing  the  rights  and  usages  of  indepen- 
dent communities,  than  is  necessary  in  a  work  which  professes  not  to  adjust  the  correspondence  of 
nations,  but  to  delineate  the  offices  of  domestic  life.  The  profusion  also  of  classical  quotations  with 
which  many  of  their  pages  aboimd,  seems  to  me  a  fault  from  which  it  will  not  be  easy  to  excuse  them. 
If  these  extracts  be  intended  as  decorations  of  style,  tlie  composition  is  overloaded  with  ornaments  of  one 
kind.  To  any  thing  more  than  ornament  they  can  make  no  claim.  To  propose  them  as  serious  argu- 
ments, gravely  to  attempt  to  establish  or  fortify  a  moral  duly  by  the  testimony  of  a  Greek  or  Roman  poet, 
is  to  trifle  with  the  attention  of  the  reader,  or  rather  to  take  it  off  from  ail  just  principles  of  reasoning  in 
morals. 

Of  our  own  writers  in  this  branch  of  philosophy,  I  find  none  that  I  think  perfectly  free  from  the  three 
objections  which  I  have  stated.  There  is  likewise  a  fourth  property  observable  almost  in  all  of  them, 
namely,  that  they  divide  too  much  the  law  of  Nature  from  the  precepts  of  Revelation ;  some  authors 
industriously  declining  the  mention  of  Scripture  authorities,  as  belonging  to  a  different  province;  and 
others  reserving  them  for  a  separate  volume ;  which  appears  to  me  much  the  same  defect,  as  if  a  com- 
mentator on  the  laws  of  England  should  content  himself  with  stating  upon  each  head  the  common  law 
of  the  land,  without  taking  any  notice  of  acts  of  parliament;  or  should  choose  to  give  his  readers  the 
common  law  in  one  book,  and  the  statute  law  in  another.  "  When  the  obligations  of  morality  are  taught," 
says  a  pious  and  celebrated  writer,  "  let  the  sanctions  of  Christianity  never  be  forgotten :  by  which  it 
will  be  shown  (hat  they  give  strength  and  lustre  to  each  other;  religion  will  appear  to  be  the  voice  of 
reason,  and  morality  will  be  the  will  of  God."* 

The  manner  also  in  which  modem  writers  have  treated  of  subjects  of  morality,  is,  in  my  judgment, 
liable  to  much  exception.  It  has  become  of  late  a  fashion  to  deliver  moral  institutes  in  strings  or  series 
of  detached  propositions,  without  subjoinmg  a  continued  argument  or  regular  dissertation  to  any  of  them. 
The  sententious  apophthegmatizing  style,  by  crowding  propositions  and  paragraphs  too  fast  upon  the  mind, 
and  by  carrying  the  eye  of  the  reader  from  subject  to  subject  in  too  quick  a  succession,  gains  not  a  suffi- 
cient hold  upon  the  attention,  to  leave  either  the  memory  furnished,  or  the  understanding  satisfied.  How- 
ever useful  a  syllabus  of  topics  or  a  series  of  propositions  may  be  in  the  hands  of  a  lecturer,  oi  as  a  guide 
to  a  student,  who  is  supposed  to  consult  other  books,  or  to  institute  upon  each  subject  researches  of  his 
own,  the  method  is  by  no  means  convenient  for  ordinary  readers ;  because  few  readers  are  such  thinkers 
as  to  want  only  a  hint  to  set  their  thoughts  at  work  upon ;  or  such  as  will  pause  and  tarry  at  every  pro- 
position, till  they  have  traced  out  its  dependency,  proof,  relation,  and  consequences,  before  they  permit 
themselves  to  step  on  to  another.  A  respectable  writer  of  this  classt  has  comprised  his  doctrine  of  slavery 
in  the  three  following  propositions : — 
"  No  one  is  born  a  slave  ;  because  every  one  is  bom  with  all  his  original  rights." 
"  No  one  can  become  a  slave ;  because  no  one  from  being  a  person  can,  in  the  language  of  the  Roman 
law,  become  a  thing,  or  subject  of  property." 

"The  supposed  property  of  the  master  in  the  slave,  therefore,  is  matter  of  usurpation,  not  of  right." 
It  may  be  possible  to  deduce  from  these  few  adages,  such  a  theory  of  the  primitive  rights  of  human 
nature,  as  will  evince  the  illegality  of  slavery :  but  surely  an  author  requires  too  much  of  his  reader,  when 
he  expects  him  to  make  these  deductions  for  himself;  or  to  supply,  perhaps  from  some  remote  chapter  of 
the  same  treatise,  the  several  proofs  and  explanations  which  are  necessary  \o  render  the  meaning  and 
truth  of  these  assertions  intelligible. 


*  Preface  to  "  The  Preceptor,"  by  Dr.  Johnson. 

t  Dr.  Fergusson,  author  of  "  Institutes  of  Moral  Philosophy.' 


1767. 


21 


xxii  PREFACE. 

There  is  a  fault,  tlie  opposite  of  this,  which  some  morahsts  who  have  adopted  a  difTcrent,  and  I  think 
better  plan  of  composition,  have  not  always  been  careful  to  avoid  ;  namely,  the  dwelling  upon  verbal  and 
elementary  distinctions,  with  a  labom-  and  prolixity  proportioned  much  more  to  the  subilety  of  the  ques- 
tion, than  to  its  value  and  importance  in  the  prosecution  of  the  subject.  A  writer  upon  ihe  law  of  na 
ture,*  whose  explications  in  every  part  of  philosophy,  though  always  diffuse,  are  often  very  successful, 
has  employed  three  long  sections  in  endeavouring  to  prove  lliat  "permissions  are  not  laws."  The  dis- 
cussion of  this  controversy,  however  essential  it  might  be  to  dialectic  precision,  was  cerlainly  not  neces- 
sary to  the  progress  of  a  work  designed  to  describe  the  duties  and  obligations  of  civil  life.  The  reader 
becomes  impatient  when  he  is  detained  by  disquisitions  whioli  have  no  other  object  than  the  settling  of 
terms  and  phrases ;  and,  what  is  worse,  they  for  whose  use  such  books  are  chiefly  intended,  will  not  be 
persuaded  to  read  them  at  all. 

I  am  led  to  propose  these  strictures,  not  by  any  propensity  to  depreciate  the  labours  of  my  predecessors, 
much  less  Co  invite  a  comparison  between  the  merits  of  their  performances  and  my  own ;  but  solely  by 
the  consideration,  that  when  a  writer  offers  a  book  to  the  public  upon  a  subject  on  which  the  public  are 
already  in  possession  of  many  others,  he  is  bound,  by  a  kind  of  literary  justice,  to  inform  liis  readers,  dis- 
tinctly and  specifically,  what  it  is  he  professes  to  supply,  and  what  he  expects  to  improve.  The  imper- 
fections above  enumerated,  are  those  which  I  iiave  endeavoured  to  avoid  or  remedy.  Of  the  execution 
the  reader  must  judge;  but  this  was  the  design. 

Concerning  the /jrtncipZe  of  morals  it  would  be  premature  to  speak;  but  concerning  the  manner  of 
unfolding  and  explaining  that  principle,  I  have  somewhat  which  I  wish  to  be  remarked.  An  experience 
of  nuie  years  in  the  office  of  a  public  tutor  in  one  of  the  universities,  and  in  that  department  of  education 
to  which  these  chapters  relate,  afforded  me  frequent  occasions  to  observe,  that  in  discoursing  to  young 
minds  upon  topics  of  morality,  it  required  much  more  pains  to  make  them  perceive  the  difficulty,  than  to 
tinderstand  the  solution :  that,  unless  the  subject  was  so  drawn  up  to  a  point,  as  to  exhibit  the  full  force 
of  an  objection,  or  the  exact  place  of  a  doubt,  before  any  explanation  was  entered  upon, — in  other  words, 
unless  some  curiosity  was  excited  before  it  was  attempted  to  be  satisfied,  the  labour  of  the  teacher  was 
lost.  When  information  was  not  desired,  it  was  seldom,  I  found,  retained.  I  have  made  this  observation 
my  guide  in  the  fJjUowing  work :  that  is,  upon  each  occasion  I  have  endeavoured,  before  1  suffered  my- 
self to  proceed  in  the  disquisition,  to  put  the  reader  in  complete  possession  of  the  question ;  and  to  do  it 
in  the  way  that  I  thouglit  most  likely  to  stir  up  his  own  doubts  and  solicitude  about  it. 

In  pursuing  tlie  principle  of  morals  through  the  detail  of  cases  to  which  it  is  applicable,  I  have  had  in 
view  to  accommodate  both  the  choice  of  the  subjects  and  the  manner  of  handling  them,  to  the  situations 
which  arise  in  the  life  of  an  inhabitant  of  this  country  in  these  times.  This  is  the  thing  that  I  think  to 
be  principally  wanting  in  former  treatises;  and  perhaps  the  chief  advantage  which  will  be  found  in  mine. 
I  have  examined  no  doubts,  I  have  discussed  no  oljscurities,  I  have  encountered  no  errors,  I  have  adverted 
to  no  controversies,  but  what  I  have  seen  actually  to  exist.  If  some  of  the  questions  treated  of,  appear 
to  a  more  instructed  reader  minute  or  puerile,  I  desire  such  reader  to  be  assured  that  I  have  found  them 
occasions  of  difficulty  to  young  minds;  and  what  I  have  observed  in  young  minds,  I  should  expect  to 
meet  with  in  all  who  approach  these  subjects  for  the  first  time.  Upon  each  article  of  human  duty,  I  have 
combined  with  the  conclusions  of  reason  the  declarations  of  Scripture,  when  they  are  to  be  had,  as  of  co- 
ordinate authority,  and  as  botli  terminating  in  the  same  sanctions.  • 

In  the  manner  of  the  work,  I  have  endeavoured  so  to  attemper  the  opposite  plans  above  animadverted 
upon,  as  that  the  reader  may  not  accuse  me  eitlier  of  too  much  haste,  or  too  much  delay.  1  have  be- 
stowed upon  each  subject  enough  of  dissertation  to  give  a  body  and  substance  to  the  chapter  in  which  it 
is  treated  of,  as  well  as  coherence  and  perspicuity :  on  the  other  hand,  I  have  seldom,  I  hope,  exercised 
the  patience  of  the  reader  by  the  length  and  prolixity  of  my  essays,  or  disappointed  that  patience  at  last 
by  the  tenuity  and  unimportance  of  tlie  conclusion. 

There  are  two  particulars  in  the  following  work,  for  which  it  may  be  thought  necessary  that  I  should 
offer  some  excuse.  The  first  of  which  is,  that  I  have  scarcely  ever  referred  to  any  other  book  ;  or  men- 
tioned the  name  of  the  author  whose  thoughts,  and  sometimes,  possibly,  whose  very  expressions  I  have 
adopted.  My  method  of  writing  has  constantly  been  this  :  to  extract  what  I  could  from  my  own  stores 
and  my  own  reflections  in  the  first  place ;  to  put  down  that,  and  afterwards  to  consult  upon  each  subject 
such  readings  as  fell  in  my  way :  w  hich  order,  I  am  convinced,  is  the  only  one  whereby  any  person  can 
keep  his  thoughts  from  slidmg  into  other  men's  trains.  The  effect  of  sucTi  a  plan  upon  the  production 
itself  will  be,  that,  whilst  .some  parts  in  matter  or  maimer  may  be  new,  others  will  be  little  else  than  a 
repetition  of  the  old.  I  make  no  pretensions  to  perfect  originality  :  I  claim  to  be  something  more  than  a 
mere  compiler.  Much,  no  doubt,  is  borrowed ;  but  the  fact  is,  that  the  notes  for  this  work  having  been 
prepared  for  some  years,  and  such  things  having  been  from  time  to  time  inserted  in  them  as  appeared  to 
me  worth  preserving,  and  such  insertions  made  commonly  without  the  name  of  the  author  from  whom 
they  were  taken,  I  should,  at  this  time,  have  found  a  difficulty  in  recovering  those  names  with  sufficient 
exactness  to  be  able  to  render  to  every  man  his  own.  Nor,  to  speak  the  truth,  did  it  appear  to  me  worth 
while  to  repeat  the  search  merely  for  this  purpose.  When  authorities  are  relied  upon,  names  must  be 
produced  ;  when  a  discovery  has  been  made  in  science,  it  may  be  unjust  to  borrow  the  invention  without 
acknowledging  the  author.  But  in  an  argumentative  treatise,  and  upon  a  subject  which  allows  no  place 
for  discovery  or  invention,  properly  so  called  ;  and  in  which  all  that  can  belong  to  a  writer  is  his  mode  of 

*  Dr.  Euthcrfoitli,  autlior  of  "  Institutes  of  Natural  Law." 


PREFACE.  xxiu 

reasoning,  or  his  judgment  of  probabilities  ;  I  shoulil  have  thought  it  superfluous,  had  it  been  easier  to  mo 
than  it  was,  to  have  interrupted  my  text,  or  crowded  my  margin,  with  references  to  every  author  whose 
sentiments  I  have  made  use  of  There  is,  however,  one  work  to  which  I  owe  so  much,  that  it  would  be 
ungrateful  not  to  confess  the  obligation:  I  mean  the  writings  of  the  late  Abraham  Tucker,  Esq.  part  of 
which  were  published  by  himself  and  the  remainder  since  his  death,  under  the  title  of  "The  Light  of 
Nature  pursued,  by  Edward  Search,  Esq."  I  have  Ibund  in  this  writer  more  original  thinking  and  obser- 
vation upon  the  several  subjects  that  he  has  taken  in  hand,  than  in  any  other,  not  to  say,  than  in  all  others 
put  together.  His  talent  also  for  illustration  is  unrivalled.  But  his  thoughts  are  diffused  through  a  long, 
various,  and  irregular  work.  I  shall  account  it  no  mean  praise,  if  I  have  been  sometimes  able  to  dispose 
into  method,  to  collect  into  heads  and  articles,  or  to  exhibit  in  more  compact  and  tangible  masses,  what 
in  that  otherwise  excellent  performance,  is  spread  over  too  much  surface. 

The  next  circumstance  for  which  some  ajwlogy  may  be  expected,  is  the  joining  of  moral  and  political 
philosophy  together,  or  the  addition  of  a  book  of  politics  to  a  system  of  ethics.  Against  this  objection,  if 
it  be  made  one,  I  might  defend  myself  by  the  example  of  many  approved  writers,  who  have  treated  de 
fifficiis  hominis  et  civis,  or,  as  some  choose  to  express  it,  "of  the  rights  and  obligations  of  man,  in  his  indi- 
vidual and  social  capacity,"  in  the  same  book.  I  might  allege,  also,  that  the  part  a  member  of  the  com- 
monwealth shall  take  in  political  contentions,  the  vote  he  shall  give,  the  counsels  he  shall  approve,  the 
support  he  shall  afford,  or  the  opposition  he  shall  make,  to  any  system  of  public  measures, — is  as  much  a 
question  of  personal  duly,  as  much  concerns  the  conscience  of  the  individual  who  deliberates,  as  the  de- 
termination of  any  doubt  which  relates  to  the  conduct  of  private  life;  that  consequently  political  philo. 
sophy  is,  properly  speaking,  a  continuation  of  moral  philosophy  ;  or  rather  indeed  a  part  of  it,  supposing 
moral  philosophy  to  have  for  its  aim  the  information  of  the  human  conscience  in  every  deliberation  that 
is  likely  to  come  before  it,  I  might  avail  myself  of  these  excuses,  if  I  wanted  them  ;  but  the  vindication 
upon  which  I  rely  is  the  following: — In  stating  the  principle  of  morals,  the  reader  will  observe  that  I 
have  employed  some  industry  in  explaining  the  theory,  and  showing  the  necessity  of  general  rules ;  with- 
out the  full  and  constant  consideration  of  which,  I  am  persuaded  that  no  system  of  moral  philosophy  can 
be  satisfactory  or  consistent  This  foundation  being  laid,  or  rather  this  habit  being  formed,  the  discussion 
of  political  subjects,  to  which,  more  than  to  almost  any  other,  general  rules  are  applicable,  became  clear 
and  easy.  Whereas,  had  these  topics  been  assigned  to  a  distinct  work,  it  would  have  been  necessary  to 
have  repeated  the  same  rudiments,  to  have  established  over  again  the  same  principles,  as  those  which  we 
had  already  exemplified,  and  rendered  familiar  to  the  reader,  in  the  former  parts  of  this.  In  a  word,  if 
there  appear  to  any  one  too  great  a  diversity,  or  too  wide  a  distance,  between  the  subjects  treated  of  in 
the  course  of  the  present  volume,  let  him  be  reminded,  that  tlie  doctrine  of  general  rules,  pervades  and 
connects  the  whole. 

It  may  not  be  improper,  however,  to  admonish  the  reader,  that,  under  the  name  of  politics,  he  is  not  to 
look  for  those  occasional  controversies,  which  the  occurrences  of  the  present  day,  or  any  temporary  situa- 
tion of  public  affairs,  may  excite  ;  and  most  of  which,  if  not  beneath  the  dignity,  it  is  beside  the  purpose, 
of  a  philosophical  institution  to  advert  to.  He  will  perceive  that  the  several  disquisitions  are  framed  with 
a  reference  to  the  condition  of  this  country,  and  of  this  government ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  to  belong  to 
the  design  of  a  work  like  the  following,  not  so  much  to  discuss  each  altercated  point  with  the  particularity 
of  a  political  pamphlet  upon  the  subject,  as  to  deliver  those  universal  principles,  and  to  exhibit  that  mode 
and  train  of  reasoning  in  politics,  by  the  due  application  of  which  every  man  might  be  enabled  to  attain 
to  just  conclusions  of  his  own.  I  am  not  ignorant  of  an  objection  that  has  been  advanced  against  all 
abstract  speculations  concerning  the  origin,  principle,  or  limitation  of  civil  authority ;  namely,  that  such 
speculations  possess  little  or  no  influence  upon  the  conduct  either  of  the  state  or  of  the  subject,  of  the 
governors  or  the  governed;  nor  are  attended  with  any  useful  consequences  to  either:  that  in  times  of 
tranquillity  they  are  not  wanted  ;  in  times  of  confusion  they  are  never  heard.  This  representation,  how- 
ever, in  my  opinion,  is  not  just.  Times  of  tumult,  it  is  true,  are  not  the  times  to  learn;  but  the  choice 
which  men  make  of  their  side  and  party,  in  the  most  critical  occa.sions  of  the  commonwealth,  may  never- 
theless depend  upon  the  lessons  they  have  received,  the  books  they  have  read,  and  the  opinions  they 
have  imbibed,  in  seasons  of  leisure  and  quietness.  Some  judicious  persons,  who  were  present  at  Geneva, 
during  the  troubles  which  lately  convulsed  that  city,  thought  they  perceived,  in  the  contentions  there 
carrying  on,  the  operation  of  that  political  theory,  which  the  writings  of  Rosseau,  and  the  unbounded 
esteem  in  which  these  writings  are  holden  by  his  countrymen,  had  diffused  amongst  the  people.  Through- 
out the  political  disputes  that  have  within  these  few  years  taken  place  in  Great  Britain,  in  her  sister- 
kingdom,  and  in  her  foreign  dependencies,  it  was  impossible  not  to  observe,  in  the  language  of  party,  in 
the  resolutions  of  public  meetings,  in  debate,  in  conversation,  in  the  general  strain  of  those  fugitive  and 
diurnal  addresses  to  the  public  which  such  occasions  call  forth,  the  prevalency  of  those  ideas  of  civil 
authority  which  are  displayed  in  the  works  of  Mr.  Locke.  The  credit  of  that  great  name,  the  courage 
and  liberality  of  his  principles,  the  skill  and  clearness  with  which  his  arguments  are  proposed,  no  less 
than  the  weight  of  the  arguments  themselves,  have  given  a  reputation  and  currency  to  his  opinions,  of 
wiiich  I  am  persuaded,  in  any  unsettled  state  of  public  affairs,  the  influence  would  be  felt.  As  this  is 
not  a  place  for  examining  the  truth  or  tendency  of  these  doctrines,  1  would  not  be  understood  by  what 
I  have  said,  to  express  any  judgment  concerning  either.  I  mean  only  to  remark,  that  such  doctrines  are 
not  without  effect ;  and  that  it  is  of  practical  importance  to  have  the  principles  from  which  the  obligations 
of  social  union,  and  the  extent  of  civil  obediency,  are  derived,  rightly  explained,  and  well  understood 


XHV  PREFACE. 

Indeed,  as  far  as  I  have  observed,  in  political,  beyond  all  other  subjects,  where  men  are  without  some 
fundamental  and  scientific  principles  to  resort  to,  they  are  liable  to  have  their  understandings  played 
upon  by  cant  phrases  and  unmeaning  terms,  of  which  every  party  in  every  country  possesses  a  vocabulary. 
We  appear  astonished  when  we  see  the  multitude  led  away  by  sounds ;  but  we  sliould  remember  that, 
if  sounds  work  miracles,  it  is  always  upon  ignorance.  The  influence  of  names  is  in  exact  proportion  ti» 
the  want  of  knowledge. 

These  are  the  observations  with  which  I  have  judged  it  expedient  to  prepare  the  attention  of  my  reader. 
Concerning  the  personal  motives  which  engaged  me  in  the  following  attempt,  it  is  not  necessary  that  I 
say  much ;  the  nature  of  ray  academical  situation,  a  great  deal  of  leisure  since  my  retirement  from  it,  the 
recommendation  of  an  honoured  and  excellent  friend,  the  outhority  of  the  venerable  prelate  to  whom 
these  labours  are  inscribed,  the  not  perceiving  in  what  way  I  could  employ  my  time  or  talents  better,  and 
my  disapprobation,  in  literary  men,  of  that  fastidious  indolence  which  sits  still  because  it  disdains  to  do 
little,  were  the  considerations  that  directed  my  thoughts  to  this  design.  Nor  have  I  repented  of  the 
undertaking.  Whatever  be  the  fate  or  reception  of  this  work,  it  owes  its  author  nothing.  In  sickness 
and  in  health  I  have  found  in  it  that  which  can  alone  alleviate  the  one,  or  give  enjoyment  to  the  other,— 
occupation  and  engagement. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  REVEREND  EDMUND  LAW,  D.  D. 

LORD  BISHOP  OF  CARLISLE. 


My  lord, — Had  the  obligations  which  I  owe  to  your  Lordship's  kindness  been  much 
less,  or  mucli  fewer,  than  they  are ;  had  personal  gratitude  left  any  place  in  my  mind  for 
deliberation  or  for  inquiry  ;  in  selecting  a  name  which  every  reader  might  confess  to  be 
prefixed  with  propriety  to  a  work,  that,  in  many  of  its  parts,  bears  no  obscure  relation  to 
the  general  principles  of  natural  and  revealed  religion,  I  should  have  found  myself  directed 
by  many  considerations,  to  that  of  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle.  A  long  life  spent  in  the  most  inter- 
esting of  all  human  pursuits — the  investigation  of  moral  and  religious  truth,  in  constant  and 
unwearied  endeavours  to  advance  the  discovery,  communication,  and  success  of  both  ;  a 
life  so  occupied,  and  arrived  at  that  period  which  renders  every  life  venerable,  commands 
respect  by  a  title  which  no  virtuous  mind  will  dispute,  which  no  mind  sensible  of  the  im- 
portance of  these  studies  to  the  supreme  concernments  of  mankind  will  not  rejoice  to  see 
acknowledged.  Whatever  difference,  or  whatever  opposition,  some  who  peruse  your 
Lordsliip's  writings  may  perceive  between  your  conclusions  and  their  own,  the  good  and 
wise  of  all  persuasions  will  revere  that  industry,  which  has  for  its  object  the  illustration  or 
defence  of  our  common  Christianity.  Your  Lordship's  researches  have  never  lost  sight  of 
one  purpose,  namely,  to  recover  the  simplicity  of  the  Gospel  from  beneath  that  load  of  un- 
authorized additions,  which  the  ignorance  of  some  ages,  and  the  learning  of  others,  tlie 
superstition  of  weak,  and  the  craft  of  designing  men,  have  (unhappily  for  its  interest) 
heaped  upon  it.  And  this  purpose,  I  am  convinced,  was  dictated  by  the  purest  motive ; 
by  a  firm,  and  I  think  a  just  opinion,  that  whatever  renders  religion  more  rational,  renders 
it  more  credible  ;  that  he  who,  by  a  diligent  and  faithful  examination  of  the  original  re- 
cords, dismisses  from  the  system  one  article  which  contradicts  the  apprehension,  the  ex- 
perience, or  the  reasoning  of  mankind,  does  more  towards  recommending  the  belief,  and, 
with  the  belief,  the  influence  of  Christianity,  to  the  understandings  and  consciences  of 
serious  inquirers,  and  through  them  to  universal  reception  and  authority,  than  can  be 
effected  by  a  thousand  contenders  for  creeds  and  ordinances  of  human  establishment. 

When  the  doctrine  of  Transubstantiation  had  taken  possession  of  the  Christian  world,  it 
was  not  without  the  industry  of  learned  men,  that  it  came  at  length  to  be  discovered, 
that  no  such  doctrine  was  contained  in  the  New  Testament.  But  had  those  excellent 
persons  done  nothing  more  by  tlieir  discovery,  than  abolished  an  innocent  superstition, 
or  changed  some  directions  in  the  ceremonial  of  public  worship,  they  had  merited  but  little 
of  that  veneration  with  which  the  gratitude  of  Protestant  Churches  remembers  their  ser- 
vices. What  they  did  for  mankind,  was  this :  they  exonerated  Christianity  of  a  weiglit 
which  sunk  it.  If  indolence  or  timidity  had  checked  these  exertions,  or  suppressed  the 
fruit  and  publication  of  these  inquiries,  is  it  too  much  to  affirm,  that  infidelity  would  at  this 
day  have  been  universal  1 

I  do  not  mean,  my  Lord,  by  the  mention  of  this  example  to  insinuate,  that  any  popular 
opinion  which  your  Lordship  may  have  encountered,  ought  to  be  compared  with  Transub- 
stantiation, or  that  the  assurance  with  which  we  reject  that  extravagant  absurdity,  is 
attainable  in  the  controversies  in  which  your  Lordship  has  been  engaged  ;  but  I  mean,  by 
calling  to  mind  those  great  reformers  of  the  public  faith,  to  observe,  or  rather  to  express 
my  own  persuasion,  that  to  restore  the  purity,  is  most  effectually  to  promote  the  progress, 
of  Christianity;  and  that  the  same  virtuous  motive  which  hath  sanctified  their  labours, 
suggested  yours.  At  a  time  when  some  men  appear  not  to  perceive  any  good,  and  others 
D  25  3 


xxvi  DEDICATION. 

to  suspect  an  evil  tcntlency,  in  tliat  spirit  of  examination  and  research  which  is  gone  forth 
in  Christian  countries,  tliis  testimony  is  become  due,  not  only  to  the  probity  of  your 
Lordship's  views,  but  to  the  general  cause  of  intellectual  and  religious  liberty. 

That  your  Lordship's  life  may  be  prolonged  in  health  and  honour ;  that  it  may  continue 
to  afford  an  instructive  proof,  how  serene  and  easy  old  age  can  be  made  by  the  memory  of 
important  and  well-intended  labours,  by  the  possession  of  public  and  deserved  esteem,  by 
the  presence  of  many  grateful  relatives ;  above  all,  by  tlie  resources  of  religion,  by  an  un- 
shaken confidence  in  the  designs  of  a  "  faithful  Creator,"  and  a  settled  trust  in  the  truth 
and  in  the  promises  of  Christianity ;  is  the  fervent  prayer  of,  my  Lord,  your  Lordsliip's 
dutiful,  most  obliged,  and  most  devoted  servant, 

WILLIAM  PALEY. 

Carlisle,  Feb.  10,  17S5. 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


BOOK  I. 

PRELIMINARY  CONSIDERATIONS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
Definition  and  use  of  the  Science. 

Moral  Philosophy,  Morality,  Ethics,  Casviis- 
try.  Natural  Law,  mean  all  the  same  thing; 
namely,  that  science  which  teaches  men  their  duty 
and  the  reasons  of  it. 

The  use  of  such  a  study  depends  upon  this, 
that,  without  it,  the  rules  of  life,  by  which  men 
are  ordinarily  governed,  oftentimes  mislead  them, 
through  a  defect,  either  in  the  rule,  or  in  the  ap- 
plication. 

These  rules  are,  the  Law  of  Honour,  the  Law 
of  the  Land,  and  the  Scriptures. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Law  of  Honour. 

Thk  Law  of  Honour  is  a  system  of  rules  con- 
structed by  people  of  fashion,  and  calculated  to 
facilitate  tiieir  intercourse  with  one  another;  and 
for  no  other  purpose. 

Consequently,  nothing  is  adverted  to  by  the 
Law  of  Honour,  but  what  tends  to  incommode 
this  intercourse. 

Hence  this  law  only  prescribes  and  regulates 
the  duties  betwixt  equals;  omitting  such  as  relate 
to  the  Supreme  Being,  as  well  as  those  wliich  we 
owe  to  our  inferiors.  For  which  reason,  profane- 
ness.  neglect  of  public  worship  or  private  devotion, 
cruelty  to  servants,  rigorous  treatment  of  tenants 
or  other  dependants,  want  of  charity  to  the  poor, 
injuries  (lone  to  tradesmen  by  msolvency,  or  delay 
of  payment,  with  numberless  examples  of  the  same 
kind,  are  accounted  no  breaches  of  honour;  be- 
cause a  man  is  not  a  less  agreeable  companion  for 
these  ^aces,  nor  the  worse  to  deal  with,  in  those 
concerns  which  are  usually  transacted  between 
one  gentleman  and  another. 

Again  ;  the  Law  of  Honour,  being  constituted 
t>y  men  occupied  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and 
for  the  mutual  conveniency  of  such  men,  will 
be  found,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  character 
and  design  of  tlie  law-makers,  to  be,  in  most  in- 
.  stances,  favourable  to  the  licentious  indulgence  of 


the  natural  passions.  Thus  it  allows  of  fornica- 
tion, adultery,  drunkenness,  prodigahty,  duelling, 
and  of  revenge  in  the  extreme ;  and  lays  no  stress 
upon  the  virtues  opposite  to  these. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Law  of  the  Land. 

That  part  of  mankind,  who  are  beneath  the 
Law  of  Honour,  often  make  the  Law  of  the  Land 
their  rule  of  life ;  that  is,  they  are  satisfied  with 
themselves,  so  long  as  they  do  or  omit  nothing, 
for  the  doing  or  omitting  of  which  the  law  can 
punish  them. 

Whereas  every  system  of  human  laws,  con- 
sidered as  a  rule  of  life,  labours  under  the  two 
following  defects ; 

I.  Human  laws  omit  many  duties,  as  not  objects 
of  compulsion ;  such  as  piety  to  God,  bountj'  to 
the  poor,  forgiveness  of  injuries,  education  of 
children,  gratitude  to  benefactors. 

The  law  never  sj:)eaks  but  to  command,  nor 
coirmiands  but  where  it  can  compel :  consequently, 
those  duties,  which  by  their  nature  must  be  xolun- 
tary,  arc  left  out  of  the  statute  book,  as  lying  be- 
yond the  reach  of  its  operation  and  authority. 

II.  Human  laws  permit,  or  which  is  the  sam^e 
thing,  sutler  to  go  unpunished,  many  crimes,  be- 
cause they  are  incapable  of  being  defined  by  any 
previous  description.  Of  which  nature  are  luxury, 
prodigality,  partiality  in  voting  at  those  elections 
in  which  the  qualifications  of  the  candidate  ought 
to  determine  the  success,  caprice  in  the  disposition 
of  men's  fortunes  at  their  death,  disrespect  to 
parents,  and  a  multitude  of  similar  examples. 

For,  this  is  the  alternative :  either  the  law  must 
define  beforehand,  and  with  precision,  the  offences 
which  it  punishes  ;  or  it  must  be  left  to  the  discre- 
tion of  the  magistrate,  to  determine  upon  each 
particular  accusation,  whether  it  constitute  that 
ofience  which  the  law  designed  to  punish,  or  not ; 
which  is,  in  eflect,  leaving  to  the  magistrate  to 
punish,  or  not  to  punish,  at  his  pleasure,  the  in- 
dividual who  is  brought  before  him ;  which  is  just 
so  much  tyranny.  Where,  therefore,  as  in  the  in- 
stances above  mentioned,  the  distinction  between 
right  and  wrong  is  of  too  subtile,  or  of  too  secret, 
a  nature,  to  be  ascertained  by  any  preconcerted 
language,  the  law  of  most  countries,  especially  of 
free  states,  rather  than  commit  the  liberty  of  the 
subject  to  the  discretion  of  the  magistrates,  leaves 
men  in  such  cases  to  themselves. 
27 


28 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Scriptures. 

Whoever  expects  to  find  in  the  Scriptures  a 
specific  direction  for  every  moral  doubt  that  arises, 
looks  for  more  than  he  will  meet  with.  And  to 
what  a  magnitude  such  a  detail  of  particular  pre- 
cepts would  have  enlarged  the  sacred  volume, 
may  be  partly  understood  from  the  following  con- 
sideration : — The  laws  of  this  country,  includinn- 
the  acts  of  the  legislature,  and  the  decisions  of  our 
supreme  courts  of  justice,  are  not  contained  in  a 
fewer  than  fifty  folio  volumes.  And  yet  it  is  not 
once  in  ten  attempts  that  you  can  lind  the  case 
you  look  lor,  in  any  law  book  whatever:  to  say 
nothing  of  those  numerous  points  of  conduct,  con- 
cerning which  the  law  professes  not  to  prescribe 
or  determine  any  thing.  Had  then  the  same  par- 
ticularity, which  obtains  in  human  laws  so  liir  as 
they  go,  been  attempted  in  the  Scriptures,  through- 
out the  whole  extent  of  morality,  it  is  manifest 
they  would  have  been  by  much  too  bulky  to  be 
either  read  or  circulated;  or  rather,  as  St.  John 
says,  "even  the  world  itself  could  not  contain  the 
books  that  should  be  written." 

Morality  is  taught  in  Scripture  in  this  wise. — 
General  rules  are  laid  down,  of  piety,  justice, 
benevolence,  and  purity :  such  as  worshiping  God 
in  spirit  and  in  truth ;  doing  as  we  would  be  done 
by;  loving  our  neighbour  as  ourself;  forgiving 
others,  as  we  expect  forgiveness  from  God ;  that 
mercy  is  better  than  sacriiice ;  that  not  that  wliich 
entereth  into  a  man,  (nor,  by  parity  of  reason, 
any  ceremonial  pollutions,)  but  that  which  pro- 
ceedeth  from  the  heart,  defileth  him.  These  rules 
are  occasionally  illustrated,  cither  hy  fictitious  ex- 
amples, as  in  the  parable  of  the  good  Samaritan ; 
and  of  the  cruel  servant,  who  refused  to  his  fellow- 
servant  that  indulgence  and  compassion  which 
his  master  had  shown  to  him:  or  in  instances 
which  actually  presented  themselves,  as  in  Christ's 
reproof  of  liis  disciples  at  the  Samaritan  village ; 
his  praise  of  the  poor  widow,  who  cast  in  her  last 
mite ;  his  censure  of  the  Pharisees,  who  chose  out 
the  chief  rooms, — and  of  the  tradition,  whereby 
they  evaded  the  command  to  sustain  their  indigent 
parents  :  or,  lastly,  in  the  resolution  of  questions, 
vjhich  those  who  were  about  our  Saviour  proposed 
to  him;  as  his  answer  to  the  young  man  who 
asked  him,  "  What  lack  I  yet  ?""and  to  the  honest 
scribe,  who  had  found  out,  even  in  that  age  and 
country,  that  "  to  love  God  and  his  neighbour, 
was  more  than  all  whole  burnt-ofl'erings  and  sacri- 
fice." 

_  And  this  is  in  truth  the  way  in  which  all  prac- 
tical sciences  are  taught,  as  Arithmetic,  Grammar, 
Navigation,  and  the  like. — Rules  are  laid  down, 
and  examples  are  subjoined :  not  that  these  ex- 
amples are  the  cases,  much  less  all  the  cases, 
which  will  actually  occur;  but  by  way  only  of 
explaining  the  principle  of  the  rule,  and  as  so 
many  specimens  of  the  method  of  applying  it. — 
The  chief  difference  is,  that  the  examjiles  in 
Scripture  are  not  annexed  to  the  rules  with  the 
didactic  regularity  to  which  we  are  now-a-days 
accustomed,  but  delivered  dispersedly,  as  particular 
occasions  suggested  them;  which  gave  them, 
however,  (especially  to  those  who  heard  tiiem! 
and  were  present  to  the  occasions  which  produced 
them,)  an  energy  and  persuasion,  much  beyond 
what  the  same  or  any  instances  would  have  ap- 
jieared  with,  in  their  places  in  a  system. 


Besides  this,  the  Scriptures  commonly  pre-sup- 
pose  m  the  person  to  whom  they  speak,  a  know- 
ledge of  the  principles  of  natural  justice ;  and  are 
employed  not  so  nmch  to  teach  7iew  rules  of 
morality,  as  to  enforce  the  practice  of  it  by  neic 
sanctions,  and  hy  a.  greater  certainty  ;  which  last 
seems  to  be  the  proper  business  of  a  revelation 
from  God,  and  what  was  most  wanted. 

Thus  the  "unjust,  covenant-breakers,  and  ex- 
tortioners," are  condenmed  in  Scripture,  supposing 
it  known,  or  leaving  it,  where  it  admits  of  doubt, 
to  moralists  to  determine,  what  injustice,  extortion, 
or  breach  of  covenant,  are. 

I'he  above  considerations  are  intended  to  prove 
that  the  Scriptures  do  not  supersede  the  use  of  the 
science  of  which  we  protess  to  treat,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  acquit  them  of  any  charge  of  imper- 
fection or  insufficiency  on  that  account. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Moral  Sense. 

"  The  father  of  Caius  Toranius  had  been  pro- 
scribed by  the  triumvirate.  Caius  Toranius 
coming  over  to  the  interests  of  that  party,  dis- 
covered to  the  officers,  who  were  in  pursuit  of  his 
father's  life,  the  place  where  he  concealed  himself, 
and  gave  them  withal  a  descrijjtion,  by  which 
they  might  distinguish  his  person,  when  they 
found  him.  The  old  man,  more  anxious  for  the 
safety  and  fortunes  of  his  son,  than  about  the  little 
that  might  remain  of  his  own  life,  began  mmie- 
diately  to  inquire  of  the  ol^cers  who  seized  him, 
whether  his  son  was  well,  whether  he  had  done 
his  duty  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  generals.  '  That 
son  (replied  one  of  the  officers,)  so  dear  to  thy 
aflt-ctions,  betrayed  thee  to  us ;  by  his  information 
thou  art  apprehended,  and  diest.'  The  officer 
with  this,  struck  a  poniard  to  his  heart,  and  the 
unhappy  parent  fell,  not  so  much  affected  by  his 
fate,  as  by  the  means  to  which  he  owed  it."* 

Now  the  question  is,  whether,  if  this  story  were 
related  to  the  wild  boy  caught,  some  years  ago,  in 
the  woods  of  Hanover,  or  to  a  savage  without 
experience,  and  without  instruction,  cut  off' in  his 
infancy  from  all  intercourse  with  his  species,  and, 
consequently,  under  no  possible  influence  of  ex- 
ample, authority,  education,  sympathy  or  habit ; 
whether,  I  say,  such  a  one  would  feel,  upon  the 
relation,  any  degree  of  that  sentiment  of  disap- 
probation of  Toranius's  conduct  which  we  feel, 
or  not  i 

They  who  maintain  the  existence  of  a  moral 
sense;  of  innate  maxhns;  of  a  natural  conscience ; 
that  the  love  of  virtue  and  hatred  of  vice  are  in- 
stinctive; or  the  ])erception  of  right  and  wrong 
intuitive ;  (all  which  are  only  different  ways  of 
expressing  the  same  opinion,)  affirm  that  he 
would. 


*  "  Caius  Toranius  triumvirum  partes  secutus,  pro- 
scripti  patris  sui  prastorii  et  ornati  viri  latebras,  aetateiu, 
notasque  corporis,  qiiihus  acrnosci  posset,  centurionibiis 
edidit,  qui  eirni,  Jtefseciiti  sunt.  Senex  de  filii  magis  vita 
et  inoreinentis,  quam  de  reliqno  spiritu  siio  sollicitus,  an 
incoliiniis  esset,  et  an  iinpnratoribus  satisfaceret,  inter- 
roL'aie  ens  coepit.  E  quibus  unus:  'Ab  illo,'  inquit, 
'  queni  tantoppreriilicis,  demonstratnsnostroministerio, 
filii  indicio  occideris:'  protinusque  pectus  ejus  filaiiio 
trajecit.  Collapsus  itaque  est  iutelix,  auctore  cirdis 
qiiam  ipsa  caede,  miserior." — VALER.  MAX.  lib.  ix 
cap.  11. 


THE  MORAL  SENSE. 


29 


They  who  deny  the  existence  of  a  moral  sense, 
&c.  affirm  that  he  would  not. 

And  upon  this,  issue  is  joined. 

As  the  experiment  has  never  been  made,  and, 
from  the  dithculty  of  procuring  a  subject  (not  to 
mention  the  impossibihty  of  proposing  the  question 
to  him,  if  we  had  one,)  is  never  likely  to  be  made, 
what  would  be  the  event,  can  only  be  judged  of 
from  probable  reasons. 

They  who  contend  for  the  affirmative,  observe, 
that  we  approve  examples  of  generosity,  gratitude, 
IJdelitv,  &c.  and  condemn  the  contrary,  instantly, 
witliout  deliberation,  without  having  any  interest 
of  our  own  concerned  in  them,  oft-times  without 
being  conscious  of,  or  able  to  give  any  reason  for, 
our  approbation :  that  this  approbation  is  unifonn 
and  universal,  the  same  sorts  of  conduct  being  ap- 
proved and  disapproved  in  all  ages  and  countries  of 
the  world;  circumstances,  say  they,  wliich  strongly 
indicate  the  operation  of  an  instinct  or  moral  sense. 

On  the  other  hand,  answers  have  been  given  to 
most  of  these  argmnents,  by  the  patrons  of  the 
opposite  system :  and. 

First,  as  to  the  uniformity  above  alleged,  they 
controvert  the  fact.  They  remark,  from  authentic 
accounts  of  historians  and  travellers,  that  there  is 
scarcely  a  single  vice  wMch,  in  some  age  or  coun- 
try of  the  world,  has  not  been  countenanced  by 
public  opinion :  that  in  one  country,  it  is  esteemed 
an  office  of  piety  in  children  to  sustain  their  aged 
parents ;  in  another  to  dispatch  them  out  of  the 
wa}' :  that  suicide,  in  one  age  of  the  world,  has 
been  heroism,  is  in  another  felony:  that  theft, 
which  is  punished  by  most  laws,  by  the  laws  of 
Sparta  was  not  unfrequently  rewarded :  that  tJie 
promiscuous  commerce  of  the  sexes,  although  cou- 
demned  by  the  regulations  and  censure  of  all 
civilized  nations,  is  practised  by  the  savages  of  the 
tropical  regions  without  resers'e,  compunction,  or 
disgrace :  that  crimes,  of  which  it  is  no  longer 
permitted  us  even  to  speak,  have  had  their  advo- 
cates amongst  the  sages  of  very  renowned  times  : 
that,  if  an  inhabitant  of  the  polished  nations  of 
Europe  be  delighted  with  the  appearance,  wher- 
ever he  meets  with  it,  of  happiness,  tranquillity, 
and  comfort,  a  wild  American  is  no  less  diverted 
with  the  writliings  and  contortions  of  a  victim  at 
the  stalie:  that  even  amongst  ourselves,  and  in 
the  present  improved  state  of  moral  knowledge, 
we  are  liir  from  a  perfect  consent  in  our  opin- 
ions or  feelings:  that  you  shall  hear  duelling 
altcrnacely  reprobated  and  applauded,  according 
to  the  sex,  age  or  station,  of  the  person  you  con- 
verse with:  that  the  forgiveness  of  injuries  and 
insults  is  accounted  by  one  sort  of  people  magna- 
nimity, by  another  meanness :  that  in  the  above 
instances,  and  perhaps  m  most  others,  moral  ap- 
probation follows  the  fasliions  and  institutions  of 
the  country  we  live  in ;  which  fashions  also,  and 
institutions  themselves,  have  grown  out  of  the 
exigences,  the  climate,  situation,  or  local  circum- 
stances of  the  country ;  or  have  been  set  up  by 
the  authority  of  an  arbitrary  cliieftain,  or  the  un- 
accountable caprice  of  the  multitude :  all  which, 
they  observe,  looks  very  little  like  the  steady  hand 
and  indelible  characters  of  Nature.     But, 

Secondly,  because,  after  these  exceptions  and 
abatements,  it  cannot  be  denied  but  that  some 
sorts  of  actions  conunand  and  receive  the  esteem 
of  mankind  more  than  others ;  and  that  the  appro- 
bation of  them  is  general  though  not  universal : 
as  to  this  they  say,  that  the  general  approbation 


of  virtue,  even  in  instances  where  we  have  no 
interest  of  our  own  to  induce  us  to  it,  may  be 
accounted  for  without  the  assistance  of  a  moral 
sense;  thus: 

"  Having  experienced,  in  some  instances,  a  par 
ticular  conduct  to  be  benelicial  to  ourselves,  or 
observed  that  it  would  be  so,  a  sentiment  of  ap- 
probation rises  up  in  our  minds ;  which  sentiment 
afterwards  accompanies  the  idea  or  mention  of  the 
same  conduct,  altliough  the  pri^•ate  advantage 
which  first  excited  it  no  longer  exist." 

And  this  continuance  of  tiie  passion,  after  the 
reason  of  it  has  ceased,  is  nothing  more,  say  they, 
than  what  happens  in  other  cases ;  especially  in 
the  love  of  money,  wliich  is  in  no  person  so  etiger, 
as  it  is  oftentimes  found  to  be  in  a  rich  old  miser, 
without  family  to  provide  for,  or  friend  to  olilige 
by  it,  and  to  whom,  consequently,  it  is  no  longer 
(and  he  may  be  sensible  of  it  too)  of  any  real  use 
or  value ;  yet  is  this  man  as  nmch  overjoyed  with 
gain,  and  mortilied  by  losses,  as  he  was  the  first 
day  he  opened  his  shop,  and  when  his  very  sub- 
sistence depended  upon  his  success  in  it. 

By  these  means  the  custom  of  approving  certain 
actions  commenced:  and  when  once  sucii  a  cus- 
tom hath  got  footing  in  the  world,  it  is  no  diffi- 
cult thing  to  explain  how  it  is  transmitted  and 
continued;  for  then  the  greatest  part  of  those  wiio 
approve  of  virtue,  approve  of  it  from  authority,  by 
imitation,  and  from  a  habit  of  approving  such  and 
such  actions,  inculcated  in  early  youth,  and  re- 
ceiving, as  men  grow  up,  continual  accessions  of 
strength  and  vigour,  from  censure  and  encourage- 
ment,^ from  the  books  they  read,  the  conversations 
they  hear,  the  current  application  of  epithets,  the 
general  turn  of  language,  and  the  various  other 
causes  by  which  it  universally  comes  to  pass,  that 
a  society  of  men,  touched  in  the  feeblest  degree 
with  the  same  passion,  soon  communicate  to  one 
another  a  great  degree  of  it.*  This  is  the  case 
with  most  of  us  at  present ;  and  is  the  cause  also, 
that  the  process  of  association,  described  in  the 
last  paragraph  but  one,  is  httle  now  either  per- 
ceived or  wanted. 

Amono-st  the  causes  assigned  for  the  continu- 
ance and  diffusion  of  the  same  moral  sentiments 
amongst  mankind,  we  have  mentioned  imitation. 

The  efficacy  of  tliis  principle  is  most  observable 
in  children :  indeed,  if  there  be  any  thing  in  them, 
wliich  deserves  the  name  of  an  instinct,  it  is  their 
propensity  to  imitation.  Now  there  is  nothing 
which  children  imitate  or  apply  more  readily  than 
expressions  of  affection  anil  aversion,  of  ajjproba- 
tion,  hatred,  resentment,  and  the  like ;  and  when 
these  passions  and  expressions  are  once  connected, 
which  they  soon  will  be  by  the  same  association 
which  unites  words  with  their  ideas,  the  passion 
will  follow  the  expression,  and  attach  upon  the 
object  to  which  the  child  has  been  accustomed  to 
apply  the  epithet.  In  a  word,  when  almost  every 
tiling  else  is  learned  by  imitation,  caA  we  wonder 


*  "  From  instances  of  popular  tumults,  seditions,  fac- 
tions, panics,  and  of  all  passions  which  are  shared  with 
a  muititude,  we  may  learn  the  influence  of  society,  in 
exciting  and  supporting  any  emotion  ;  while  tile  most 
ungovernable  disorders  are  raised,  we  find,  by  that 
means,  from  the  slightest  and  most  frivolous  occasions. 
He  must  be  more  or  less  than  man,  who  kindles  not  in 
the  common  blaze.  What  wonder  then,  that  moral 
sentiments  are  found  of  such  influence  in  life,  though 
springing  from  principles,  which  may  appear,  at  first 
sight,  somewhat  small  and  delicate  7"--//i/«i(;'j:  Iixjuinj 
concernius  the  Principles  of  Morals,  Sect.  ix.  p.  320. 

3* 


30 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


to  find  the  same  cause  concerned  in  the  generation 
of  our  moral  sentiments  1 

Another  considerable  objection  to  the  system  of 
moral  instincts  is  this,  that  there  are  no  maxims 
in  the  science  which  can  well  be  deemed  innate, 
as  none  perhaps  can  be  assigned,  which  are  abso- 
lutely and  universally  true  ;  in  other  words,  which 
do  not  bend  to  circumstances.  Veracity,  which 
seems,  if  any  be,  a  natural  dutj',  is  excused  in 
many  cases  towards  an  enemy,  a  thief,  or  a  mad- 
man. The  obligation  of  promises,  which  is  a  first 
principle  in  morality,  depends  upon  the  circum- 
stances under  which  they  were  made  ;  they  may 
have  been  unlawful,  or  become  so  since,  or  incon- 
sistent with  former  promises,  or  erroneous,  or 
extorted;  under  all  which  cases,  instances  may 
be  suggested,  where  the  obligation  to  perform  the 
promise  would  be  very  dubious ;  and  so  of  most 
other  general  rules,  when  they  come  to  be  actually 
applied. 

An  argument  has  been  also  proposed  on  the 
same  side  of  the  question,  of  this  kind.  Together 
with  the  instinct,  there  must  have  been  implanted, 
it  is  said,  a  clear  and  precise  idea  of  the  object 
upon  which  it  was  to  attach.  The  instinct  and 
the  idea  of  the  oljject  are  inseparable  even  in  ima- 
gination, and  as  necessarily  accompany  each  other 
as  any  correlative  ideas  whatever:  that  is,  in 
plainer  terms,  if  we  be  prompted  by  nature  to  the 
approbation  of  particular  actions,  we  must  have 
received  also  from  nature  a  distinct  conception  of 
the  action  we  are  thus  prompted  to  approve ; 
which  we  certainly  have  not  received. 

But  as  this  argument  bears  alike  against  all 
instincts,  and  against  their  existence  in  brutes  as 
well  as  in  men,  it  will  hardly,  I  suppose,  produce 
conviction,  though  it  may  be  ditlicult  to  find  an 
answer  to  it. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  seems  to  me,  either  that 
there  exist  no  such  instincts  as  compose  what  is 
called  the  moral  sense,  or  that  they  are  not  now 
to  be  distinguished  from  prejudices  and  habits ; 
on  which  account  they  cannot  be  depended  upon 
in  moral  reasoning :  I  mean  that  it  is  not  a  safe 
way  of  arguing,  to  assume  certain  principles  as  so 
many  dictates,  impulses,  and  instincts  of  nature, 
and  then  to  draw  conclusions  from  these  princi- 
ples, as  to  the  rectitude  or  wrongness  of  actions, 
independent  of  the  tendency  of  such  actions,  or  of 
any  other  consideration  whatever. 

Aristotle  lays  down,  as  a  fundamental  and  self- 
evident  maxim,  that  nature  intended  barbarians  to 
be  slaves;  and  proceeds  to  deduce  from  this  maxim 
a  train  of  conclusions,  calculated  to  justify  the 
policy  which  then  prevailed.  And  I  question 
whether  the  same  maxim  be  not  still  self-evident 
to  the  company  of  merchants  trading  to  the  coast 
of  Africa. 

Nothing  is  so  soon  made,  as  a  maxim ;  and  it 
appears  from  the  example  of  Aristotle,  that  au- 
thority and  convenience,  education,  prejudice,  and 
general  practice,  have  no  small  share  in  the  mak- 
mg  of  them;  and  that  the  laws  of  custom  are 
very  apt  to  be  mistaken  for  the  order  of  nature. 

For  which  reason,  I  suspect,  that  a  system  of 
morality,  built  upon  instincts,  will  only  find  out 
reasons  and  excuses  for  opinions  and  practices 
already  established, — will  seldom  correct  or  reform 
either. 

But  further,  suppose  we  admit  the  existence  of 
these  instincts ;  what,  it  may  be  asked,  is  their 
authority  1     No  man,  you  say,  can  act  in  delilicr- 


ate  opposition  to  them,  without  a  secret  remorsB 
of  conscience.  But  this  remorse  may  be  borne 
with:  and  if  the  sinner  choose  to  bear  with  it,  for 
the  sake  of  the  pleasure  or  the  profit  which  he 
expects  from  his  wickedness ;  or  finds  the  plea- 
sure of  sin  to  exceed  the  remorse  of  conscience,  of 
which  he  alone  is  the  judge,  and  concerning  which, 
when  he  feels  them  both  together,  he  can  hardly 
be  mistaken,  the  moral-instinct  man,  so  far  as 
I  can  understand,  has  nothing  more  to  ofTi?r. 

For  if  he  allege  that  these  instincts  are  so  many 
indications  of  the  will  of  God,  and  consequently 
presages  of  what  we  are  to  look  for  hereafter; 
this,  1  answer,  is  to  resort  to  a  rule  and  a  motive 
ulterior  to  the  instincts  themselves,  and  at  which 
rule  and  motive  we  shall  by-and-by  arrive  by  a 
surer  road  : — I  say  surer,  so  long  as  there  remains 
a  controversy  whether  there  he  any  instincti\'e 
maxims  at  all;  or  any  difficulty  in  ascertaining 
what  maxims  are  instinctive. 

This  celebrated  question  therefore  becomes  in 
our  system  a  question  of  pure  curiosity ;  and  as 
such,  we  dismiss  it  to  the  determination  of  those 
who  are  more  inquisitive,  than  we  are  concerned 
to  be,  about  the  natural  history  and  constitution 
of  the  human  species. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Human  Happiness. 

The  word  happy  is  a  relative  term;  that  is, 
when  we  call  a  man  happy,  we  mean  that  he  is 
happier  than  some  others,  with  whom  we  com- 
pare him ;  than  the  generality  of  others  ;  or  than 
he  himself  was  in  some  other  situation :  thus, 
speaking  of  one  who  has  just  compassed  the  ob- 
ject of  a  long  pursuit, — "  Now,"  we  say,  "  he  is 
happy;"  and  in  a  hke  comparative  sense,  com- 
pared, that  is,  with  the  general  lot  of  mankind,  we 
call  a  man  happy  who  possesses  health  and  com- 
petency. 

In  strictness,  any  condition  maybe  denominated 
happy,  in  which  the  amount  or  aggregate  of  pica- 
sure  exceeds  that  of  pain ;  and  the  degree  of 
happiness  depends  upon  the  quantity  of  this 
excess. 

And  the  greatest  quantity  of  it  ordinarily  at- 
tainable in  human  life,  is  what  we  mean  by  hap- 
piness, when  we  inquire  or  pronounce  what 
human  happiness  consists  in.* 

*  If  any  positive  sisnification,  distinct  fiom  what  we 
mean  by  pleasure,  can  be  affixed  to  tlie  term  "happi- 
ness," I  should  take  it  to  denote  a  certain  state  of  the 
nervous  system  in  that  part  of  the  human  frame  in 
which  we  feel  .joy  and  g;rief,  passions  and  affections. — 
Whether  this  part  be  the  heart,  which  tf)e  turn  of  most 
laniruanes  would  lead  us  to  believe,  or  the  diaiilirnLMii, 
as  Bulfon.  or  the  upper  orifice  of  the  stomach,  as  Van 
Hehnont  thought ;  or  rather  be  a  kind  of  fine  net-work, 
lining  the  whole  region  of  the  pra-cordia,  asotliers  have 
imagined;  it  is  possible,  not  only  that  each  painful 
si'nsation  may  violently  shake  and  disturb  the  fibres 
at  the  time,  but  that  a  series  of  such  may  at  length  so 
derange  the  very  texture  of  the  system,  as  to  produce  a 
perpetual  irritation,  which  vvill  show  itself  by  fretful- 
ness.  impatience,  and  restlessness.  It  is  possible  also, 
on  the  oilier  hand,  that  a  succession  of  pleasurable  sen- 
sations may  have  such  an  effect  upon  this  subtile  orga- 
nization, as  to  cause  the  fibres  to  relax,  and  return  into 
their  place  and  order,  and  thereby  to  recover,  or,  if  not 
lost,  to  preserve,  that  harmonious  conformation  which 
gives  to  the  mind  its  sense  of  complacency  and  satis- 
faction. This  state  maybe  denominated  happiness 
and  is  so  far  distinguishable  from  pleasure,  that  it  does 


HUMAN  HAPPIJNESS. 


Jl 


In  which  inquiry  I  v^'ill  omit  much  usual 
declamation  on  the  dignity  and  capacity  of  our 
nature ;  the  superiority  of  the  soul  to  the  body,  of 
(he  rational  to  the  animal  part  of  our  constitution ; 
upon  the  worthiness,  refinement,  and  delicacy,  of 
some  satisfactions,  or  the  meanness,  grossness, 
and  sensuality,  of  others ;  because  I  hold  that 
pleasures  differ  in  nothing,  but  in  continuance 
and  intensity:  from  a  just  computation  of  which, 
confirmed  by  what  we  obsene  of  the  apparent 
cheerfulness,  tranquillity,  and  contentment,  of 
men  of  ditierent  tastes,  tempers,  stations,  and  pur- 
suits, every  question  concerning  human  happiness 
must  receive  its  decision. 

It  will  be  our  business  to  show,  if  we  can, 

I.  What  Human  Happiness  does  not  consist  in: 

II.  What  it  does  consist  in. 

First,  then.  Happiness  does  not  consist  in  the 
pleasures  of  sense,  in  whatever  profusion  or  va- 
riety they  be  enjoyed.  By  the  pleasures  of  sense, 
I  mean,  as  well  as  the  animal  gratifications  of 
eating,  drinking,  and  that  by  which  the  species  is 
continued,  as  the  more  refined  pleasures  of  music, 
painting,  architecture,  gardening,  splendid  shows, 
theatric  exliibitions  ;  and  the  pleasures,  lastly,  of 
active  sports,  as  of  hunting,  shooting,  fishing,  &c. 
For, 

1st,  These  pleasures  continue  but  a  little  while 
at  a  time.  This  is  true  of  them  all,  especially  of 
the  grosser  sort  of  them.  Laying  aside  the  pre- 
paration and  the  expectation,  and  computing 
strictly  the  actual  sensation,  we  shall  be  surprised 
to  find  how  inconsiderable  a  portion  of  our  time 
they  occupy,  how  few  hours  in  the  four-and-twenty 
they  are  able  to  fill  up. 

2dly,  These  pleasures,  by  repetition,  lose  their 
relish.  It  is  a  property  of  the  machine,  for  which 
we  know  no  remedy,  that  the  organs,  by  which 
we  perceive  pleasure,  are  blunted  and  benumbed 
by  being  frequently  exercised  in  the  same  way. 
There  is  hardly  any  one  who  has  not  found  the 
difference  between  a  gratification,  when  new,  and 
when  familiar ;  or  any  pleasure  which  does  not 
become  indifferent  as  it  grows  habitual. 

3Jly,  The  eagerness  for  high  and  intense  de- 
lights takes  away  the  relish  from  all  others;  and 
as  such  delights  fall  rarely  in  our  way,  the  greater 
part  of  our  time  becomes,  from  this  cause,  empty 
and  uneasy. 

There  is  hardly  any  delusion  by  which  men  arc 
greater  sufferers  in  their  happiness,  than  by  their 
expecting  too  much  from  what  is  called  pleasure ; 
that  is,  from  those  intense  delights,  which  vulgarly 
enjjross  the  name  of  pleasure.  The  very  expec- 
tation spoils  them.  When  they  do  come,  we  are 
often  engaged  in  taking  pains  to  persuade  our- 
selves how  much  we  are  pleased,  rather  than  en- 
joying any  pleasure  which  springs  naturally  out 
of  the  object.  And  whenever  we  depend  upon 
being  vastly  delighted,  we  always  go  home  secretly 
grieved  at  missing  our  aim.  Likewise,  as  has 
been  observed  just  now,  when  this  humour  of 
being  prodigiously  delighted  has  once  taken  hold 


not  refer  to  any  particular  object  of  enjoyment,  or  con- 
sist, like  pleasure,  in  gratification  of  one  or  more  of  tlie 
senses,  but  is  rather  the  secondary  etfect  which  such 
objects  and  gratifications  produce  upon  the  nervous 
system,  or  the  state  in  which  they  leave  it.  These  con- 
jectures belong  not,  however,  to  our  province.  The 
comparative  sense,  in  which  we  have  e.xplained  the 
term  Happiness,  is  more  popular,  and  is  sufficient  for 
the  purpose  of  the  present  chapter. 


of  the  imagination,  it  hinders  us  from  providing 
for,  or  acquiescing  in,  those  gently  soothing  en- 
gagements, the  due  variety  and  succession  of 
which  are  the  only  things  that  supply  a  vein  or 
continued  stream  of  happiness. 

What  I  have  been  able  to  observe  of  that  part 
of  mankind,  whose  professed  pursuit  is  pleasure, 
and  who  are  withheld  in  the  pursuit  by  no  re- 
straints of  fortune,  or  scruples  of  conscience,  cor- 
responds sufficiently  with  this  account.  I  have 
commonly  remarked  in  such  men,  a  restless  and 
inextinguishable  passion  for  variety ;  a  great  part 
of  their  time  to  be  vacant,  and  so  much  of  it  hk- 
some;  and  that,  with  whatever  eagerness  and 
expectation  they  set  out,  they  become,  by  de- 
grees, fastidious  in  their  choice  of  pleasure,  lan- 
guid in  the  enjoyment,  yet  miserable  under  the 
want  of  it. 

The  truth  seems  to  be,  that  there  is  a  limit  at 
which  these  pleasures  soon  arrive,  and  from  which 
they  ever  afterwards  decline.  They  are  by  ne- 
cessity of  short  duration,  as  the  organs  cannot 
hold  on  their  emotions  beyond  a  certain  length  of 
time ;  and  if  you  endeavour  to  compensate  for  this 
imperfection  in  their  nature  by  the  frequency  with 
wliich  you  repeat  them,  you  sutler  more  than  you 
gain,  by  the  fatigue  of  the  faculties,  and  the  dimi- 
nution of  sensibility. 

We  have  said  nothing  in  this  account,  of  the 
loss  of  opportunities,  or  the  decay  of  faculties, 
which,  whenever  they  happen,  leave  the  voluptu- 
ary destitute  and  desperate  ;  teased  by  desires  that 
can  never  he  gratified,  and  the  memory  of  pleasures 
which  must  return  no  more. 

It  will  also  be  allowed  by  those  who  have  ex- 
perienced It,  and  perhaps  by  those  alone,  that 
pleasure  which  is  purchased  by  the  encumbrance 
of  our  fortune,  is  purchased  too  dear ;  the  pleasure 
never  comj)ensating  for  the  perpetual  irritation  of 
embarrassed  circumstances. 

These  pleasures,  after  all,  have  their  value :  and 
as  the  young  are  always  too  eager  in  their  pursuit 
of  them,  the  old  are  sometimes  too  remiss,  that  is, 
too  studious  of  their  ease,  to  be  at  the  pains  lor 
them  which  they  really  deser\e. 

Secondly,  Neither  does  happiness  consist  in 
an  exemption  from  pain,  labour,  care,  business, 
suspense,  molestation,  and  "  those  evils  which  are 
without ;"  such  a  state  being  usually  attended,  not 
with  ease,  but  with  depression  of  spirits,  a  taste- 
lessness  in  all  our  ideas,  imaginary  anxieties,  and 
the  whole  train  of  hj-pochondriacal  affections. 

For  which  reason,  the  expectations  of  those, 
who  retire  from  their  shops  and  counting-houses, 
to  enjoy  the  remainder  of  their  days  in  leisure  and 
tranquillity,  are  seldom  answered  by  the  effect; 
much  less  of  such,  as,  in  a  fit  of  chagrin,  shut 
themselves  up  in  cloisters  and  hermitages,  or  quit 
the  world,  and  their  stations  in  it,  for  solitude  and 
repose. 

Where  there  exists  a  known  external  cause  of 
uneasiness,  the  cause  may  be  removed,  and  the 
uneasiness  will  cease.  But  those  imaginary  dis- 
tresses which  men  feel  for  want  of  real  ones  (and 
which  are  equally  tormenting,  and  so  far  equally 
real)  as  they  depend  upon  no  single  or  assignable 
subject  of  uneasiness,  admit  oftentimes  of  no  ap- 
plication of  relief 

Hence,  a  moderate  pain,  upon  which  the  atten- 
tion may  fasten  and  spend  itself,  is  to  many  a 
refreshment ;  as  a  fit  of  the  gout  will  sometimes 
cure  the  spleen.  And  the  same  of  any  less  violent 


32 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


agitation  of  the  mind,  as  a  literary  controversy,  a 
law-suit,  a  contested  election,  and,  above  all,  gam- 
ing ;  the  passion  lor  wliicli,  in  men  of  fortune  and 
h'oeral  minds,  is  only  to  be  accounted  for  on  tliis 
principle. 

Thirdly:  Neither  does  happiness  consist  in 
greatness,  rank,  or  elevated  station. 

Were  it  true  that  all  superiority  afforded  plea- 
sure, it  would  follow,  that  by  how  much  we  were 
the  greater,  that  is,  the  more  persons  we  were 
superior  to,  in.  the  same  proportion,  so  flir  as  de- 
pended upon  this  cause,  we  should  be  the  happier ; 
but  so  it  is,  that  no  superiority  yields  any  satisfac- 
tion, save  that  which  we  possess  or  obtain  over 
those  with  whom  we  inmiediately  compare  our- 
selves. The  shepherd  perceives  no  pleasure  in 
his  superiority  over  his  dog;  the  farmer,  in  liis 
superiority  over  the  shepherd;  the  lord,  in  his 
superiority  over  the  farmer ;  nor  the  king,  lastly, 
in  his  superiority  over  the  lord.  Superiority, 
where  there  is  no  competition,  is  seldom  contem- 
plated ;  what  most  men  are  quite  unconscious  of 

But  if  the  same  shepherd  can  run,  light,  or 
wrestle  better  than  the  peasants  of  his  village  ;  if 
the  farmer  can  show  better  cattle,  if  he  keep  a 
better  horse,  or  be  supposed  to  have  a  longer  purse, 
tlian  any  farmer  in  the  hundred ;  if  the  lord  have 
more  interest  in  an  election,  greater  favour  at 
court,  a  better  house,  or  a  larger  estate  than  any 
nobleman  in  the  country ;  if  the  king  possess  a 
more  extensive  territory,  a  more  powerful  fleet  or 
army,  a  more  splendid  establishment,  more  loyal 
subjects,  or  more  weight  and  authority  in  adjust- 
ing the  afTuirs  of  nations,  than  any  prince  in 
Europe;  in  all  these  cases,  the  parties  feel  an 
actual  satisfaction  in  their  superiority. 

Now  the  conclusion  that  follows  from  hence  is 
this ;  that  the  pleasures  of  ambition,  which  are 
supposed  to  be  peculiar  to  high  stations,  are  in 
reality  common  to  all  conditions.  The  farrier 
who  shoes  a  horse  better,  and  who  is  in  greater 
request  for  Iiis  sldll,  than  any  man  witliin  ten 
miles  of  him,  possesses,  for  all  that  I  can  see,  the 
delight  of  distinction  and  of  exceOing,  as  truly  and 
substantially  as  the  statesman,  the  soldier,  and  the 
scholar,  who  have  filled  Europe  with  the  reputa- 
tion of  their  wisdom,  their  valour,  or  their  know- 
ledge. 

No  superiority  appears  to  be  of  any  account,  but 
superiority  over  a  rival.  This,  it  is  manifest,  may 
exist  wherever  rivalships  do ;  and  rivalships  fall 
out  amongst  men  of  all  ranks  and  degrees.  The 
object  of  emulation,  the  dignity  or  magnitude  of 
this  object,  makes  no  difference ;  as  it  is  not  what 
either  possesses  that  constitutes  the  pleasure,  but 
what  one  possesses  more  than  the  other. 

Philosophy  smiles  at  the  contempt  wdth  wliich 
the  rich  and  great  speak  of  the  petty  strifes  .and 
competitions  of  the  poor;  not  reflecting  that  these 
strifes  and  competitions  are  just  as  reasonable  as 
their  own,  and  the  pleasure,  which  success  afibrds, 
the  same. 

Our  position  is,  that  happiness  does  not  consist 
in  greatness.  And  this  position  we  make  out  by 
showing,  that  even  what  are  supposed  to  be  pecu- 
liar advantages  of  greatness,  the  pleasures  of  am- 
bition and  superiority,  are  in  reality  common  to 
all  conditions.  But  whether  the  pursuits  of  am- 
bition be  ever  wise,  whether  they  contribute  more 
to  the  happiness  or  misery  of  the  pursuers,  is  a 
different  question;  and  a  question  concerning 
which  we  may  be  allowed  to  entertain  great  doubt. 


The  pleasure  of  success  is  exquisite ;  so  also  is 
the  anxiety  of  the  pursuit,  and  the  pain  of  disap- 
pomtnient ; — and  what  is  the  worst  part  of  the 
account,  the  pleasure  is  short-Uved.  We  soon 
cease  to  look  back  upon  those  whom  we  have  left 
behind ;  new  contests  are  engaged  in ;  new  pros- 
pects unfold  themselves ;  a  succession  of  struggles 
is  kept  up,  wliilst  there  is  a  rival  left  witliin  the 
compass  of  our  views  and  profession ;  and  when 
there  is  none,  the  pleasui'e  with  the  pursuit  is  at 
an  end. 

II.  We  have  seen  what  happiness  does  not 
consist  in.  We  are  next  to  consider  in  what  it 
docs  consist. 

In  the  conduct  of  life,  the  great  matter  is,  to 
know  beforehand,  what  will  please  us,  and  wliat 
pleasure  will  hold  out.  So  far  as  we  know  this, 
our  choice  will  be  justified  by  the  event.  And 
this  knowledge  is  more  scarce  and  difficult  than 
at  first  sight  it  may  seem  to  be :  for  sometimes, 
pleasures,  which  are  wonderfully  alluring  and 
flattering  in  the  prospect,  turn  out  in  the  possession 
extremely  insipid ;  or  do  not  hold  out  as  we  ex- 
pected :  at  other  tunes,  pleasures  start  up  wliich 
never  entered  into  our  calculation ;  and  which  we 
might  have  missed  of  by  not  foreseeing ; — whence 
we  have  reason  to  believe,  that  we  actually  do  miss 
of  many  pleasures  from  the  same  cause.  I  say,  to 
know  "  beforehand ;"  for,  after  the  experunent  is 
tried,  it  is  commonly  impracticable  to  retreat  or 
change ;  beside  that  shifting  and  changing  is  apt 
to  generate  a  habit  of  restlessness,  which  is  de- 
structive of  the  happiness  of  every  condition. 

By  the  reason  of  the  original  diversity  of  taste, 
capacity,  and  constitution,  observable  in  the  human 
species,  and  the  still  greater  variely,  wliich  habit 
and  fasliion  have  introduced  in  these  particulars, 
it  is  impossible  to  propose,  any  plan  of  happiness, 
which  will  succeed  to  all,  or  any  method  of  life 
which  is  universally  eligible  or  practicable. 

All  that  can  be  said  is,  that  there  remains  a 
presumption  in  favour  of  those  conditions  of  life, 
in  which  men  generally  appear  most  cheerful  and 
contented.  For  though  the  apparent  happiness 
of  mankind  be  not  always  a  true  measure  of  their 
real  happiness,  it  is  the  best  measure  we  ha^'e. 

Taking  this  for  my  guide,  I  am  inchned  to  be- 
Ueve  that  happiness  consists, 

I.  In  the  exercise  of  the  social  affections. 
Those  persons  commonly  possess  good  spirits, 

who  have  about  them  many  objects  of  affection 
and  endearment,  as  wife,  children,  khidred,  friends. 
And  to  the  want  of  these  may  be  imputed  the 
peevishness  of  monks,  and  of  such  as  lead  a  mo- 
nastic life. 

Of  the  same  nature  with  the  indulgence  of  our 
domestic  affections,  and  equally  refreshing  to  the 
spirits,  is  the  pleasure  which  results  from  acts  of 
bounty  and  beneficence,  exercised  either  in  gi%ing 
money,  or  imparting  to  those  who  want  it,  the 
assistance  of  our  skill  and  profession. 

Another  main  article  of  human  happiness  is, 

II.  The  exercise  of  our  faculties,  either  of  body 
or  mind,  in  the  pursuit  of  some  engaging  end. 

It  seems  to  be  true,  that  no  plenitude  of  present 
gratifications  can  make  the  possessor  happy  for  a 
continuance,  unless  he  have  something  in  reserve, 
— something  to  hope  for,  and  look  forward  to. — 
This  I  conclude  to  be  the  case,  from  comparing 
the  alacrity  and  spirits  of  men  who  are  engaged 
in  any  pursuit  which  interests  them,  with  the  de- 
jection and  ennui  of  almost  all,  who  are  cithex 


HUMAN  HAPPINESS. 


bora  to  so  much  that  they  want  nothing  more,  or 
who  have  used  up  their  satisfactiona  too  soon,  and 
ilrainod  the  sources  of  them. 

It  is  this  intolerable  vacuity  of  mind,  which 
carries  the  rich  and  great  to  the  horse-course  and 
the  gaming-table ;  and  often  engages  them  in 
contests  and  pursuits,  of  which  the  success  bears 
no  proportion  to  the  solicitude  and  expense  with 
which  it  is  sought.  An  election  for  a  disputed 
borough  shall  cost  the  parties  twenty  or  thirty 
thousand  pounds  each, — to  say  nothing  ai  the 
anxiety,  humiliation,  and  fatigue,  of  the  canvass ; 
when,  a  seat  in  the  house  of  commons,  of  exactly 
the  same  value,  may  be  had  for  a  tenth  part  of  the 
money,  and  with  no  trouble.  I  do  not  mention 
this,  to  blame  the  rich  and  great  (perhaps  they 
cannot  do  better,)  but  in  coniirmation  of  what  I 
have  advanced. 

Hope,  which  thus  appears  to  be  of  so  much 
importance  to  our  happiness,  is  of  two  kinds ; — 
where  there  is  something  to  be  done  towards  at- 
taining the  object  of  our  hope,  and  where  there  is 
nothing  to  be  done.  The  lirst  alone  is  of  any 
value ;  the  latter  being  apt  to  corrupt  into  impa- 
tience, having  no  power  but  to  sit  still  and  wait, 
which  soon  grows  tiresome. 

The  doctrine  delivered  under  this  head,  may  be 
readily  admitted;  but  how  to  provide  ourselves 
with  a  succession  of  pleasurable  engagements,  is 
the  difficulty.  This  requires  two  things :  judg- 
ment in  the  choice  of  ends  adapted  to  our  op- 
portunities ;  and  a  command  of  imagination,  so  as 
to  be  aL)le,  when  the  judgment  has  made  choice  of 
an  end,  to  transfer  a  pleasure  to  tlie  means: 
alter  which,  the  end  may  be  forgotten  as  soon  as 
we  will. 

Hence  those  pleasures  are  most  valuable,  not 
which  are  most  exquisite  in  the  fruition,  but  which 
are  most  prnductive-of  engagement  and  activity  in 
the  pursuit. 

A  man  who  is  in  earnest  in  his  endeavours 
after  the  happiness  of  a  future  state,  has,  in  this 
respect,  an  i'lvantage  o-/er  all  the  world :  for,  he 
has  constantly  before  his  eyes  an  object  of  supreme 
importance,  productive  of  perpetual  engagement 
and  activity,  and  of  which  the  pursuit  (which  can 
be  said  of  no  pursuit  besides)  lasts  him  to  his  life's 
end.  Yet  even  he  must  have  many  ends,  besides 
the  far  end:  but  then  they  will  conduct  to  that, 
be  suljordinate,  and  in  some  way  or  other  capable 
of  being  referred  to  that,  and  derive  their  satisfac- 
tion, or  an  addition  of  satisfaction,  from  that. 

Engagement  is  everything:  the  more  signifi- 
cant, however,  our  engagements  are,  the  better : 
such  as  the  planning  of  laws,  institutions,  manu- 
factures, charities,  improvements,  public  works; 
and  the  endeavouring,  by  our  interest,  address, 
solicitations,  and  activity,  to  carry  them  into  eflect ; 
or,  upon  a  smaller  scale,  the  procuring  of  a  main- 
tenance and  fortune  for  our  families  by  a  course 
of  industry  and  application  to  our  callings,  which 
forms  and  gives  motion  to  the  common  occupations 
of  life ;  training  up  a  child ;  prosecuting  a  scheme 
for  his  future  establishment;  making  ourselves 
masters  of  a  language  or  a  science ;  unproving  or 
managing  an  estate ;  laboriring  after  a  piece  of 
preferment ;  and,  lastly,  any  engagement,  which 
IS  innocent,  is  better  than  none ;  as  the  writing  of 
a  book,  the  building  of  a  house,  the  laying  out  of 
a  garden,  the  digging  of  a  fish-pond, — even  the 
laising  of  a  cucumber  or  a  tulip. 

Whilst  our  minds  are  taken  up  vsith  the  objects 
E 


or  business  before  us,  we  are  commonly  happy, 
whatever  the  object  or  business  be;  when  the 
mind  is  absent,  and  the  thoughts  are  wandering 
to  something  else  than  what  is  passing  in  the 
place  in  which  we  are,  we  are  often  miserable. 

III.  Happiness  depends  upon  the  prudent  con- 
stitution of  the  habits. 

The  art  in  which  the  secret  of  human  happiness 
in  a  great  measure  consists,  is  to  set  the  habits  in 
such  a  manner,  that  every  cliange  may  be  a  change 
for  the  better.  The  habits  themselves  are  much 
the  same ;  for,  whatever  is  made  habitual,  becomes 
smooth,  and  easy,  and  nearly  indili'erent.  'I'lie 
return  to  an  old  habit  is  likewise  easy,  v/hatever 
the  habit  be.  Therefore  the  advantage  is  with 
those  habits  which  allow  of  an  indulgence  in  the 
deviation  from  them.  The  luxurious  receive  no 
greater  pleasures  from  their  dainties,  than  the 
peasant  does  from  his  bread  and  cheese :  but  the 
peasant,  whenever  he  goes  abroad,  finds  a  feast ; 
whereas  the  epicure  must  be  well  entertained,  to 
escape  disgust.  Those  who  spend  every  day  at 
cards,  and  those  who  go  every  day  to  plough, 
pass  their  time  much  alike:  intent  upon  what 
they  are  about,  wanting  nothing,  regretting 
nothing,  they  are  both  for  the  time  in  a  state  of 
ease :  but  then,  v/hatever  suspends  the  occupation 
of  the  card-player,  distresses  hun ;  whereas  to  the 
labourer,  eveiy  interruption  is  a  refreshment :  and 
this  appears  in  the  ditierent  eflects  that  Sunday 
produces  upon  the  two,  winch  proves  a  day  ol 
recreation  to  the  one,  but  a  lamentable  burthen  to 
the  other.  The  man  who  has  learned  to  live 
alone,  feels  his  spirits  enlivened  whenever  he  en- 
ters into  company,  and  takes  liis  leave  without 
regret ;  another,  who  has  long  been  accustomed 
to  a  crowd,  or  continual  successsion  of  company, 
experiences  in  company  no  elevation  of  spirits, 
nor  any  greater  satisfaction,  than  what  the  man 
of  a  retired  life  finds  in  his  chiinney-corner.  So 
far  their  conditions  are  equal ;  but  let  a  change  of 
place,  fortune,  or  situation,  separate  the  companion 
from  his  circle,  his  visitors,  his  club,  common-room, 
or  coffee-house ;  and  the  difference  and  advantage 
in  the  choice  and  constitution  of  the  two  habits 
will  show  itself  Solitude  comes  to  the  one,  cloth- 
ed \V\Xh  melancholy ;  to  the  other,  it  brings  Uberty 
and  quiet.  You  will  see  the  one  fretful  and  rest- 
less, at  a  loss  how  to  dispose  of  his  time,  till  the 
hour  come  round  when  he  may  forget  himself  in 
bed ;  the  other  easy  and  satisfied,  taking  up  his 
book  or  his  pipe,  as  soon  as  he  finds  himself  alone ; 
ready  to  admit  any  little  amusement  that  casts 
up,  or  to  turn  his  hands  and  attention  to  the  first 
business  that  presents  itself;  or  content,  wdthout 
either,  to  sit  still,  and  let  his  train  of  thought  glide 
indolently  through  his  brain,  without  much  use, 
perhaps,  or  pleasure,  hut  without  hankering  after 
any  thing  better,  and  without  irritation.  A  reader; 
who  has  inured  himself  to  books  of  science  and" 
argumentation,  if  a  novel,  a  well-written  pain.- 
phlet,  an  article  of  news,  a  narrative  of  a  curious 
voyage,  or  a  journal  of  a  traveller,  fall  in  his  way, 
sits  down  to  the  repast  with  rehsh;  enjoys  hi& 
entertainment  while  it  lasts,  and  can  return,  when 
it  is  over,  to  his  graver  reading,  without  distaste. 
Another,  with  whom  nothing  will  go  down  but 
works  of  humour  and  pleasantry,  or  whose  -curi- 
osity must  be  interested  by  perpetual  novel  y,  will 
consume  a  bookseller's  window  in  half  a  fc'renoon  ; 
during  which  time  he  is  rather  in  search  of  diver- 
sion than  diverted ;  and  as  books  to  his  taste  are 


34 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


few,  and  short,  and  rapidly  read  over,  the  stock  is 
soon  exhausted,  when  he  is  left  without  resource 
from  his  principal  supply  of  harmless  amuse- 
ment. 

So  far  as  circumstances  of  fortune  conduce  to 
happiness,  it  is  not  the  income  which  any  man 
possesses,  but  the  increase  of  income,  that  affords 
the  pleasure.  Two  persons,  of  whom  one  begins 
with  a  humlred,  and  advances  his  income  to  a 
thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  the  other  sets  off 
with  a  thousand  and  dwindles  down  to  a  hundred, 
may,  in  the  course  of  their  time,  have  the  receipt 
and  sjiending  of  the  same  sum  of  money  :  yet  their 
satislliction,  so  far  as  fortune  is  concerned  in  it, 
Vi'ill  be  very  different ;  the  series  and  sum  total  of 
tiieir  incomes  being  the  same,  it  makes  a  wide 
ditierence  at  which  end  they  begin. 

IV.  Happiness  consists  in  health. 

By  health  I  understand,  as  well  freedom  from 
bodily  distempers,  as  that  tranquillity,  firmness, 
and  alacrity  of  mind,  which  wc  call  good  spirits ; 
and  which  may  properly  enough  be  included  in 
our  notion  of  health,  as  depending  commonly 
upon  the  same  causes,  and  yielding  to  the  same 
management,  as  our  bodily  constitution. 

Health,  in  this  sense,  is  the  one  thing  needful. 
Therelbre  no  pains,  expense,  self-denial,  or  re- 
straint, to  which  we  subject  ourselves  for  the  sake 
of  health,  is  too  nmch.  Whether  it  require  us 
to  relinquish  hierative  situations,  to  abstain  from 
favourite  indulgences,  to  control  intemperate  pas- 
sions, or  undergo  tedious  regimens ;  whatever 
diliiculties  it  lays  us  under,  a  man,  who  pursues 
his  hajipiness  rationally  and  resolutely,  will  be 
content  to  submit. 

When  we  are  in  perfect  health  and  spirits,  we 
feel  in  ourselves  a  happiness  independent  of  any 
(larticular  outward  gratification  whatever,  and  of 
which  we  can  give  no  account.  This  is  an  en- 
joyment which  the  Deity  has  annexed  to  life ; 
and  it  probably  constitutes,  in  a  great  measure, 
the  happiness  of  infants  and  brutes,  especially  of 
the  lower  and  sedentary  orders  of  animals,  as  of 
oysters,  periwinkles,  and  the  like;  for  which  I 
have  sometimes  been  at  a  loss  to  find  out  amuse- 
ment. 

The  above  account  of  human  happiness  will 
justify  the  two  following  conclusions,  which,  al- 
though found  in  most  books  of  morality,  have 
seldom,  I  think,  been  supported  by  any  sufficient 
reasons : — 

First,  That  happiness  is  pretty  equally  dis- 
tributed amongst  the  different  orders  of  civil 
society  : 

Secondly,  Tliat  vice  has  no  advantage  over 
virtue,  even  with  respect  to  this  world's  happi- 
ness. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Virtue. 

Virtue  is  "  the  doing  good  to  mankind,  in 
obedience  to  the  will  of  God,  and  for  the  sake  of 
everlasting  happiriess." 

According  to  which  definition,  "the  good  of 
mankind"  is  the  subject;  the  "  will  of  God,"  the 
rule  ;  and  "  everlasting  happiness,"  the  motive,  of 
iiuman  virtue. 

Virtue  has  been  divided  by  some  moralists  into 
benevolence,  prudence,  fortitude,  and  temperance. 


Benevolence  proposes  good  ends ;  prudence  sug- 
gests the  best  means  of  attaining  them ;  fortitude 
enables  us  to  encounter  the  difficulties,  dangers, 
and  discouragements,  which  stand  in  our  way  in 
the  pursuit  of  these  ends;  temperance  repels  and 
overcomes  the  passions  that  obstruct  it.  Bencro- 
lence,  for  instance,  prompts  us  to  undertake  the 
cause  of  an  oppressed  orphan ;  prudence  suggerts 
the  best  means  of  going  about  it ;  fortitude  enables 
us  to  confront  the  danger,  and  bear  up  against  the 
loss,  disgrace,  or  repulse,  that  may  attend  our 
undertaking;  and  temperance  keeps  under  the 
love  of  money,  of  ease,  or  amusement,  wiiich  might 
chvert  us  from  it. 

Virtue  is  distinguished  by  others  into  two 
branches  only,  prudence  and  benevolence :  pru- 
dence, attention  to  our  own  interest;  benevuknce, 
to  that  of  our  fellow-creatures :  both  directed  to 
the  same  end,  the  increase  of  happiness  in  nature ; 
and  taking  equal  concern  in  the  future  as  in  tlie 
present. 

The  four  cardinal  virtues  are,  prudence,  for- 
titude, temperance  and  justice. 

But  the  division  of  virtue,  to  which  we  are  in 
modern  times  most  accustomed,  is  into  duties  ; — 

Towards  God ;  as  piety,  reverence,  resignation, 
gratitude,  &c. 

Towards  other  men  (or  relative  duties;)  as  jus- 
tice, charity,  fidelity,  loyalty,  &c. 

Towards  ourselves  ;  as  chastity,  sobriety,  tem- 
perance, preservation  of  life,  care  of  health,  &c. 

More  of  these  distinctions  have  been  proposed, 
which  it  is  not  worth  while  to  set  down. 


I  shall  proceed  to  state  a  few  observations,  which 
relate  to  the  general  regulation  of  human  conduct ; 
unconnected  indeed  with  each  other,  but  -^ery 
worthy  of  attention ;  and  which  fall  as  projjerly 
under  the  title  of  tliis  chapter  as  of  any  future 
one. 

I.  Mankind  act  more  from  habit  than  reflec- 
tion. 

It  is  on  few  only  and  great  occasions  that  men 
deliberate  at  all ;  on  fewer  still,  that  they  ins;titute 
any  thing  like  a  regular  inquiry  into  the  moral 
rectitude  or  depravity  of  what  they  are  about  to 
do ;  or  wait  for  the  result  of  it.  We  are  for  the 
most  part  determined  at  once;  and  by  an  imindse, 
which  is  the  effect  and  energy  of  pre-established 
habit.  And  this  constitution  seems  well  adajjted 
to  the  exigences  of  human  life,  and  to  the  imbe- 
cility of  our  moral  principle.  In  the  current  oc- 
casions and  rapid  opportunities  of  life,  there  is 
oftentimes  little  leisure  for  reflection ;  and  were 
there  more,  a  man,  who  has  to  reason  about  his 
duty,  when  the  temptation  to  transgress  it  is 
upon  him,  is  almost  sure  to  reason  himself  into  an 
error. 

If  we  are  in  so  great  a  degree  passive  under  our 
habits ;  Where,  it  is  asked,  is  the  exerci.se  of 
virtue,  the  guilt  of  vice,  or  any  use  of  moral  and 
religious  knowleiige  '?  I  answer,  in  tlie  forming 
and  contracting  of  these  habits. 

And  hence  results  a  rule  of  life  of  considerable 
importance,  viz.  that  many  things  are  to  be  done 
and  abstained  from,  solely  for  the  sake  of  habit. 
We  will  explain  ourselves  by  an  example  or  two: 
— A  beggar,  with  the  appearance  of  extreme  dis- 
tress, asks  our  charity.  If  we  come  to  argue  the 
matter,  whether  the  distress  be  real,  whether  it  be 


VIRTUE. 


35 


not  brought  upon  himself,  whether  it  be  of  public 
advantage  to  admit  such  application,  whether  it  be 
not  to  encourage  idleness  and  vagrancy,  wliether 
it  may  not  invite  impostors  to  oiu'  doors,  whether 
the  money  can  be  well  spared,  or  might  not  be 
better  apphed;  when  these  considerations  are  put 
together,  it  may  appear  very  doubtful,  whether  we 
ought  or  ought  not  to  give  an}'  thing.  But  when 
we  reflect,  that  the  misery  before  our  eyes  excites 
our  pity,  whether  we  will  or  not ;  that  it  is  of  the 
utmost  consequence  to  us  to  cultivate  this  tender- 
ness of  mind ;  that  it  is  a  quality,  cherished  by 
indulgence,  and  soon  stifled  by  opposition ;  when 
this,  1  say,  is  considered,  a  wise  man  will  do  that 
tor  his  own  sake,  which  he  would  have  hesitated 
to  do  for  the  petitioner's ;  he  will  give  way  to  his 
compassion,  rather  than  oH'er  violence  to  a  habit 
of  so  much  general  use. 

A  man  of  confirmed  good  habits,  wiU  act  in 
the  same  manner  without  any  consideration  at  all. 

This  may  serve  for  one  instance ;  another  is  the 
following : — A  man  has  been  brought  up  from  his 
infancy  with  a  dread  of  lying.  An  occasion  pre- 
sents itself  where,  at  the  expense  of  a  little  vera- 
city, he  may  divert  his  company,  set  off  his  own 
wit  with  advantage,  attract  the  notice  and  engage 
tlie  partiality  of  all  about  him.  This  is  nota 
small  temptation.  And  when  he  looks  at  the 
other  side  of  the  question,  lie  sees  no  mischief  that 
can  ensue  from  this  liberty,  no  slander  of  any 
man's  reputation,  no  prejudice  likely  to  arise  to 
any  man's  interest.  Were  there  notliing  further 
to  be  considered,  it  would  be  difficult  to  show  why 
a  man  under  such  circumstances  might  not  in- 
dulge his  humour.  But  when  he  rellccts  that  his 
scruples  about  lying  have  hitherto  preserved  him 
free  from  this  vice ;  that  occasions  like  the  present 
will  return,  where  the  inducement  may  be  equally 
strong,  but  the  mdulgence  much  less  innocent; 
that  his  scruples  will  wear  away  by  a  few  trans- 
gressions, and  leave  him  subject  to  one  of  the 
meanest  and  most  pernicious  of  all  bad  habits, — a 
habit  of  lying,  whenever  it  will  serve  his  turn : 
when  all  this,  I  say,  is  considered,  a  wise  man  will 
forego  the  present,  or  a  much  greater  pleasure, 
rather  than  lay  the  foundation  of  a  character  so 
vicious  and  contemptible. 

From  what  has  been  said,  may  be  explained 
also  the  nature  of  habitual  virtue.  Bv  the  defi- 
nition of  virtue,  placed  at  the  beginning  of  this 
chapter,  it  appears,  that  the  good  of  mankind  is 
the  subject,  the  will  of  God  the  rule,  and  everlast- 
ing happiness  the  motive  and  end,  of  all  virtue. 
Yet.  in  fact,  a  man  shall  perform  many  an  act  of 
virtue  without  having  either  the  good  of  mankind, 
the  will  of  God,  or  everlasting  happiness  in  his 
thought.  How  is  this  to  be  understood  ]  In  the 
same  manner  as  that  a  man  may  be  a  very  good 
servant,  without  being  conscious,  at  every  turn,  of 
a  particular  regard  to  his  master's  vnll,  or  of  an 
express  attention  to  his  master's  interest :  indeed, 
your  best  old  servants  are  of  this  sort :  but  then 
he  nmst  have  served  for  a  length  of  time  under 
the  actual  direction  of  these  motives,  to  bring  it 
to  this:  in  which  service,  his  merit  and  virtue 
consist. 

There  are  habits,  not  only  of  drinking,  swear- 
ing, and  lying,  and  of  some  other  tilings,  which 
are  commonly  acknowledged  to  be  habits,  and 
called  so :  but  of  every  modification  of  action, 
speech,  and  thought.     Man  is  a  bundle  of  habits. 

There  are  habits  of  industry,  attention,  vigilance, 


advertency;  of  a  prompt  obedience  to  the  judg 
ment  occurring,  or  of  yielding  to  the  first  impulse 
of  passion ;  of  extending  our  views  to  the  future, 
or  of  resting  upon  the  present ;  of  apprehending, 
methodising,  reasoning ;  of  indolence  and  dilatori- 
ness ;  of vanit}',  self-conceit,  melancholy,  partialitv; 
of  fretfulness,  suspicion,  captiousness  ;  censorious- 
ness ;  of  pride,  amlntion,  covetousness ;  of  over- 
reaching, intriguing,  j)rojc>cting ;  in  a  word,  there 
is  not  a  quality  or  function,  either  of  body  or  mind, 
which  does  not  teel  the  influence  of  this  great  law 
of  animated  nature. 

II.  The  Christian  religion  hath  not  ascertained 
the  precise  quantity  of  virtue  necessary  to  salva- 
tion. 

This  has  been  made  an  objection  to  Christianity; 
but  without  reason.  For  as  all  revelation,  how- 
ever imparted  originally,  must  be  transmitted  by 
the  orilinary  vehicle  of  language,  it  behoves  those 
who  make  the  objection,  to  show  that  any  form  of 
words  could  be  devised,  that  might  express  this 
quantity;  or  that  it  is  possible  to  constitute  a 
standard  of  moral  attainments,  accommodated  to 
the  almost  infinite  di\'ersity  which  subsists  in  the 
capacities  and  opportunities  of  different  men. 

It  seems  most  agreeable  to  our  conceptions  of 
justice,  and  is  consonant  enough  to  the  language 
of  scripture,*  to  suppose,  that  there  are  prepared 
for  us  rewards  and  punishments,  of  all  possible 
degrees,  from  the  most  exalted  happiness  down  to 
extreme  misery;  so  that  "our  labour  is  never  in 
vain ;"  whatever  advancement  we  make  in  virtue, 
we  procure  a  proportionable  accession  of  future 
happiness ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  every  acciunu- 
lation  of  vice  is  the  "  treasuring  up  so  much  wTath 
against  the  day  of  wrath."  It  has  been  said,  that 
it  can  never  be  a  just  economy  of  Providence,  to 
admit  one  part  of  mankind  into  heaven,  and  con- 
demn the  other  to  hell;  since  there  must  be  very 
little  to  choose,  between  the  worst  man  who  is 
received  into  heaven,  and  the  best  who  is  excluded. 
And  how  know  we,  it  might  be  answered,  but  that 
there  may  be  as  little  to  choose  in  the  conditions  ] 

Without  entering  into  a  detail  of  Scripture 
morality,  which  would  anticipate  our  subject,  the 
following  general  positions  may  be  advanced,  I 
think,  with  safety. 

1.  That  a  state  of  happiness  is  not  to  be  expect- 
ed by  those  who  are  conscious  of  no  moral  or 
religious  rule :  I  mean  those  who  cannot  with 
truth  say,  that  they  have  been  prom.pted  to  one 
action,  or  withholden  from  one  gratification,  bv 
any  regard  to  virtue  or  religion,  either  immediate 
or  habitual. 

There  needs  no  other  proof  of  this,  than  the 
consideration,  that  a  brute  would  be  as  proper  an 
object  of  reward  as  such  a  man,  and  that,  if  the 
case  were  so,  the  penal  sanctions  of  rehgion  could 


*"  He  which  soweth  sparingly,  shall  reap  also  spar 
injly ;  and  he  which  soweth  bountifully,  shall  reap  also 
bountifully;"  2  Cor.  ix.  6. — "Anil  that  servant  which 
knew  his  Lord's  will,  and  prepared  not  himself,  neither 
did  according  to  his  will,  shall  be  beaten  with  many 
stripes  ;  hut  he  that  knew  not.  shall  bf  beaten  with  few 
stripes.'  Luke  xii.  47,  48. — "  Whosoever  shall  give  you 
a  cup  of  water  to  drink  in  my  name,  because  ye  belong 
to  Christ;  verily  I  say  unto  you,  he  shall  not  lose  his 
reward;"  to  wit,  intimating  that  there  is  in  reserve  a 
proportionable  reward  for  even  the  smallest  act  of 
virtue.  Markix.  41. — See  also  the  parable  of  the  pounds, 
Lu.ke  .\i.x.  16,  fee;  where  he  whose  pound  had  gained 
ten  pounds,  was  placed  over  ten  cities;  and  he  whose 
pound  had  gained  five  pounds,  was  placed  over  nve 
cities. 


36 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


have  no  place.  For,  whom  would  you  punish,  if 
you  make  such  a  one  as  this  happy  1 — or  rather 
indeed,  religion  itself,  both  natural  and  revealed, 
would  cease  to  have  either  use  or  authority. 

2.  That  a  state  of  happiness  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected by  those,  who  reserve  to  themselves  the 
habitual  practice  of  any  one  sin,  or  neglect  of  one 
known  duty. 

Because,  no  obedience  can  proceed  upon  proper 
motives,  which  is  not  universal,  that  is,  which  is 
not  directed  to  every  command  of  God  alike,  as 
they  all  stand  upon  the  same  authority. 

Because  such  an  allowance  would,  in  effect, 
amount  to  a  toleration  of  every  vice  in  the  world. 

And  because  the  strain  of  Scripture  language 
excludes  any  such  hope.  When  our  duties  are 
recited,  they  are  put  collectively,  that  is,  as  all  and 
every  one  of  them  required  in  the  Christian  cha- 
racter. ^'-  Add  to  your  faith  virtue,  and  to  virtue 
knowledge,  and  to  knowledge  temperance,  and  to 
temperance  patience,  and  to  patience  godhness, 
and  to  godliness  brotherly  kindness,  and  to 
brotherly  kindness  charity."*  On  the  other  hand, 
when  vices  are  enumerated,  they  are  put  disjunc- 
tively, that  is,  as  separately  and  severally  exclud- 
ing the  sinner  from  heaven.  "  Neither  fornicators, 
nor  idolaters,  nor  adulterers,  nor  efieminate,  nor 
abusers  of  themselves  with  mankind,  nor  thieves, 
nor  covetous,  nor  drunkards,  nor  revilers,  nor  ex- 
tortioners, shall  inherit  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 't 

Those  texts  of  Scripture,  which  seem  to  lean 
a  contrary  way,  as  that  "  charity  shall  cover 
ihe  multitude  of  sins;"t  that  "he  which  con- 
verteth  a  sinner  from  the  error  of  his  way, 
«hall  hide  a  multitude  of  sins;"§  cannot,  I 
think,  for  the  reasons  above  mentioned,  be  ex- 
tended to  sins  dehberately,  habitually,  and  ob- 
stinately persisted  in. 

3.  That  a  state  of  mere  unprofitableness  will 
not  go  unpunished. 

This  is  expressly  laid  down  by  Christ,  in  the 
parable  of  the  talents,  which  supersedes  all  further 
reasoning  upon  the  subject.  "  Then  he  which 
had  received  one  talent,  came  and  said.  Lord,  I 
knew  thee  that  thou  art  an  austere  man,  reaping 
where  thou  hast  not  sown,  and  gathering  where 
thou  hast  not  strawed ;  and  I  was  afraid,  and  hid 
thy  talent  in  the  earth ;  lo,  there  thou  hast  that  is 
thine.  His  lord  answered  and  said  unto  him, 
Thou  wicked  and  slothful  servant,  thou  k newest, 
(or,  knewest  thou  1)  that  I  reap  where  I  sowed 
not,  and  gather  where  I  have  not  strawed ;  thou 
oughtest  therefore  to  have  put  my  money  to  the 
exchangers,  and  then  at  my  coming  I  should  have 
received  mine  own  with  usury.  Take  therefore  the 
talent  from  him,  and  give  it  unto  him  which  hath 
ten  talents ;  for  unto  every  one  that  hath  shall  be 
given,  and  he  shall  have  abundance ;  but  from 
him  that  hath  not,  shall  be  taken  away  even  that 
wluch  he  hath :  and  cast  ye  the  unprofitable  ser- 
vant into  outer  darkness,  there  shall  be  weeping 
and.  gnashing  of  tecth.'W 

III.  In  every  question  of  conduct,  where  one 
side  is  doubtful,  and  the  other  safe ;  we  are  bound 
to  take  the  safe  side. 

This  is  best  explained  by  an  instance  ;  and  I 
know  of  none  more  to  our  purpo.se  than  that  of 
suicide.     Suppose,  for  example's  sake,  that  it  ap- 

*  2  Pet.  i .  5, 6,  7.  t  t  Cor.  vi .  9.  10. 

}  1  Pet.  iv.  8.  §  James  v.  20. 

II  Matt.  .1XV.  24,  &r.. 


peared  doubtful  to  a  reasoner  upon  the  subject, 
whether  he  may  lawfully  destroy  himself  He 
can  have  no  doubt,  that  it  is  lawful  for  him  to  let 
it  alone.  Here  therefore  is  a  case,  in  which  one 
side  is  doubtful,  and  the  other  side  safe.  By 
virtue  therefore  of  our  rule,  he  is  bound  to  pursue 
the  safe  side,  that  is,  to  forbear  from  olibring 
violence  to  himself,  wliilst  a  doubt  remains  upon 
his  mind  concerning  the  lawfulness  of  suicide. 

It  is  prudent,  you  allow,  to  take  the  safe  side. 
But  our  observation  means  something  more.  We 
assert  that  the  action  concerning  which  we  doubt, 
whatever  it  may  be  in  itself,  or  to  another,  would, 
in  MS,  whilst  this  doubt  remains  upon  our  minds, 
be  certainly  sinful.  The  case  is  expressly  so 
adjudged  by  St.  Paul,  with  whose  authority  we 
wiU  for  the  present  rest  contented.  "  1  know  and 
am  persuaded  by  the  Lord  Jesus,  that  there  is 
nothing  unclean  of  itself;  but  to  him,  that  esteemeth 
any  thing  to  be  unclean,  to  him  it  is  unclehn. — 
Happy  is  he  that  condemneth  not  himself  in  that 
thing  which  he  alloweth;  and  he  that  doubteth, 
is  damned  (condemned)  if  he  eat;  for  whatsoever 
is  not  of  faith  (t.  e.  not  done  with  a  full  persuasion 
of  the  lawfulness  of  it)  is  sin."* 


BOOK  II. 

MORAL  OBLIGATIONS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TTie  question  '  Why  am  I  obliged  to  keep  my 
word  ?'  considered. 

Why  am  I  obliged  to  keep  my  word  1 

Because  it  is  right,  says  one. — Because  it  is 
agreeable  to  the  fitness  of  things,  says  another. — 
Because  it  is  conformable  to  reason  and  nature, 
says  a  third. — Because  it  is  conformable  to  truth, 
says  a  fourth. — Because  it  promotes  the  public 
good,  says  a  fifth. — Because  it  is  required  by  the 
will  of  God,  concludes  a  sixth. 

Upon  which  ditierent  accounts,  two  things  are 
observable ; — 

First,  that  they  all  ultimately  coincide. 

The  fitness  of  things,  means  their  fitness  to 
produce  happiness :  the  nature  of  things,  means 
that  actual  constitution  of  the  world,  by  which 
some  things,  as  such  and  such  actioLs,  for  ex- 
ample, produce  happiness,  and  others  misery ; 
reason  is  the  principle  by  which  we  discover  or 
judge  of  this  constitution:  truth  is  this  judgment, 
expressed  or  drawn  out  into  propositions.  So 
that  it  necessarily  comes  to  pass,  that  what  pro- 
motes the  pulilic  happiness,  or  happiness  on  the 
whole,  is  agreeable  to  the  fitness  of  things,  to 
nature,  to  reason,  and  to  truth ;  and  such  (as  will 
appear  by  and  bye,)  is  the  Divine  character,  that 
what  promotes  the  general  happiness,  is  required 
by  the  will  of  God ;  and  what  has  all  the  above 
properties,  must  needs  be  right ;  for,  right  means 
no  more  than  confi)rmity  to  the  rule  we  go  by, 
whatever  that  rule  be. 

And  this  is  the  reason  that  moralists,  from 
whatever  ditierent  principles  they  set  out,  com- 


•  Rom.  xiv.  14,  22,  23. 


MORAL  OBLIGATIONS. 


37 


monly  meet  in  their  conclusions ;  that  is,  they 
enjoin  the  same  conduct,  prescribe  the  same  rules 
of  duty,  and,  with  a  few  exceptions,  deliver  upon 
dubious  cases  the  same  determinations. 

Sf.coxdlv,  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  these  an- 
swers all  leave  the  matter  short ;  for  the  inquirer 
may  turn  round  upon  his  teacher  with  a  second 
question,  in  which  he  will  expect  to  be  satisfied, 
namely,  HTiy  am  I  obliged  to  do  what  is  right ; 
to  act  agreeably  to  the  fitness  of  things ;  to  con- 
form to  reason,  nature,  or  truth ;  to  promote  the 
public  good,  or  to  obey  the  will  of  God. 

I'he  proper  method  of  conducting  the  inquiry 
is,  FIRST,  to  examine  what  we  mean,  when  we 
say  a  man  is  obliged  to  do  any  thing ;  and  then 
to  show  why  he  is  obliged  to  do  the  thing  which 
we  have  proposed  as  an  example,  namely,  "  to 
keep  his  word." 


CHAPTER  II. 

What  we  mean  to  sat/  when  a  man  is  obUged  to 
do  a  thing. 

A  MAN  is  said  to  be  obliged,  "when  he  is  ur- 
ged by  a  violent  motixe  resulting  from,  the  com- 
viand  of  another ." 

First,  "  The  motive  must  be  violent."  If  a 
person,  who  has  done  me  so  little  service,  or  has 
a  small  place  in  his  disposal,  ask  me  upon  some 
occasion  for  my  vote,  I  may  possibly  give  it  him, 
from  a  motive  of  gratitude  or  expectation :  but  I 
should  hardly  say  that  I  was  obliged  to  give  it 
him ;  because  the  inducement  does  not  rise  high 
enough.  Whereas,  if  a  father  or  a  master,  an}' 
great  benefactor,  or  one  on  whom  my  fortune  de- 
pends, require  my  vote,  I  give  it  him  of  course : 
and  my  answer  to  all  who  asked  me  why  I  voted 
so  and  so,  is,  that  my  father  or  my  master  obliged 
me ;  that  I  had  received  so  many  favours  from,  or 
had  so  great  a  dependence  upon,  such  a  one,  that 
I  was  obliged  to  vote  as  he  directed  me. 

Skcondly,  "  It  must  result  from  the  command 
of  another."  Ofibr  a  man  a  gratuity  for  doing 
any  thing,  for  seizing,  for  example,  an  offender, 
he  is  not  obliged  by  your  offer  to  do  it ;  nor  would 
he  siy  he  is ;  though  he  may  be  induced,  per- 
suaded, -prevailed  upon,  tempted.  If  a  magistrate 
or  the  man's  immediate  superior  command  it,  he 
considers  himself  as  obliged  to  comply,  though 
possibly  he  would  lose  less  by  a  refusal  in  this 
case,  than  in  the  former. 

I  will  not  undertake  to  say  that  the  words 
obligation  ar.d  obliged  are  used  uniformly  in  this 
sense,  or  always  with  this  distinction :  nor  is  it 
possible  to  tic  down  popular  phrases  to  any  con- 
stant signification:  but  wherever  the  motive  is 
\iolent  enough,  and  coupled  with  the  idea  of  com- 
mand, authority,  law,  or  the  will  of  a  superior, 
there,  I  take  it,  we  always  reckon  ourselves  to  be 
obliged. 

And  from  this  account  of  obligation,  it  follows, 
that  we  can  be  obliged  to  nothing,  but  what  we 
ourselves  are  to  gain  or  lose  something  by ;  for 
nothing  else  can  be  a  "  violent  motive"  to  us. — 
As  wc  should  not  be  obliged  to  obey  the  laws,  or 
the  magistrate,  unless  rewards  or  punishments, 
pleasure,  or  pain,  somehow  or  other,  depended 
upon  our  obedience ;  so  neither  should  we,  without 
the  same  reason,  be  obliged  to  do  what  is  right,  to 
practise  virtue,  or  to  obey  the  commands  of  God. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  question,   '  Why  am  I  obliged  to  keep  my 
word  ?'  resumed. 

Let  it  be  remembered,  that  to  be  obliged,  is  "  to 
be  urged  by  a  violent  motive,  resulting  from  the 
command  of  another." 

And  then  let  it  be  asked,  Why  am  I  obliged  to 
keep  my  word  ?  and  the  answer  will  he.  Because 
I  am  "  urged  to  do  so  by  a  violent  motive"  (name- 
ly, the  expectation  of  being  after  this  life  rewarded, 
if  1  do,  or  punished  for  it,  if  I  do  not,)  "  resuUing 
from  the  command  of  another"  (namely  of  God.) 

Tliis  solution  goes  to  the  bottom  of  the  subject, 
as  no  further  question  can  reasonably  be  asked. 

Therefore,  private  happiness  is  our  motive,  and 
the  will  of  God  our  rule. 

When  I  first  turned  my  thoughts  to  moral  spe- 
culations, an  air  of  mystery  seemed  to  hang  ovcrthe 
whole  subject ;  which  arose,  I  believe,  from  hence, 
— that  I  supposed,  with  many  authors  whom  I 
had  read,  that  to  he  obliged  to  do  a  thing,  was 
very  different  from  being  induced  only  to  do  it; 
and  that  the  obligation  to  practise  virtue,  to  do 
what  is  right,  just,  &c.  was  quite  another  thing, 
and  of  another  kind,  than  the  obligation  which  a 
soldier  is  under  to  obey  his  officer,  a  servant  his 
master ;  or  any  of  the  civil  and  ordinary  obliga- 
tions of  human  life.  Whereas,  from  what  has 
been  said,  it  appears  that  moral  o-  ligation  is  like 
all  other  obligations ;  and  that  obligation  is  nothing 
more  than  an  inducement  of  sufficient  strength, 
and  resulting,  in  some  way.  from  the  command  of 
another. 

There  is  always  understood  to  be  a  difference 
between  an  act  of  prudence  and  an  act  of  duty. 
Thus,  if  I  distrust  a  man  who  owed  me  a  sum  of 
money,  I  should  reckon  it  an  act  of  prudence  to 
get  another  person  liound  with  him ;  but  I  should 
hardly  call  it  an  act  of  duty.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  would  be  thought  a  very  unusual  and  loose  kind 
of  language,  to  say,  that  as  I  had  made  such  a 
promise,  it  was  prudent  to  perfonn  it ;  or  that,  as 
my  friend,  when  he  went  abroad,  placed  a  box  of 
jewels  in  my  hands,  it  would  be  prudent  in  me  to 
preserve  it  for  him  till  he  returned. 

Now.  in  what,  you  will  ask,  does  the  difference 
consist?  inasmuch,  as,  according  to  our  account 
of  the  matter,  both  in  the  one  case  and  the  other, 
in  acts  of  duty  as  well  as  acts  of  prudence,  we 
consider  solely  what  we  ourselves  shall  gain  or  lose 
by  the  act. 

The  difference,  and  the  only  difference,  is  this  ; 
that  in  the  one  case,  we  consider  what  we  shall 
gain  or  lose  in  the  present  world;  in  the  other 
case,  we  consider  also  what  we  shall  gain  or  lose 
in  the  world  to  come. 

They  who  would  establish  a  system  of  morality, 
independent  of  a  future  state,  must  look  out  for 
some  different  idea  of  moral  oliligation ;  unless 
they  can  show  that  ^^^tue  conducts  the  possessor 
to  certain  happiness  in  this  life,  or  to  a  much 
greater  share  of  it  than  he  could  attain  by  a  dif- 
ferent beha^iour. 

To  us  there  are  two  great  questions : 

I.  Will  there  be  after  this  life  any  distribution 
of  rewards  and  punishments  at  all  % 

II.  If  there  be,  what  actions  will  be  rewarded, 
and  what  will  be  punished  1 

The  first  question  comprises  the  credibility  of 
the  Christian  Religion,  together  with  the  presump- 
tive proofs  of  a  future  retribution  from  the  light  of 
4 


38 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


nature.  The  second  question  comprises  the  pro- 
vince of  morahtv.  Both  questions  are  too  much 
for  one  work.  The  affirmative  therefore  of  the 
(irst,  although  we  confess  that  it  is  the  foundation 
upon  which'  tlie  whole  tlibric  rests,  must  in  this 
treatise  be  taken  for  granted. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  will  of  God. 

As  the  will  of  God  is  our  rule ;  to  inquire  what 
is  our  duty,  or  what  we  are  obliged  to  do,  in  any 
instance,  is,  in  eliect,  to  inquire  what  is  the  will 
oi  God  in  that  instance  1  wliich  consequently  be- 
comes the  whole  business  of  morality. 

Now  there  are  two  methods  of  coming  at  the 
will  of  God  on  any  point : 

I.  By  his  express  declarations,  when  they  are 
to  be  "had,  and  which  must  be  sought  for  in 
Scripture. 

II.  By  what  we  can  discover  of  his  designs  and 
disposition  from  his  works ;  or,  as  we  usually  call 
it,  the  light  of  nature. 


And  here  we  may  observe  tlie  absurdity  of 
separating  natural  and  revealed  religion  from  each 
other.  The  object'  of  both  is  the  same, — to  dis- 
cover the  will  of  God, — and,  provided  we  do  but 
discover  it,  it  matters  nothing  by  what  means. 

An  ambassador,  judging  by  what  he  knows  of 
his  sovereign's  disposition,  and  arguing  from  what 
h-3  has  observed  of  his  conduct,  or  is  acquainted 
with  of  his  designs,  may  take  his  measures  in 
many  cases  with  safety,  and  presume  with  great 
probability  how  his  master  would  have  hiin  act  on 
most  occasions  that  arise :  but  if  he  have  his  com- 
mission and  instructions  in  his  pocl^et,  it  would 
be  strange  not  to  look  into  them.  He  will  be 
directed  by  both  rules :  when  his  instructions  are 
clear  and  positive,  there  is  an  end  to  all  further 
dehberation  (unless  indeed  he  suspect  their  authen- 
ticity:) where  his  instructions  are  silent  or  du- 
bious, he  will  endeavour  to  supply  or  explain  them 
by  what  he  has  been  able  to  collect  from  other 
quarters  of  liis  master's  general  inclination  or 
intentions. 

Mr.  Hume,  in  his  fourth  Appendix  to  his 
Principles  of  Morals,  has  been  pleased  to  complain 
of  the  modern  scheme  of  uniting  Ethics  with  the 
Christian  Theology.  They  who  find  themselves 
disposed  to  join  in  this  complaint,  will  do  well  to 
observe  what  Mr.  Hume  himself  has  been  able  to 
make  of  morality  without  this  union.  And  for 
that  pvn-pose,  let  them  read  the  second  part  of  the 
ninth  section  of  the  above  Essay;  which  part 
contains  the  prartiral  application  of  the  whole 
treatise, — a  treatise  which  Mr.  Hume  declares  to 
be  "  incomparably  the  best  he  ever  wrote."  When 
they  have  read  it  over,  let  them  consider,  whether 
any  motives  there  proposed  are  likely  to  he  found 
sufficient  to  withhold  men  from  the  gratification 
of  lust,  revenge,  envy,  ambition,  avarice ;  or  to  pre- 
vent the  existence  of  these  passions.  Unless  they 
rise  up  from  this  celebrated  essay  with  stronger 
impressions  upon  their  minds  than  it  ever  left 
upon  mine,  they  will  acknowledge  the  necessity 
of  additional  sanctions.  But  the  necessity  of  these 
sanctions  is  not  now  the  question.  If  they  be  in 
fact  eslablished,  if  the  rewards  and  punishments 


held  forth  in  the  Gospel  will  actually  come  to  past 
they  jnust  be  considered.  Sucli  as  reject  the 
Christian  Religion,  are  to  make  the  best  shiil 
they  can  to  build  up  a  system,  and  lay  the  foun- 
dation of  morality  mthout  it.  But  it  appears  to 
me  a  great  inconsistency  in  those  who  receive 
Christianity,  and  expect  something  to  come  of  it, 
to  endeavour  to  keep  all  such  expectations  out  of 
sight  in  their  reasonings  concerning  human  duty. 

The  method  of  coming  at  the  will  of  God,  con- 
cerning any  action,  by  the  light  of  nature,  is  to 
inquire  into  "the  tendency  of  the  action  to  pro- 
mote or  diminish  the  general  happiness."  I'his 
rule  proceeds  upon  the  presumption,  that  God 
Almighty  wills  and  wishes  the  happiness  of  liis 
creatures;  and,  conseqviently,  that  those  actions, 
which  promote  that  will  and  wish,  must  be  agree- 
able to  him ;  and  the  contrary. 

As  this  presumption  is  tlie  foundation  of  our 
whole  system,  it  becomes  necessary  to  explam  the 
reasons  upon  which  it  rests. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Divine  Benevolence. 

When  God  created  the  human  species,  either 
he  wished  their  happiness,  or  he  wished  their 
misery,  or  he  was  indifierent  and  unconcerned 
about  both. 

If  he  had  wished  our  misery,  he  might  have 
made  sure  of  his  purpose,  by  forming  our  senses 
to  be  so  many  sores  and  pains  to  us,  as  they  are 
now  instruments  of  gratification  and  enjoyment : 
or  by  placing  us  amidst  objects  so  ill-suited  to  our 
perceptions,  as  to  have  continually  oirendcd  us, 
instead  of  ministering  to  our  refreshment  and 
delight.  He  might  have  made,  for  example,  every 
thing  we  tasted,  bitter  ;  every  thing  we  saw,  loath- 
some; every  thing  we  touched,  a  sting;  every 
smell  a  stench ;  and  every  sound  a  discord. 

If  he  had  been  indifierent  about  our  liappiness 
or  misery,  we  must  impute  to  our  good  fortune 
(as  all  design  by  this  supposition  is  excluded)  both 
the  capacity  of  our  senses  to  receive  pleasure,  and 
the  su))ply  of  external  objects  fitted  to  produce  it. 
But  either  of  these  (and  still  more  both  of  them) 
being  too  much  to  be  attributed  to  accident,  no- 
thing remains  but  the  first  supposition,  that  C4od, 
when  he  created  the  human  species,  wished  their 
happiness;  and  made  for  them  the  provision 
which  he  has  made,  with  that  view,  and  for  that 
purpose. 

The  same  argument  may  be  proposed  in  dif- 
ferent terms,  thus:  Contrivance  proves  design: 
and  the  predominant  tendency  of  the  contrivance 
indicates  the  disposition  of  the  designer.  The 
world  abounds  with  contrivances;  and  all  the 
contrivances  which  we  are  acquainted  with, 
are  directed  to  beneficial  purposes.  Evil,  no 
doubt,  exists  ;  but  is  never,  that  we  can  perceive, 
the  object  of  contrivance.  Teeth  are  contrived  to 
eat,  not  to  ache ;  their  aching  now  and  then,  is 
incidental  to  the  contrivance,  perhaps  inscjjaralile 
from  it ;  or  even,  if  you  will,  let  it  be  called  a 
defect  in  the  contrivance ;  but  it  is  not  the  object 
of  it.  This  is  a  distinction  which  well  deserves 
to  be  attended  to.  In  describing  implements  of 
husbandry,  you  would  hardly  say  of  the  sickle, 
that  it  is  inade  to  cut  the  reaper's  fingers,  though, 
from  the  construction  of  the  instruuicnt,  and  the 


NECESSITY  OF  GENERAL  RULES. 


39 


manner  of  using  it,  this  miscliief  often  happens. 
But  if  you  had  occasion  to  describe  mstrunients  of 
torture  or  execution,  Tliis  engine,  you  would  say, 
is  to  extend  the  sinews ;  this  to  dislocate  the  joints; 
this  to  break  the  bones ;  this  to  scorch  the  soles  of 
the  feet.  Here,  pain  and  misery  are  the  very 
objects  of  the  contrivance.  Now,  nothing  of  this 
sort  L?  to  be  found  in  the  works  of  nature.  We 
never  discover  a  train  of  contrivance  to  bring  about 
an  e%il  purpose.  No  anatomist  ever  discovered  a 
system  of  organization  calculated  to  produce  pain 
and  disease ;  or,  in  explaining  the  parts  of  the 
human  body,  ever  said ;  This  is  to  irritate,  this  to 
intlauie;  this  duct  is  to  convey  the  gravel  to  the 
kidneys ;  this  gland  to  secrete  the  humour  which 
forms  the  gout :  if  by  chance  he  come  at  a  jjart 
of  which  he  knows  not  the  use,  the  most  that  he 
can  say  is,  that  it  is  useless :  no  one  ever  suspects 
that  it  is  put  there  to  incommode,  to  annoy,  or  to 
torment.  Since  then  God  hath  called  forth  his 
consummate  wisdom  to  contrive  and  provide  for 
our  happiness,  and  the  world  appears  to  have  been 
constituted  with  this  design  at  first;  so  long  as 
this  constitution  is  upholden  by  him,  we  must  in 
reason  suppose  the  same  design  to  continue. 

The  contemplation  of  universal  nature  rather 
bewilders  the  mind  than  afiects  it.  There  is 
always  a  bright  spot  in  the  prospect,  upon  which 
the  eye  rests ;  a  single  example,  perhaps,  by  which 
each  man  linds  himself  more  convinced  than  by 
all  others  put  together.  I  seem,  for  my  own  part, 
to  sec  the  benevolence  of  the  Deity  more  clearly 
in  the  pleasures  of  very  young  children,  than  in 
any  thing  in  the  world.  The  pleasures  of  grown 
persons  jnay  be  reckoned  partly  of  their  own  pro- 
curing; especially  if  there  has  been  any  industry, 
or  contrivance,  or  pursuit,  to  come  at  them ;  or  if 
they  are  founded,  hke  music,  painting,  &c.  upon 
any  qualification  of  their  own  acquiring.  But 
the  pleasures  of  a  healthy  infant  are  so  manifestly 
provided  for  it  by  another,  and  the  benevolence  of 
the  provision  is  so  unquestionable,  that  every  child 
I  see  at  its  sport,  alJbrds  to  my  mind  a  kind  of 
sensible  evidence  of  the  finger  of  God,  and  of  the 
disposition  which  directs  it. 

But  the  example,  which  strikes  each  man  most 
stronglv,  is  the  true  example  for  him :  and  hardly 
two  nunds  hit  upon  the  same  ;  which  shows  the 
abundance  of  such  examples  about  us. 

We  conclude,  therefore,  that  God  wills  and 
vd.-ihes  the  happiness  of  his  creatures.  And  this 
conciusion  being  once  established,  we  are  at  liberty 
to  go  on  with  the  rule  built  upon  it,  namely, 
"that  the  method  of  coming  at  the  will  of  God, 
concerning  any  action,  by  the  light  of  nature,  is 
to  inquire  into  the  tendency  of  that  action  to  pro- 
mote or  diminish  the  general  happiness." 


CHAPTER  VL 

Ltility. 

So  then  actions  are  to  be  estimated  by  their 
tendency*.     Whatever  is  expedient,  is  right.     It 


*  Actions  in  the  abstract  are  right  or  wrong,  accord- 
ins  to  their  tettdency  ;  the  agent  is  virtuous  or  vicious, 
according  to  his  design.  Thus,  if  the  question  be,  Whe- 
ther relieving  conunon  beggars  be  right  or  wrong  ?  we 
inquire  into  the  tendency  of  such  a  conduct  to  the'public 
advaiitage  or  inconvenience.  If  the  question  be,  Whe- 
ther a  man  remarkable  for  this  sort  of  bounty  is  to  be 


is  the  utility  of  any  moral  rule  alone,  which  con- 
stitutes the  obligation  of  it. 

But  to  all  this  there  seems  a  plain  objection, 
viz.  that  many  actions  are  useful,  wliich  no  man 
in  his  senses  will  allow  to  be  right.  There  are 
occasions,  in  which  the  hand  of  tlie  assassin  would 
be  very  useful.  The  present  possessor  of  some 
great  estate  employs  his  influence  and  fortune,  to 
annoy,  corrupt,  or  oppress,  all  about  him.  His 
estate  would  devolve,  by  his  death,  to  a  successor 
of  an  opposite  character.  It  is  useful,  therefore, 
to  despatch  such  a  on<?  as  soon  as  possible  out  of  the 
way ;  as  the  neighbourhood  will  exchange  thereby 
a  pernicious  tyrant  for  a  wise  and  generous  bene- 
fiictor.  It  might  be  useful  to  rob  a  miser,  and 
give  the  money  to  the  poor;  as  the  money,  no 
doubt,  would  produce  more  happiness,  by  being 
laid  out  in  food  and  clotliing  for  half  a  dozen  dis- 
tressed families,  than  by  continuing  locked  up  in 
a  miser's  chest.  It  may  be  useful  to  get  possession 
of  a  place,  a  piece  of  preferment,  or  of  a  seat  in 
parliament,  by  bribery  or  false  swearing :  as  by 
means  of  them  we  may  serve  the  public  more 
effectually  than  in  our  private  station.  What 
then  shall  we  say  1  Must  we  admit  these  actions 
to  be  right,  which  would  be  to  justify  assassination, 
plunder,  and  perjury ;  or  must  we  give  up  our 
principle,  that  the  criterion  of  right  is  utility. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  do  either. 

The  true  answer  is  this;  that  these  actions, 
after  all,  are  not  useful,  and  for  that  reason,  and 
that  alone,  are  not  right. 

To  see  this  point  perfectly,  it  must  be  observed, 
that  the  bad  consequences  of  actions,  are  twofold, 
partindar  and  general. 

The  particular  bad  consequence  of  an  action,  is 
the  mischief  which  that  single  action  directly^  and 
immediately  occasions. 

The  general  bad  consequence  is,  the  violation 
of  some  necessary  or  useful  general  rule. 

Thus,  the  particular  bad  consequences  of  the 
assassination  above  described,  is  the  fright  and 
pain  which  the  deceased  underwent ;  the  loss  he 
suffered  of  life,  which  is  as  valuable  to  a  bad  man, 
as  to  a  good  one,  or  more  so;  the  prejudice  and 
affliction,  of  which  his  death  was  the  occasion  to 
his  family,  friends,  and  dependants. 

The  general  bad  consequence  is  the  violation 
of  this  necessary  general  rule,  that  no  man  be  put 
to  death  for  his  crunes  but  by  public  authorit}'. 

Although,  therefore,  such  an  action  have  no 
particular  bad  consequences,  or  greater  particular 
good  consequences,  yet  it  is  not  useful,  by  reason 
of  the  general  consequence,  which  is  of  more  im- 
portance, and  which  is  evU.  And  the  same  of  the 
other  two  instances,  and  of  a  million  more  which 
might  be  mentioned. 

But  as  this  solution  supposes,  that  the  moral 
government  of  the  world  nujst  proceed  by  general 
rules,  it  remains  that  we  show  the  necessity  of  this. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  necessity  of  general  rules. 

You  cannot  permit  one  action  and  forbid  another, 
without  showing  a  difference  between  them. — 
Consequently,  the  same  sort  of  actions  m.ust  be 


esteemed  virtuous  for  that  reason  ?  we  inquire  into  his 
design,  whether  his  liberality  sprang  from  charity  or 
from  ostentation  ?  It  is  evident  that  our  concern  'S 
with  actions  in  the  abstract. 


40 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


gpnerally  permitted  or  generally  forljidden. — 
Where,  therefore,  the  general  permission  of  them 
would  be  pernicious,  it  becomes  necessary  to  lay 
down  and  support  the  rule  wliich  generally  forbids 
them. 

Thus  to  return  once  more  to  the  case  of  the 
assassin.  The  assassin  knocked  the  rich  villain 
on  the  head,  because  he  thought  him  better  out  of 
the  way  than  in  it.  If  you  allow  this  excuse  in 
tlie  present  instance,  you  must  allow  it  to  all  who 
act  in  the  same  manner,  and  from  the  said  motive ; 
that  is,  you  must  allow  every  man  to  kill  any  one 
he  meets,  whom  he  thinks  noxious  or  useless; 
which,  in  the  event,  would  be  to  commit  every 
man's  life  and  safety  to  the  spleen,  fury,  and 
fanaticism,  of  his  neighbour ; — a  disposition  of 
affiiirs  which  would  soon  fill  the  world  with  misery 
and  confusion ;  and  ere  long  put  an  end  to  human 
society,  if  not  to  the  human  species. 

The  necessity  of  general  rules  in  human  govern- 
ment is  apparent ;  l)ut  whether  the  same  necessity 
subsists  in  the  Divine  economy,  in  that  distribu- 
tion of  rewards  and  punishments  to  which  a 
moralist  looks  forward,  may  be  doubted. 

I  answer,  that  general  rules  are  necessary 
to  every  mora!  government :  and  by  moral  govern- 
ment I  mean  any  dispensation,  whose  object  is  to 
influence  the  conduct  of  reasonable  creatures. 

For  if,  of  two  actions  perfectly  similar,  one  be 
punished,  and  the  other  be  rewarded  or  forgiven, 
which  is  the  consequence  of  rejecting  general  1 
rules,  the  subjects  of  sucli  a  dispensation  would 
no  longer  know,  either  what  to  expect  or  how  to 
act.  Rewards  and  punishments  would  cease  to 
be  such, — would  become  accidents.  Like  the 
stroke  of  a  thunderbolt,  or  the  discovery  of  a  mine, 
like  a  blank  or  a  benefit-ticket  in  a  lottery,  they 
would  occasion  pain  or  pleasure  when  they  hap- 
pened; but,  following  in  no  known  order,  frona 
any  particular  course  of  action,  they  could  have 
no  previous  influence  or  effect  upon  the  conduct. 

An  attention  to  general  rules,  therefore,  is  in- 
cluded in  the  very  idea  of  reward  and  punishment. 
Consequently,  whatever  reason  there  is  to  expect 
future  reward  and  punishment  at  the  hand  of 
God,  there  is  the  same  reason  to  believe,  that  he 
will  proceed  in  the  distribution  of  it  by  general 
rules. 


Before  we  prosecute  the  consideration  of  general 
consequences  any  further,  it  may  be  proper  to  an- 
ticipate a  reflection,  wliich  will  be  apt  enough  to 
suggest  itself,  in  the  progress  of  our  argument. 

As  the  general  consequence  of  an  action,  upon 
which  so  much  of  the  guilt  of  a  bad  action  de- 
pends, consists  in  the  example ;  it  should  seem, 
that  if  the  action  be  done  with  perfect  secrecy,  so 
as  to  furnish  no  bad  example,  that  part  of  the 
guilt  drops  off.  In  the  case  of  suicide,  for  instance. 
If  a  man  cun  so  manage  matters,  as  to  take  away 
[lis  own  lil'e,  without  being  known  or  suspected 
to  have  done  so,  he  is  not  chargeable  with  any 
mischief  from  the  example ;  nor  does  his  punish- 
ment seem  necessary,  in  order  to  save  the  au- 
thority of  any  general  rule. 

In  the  first  place,  those  v/ho  reason  in  this 
manner  do  not  observe,  that  they  are  setting  up  a 
g(?neral  rule,  of  all  others  the  least  to  be  endured ; 
namely,  that  secrecy,  whenever  secrecy  is  prac- 
ticable, will  justify  any  action. 


Were  such  a  rule  admitted,  for  instance,  in 
the  case  above  produced ;  is  there  not  reason 
to  fear  that  people  would  be  disappearing  per- 
petually ? 

In  the  next  place,  I  would  wish  them  to  be  well 
satisfied  about  the  points  proposed  in  the  following 
queries ; — 

1.  Whether  the  Scriptures  do  not  teach  us 
to  expect  that,  at  the  general  judgment  of  tlie 
world,  the  most  secret  actions  will  be  brought  to 
light  ]* 

2.  For  what  purpose  can  this  be,  but  to 
make  them  the  objects  of  reward  and  punish- 
ment. 

3.  Whether,  being  so  brought  to  light,  they 
will  not  fall  under  the  operation  of  those  equal 
and  impartial  rules,  by  which  God  will  deal  with 
his  creatures  1 

They  will  then  become  examples,  whatever 
they  be  now ;  and  require  the  same  treatment 
from  the  judge  and  governor  of  the  moral  world, 
as  if  they  had  been  detected  from  the  first. 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

Tlie   Consideration  of  General  Consequences 
pursued. 

The  general  consequence  of  any  action  maybe 
estimated,  by  asking  what  would  be  the  conse- 
quence, if  the  same  sort  of  actions  were  generally 
permitted. — But  suppose  they  were,  and  a  thou- 
sand such  actions  perpetrated  under  this  permis- 
sion; is  it  just  to  charge  a  single  action  with  the 
collected  guilt  and  mischief  of  the  whole  thousand  1 
I  answer,  that  the  reason  for  prohibiting  and 
punishing  an  action  (and  this  reason  may  be 
called  the  guilt  of  the  action,  if  you  please)  will 
always  be  in  proportion  to  the  whole  mischief 
that  would  arise  from  the  general  impunity  and 
toleration  of  actions  of  the  same  sort. 

"  Whatever  is  expedient  is  right."  But  then 
it  must  be  expedient  on  the  whole,  at  the  long 
run,  in  all  its  effects  collateral  and  remote,  as  well 
as  in  those  which  are  immediate  and  direct ;  as  it 
is  obvious,  that,  in  computing  consequences,  it 
makes  no  difference  in  what  way  or  at  what  dis- 
tance they  ensue. 

To  impress  this  doctrine  on  the  minds  of  3roung 
readers,  and  to  teach  them  to  extend  their  views 
beyond  the  immediate  mischief  of  a  crime,  I  shall 
here  subjoin  a  string  of  instances,  in  which  the 
particular  consequence  is  comparatively  insigni- 
ficant ;  and  where  the  malignity  of  the  crime, 
and  the  severity  with  which  human  laws  pursue 
it,  is  almost  entirely  founded  upon  the  general 
consequence. 

The  particular  consequence  of  coining  is,  the 
loss  of  a  guinea,  or  of  half  a  guinea,  to  the  person 
who  receives  the  counterfeit  money :  the  general 
consequence  (by  which  I  mean  the  consequence 
that  would  ensue,  if  the  same  practice  were  gene- 
rally permitted)  is  to  abolish  the  use  of  money. 

The  particular  consequence  of  forgery  is,  a 
damage  of  twenty  or  thirty  pounds  to  the  man 


*  "  Tn  the  day  when  God  shall  judge  the  secrets  of  men 
by  Jesus  Christ."  Rom.  xi.  ]6. — "  Judce  nothing  before 
the  time,  until  the  I.,ord  come,  who  will  bring  to  liiht 
the  hidden  things  of  darkness,  and  will  make  manifesi 
the  counsels  of  the  heart."    1  Cor.  iv.  5. 


OP  RIGHT. 


41 


who  accepts  the  forged  hill:  the  general  conse- 
quence is.  the  stoppage  of  paper-currency. 

The  particular  consequence  of  sheep-stealing, 
or  horse-steahng,  is  a  loss  to  the  owner,  to  the 
iniount  of  the  value  of  the  sheep  or  horse  stolen : 
the  general  consequence  is,  that  the  land  could 
not  he  occupied,  nor  the  market  supplied,  with 
this  kind  of  stock. 

The  particular  consequence  of  breaking  into  a 
house  empty  of  inhabitants,  is,  the  loss  of  a  pair 
of  silver  candlesticks,  or  a  few  spoons :  the  gene- 
ral con.sequence  is,  that  nobody  could  leave  the 
house  empty. 

The  particular  consequence  of  smuggling  may 
be  a  deduction  from  the  national  fund  too  minute 
for  computation :  the  general  consequence  is,  the 
destruction  of  one  entire  branch  of  public  revenue ; 
a  proportionable  increase  of  the  burthen  upon 
other  branches ;  and  the  ruin  of  all  fair  and  open 
trade  in  the  article  smuggled. 

The  particular  consequence  of  an  officer's 
breaking  his  parole  is,  the  loss  of  a  prisoner,  who 
was  possibly  not  worth  keeping :  the  general  con- 
sequence is,  that  this  mitigation  of  captivity  would 
be  refused  to  all  others. 

And  what  proves  incontestably  the  superior 
importance  of  general  consequence  is,  that  crimes 
are  the  same,  and  treated  in  the  same  manner, 
though  the  particular  consequence  be  very  ditier- 
cnt.  The  crime  and  fate  of  the  house-breaker  is 
the  same,  whether  his  booty  be  five  pounds  or 
fifty.  And  the  reason  is,  that  the  general  con- 
sequence is  the  same. 

The  want  of  tliis  distinction  between  particular 
and  general  consequences,  or  rather,  the  not  suf- 
ficiently attending  to  the  latter,  is  the  cause  of  that 
perplexity  which  we  meet  with  in  ancient  mo- 
ralists. On  the  one  hand,  they  were  sensible  of 
the  absurdity  of  pronouncing  actions  good  or  evil, 
without  regard  to  the  good  or  evil  they  produced. 
On  the  other  hand,  they  were  startled  at  the  con- 
clusions to  which  a  steady  adherence  to  conse- 
quences seemed  sometimes  to  conduct  them.  To 
relieve  this  difficulty,  they  contrived  the  to  rrfi^ov 
or  the  honestum,  b)'  which  tcrjiis  they  meant  to 
constitute  a  measure  of  right,  distinct  from  utility. 
Whilst  the  utile  served  them,  that  is,  whilst  it 
corresponded  with  their  habitual  notions  of  the 
rectitude  of  actions,  they  went  by  it.  When  they 
fell  in  with  such  cases  as  those  mentioned  in  the 
sixth  chapter,  they  took  leave  of  their  guide,  and 
resorted  to  the  honestum.  The  only  account  they 
could  give  of  the  matter  was.  that  these  actions 
might  be  useful ;  but,  because  they  were  not  at 
the  same  time  honcsta,  they  were  by  no  means  to 
be  deemed  just  or  right. 

From  the  principles  delivered  in  this  and  the 
two  preceding  chapters,  a  maxim  may  be  explained, 
which  is  in  every  man's  mouth,  and  in  most  men's 
without  meaning,  viz.  "  not  to  do  evil,  that  good 
may  come :"  that  is,  let  us  not  violate  a  general 
rule,  for  the  sake  of  any  particular  good  conse- 
quence we  may  expect.  Which  is  for  the  most 
part  a  salutary  caution,  the  advantage  seldom 
compensating  for  the  violation  of  the  rule.  Strictly 
speaking,  that  cannot  be  "  evil,"  from  which  "  good 
comes ;"  but  in  this  way,  and  with  a  view  to  the 
distinction  between  particular  and  general  conse- 
quences, it  may. 

We  will  conclude  this  subject  of  consequences 
with  the  following  reflection.  A  man  may  imagine, 
that  any  action  oi  his,  with  respect  to  the  public, 
F 


must  be  inconsiderable;  so  also  is  the  agent.  If 
his  crime  produce  but  a  small  efli^ct  upon  the 
unii-ersal  interest,  his  punishment  or  destruction 
bears  a  small  proportion  to  the  sum  of  happimss 
and  misery  in  the  creation. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Of  Bight. 

Right  and  obligation  are  reciprocal ;  that  is, 
wherever  there  is  a  right  in  one  person,  there  is  a 
corresponding  obligation  upon  others.  If  one  man 
has  "aright"  to  an  estate,  others  are  "obliged" 
to  abstain  from  it : — If  parents  have  a  "  riglit"'  to 
reverence  from  their  children,  children  are  "  oblig- 
ed" to  reverence  their  parents : — and  so  in  all  other 
instances. 

Now,  because  moral  obligation  depends,  as  we 
have  seen,  upon  the  will  of  CTod ;  right,  which  is 
correlative  to  it,  must  depend  upon  the  same. — 
Right,  therefore,  signifies,  consistency/ with  the^cill 
of  God. 

But  if  the  Divine  will  determine  the  distinction 
of  right  and  wrong,  what  else  is  it  but  an  identical 
proposition,  to  say  of  God,  that  he  acts  right  ?  or 
how  is  it  possilile  to  conceive  even  that  he  should 
act  wrong  ?  Yet  these  assertions  are  intelligible 
and  significant.  The  case  is  this :  By  virtue  ot 
the  two  princijjlcs,  that  God  wills  the  happiness 
of  his  creatures,  and  that  the  will  of  God  is  the 
measure  of  right  and  wrong,  we  arrive  at  certain 
conclusions ;  which  conclusions  become  rules ;  and 
we  soon  learn  to  pronounce  actions  right  or  wrong, 
according  as  they  agree  or  diss'rree  with  our 
rules,  without  looking  any  ftirther:  and  when 
the  habit  is  once  established  of  stopping  at  the 
rules,  w-e  can  go  back  and  compare  with  these 
rules  even  the  Divine  conduct  itself;  and  yet  it 
may  be  true  (only  not  observed  by  us  at  the  time) 
that  the  rules  themselves  are  deduced  from  the 
Divine  will. 

Right  is  a  quality  of  persons  or  of  actions. 

Of  persons ;  as  when  we  say,  such  a  one  has  a 
"  right"  to  this  estate ;  parents  have  a  "  right"  to 
reverence  from  their  children;  the  king  to  alle- 
giance from  his  subjects;  masters  have  "right" 
to  their  servants'  labour;  a  man  has  not  g.  ''right" 
over  his  own  life. 

Of  actions ;  as  in  such  expressions  as  the  fol- 
lowing: it  is  "right"  to  punish  murder  wilh 
death  ;  his  behaviour  on  that  occasion  was  "  right ;" 
it  is  not  "right"  to  send  an  unlbrtunate  debtor  to 
jail;  he  did  or  acted  "right,"  who  gave  up  his 
place,  rather  than  vote  against  his  judgment. 

In  this  latter  set  of  expressions,  you  may  sub- 
stitute the  definition  of  right  above  given,  for  the 
term  itself:  e.  g.  it  is  "  consistent  with  the  will  of 
God  to  punish  murder  with  death ;  his  behaviour 
on  that  occasion  was  "  consistent  with  the  will  of 
God  ;" — it  is  not  "  consistent  with  the  will  of  God" 
to  send  an  unfortunate  debtor  to  jail ;— he  did,  or 
acted,  "consistently  with  the  will  of  God,"  who 
gave  up  his  place,  rather  than  vote  against  liis 
judgment. 

In  the  former  set,  you  must  vary  the  construc- 
tion a  little,  when  you  introduce  the  definition 
instead  of  the  term.  Such  a  one  has  a  "  right"  to 
this  estate,  that  is,  it  is  "consistent  with  the  will 
of  God"  that  such  a  one  should  have  it; — parents 
have  a  "  right"  to  reverence  from  their  cliildren. 


42 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


that  is,  it  is  "consistent  with  the  will  of  God" 
that  children  shoiikl  reverence  their  parents ; — and 
the  same  of  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  Division  of  Eights. 

Rights,  when  applied  to  persons,  are 
Natural  or  adventitious: 
Alienable  or  unalienable: 
Perfect  or  imperfect. 

I.  Rights  are  natural  or  adventitious. 
Natural  rights  are  such  as  would  belong  to  a 

man,  although  there  subsisted  in  the  woiTd  no 
civil  government  whatever. 

Adventitious  rights  are  such  as  would  not. 

Natural  rights  are,  a  man's  right  to  his  life, 
limbs,  and  liberty ;  his  right  to  the  produce  of  his 
personal  labour ;  to  the  use,  in  common  with  others, 
cfair,  light,  water.  If  a  thousand  dilferent-persons, 
Irora  a  thousand  diflerent  corners  of  the  world, 
were  cast  together  upon  a  desert  island,  they  would 
from  the  iirst  be  every  one  entitled  to  these  rights. 

Adventitious  rights  are,  the  right  of  a  king 
over  his  sulrjects  ;  of  a  general  over  his  soldiers  ; 
of  a  j  udge  over  the  life  and  liberty  of  a  prisoner ; 
a  right  to  elect  or  appoint  magistrates,  to  impose 
taxes,  decide  disputes,  direct  the  descent  or  dispo- 
sition of  propert)' ;  a  right,  in  a  word,  in  any  one 
man,  or  particular  body  of  men,  to  make  laws  and 
regulations  tor  the  rest.  For  none  ol' these  rights 
would  exist  in  the  newly  inhabited  island. 

And  here  it  will  be  asked,  how  adventitious 
rights  are  created  ;  or,  wliich  is  the  same  thing, 
how  any  new  rights  can  accrue  from  the  estab- 
lishment of  civil  society ;  as  rights  of  all  kinds,  we 
remember,  depend  upon  the  will  of  God,  and  ci- 
vil society  is  but  the  ordinance  and  institution  oi' 
man  1  For  the  solution  ot  this  difiiculty,  we  must 
return  to  our  first  principles.  God  wills  the  hap- 
piness of  mankind ;  and  the  existence  of  civil  so- 
ciety, as  conducive  to  that  happiness.  Conse- 
quently, many  things,  which  are  useful  for  the 
support  of  civil  society  in  general,  or  for  the  con- 
duet  and  conversation  of  particular  societies  al- 
ready established,  are,  for  that  reason,  "  consistent 
with  the  will  of  God,"  or  "right,"  which,  without 
that  reason,  i.  e.  without  the  establishment  of  ci- 
vil society,  would  not  have  been  so. 

From  whence  also  it  appears,  that  adventitious 
rights,  though  inunediatcly  derived  from  human 
appointment,  are  not,  for  that  reason,  less  sacred 
tlian  natural  rights,  nor  the  obligation  to  respect 
them  less  cogent.  They  both  ultimately  rely 
upon  the  same  authority,  the  will  of  God.  Such 
a  man  claims  a  right  to  a  particular  estate.  He 
can  show,  it  is  true,  nothing  for  his  right,  but  a 
rule  of  the  civil  community  to  which  he  belongs  ; 
and  this  rule  may  be  arbitrary,  capricious,  and 
absurd.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  there  would 
be  the  same  sin  in  dispossessing  the  man  of  his 
estate  by  craft  or  violence,  as  if  it  had  been  as- 
signed to  him,  like  the  partition  of  the  country 
amongst  the  twelve  tribes,  by  the  immediate  desig- 
nation and  appointment  of  Heaven. 

II.  Rights  are  alienable  or  unalienable. 
Which  terms  explain  themselves. 

I'he  right  we  have  to  most  of  those  things 
which  we  call  property,  as  houses,  lands,  money, 
&c.  is  alienable. 


The  right  of  a  prince  over  his  people,  of  a  hus' 
band  over  his  wile,  of  a  master  over  his  servant, 
is  generally  and  naturally  unalienable. 

'i'he  distinction  depends  upon  the  mode  of  ac- 
quiring the  right.  If  the  right  originate  from  a  con- 
tract, and  be  limited  to  the  person,  by  the  express 
terms  of  the  contract,  or  by  the  common  interpre- 
tation of  such  contracts  (which  is  equivalent  to 
an  express  stipulation,)  or  by  a  personal  condition 
annexed  to  tiie  right ;  then  it  is  unalienable.  In 
all  other  cases  it  is  alienable. 

The  right  to  civil  liberty  is  alienable  ;  though 
in  the  vehemence  of  men's  z'^al  for  it,  and  the 
language  of  some  political  remonstrances,  it  has 
often  been  pronounced  to  be  an  unalienable  right. 
The  true  reason  why  mankind  hold  in  detestation 
the  memory  of  those  who  have  sold  their  liberty 
to  a  tyrant,  is,  that,  together  with  their  own,  they 
sold  commonly,  or  endangered,  the  liberty  of  others ; 
which  certainly  they  had  no  right  to  dispose  of 

III.  Rights  are  perfect  or  imperfect. 

Perfect  rights  may  be  asserted  by  Ibrce,  or,  what 
in  civil  society  comes  into  the  place  of  private  force, 
by  course  of  law. 

Imperfect  rights  may  not. 

Examples  of  perfect  rights. — A  man's  right  to 
his  life,  person,  house ;  lor,  if  these  be  attacked, 
he  may  repel  the  attack  by  instant  violence,  or 
punish  the  aggressor  by  law  :  a  man's  right  to  his 
estate,  furniture,  clothes,  money,  and  to  all  ordi- 
nary articles  of  property;  for,  if  they  be  injurious- 
ly taken  from  him,  he  may  compel  the  author  of 
the  injury  to  make  restitution  or  satislkction. 

Examples  of  imperfect  rights. — In  elections  or 
appointments  to  offices,  where  the  qualifications 
are  prescribed,  the  best  qualified  candidate  has  a 
right  to  success;  yet,  if  he  be  rejected,  he  has  no 
remedy.  He  can  neither  seize  the  office  by  force, 
nor  obtain  redress  at  law ;  his  right  therefore  is 
imperfect.  A  poor  neighbour  has  a  right  to  re- 
lief; yet,  if  it  be  refused  him,  he  must  not  extort 
it.  A  benefactor  has  a  right  to  returns  of  gra- 
titude from  the  person  he  has  obliged ;  yet,  it  he 
meet  with  none,  he  must  acquiesce.  Children 
have  a  right  to  ailection  and  education  from  their 
parents ;  and  parents,  on  their  part,  to  duty  and 
reverence  from  their  children ;  yet,  if  these  rights 
be  on  either  side  withholden,  there  is  no  compul- 
sion by  which  they  can  be  enforced. 

It  may  be  at  first  view  difficult  to  apprehend 
how  a  person  should  have  a  right  to  a  thing,  and 
yet  have  no  right  to  use  the  means  necessary  to 
obtain  it.  This  difficulty,  like  most  others  in  mo- 
rality, is  resolvable  into  the  necessity  of  general 
rules.  The  reader  recollects,  that  a  person  is  said 
to  have  a  "  right"  to  athing,  when  it  is  "  consistent 
with  the  will  of  God"  that  he  should  possess  it.  So 
that  the  question  is  reduced  to  this :  How  it  comers  to 
pass  that  it  should  be  consistent  with  the  will  of  God 
that  a  person  should  possess  a  thing,  and  yet  not  be 
consistent  with  the  same  will  that  he  should  use 
force  to  obtain  it?  The  answer  is,  that  by  reason  of 
the  indeterminateness  either  of  the  object,  or  of 
the  circumstances  of  the  right,  the  permission  ot 
force  in  this  case  would,  in  its  consequence,  lead 
to'the  permission  of  force  in  other  cases,  where 
there  existed  no  right  at  all.  The  candidate  above 
described  has,  no  doubt,  a  right  to  success ;  l)ut 
his  right  depends  upon  his  qualifications,  for  in- 
stance, upon  his  comparative  virtue,  learning,  &c. 
there  must  be  some  body  therefore  to  compare 
them.     The  existence,  degree,  and- respective  im 


GENERAL  RIGHTS  OF  MANKIND. 


43 


jiortaiice,  of  these  qualifications,  are  all  indcter- 
miiiate :  there  must  Ije  somebody  therefore  to  deter- 
mine them.  To  allow  the  candidate  to  demand  suc- 
cess by  tbrce,  is  to  make  him  the  judge  of  his  own 
qualifications.  You  cannot  do  this,  but  you  must 
make  all  other  candidates  the  same ;  which  would 
open  a  door  to  demands  without  number,  reason, 
or  right.  In  like  manner,  a  poor  man  has  a  right 
to  relief  from  the  rich ;  but  the  mode,  season,  and 
quantum  of  that  relief,  who  shall  contribute  to  it, 
or  how  much,  are  not  ascertained.  Yet  these  points 
must  be  ascertained,  before  a  claim  to  relief  can  be 
prosecuted  by  force.  For,  to  allow  the  poor  to  ascer- 
tain them  for  themselves,  would  be  to  expose  pro- 
perty to  so  many  of  these  claims,  that  it  would  lose 
its  value,  or  rather  its  nature,  that  is,  cease  indeed 
to  be  property.  The  same  observation  holds  of  all 
other  cases  of  hnperfect  rights ;  not  to  mention,  that 
in  the  instances  of  gratitude,  atlection,  reverence, 
and  the  like,  force  is  excluded  by  the  very  idea  of  the 
duty,  which  must  be  voluntary,  or  cannot  exist  at  all. 

Wherever  the  right  is  imperfect,  the  correspond- 
ing obligation  is  so  too.  I  am  obliged  to  prefer 
the  best  candidate,  to  relieve  the  poor,  be  grateful 
to  my  benefactors,  take  care  of  my  children,  and 
reverence  my  parents ;  but  in  all  these  cases,  my 
obligation,  like  their  right,  is  imperfect. 

I  call  these  obligations  "  imperfect"  in  conform- 
ity to  the  established  language  of  writers  upon 
the  subject.  The  term,  however,  seems  ill  chosen 
on  this  account,  that  it  leads  many  to  imagine, 
that  there  is  less  gmlt  in  the  violation  of  an  im- 
perfect obligation,  than  of  a  perfect  one ;  which  is 
a  groundless  notion.  For  an  obligation  being  per- 
fect or  imperfect,  determines  only  whether  violence 
may  or  may  not  be  employed  to  enforce  it ;  and 
determines  nothing  else.  The  degree  of  guilt 
incurred  by  violating  the  obligation,  is  a  different 
thing,  and  is  determined  by  circmnstances  alto- 
gether independeirt  of  this  distinction.  A  man 
who,  by  a  partial,  prejudiced,  or  corrupt  vote,  dis- 
appoints a  worthy  candidate  of  a  station  in  lite, 
upon  which  his  hopes,  possibly,  or  livelihood,  de- 
pended, and  who  thereby  grievously  discourages 
merit  and  eumlation  in  others,  commits,  I  am  per- 
suaded, a  much  greater  crime,  than  if  he  filched 
a  book  out  of  a  library,  or  picked  a  pocket  of  a 
handkerchief;  though  in  the  one  case  he  violates 
only  an  imperfect  right,  in  the  other  a  perfect  one. 

As  positive  precepts  are  often  indeterminate  in 
their  extent,  and  as  the  indeterminateness  of  an  ob- 
ligation is  that  which  makes  it  imperfect;  it  comes 
to  [tass,  that  positive  precepts  commonly  produce 
an  imperfect  obligation. 

Negative  precepts  or  prohibitions,  being  general- 
ly precise,  constitute  accordingly  perfect  obliga- 
tions. 

The  fifth  commandment  is  positive,  and  the 
duty  which  results  from  it  is  imperfect. 

'riie  sixth  commandment  is  negative,  and  im- 
poses a  perfect  obligation. 

Religion  and  virtue  find  their  principal  exercise 
among  the  imperfect  obligations ;  the  laws  of  ci- 
vil society  taking  pretty  good  care  of  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

lite  General  Rights  of  Mankind. 

By  the  General  rights  of  Mankind,  I  mean  the 
rights  which  belong  to  the  species  collectively ; 


the  original  stock,  as  I  may  say,  which  they  have 
since  distributed  among  themselves. 
These  are, 

1.  A  right  to  the  fruits  or  vegetable  produce  of 
the  earth. 

The  insensible  parts  of  the  creation  are  inca- 
pable of  injury ;  and  it  is  nugatory  to  inquire  in- 
to the  right,  where  the  use  can  be  attended  with 
no  injury.  But  it  may  be  worth  observing,  for 
the  sake  of  an  mference  which  will  appear  below, 
that,  as  God  had  created  us  with  a  want  and  de- 
sire of  food,  and  provided  things  suited  by  their 
nature  to  sustain  and  satisfy  us,  we  may  fairly  pre- 
sume, that  he  intended  we  should  apply  these 
things  to  that  purpose. 

2.  A  right  to  the  flesh  of  animals. 

This  is  a  very  different  claim  from  the  former. 
Some  excuse  seems  necessary  for  the  pain  and 
loss  which  we  occasion  to  brutes,  by  restraining 
them  of  their  liberty,  mutilating  their  bodies,  and, 
at  last,putting  an  end  to  their  lives  (which  we  sup- 
pose to  be  the  whole  of  their  existence,)  for  our 
pleasure  or  conveniency. 

The  reasons  alleged  in  vindication  of  this  prac- 
tice, are  the  following :  that  the  several  species  of 
brutes  being  created  to  prey  upon  one  another, 
afibrds  a  kind  of  analogy  to  prove  that  the  human 
species  were  intended  to  feed  upon  them ;  that,  if 
let  alone,  they  would  over-run  the  earth,  and  ex- 
clude mankind  from  the  occupation  of  it ;  that 
they  are  requited  for  what  they  suffer  at  our  hands, 
by  our  care  and  protection. 

Upon  wliich  reasons  I  would  observe,  that  the 
analogy  contended  for  is  extremely  lame ;  since 
brutes  have  no  power  to  support  life  by  any  other 
means,  and  since  we  have  ;  for  the  whole  human 
species  might  subsist  entirely  upon  fruit,  pulse, 
herbs,  and  roots,  as  many  tribes  of  Hindoos  ac- 
tually do.  The  two  other  reasons  may  be  valid 
reasons,  as  far  as  they  go ;  for,  no  doubt,  if  man 
had  been  supported  entirely  by  vegetable  food,  a 
great  part  of  those  animals  which  die  to  furnish 
his  table,  would  never  have  lived :  but  they  by  no 
means  justify  our  right  over  the  lives  of  brutes 
to  the  extent  in  which  we  exercise  it.  What 
danger  is  there,  for  instance,  of  fish  interfering 
with  us,  in  the  occupation  of  their  element  ]  or 
what  do  we  contribute  to  their  support  or  preser- 
vation 1 

It  seems  to  me,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  de- 
fend this  right  by  any  arguments  which  the 
light  and  order  of  nature  afford ;  and  that  we  are 
beholden  for  it  to  the  permission  recorded  in  Scrip- 
ture, Gen.  ix.  1,  2,  3  :  "  And  God  blessed  Noah 
and  his  sons,  and  said  unto  them.  Be  fruitful,  and 
multiply,  and  replenish  the  earth :  and  the  fear  of 
you,  and  the  dread  of  you,  shall  be  uj)on  every 
beast  of  the  earth,  and  upon  every  fowl  of  the  air, 
and  upon  all  that  moveth  upon  the  earth,  and 
upon  all  the  fishes  of  the  sea ;  into  your  hand 
are  they  delivered ;  every  moving  thing  shall  be 
meat  for  you ;  even  as  the  green  herb,  have  I 
given  you  all  things."  To  Adam  and  his  pos- 
terity had  been  granted,  at  the  creation,  "  every 
green  herb  for  meat,"  and  notliing  more.  In  the 
last  clause  of  the  passage  now  produced,  the  old 
grant  is  recited,  and  extended  to  the  flesh  of  ani- 
mals ;  "  even  as  the  green  herb,  have  I  given  3'ou 
all  things."  But  this  was  not  till  after  the  flood; 
the  inhabitants  of  the  antediluvian  world  had 
therefore  no  such  permission,  that  we  know  of. 
Whether  they  actually  refrained  from  the  flesh 


44 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


jf  animals,  is  another  question.  Abel,  we  read, 
was  a  keeper  of  sheep ;  and  for  what  purpose  he 
kept  tliem,  except  for  food,  is  difficult  to  say,  (un- 
less it  were  sacrifices:)  might  not,  howe\er,  some 
of  the  stricter  sects  among  the  antediluvians  be 
scrupulous  as  to  this  point?  and  might  not  Noah 
and  his  faniily  be  of  this  description  ?  for  it  is  not 
probable  that  God  would  publish  a  permission,  to 
authorise  a  practice,  which  had  never  been  dis- 
puted. 

Wanton,  and,  what  is  worse,  studied  cruelty 
to  brutes,  is  certainly  wrong,  as  coming  within  one 
of  these  reasons. 


From  reason  then,  or  revelation,  or  from  both 
together,  it  appeurs  to  be  God  Almighty's  inten- 
tion, that  the  productions  of  the  earth,  should  be 
applied  to  the  sustcntation  of  human  life.  Con- 
sequently all  waste  and  misapplication  of  these  pro- 
ductions, is  contrary  to  the  Divine  intention  and 
will ;  and  therefore  wrong,  for  the  same  reason 
that  any  other  crime  is  so.  Such  as,  what  is  re- 
lated of  William  the  Conqueror,  the  converting 
of  twenty  manors  into  a  forest  for  hunting ;  or, 
which  is  not  much  better,  suliering  them  to  con- 
tinue in  that  state ;  or  tlie  lettmg  of  large  tracts  of 
land  lie  barren,  because  the  owner  cannot  cultivate 
them,  nor  will  part  with  them  to  those  who  can  ; 
or  destroying,  or  suliering  to  perish,  great  part  of 
anarlicle  of  human  provision,  in  order  to  enhance 
the  price  of  the  remainder,  (which  is  said  to  have 
been,  till  lately,  the  case  with  tish  caught  upon 
the  English  coast ;)  or  diminishing  the  breed  of 
animals,  by  a  wanton,  or  improvident,  consump- 
tion of  the  young,  as  of  the  spawn  of  shell-fish,  or 
the  fry  of  salmon,  by  the  use  of  unlawful  nets,  or 
at  improper  seasons :  to  this  head  may  also  be  re- 
ferred, what  is  the  same  evil  in  a  smaller  way, 
the  expending  of  human  food  on  superfluous  dogs 
or  horses;  and,  lastly,  the  reducing  of  the  quanti- 
ty, in  order  to  alter  the  quality,  and  to  alter  it  ge- 
nerally for  the  worse ;  as  the  distillation  of  spirits 
from  bread-corn,  the  boiling  down  of  solid  meat 
for  sauces,  essences,  &c. 

This  seems  to  be  the  lesson  which  our  Saviour, 
after  his  manner,  inculcates,  when  he  bids  his 
disciples  "  gather  up  the  fragments  that  nothing 
be  lost."  And  it  opens  indeed  a  new  field  of 
duty.  Schemes  of  wealth  or  profit,  prompt  the  ac- 
tive part  of  mankind  to  cast  about,  how  they  may 
convert  their  property  to  the  most  advantage  ;  and 
their  own  advantage,  and  that  of  the  public,  com- 
monly concur.  But  it  has  not  as  yet  entered  into  the 
minds  of  mankind  to  reflect  that  it  is  a  duty,  to  add 
what  we  can  to  the  common  stock  of  provision,  by 
extracting  out  ofour  estates  the  most  they  will  yield; 
or  that  it  is  any  sin  to  neglect  this. 

From  the  same  intention  of  God  Almighty,  we 
also  deduce  another  conclusion,  namely  "  that  no- 
thing ought  to  be  made  exclusive  property,  which 
can  be  conveniently  enjoyed  in  common." 

It  is  the  general  intention  of  God  Almighty,  that 
the  produce  of  the  earth  be  applied  to  the  use  of 
man.  This  appears  from  the  constitution  of  na- 
ture ;  or,  if  you  will,  from  his  express  declaration  ; 
and  this  is  all  that  appears  at  first.  Under  this 
general  donation,  one  man  has  the  same  right  as 
another.  You  pluck  an  apple  from  a  tree,  or 
take  a  lamb  from  a  flock,  for  your  immediate  use 
and  nourishment,  and  I  do  the  same  ;  and  we  both 
Dlead  for  what  we  do,  the  general  intention  of  the 


Supreme  Proprietor.  So  far  all  is  right:  but  you 
cannot  claim  the  whole  tree,  or  the  whole  flock, 
and  exclude  me  from  any  share  of  them,  and 
plead  this  general  intention  for  what  you  do.  The 
plea  will  not  serve  you ;  you  must  show  something 
more.  You  must  show,  by  probable  arguments  at 
least,  that  it  is  God's  intention,  that  these  things 
should  be  parcelled  out  to  individuals ;  and  that 
the  established  distribution,  under  which  you 
claliii,  should  be  upholden.  Show  me  this,  and  I 
am  satisfied. 

But  until  this  be  shown,  the  general  intention, 
which  has  been  made  appear,  and  which  is  all 
that  does  appear,  must  prevail ;  and,  under  that, 
my  title  is  as  good  as  yours.  Now  there  is  no  ar- 
gument to  induce  such  a  presumption,  but  one  ; 
that  the  thing  cannot  be  enjoyed  at  all,  or  enjoy- 
ed with  the  same,  or  with  nearly  the  same  advan 
tage,  while  it  continues  in  common,  as  when  ap- 
propriated. This  is  true,  where  there  is  not 
enough  for  all,  or  where  the  article  in  question 
requires  care  or  labour  in  the  production  or  pre- 
servation :  but  where  no  such  reason  obtains,  and 
the  thing  is  in  its  nature  capable  of  being  enjoyed 
by  as  many  as  will,  it  seems  an  arbitrary  usurpation 
upon  the  rights  of  mankind,  to  confine  the  use  of 
it  to  any. 

If  a  medicinal  spring  were  discovered  in  a  piece 
of  ground  which  was  private  property,  copious 
enough  for  every  purpose  to  which  it  could  be  ap- 
plied, I  would  award  a  compensation  to  the  owner 
of  the  field,  and  a  liberal  profit  to  the  author  of  the 
discovery,  especially  if  hehad  bestowed  pains  or  ex- 
pense upon  the  search  :  but  I  question  whether  any 
human  laws  would  be  justified,  or  would  justify  the 
owner,  in  prohibiting  mankind  from  the  use  of  the 
water,  or  setting  such  a  price  upon  it  as  would  almost 
amount  to  a  prohibition. 

If  there  be  fisheries,  which  are  inexhaustible, 
as  the  cod-fishery  upon  the  Banks  of  Newfound- 
land, and  the  herring-fishery  in  the  British  seas, 
are  said  to  be ;  then  all  those  conventions,  by  which 
one  or  two  nations  claim  to  themselves,  and  gua- 
ranty to  each  other,  the  exclusive  enjoyment  of 
these  fisheries,  are  so  many  encroachments  upon 
the  general  rights  of  mankind. 

Upon  the  same  principle  may  be  determined  a 
question,  which  makes  a  great  figure  in  books  of 
natural  law,  utrum  mare  sit  liberwm  ?  that  is,  as  I 
understand  it,  whether  the  exclusive  right  of  navi- 
gating particular  seas,  or  a  control  over  the  naviga- 
tion of  these  seas,  can  be  claimed,  consistently 
with  the  law  of  nature,  by  any  nation  1  What  is 
necessary  for  each  nation's  safety,  we  allow :  as 
their  own  bays,  creeks,  and  harbours,  the  sea  con- 
tiguous to,  that  is  within  cannon  shot,  or  three 
leagues  of  their  coast:  and  upon  this  principle  of  safe- 
ty (if  upon  any  principle,)  must  be  defended  the 
claim  of  the  Venetian  State  to  the  Adriatic,  of  Den- 
mark to  the  Baltic  Sea,  and  of  Great  Britain,  to  the 
seas  which  invest  the  island.  But,  when  Spain 
asserts  a  right  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  or  Portugal 
to  the  Indian  Seas,  or  when  any  nation  extends 
its  ]jretensions  much  beyond  the  limits  of  its  own 
territories,  they  erect  a  claim  which  interferes  with 
the  benevolent  designs  of  Pro^idence,  and  which 
no  human  authority  can  justify. 

3.  Another  right,  which  may  be  called  a  gene- 
ral right,  as  it  islncidental  to  every  man  who  is  in 
a  situation  to  claim  it,  is  the  right  of  extreme  ne- 
cessity ;  by  which  is  meant,  a  right  to  use  or  des- 
troy another's  property  when  it  is  necessary  for 


RELATIVE  DUTIES. 


45 


our  own  preservation  to  do  so ;  as  a  right  to  take, 
without  or  against  the  owner's  leave,  the  first  fooJ, 
clotlies,  or  shelter,  we  meet  with,  when  we  are  in 
<l-ingar  of  perisliing  through  want  olthem ;  a  riglit 
to  throw  goods  overboard  to  save  the  ship ;  or  to 
j)ull  down  a  house,  in  order  to  stop  the  progress  of 
a  tire  ;  and  a  few  other  instances  of  the  same  Ivind. 
Of  which  riglit  the  foundation  seems  to  be  tliis : 
that  when  property  was  first  instituted,  the  insti- 
tution was  not  intended  to  operate  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  any  ;  therefore  wfien  such  consequences 
would  follow,  all  regard  to  it  is  superseded.  Or 
rather,  perhaps,  these  are  the  few  cases,  where  the 
particular  consequence  exceeds  the  general  con- 
sequence; where  the  remote  miscliief  resulting 
from  the  violation  of  the  general  rule,  is  overba- 
lanced by  the  immediate  advantage. 

Restitution,  however,  is  due,  when  in  our  power ; 
because  the  laws  of  property  are  to  be  adhered  to, 
so  far  as  consists  with  safety ;  and  because  restitu- 
tion, wiiich  is  one  of  those  laws,  supposes  the  dan- 
ger to  be  over.  But  what  is  to  be  restored  1  Not  the 
full  value  of  the  property  destroyed,  but  what  it 
was  worth  at  the  time  of  destroying  it ;  which, 
considering  the  danger  it  was  in  of  perishing,  might 
be  very  little. 


BOOK  III. 
RELATIVE  DUTIES. 


PART  I. 

OF  RELATIVE  DUTIES  WHICH  ARE  DETER- 
MINATE. 


CHAPTER  L 

Of  Property. 

Ip  you  should  see  a  flock  of  pigeons  in  a  field  of 
corn  :  and  if  (instead  of  each  picking  where  and 
what  it  liked,  taking  just  as  much  as  it  wanted, 
and  no  more)  you  should  see  ninety-nine  of  them 
gathering  all  they  got,  into  a  heap ;  reserving 
nothing  for  themselves,  but  the  chaff  and  the  refuse ; 
keeping  tliis  heap  for  one,  and  that  the  weakest, 
perhaps  worst,  pigeon  of  the  fiock ;  sitting  round, 
and  looking  on,  all  the  winter,  whilst  this  one  was 
devouring,  throwing  about,  and  wasting  it;  and  if  a 
pigeon  more  hardy  or  hungry  tiian  tlie  rest,  touched 
a  grain  of  the  hoard,  all  the  others  flying  upon  it, 
and  tearing  it  to  pieces;  if  you  should  see  this,  you 
would  see  nothing  more  than  what  is  every  day 
practised  and  established  among  men.  Among 
men,  you  see  the  ninety-and-nine  toiling  and  scrap- 
ing together  a  heap  of  superfluities  for  one  (and 
tliis  one  too,  oftentimes  the  feeblest  and  worst  of 
the  whole  set,  a  child,  a  woman,  a  madman,  or  a 
fool ;)  getting  nothing  for  themselves  all  the  while, 
but  a  little  of  the  coarsest  of  the  provision,  which 
their  own  industry  produces  ;  looking  quietly  on, 
while  they  see  the  fruits  of  all  their  labour  spent 
or  spoiled  ;  and  if  one  of  the  number  take  or  touch 
a  particle  of  the  hoard,  the  others  joining  against 
him,  and  hanging  him  for  the  theft. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Use  of  the  Institution  of  Profcrfy. 

There  must  be  some  very  important  advantages 
to  account  for  an  institution,  which,  in  the  view  0/ 
it  above  given,  is  so  paradoxical  and  unnatural. 

The  principal  of  these  advantages  are  the  fol- 
lowing : 

I.  it  increases  the  produce  of  the  earth. 

The  earth,  in  clunates  like  ours,  produces  little 
without  cultivation :  and  none  would  be  tbund  wil- 
ling to  cultivate  the  ground,  if  others  were  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  an  equal  share  of  the  produce.  The  same 
is  true  of  the  care  of  flocks  and  herds  oi  tame  annuals. 

Crabs  and  acorns,  red  deer,  rabbits,  game,  and 
fish,  are  all  which  we  should  have  to  subsist  upon 
in  this  country,  if  we  trusted  to  the  spontaneous 
productions  of  the  soil:  and  it  tares  not  much  bet- 
ter with  other  countries.  A  nation  of  North 
American  savages,  consisting  of  two  or  three  hun- 
dred, will  take  up,  and  be  half  starved  upon,  a 
tract  of  land,  which  in  Europe,  and  with  European 
management,  would  be  suliicient  for  the  mainte- 
nance of  as  many  thousands. 

In  some  fertile  soils,  together  with  great  abun- 
dance of  fish  upon  their  coasts,  and  in  regions, 
where  clothes  are  unnecessary,  a  considerable  de- 
gree of  population  may  subsist  without  property 
in  land ;  which  is  the  case  in  the  islands  of  Otaheite ; 
but  in  less  favoured  situations,  as  in  the  country 
of  New  Zealand,  though  tiiis  sort  of  property  ob- 
tain in  a  small  degree,  the  inhabitants,  tor  want 
of  a  more  secure  and  regular  estabhshment  of  it, 
are  driven  oftentmies  by  the  scarcity  of  provision 
to  devour  one  another. 

II.  It  preserves  the  produce  of  the  earth  to  ma- 
turity. 

We  may  judge  what  would  be  the  efl'ects  of  a 
community  of  right  to  the  productions  of  the  earth, 
from  the  trifling  specimens  which  we  see  of  it  at 
present.  A  cherry-tree  in  a  hedge-row,  nuts  in  a 
wood,  the  grass  of  an  unstinted  pasture,  are  sel- 
dom of  much  advantage  to  any  body,  because  peo- 
ple do  not  wait  for  the  proper  season  of  reaping 
them.  Corn,  if  any  were  sown,  would  never  ripen ; 
lambs  and  calves  would  never  grow  up  to  sheep 
and  cows,  because  the  first  person  that  met  them 
would  reflect,  that  he  had  better  take  them  as  they 
are,  than  leave  them  for  another. 

III.  It  prevents  contests. 

War  and  waste,  tumult  and  confusion,  must  be 
unavoidable  and  eternal,  wliere  there  is  not  enough 
for  all,  and  where  there  are  no  rules  to  adjust  the 
division. 

IV.  It  improves  the  conveniency  of  living. 
This  it  does  two  ways.     It  enables  mankind  to 

divide  themselves  into  distinct  professions  ;  which 
is  impossible,  unless  a  man  can  exchange  the  pro- 
ductions of  his  own  art  for  what  he  wants  from 
others  ;  and  exchange  implies  property.  Much 
of  the  advantage  of  civilized  over  savage  life,  de- 
pends upon  this.  When  a  man  is  from  necessity 
his  own  tailor,  tent-maker,  carpenter,  cook,  hunts- 
man, and  fisherman,  it  is  not  probable  that  he  will 
be  expert  at  any  of  his  callings.  Hence  the  rude 
habitations,  furniture,  clothing,  and  implements 
of  savages ;  and  the  tedious  length  of  time  wliich 
all  their  operations  require. 

It  likewise  encourages  those  arts,  by  which  the 
accommodations  of  human  life  are  supplied,  by 
appropriating  to  the  artist  the  benefit  of  his  dis- 
coveries and  improvements ;  without  which  appro- 


46 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


priation,  ingenuity  will  never  be  exerfed  with  ef- 
fect. 

Upon  these  several  accounts  we  may  venture, 
with  a  few  exceptions,  to  pronounce,  tliat  even 
the  poorest  and  the  worst  provided,  in  countries 
where  property  and  the  consequences  of  property 
prevail,  are  in  a  better  situation,  with  respect  to 
food,  raiment,  houses,  and  what  are  called  the  ne- 
cessaries of  life,  than  a?iy  are  in  places  where  most 
things  remain  in  common. 

I'he  balance,  therelbre,  upon  the  whole,  must 
preponderate  in  favour  of  property  with  a  manifest 
and  great  excess. 

inequality  of  property,  in  the  degree  in  which 
it  exists  in  most  countries  of  Europe,  abstractedly 
considered,  is  an  evil :  but  it  is  an  evil  which  flows 
from  those  rules  (•oncerning  the  acquisition  and 
disposal  of  property,  by  which  men  are  incited  to 
industry,  and  by  which  the  object  of  their  indus- 
try, is  rendered  secure  and  valuable.  If  there  be 
any  great  inequality  unconnected  with  this  origin, 
it  ouiiht  to  be  corrected. 


riHAPTER  in. 

Hie  History  of  Property. 

The  first  olyects  of  property  were  the  fruits 
which  a  man  gathered,  and  the  wild  animals  he 
caught ;  next  to  these,  the  tents  or  houses  which 
he  built,  the  tools  he  made  use  of  to  catch  or  pre- 
pare his  food ;  and  afterwards  weapons  of  war 
and  oilence.  Many  of  the  savage  tribes  in  North 
America  have  advanced  no  further  than  this  yet ; 
for  they  are  said  to  reap  their  harvest,  and  return 
tiie  produce  of  their  market  with  foreigners,  into 
the  common  hoard  or  treasurj'  of  the  tribe.  Flocks 
and  herds  of  tame  animals  soon  became  property ; 
Abel,  the  second  from  Adam,  was  a  keeper  of 
sheep;  sheep  and  oxen,  camels  and  asses,  composed 
the  wealth  of  the  Jewish  patriarchs,  as  they  do 
still  of  the  modern  Arabs.  As  the  world  was  first 
peopled  in  the  East,  where  there  existed  a  great 
scarcity  of  water,  wells  probably  were  next  made 
property;  as  we  learn  from  the  frequent  and 
serious  mention  of  them  in  the  Old  Testament ; 
the  contentions  and  treaties  about  them  ;*  and  from 
its  being  recorded,  among  the  most  memorable 
achievements  of  very  eminent  men,  that  they  dug, 
or  discovered  a  well.  Land,  which  is  now  so  im- 
portant a  part  of  property,  which  alone  our  laws 
call  real  property,  and  regard  upon  all  occasions 
with  such  peculiar  attention,  was  probably  not 
made  property  in  any  country,  till  long  after  the 
institution  of  many  other  species  of  property,  that 
is,  till  the  country  became  populous,  and  tillage 
liegan  to  be  thought  of  The  first  partition  of  an 
estate  which  we  read  of,  was  that  which  took 
place  between  Abram  and  Lot,  and  was  one  of  the 
simplest  imaginable :  "If  thou  wilt  take  the  left 
hand,  then  I  will  go  to  the  right;  or  if  thou  depart  to 
the  right  hand,  then  I  will  go  to  the  left."  There 
are  no  traces  of  property  in  land  in  Cssar's  ac- 
count of  Britain  ;  little  of  it  in  the  history  of  the 
Jewish  patriarchs  ;  none  of  it  found  amongst  the 
nations  of  North  America  ;  the  Scythians  are  ex- 
pressly said  to  have  appropriated  their  cattle  and 
houses,  but  to  have  left  their  land  in  conmion. 

Property  in  immoveables  continued  at  first  no 
longer  than  the  occupation :  that  is,  so  long  as  a 


*  Genesis  xxi.  25  ;  x.\vi.  18. 


man's  family  continued  in  possession  of  a  cave  or 
whilst  his  flocks  depastured  upon  a  neighbouring 
hill,  no  one  attempted,  or  thought  he  had  a  right  to 
disturb  or  drive  them  out:  but  when  the  man  quitted 
his  cav(^,  or  changed  his  pasture,  the  first  who  found 
them  unoccupied,  entered  upon  them,  by  the  same 
title  as  his  predecessors  ;  and  made  way  in  his  turn 
for  any  one  that  happened  to  succeed  him.  All  more 
permanent  property  in  land  was  probably  poste- 
rior to  civil  government  and  to  laws;  and  therelbre 
settled  by  these,  or  according  to  the  wiU  of  the  reign- 
ing chief. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

In  what  the  Right  of  Projierty  is  Founded. 

We  now  speak  of  Property  in  Land :  and  there 
is  a  difficulty  in  explaining  the  origin  of  this  pro- 
perty, consistently  with  the  law  of  nature  ;  for  the 
land  was  once,  no  doubt,  common  ;  and  the  ques- 
tion is,  how  any  particular  part  of  it  could  justly 
be  taken  out  of  the  common,  and  so  appropriated 
to  the  first  owner,  as  to  give  him  a  better  right  to 
it  than  others ;  and,  what  is  more,  a  right  to  ex- 
clude all  others  from  it. 

Moralists  have  given  many  diflerent  accounts 
of  this  matter  ;  which  diversity  alone,  perhaps,  is 
a  proof  that  none  of  them  are  satisfactory. 

One  tells  us  that  mankind,  when  they  sufTered 
a  particular  person  to  occupy  a  piece  of  ground,  by 
tacit  consent  relinquished  their  right  to  it ;  and  as 
the  piece  of  ground,  they  say,  belonged  to  man- 
kind collectively,  and  mankind  thus  gave  up  their 
right  to  the  first  peaceable  occupier,  it  thencelor- 
ward  became  his  property,  and  no  one  afterwards 
had  a  riglit  to  molest  him  in  it. 

The  objection  to  this  account  is,  that  consent  can 
never  be  presumed  from  silence,  where  the  person 
whose  consent  is  required  knows  nothing  about 
the  matter  ;  which  must  have  been  the  case  with  all 
mankind,  except  the  neighbourhood  of  the  place 
where  the  appropriation  was  made.  And  to  suppose 
that  the  piece  of  ground  previously  bi^longed  to  the 
neighbourhood,  and  that  they  had  a  just  jiowcr  of 
conferring  a  right  to  it  upon  whom  they  pleased,  is 
to  suppose  the  question  resolved,  and  a  partition  of 
land  to  have  already  taken  place. 

Another  says,  that  each  man's  limbs  and  labour 
are  his  own  exclusively;  that,  by  occupying  a  jdice 
of  ground,  a  man  inseparanly  mixes  his  labour 
with  it;  by  which  means  the  piece  of  ground  be- 
comes thenceforward  his  own,  as  you  cannot  take 
it  from  him  witliout  depriving  him  at  the  same 
time  of  something  which  is  indisputably  his. 

This  is  Mr.  Locke's  soluti(m ;  and  seems  in- 
deed a  fair  reason,  where  the  value  of  the  labour 
bears  a  considerable  proportion  to  the  value  of  the 
thincr;  or  where  the  thing  derives  its  chief  use 
and  value  from  the  labour.  Thus  game  and  fish, 
though  they  be  common  whilst  at  large  in  the 
woocls  or  water,  instantly  become  the  property  of 
the  person  that  catches  them;  because  an  animal, 
when  caught,  is  nnich  more  valuable  than  when 
at  liberty ;  and  this  increase  of  value,  which  is  in- 
separable from,  and  makes  a  great  part  of,  the 
whole  value,  is  strictly  the  property  of  the  fowler 
or  fisherman,  being  the  produce  of  his  personal 
labour.  For  the  same  reason,  wood  or  iron, 
manufactured  into  utensils,  becomes  the  property 
of  the  manufacturer;  because  the  value  of  the 
workmanship  far  exceeds  that  of  the  materials 


PROPERTY  IN  LAND. 


47 


AnJ  upon  a  similar  principle,  a  parcel  of  unap- 
propriated ground,  which  a  man  should  pare,  burn, 
plough,  harrow,  and  sow,  for  the  production  of 
coin,  would  justly  enough  be  thereby  made  his 
own.  But  this  will  hardly  hold,  in  the  manner 
it  has  been  applied,  of  taking  a  ceremonious  pos- 
session of  a  tract  of  land,  as  navigators  do  of  new- 
discovered  islands,  by  erecting  a  standard,  en- 
graving an  inscription,  or  publisliing  a  proclama- 
tion to  the  birils  and  beasts ;  or  of  turning  your 
cattle  into  a  piece  of  ground,  setting  up  a  huid- 
inark,  digging  a  ditch,  or  planting  a  hedge  round 
it.  Zs'or  will  even  the  clearing,  manuring,  and 
ploughing  of  a  field,  give  the  first  occupier  a  right 
to  it  in  perpetuity,  and  after  this  cidtivation  and 
all  efiects  of  it  are  ceased. 

Another,  and  in  my  opinion  a  better,  account 
of  the  first  right  of  ownership,  is  the  following : 
that,  as  God  has  provided  these  things  for  the  use 
of  all,  he  has  of  consequence  given  each  leave  to 
take  of  them  what  he  wants ;  by  virtue  therefore 
of  tills  leave,  a  man  may  appropriate  what  he 
stands  in  need  of  to  his  own  use,  without  asking, 
or  waiting  for,  the  consent  of  others ;  in  hke  man- 
ner as,  when  an  entertainment  is  provided  for  the 
freeholders  of  a  county,  each  freeholder  goes,  and 
eats  and  drinks  what  he  wants  or  chooses,  without 
ha\ing  or  waiting  for  the  consent  of  the  other 
guests. 

But  then  this  reason  justifies  property,  as  far  as 
necessaries  alone,  or,  at  the  most,  as  I'ar  as  a  com- 
petent provision  for  our  natural  exigences.  For, 
in  the  entertainment  we  speak  of  (allowing  the 
comparison  to  hold  in  all  points.)  although  every 
particular  freeholder  may  sit  down  and  eat  till  he 
be  satisfied,  without  any  other  leave  than  that  of 
the  master  of  the  feast,  or  any  other  proof  of  that 
leave,  tlian  the  general  invitation,  or  the  manifest 
design  with  which  the  entertainment  is  provided ; 
3'et  you  would  hardly  permit  any  one  to  lill  his 
pockets  or  his  waUet,  or  to  carry  away  with  hun 
a  quantity  of  provision  to  be  hoarded  up,  or 
wasted,  or  given  to  his  dogs,  or  stewed  down  into 
sauces,  or  converted  into  articles  of  superfluous 
luxury ;  especially  if,  by  so  doing,  he  pinched  the 
guests  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table. 

These  are  the  accounts  that  have  been  given  of 
the  matter  by  the  best  writers  upon  the  subject, 
but  vvere  these  accounts  perfectly  unexceptionable, 
they  would  none  of  them,  I  fear,  axail  us  in  vin- 
dicating our  present  claims  of  pro])erty  in  land, 
unless  It  were  more  probable  than  it  is,  that  our 
estates  were  actually  acquired  at  first,  in  some  of 
the  ways  which  these  accounts  suppose  ;  and  that 
a  regular  regard  had  been  paid  to  justice,  in  every 
successive  transmission  of  them  since ;  for,  if  one 
Unk  in  the  chain  fail,  every  title  posterior  to  it 
falls  to  the  ground. 

The  real  foundation  of  our  right  is,  the  law 

OF    THE    L.IND. 

It  is  the  intention  of  God,  that  the  produce  of 
the  earth  be  applied  to  the  use  of  man :  this  in- 
tention cannot  be  fulfilled  without  establishing 
property ;  it  is  consistent,  therefore,  with  liis  will, 
that  property  be  established.  The  land  cannot 
be  divided  into  separate  property,  without  leaving 
it  to  the  law  of  the  country  to  regulate  that  divi- 
sion :  it  is  consistent  therefore  with  the  same  will, 
that  the  law  should  regulate  the  division ;  and, 
consequently,  "  consistent  with  the  will  of  God,' 
or,  "  right,"  that  I  should  possess  that  share  which 
these  regulations  assign  me. 


By  whatever  circuitous  train  of  reasoning  you 
attempt  to  derive  this  right,  it  must  terminate  at 
last  in  the  will  of  God ;  the  straightest  there- 
fore, and  shortest  way  of  arriving  at  this  will,  is 
the  best. 

Hence  it  appears,  that  my  right  to  an  estate 
does  not  at  all  depend  upon  the  manner  or  justice 
of  the  original  acquisition;  nor  upon  the  justice 
of  each  subsequent  change  of  possession.  It  is 
not,  for  instance,  the  less,  nor  ought  it  to  be  im- 
peached, because  the  estate  was  taken  possession 
of  at  first  by  a  family  of  aboriginal  Britons,  who 
happened  to  be  stronger  than  their  neigiibours; 
nor  because  the  British  possessor  was  turned  out 
by  a  Roman,  or  the  Roman  by  a  Saxon  invader ; 
nor  because  it  was  seized,  without  color  of  right 
or  reason,  by  a  follower  of  the  Norman  adventurer ; 
from  whom,  after  many  interruptions  of  fraud  and 
violence,  it  has  at  length  devolved  to  me. 

Nor  does  the  owner's  right  depend  upon  the 
expediency  of  the  law  which  gives  it  to  him.  On 
one  side  of  a  brooic,  an  estate  descends  to  the  eldest 
son ;  on  the  other  side,  to  all  the  children  alike. 
The  light  of  the  claimants  under  both  laws  of 
inheritance  is  equal;  though  the  expediency  of 
such  opposite  rules  must  necessarily  be  difierent. 

The  pruiciples  we  have  laid  down  upon  this 
subject  apparently  tend  to  a  conclusion  of  which 
a  bad  use  is  apt  to  be  made.  As  the  right  of  pro- 
perty depends  upon  the  law  of  the  land,  it  seems 
to  follow,  that  a  man  has  a  right  to  keep  and  take 
every  thing  which  the  law  will  allow  him  to  keep 
and  take ;  wliich  in  many  cases  will  authorize  the 
most  flagitious  chicanery.  If  a  creditor  upon  a 
sunple  contract  neglect  to  demand  liis  debt  lor  six 
years,  the  debtor  may  refuse  to  pay  it ;  would  it 
be  rigid  therefore  to  do  so,  where  he  is  conscious 
of  the  justice  of  the  debt  1  If  a  person,  who  is 
under  twenty-one  years  of  age,  contract  a  bargain 
(other  than  for  necessaries,)  he  may  avoid  it  by 
pleading  his  minority:  but  would  tliis  be  a  fair 
plea,  where  the  bargain  was  originally  just  ? — The 
distinction  to  be  taken  in  such  cases  is  this :  With 
the  law,  we  acknowledge,  resides  the  disposal  of 
property :  so  long,  therefore,  as  we  keep  within 
the  design  and  intention  of  a  law,  that  law  will 
justify  us  as  well  in  foro  conscientia:,  as  in  foro 
h  lima  no,  whatever  be  the  equity  or  expediency  of 
the  law  itself.  But  when  we  convert  to  one  pur- 
pose, a  rule  or  expression  of  law,  which  is  intended 
for  another  purpose,  then  we  plead  in  our  justifi- 
cation, not  the  intention  of  the  law,  but  the  words ; 
that  is,  we  plead  a  dead  letter,  wliich  can  signify 
nothuig ;  for  words  xrithout  meaning  or  intention, 
have  no  force  or  efiect  in  justice;  much  less, 
words  taken  contrary  to  the  meaning  and  inten- 
tion of  the  speaker  or  writer  To  apply  this  dis- 
tinction to  the  examples  just  now  proposed  : — in 
order  to  protect  men  against  antiquated  demands, 
from  which  it  is  not  probable  they  should  have 
preserved  the  evidence  of  their  discharge,  the  law 
prescribes  a  limited  time  to  certain  species  of  pri- 
vate securities,  beyond  wliich  it  will  not  enforce 
them,  or  lend  its  assistance  to  the  recovery  of  the 
debt.  If  a  man  be  ignorant  or  dubious  of  the 
justice  of  the  demand  made  upon  him,  he  may 
conscientiously  plead  this  limitation;  because  he 
applies  the  rule  of  laio  to  the  purpose  for  which 
it  was  intended.  But  when  he  refuses  to  pay  a 
debt,  of  the  reality  of  which  he  is  conscious,  he 
cannot,  as  before,  plead  the  intention  of  the  statute, 
and  the  supreme  authority  of  law,  unless  he  could 


48 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


show,  that  the  law  intended  to  interpose  its  su- 
preme authority,  to  acquit  men  of  debts,  of  the 
existence  and  justice  of  which  they  were  tliem- 
selves  sensible.  Again,  to  preserve  youth  from 
tlio  practices  and  impositions  to  which  their  inex- 
perience exposes  them,  the  law  compels  the  pay- 
ment of  no  debts  incurred  within  a  certain  age, 
nor  the  performance  of  any  engagements,  except 
for  such  necessaries  as  are  suited  to  their  condition 
and  fortunes.  If  a  young  person  therefore  per- 
ceive that  he  has  been  practised  or  imposed  upon, 
he  may  honestly  avail  himself  of  the  privilege  of 
his  nonage,  to  defeat  the  circumvention.  But,  if 
he  shelter  himself  under  this  privilege,  to  avoid  a 
fair  obligation,  or  an  equitable  contract,  he  extends 
the  privilege  to  a  case,  in  which  it  is  not  allowed 
by  intention  of  law,  and  in  which  consequently  it 
does  not,  in  natural  justice,  exist. 


As  property  is  the  principal  subject  of  justice, 
or  of  "  the  determinate  relative  duties,"  we  have 
put  down  what  we  had  to  say  upon  it  in  the  first 
place :  we  now  proceed  to  state  these  duties  in  the 
best  order  we  can. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Promises. 

I.  From  whence  the  obligation  to  perform  pro- 
mises arises. 

II.  In  what  sense  prom.ises  are  to  be  interpreted. 

III.  In  what  cases  promises  are  not  binding. 

I.  From  ichence  the  obligation  to  perform  pro- 
mises arises. 

They  who  argue  from  innate  moral  principles, 
suppose  a  sense  of  the  obligation  of  promises  to  be 
one  of  them ;  but  without  assuming  this,  or  any 
thing  else,  without  proof,  the  obligation  to  perform 
promises  may  be  deduced  from  the  necessity  of 
such  a  conduct  to  the  well-being,  or  the  existence 
indeed,  of  human  society. 

Men  act  from  expectation.  Expectation  is  in 
most  cases  determined  by  the  assurances  and  en- 
gagements wliich  we  receive  from  others.  If  no 
dependence  could  be  placed  upon  these  assurances, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  know  what  judgment  to 
form  of  many  future  events,  or  how  to  regulate 
our  conduct  with  respect  to  them.  Confidence 
therefore  in  promises,  is  essential  to  the  intercourse 
of  human  life ;  because,  without  it,  the  greatest 
part  of  our  conduct  would  proceed  upon  chance. 
But  there  could  be  no  confidence  in  promises,  if 
men  were  not  obliged  to  perform  them ;  the  obli- 
gation therefore  to  perform  promises,  is  essential 
to  the  same  ends,  and  in  the  same  degree. 

Some  may  imagine,  that  if  this  obligation  were 
suspended,  a  general  caution  and  mutual  distrust 
would  ensue,  which  might  do  as  well :  but  this  is 
imagined,  without  consideving  how,  every  hour  of 
our  lives,  we  trust  to,  and  depend  upon,  others; 
and  how  impossible  it  is,  to  stir  a  step,  or,  what  is 
worse,  to  sit  still  a  moment,  without  such  trust 
and  dependence.  I  am  now  writing  at  my  case, 
not  doubting  (or  rather  never  distrusting,  and 
therefore  never  thinking  about  it)  that  the  butcher 
will  send  in  the  joint  of  meat  which  I  ordered  ; 
that  his  servant  will  bring  it ;  that  my  cook  will 
dress  it ;  that  my  footman  will  serve  it  up ;  that  I 
shall  find  it  upon  table  at  one  o'clock.     Yet  have 


I  I  notliing  for  all  tliis,  but  the  promise  of  the 
I  butclicr,  and  the  implied  prouiise  of  his  servant 
I  and  mine.     And  the  same  holds  of  the  most  im- 
portant as  well  as  the  most  familiar  occurrences  of 
I  social  life.     In  the  one,  the  intervention  of  pro- 
mises is  formal,  and  is  seen  and  acknowledged; 
I  our  instance,  therefore,  is  intended  to  show  it  in 
the  other,  where  it  is  not  so  distinctly  observed. 
II.  In  what  sense  promises  are  to  be  interpreted. 
Where  the  terms  of  promise  admit  of  more 
senses  than  one,  the  promise  is  to  be  performed 
"  in  that  sense  in  which  the  promiser  apprehended 
at  the  time  that  the  promisee  received  it." 

It  is  not  the  sense  in  which  the  promiser  actually 
intended  it,  that  always  governs  the  interpretation 
of  an  equivocal  promise ;  because,  at  tliat  rate, 
you  might  excite  expectations,  which  you  never 
meant,  nor  would  be  obliged  to  satisfy.  Much 
less  is  it  the  sense,  in  which  the  promisee  actually 
received  the  promise ;  for,  according  to  that  rule, 
you  might  be  drawn  into  engagements  which  you 
never  designed  to  undertake.  It  must,  therefore, 
be  the  sense  (for  there  is  no  other  remaining)  in 
which  the  promiser  believed  that  the  promisee 
accepted  his  promise. 

Tliis  will  not  differ  from  the  actual  intention  of 
the  promiser,  where  the  promise  is  given  without 
collusion  or  reserve:  but  we  put  the  rule  in  the 
above  form,  to  exclude  evasion  in  cases  in  which 
the  popular  meaning  of  a  phrase,  and  the  strict 
grammatical  signification  of  the  words  difft^r ;  or, 
in  general,  wherever  the  promiser  attempts  to 
make  his  escape  through  some  ambiguity  in  the 
expressions  which  he  used. 

Temures  promised  the  garrison  of  Scb.astia, 
that,  if  they  would  surrender,  no  blood  should  be 
shed.  The  garrison  surrendered ;  and  Temures 
buried  them  all  alive.  Now  Temures  i'lilfllkd  the 
promise  in  one  sense,  and  in  the  sense  too  in 
which  he  intended  it  at  the  time;  but  not  the 
sense  in  which  the  garrison  of  Sebastia  actually 
received  it,  nor  in  the  sense  in  which  Temures 
himself  knew  that  the  garrison  received  it :  which 
last  sense,  according  to  our  rule,  was  the  sense  in 
which  he  was  in  conscience  bound  to  have  per- 
formed it. 

From  the  account  we  have  given  of  the  obliga- 
tion of  promises,  it  is  evident,  that  this  obligation  de- 
pends upon  the  expectations  wliich  we  knowingly 
and  voluntarily  excite.  Consequently,  any  action 
or  conduct  towards  another,  which  we  are  sensible 
excites  expectations  in  that  other,  is  as  much  a 
promise,  and  creates  as  strict  an  obligation,  as  the 
most  express  assurances.  Taking,  for  instance, 
a  kinsman's  child,  and  educating  him  for  a  liberal 
profession,  or  in  a  manner  suitable  only  for  the 
b.eir  of  a  large  fortune,  as  much  obliges  us  to  place 
him  in  that  profession,  or  to  leave  him  such  a  for- 
tune, as  if  we  had  given  liim  a  promise  to  do  so 
under  our  hands  and  seals.  In  like  manner,  a 
great  man,  who  encourages  an  indigent  retainer ; 
or  a  minister  of  state,  who  distinguishes  and 
caresses  at  liis  levee  one  who  is  in  a  situation  to 
be  obliged  by  his  patronage;  engages,  by  such 
behaviour,  to  provide  for  liim. — This  is  the  foun- 
dation of  tacit  promises. 

You  may  either  sin.ply  declare  your  present 
intention,  or  you  may  accompany  your  declaration 
with  an  engagement  to  abide  by  it,  which  con- 
stitutes a  complete  promise.  In  the  first  case,  the 
duty  is  satisfied,  if  you  were  sincere  at  the  time, 
that  is  if  vou  entertained  at  the  time  the  intention 


PROMISES, 


49 


voii  expressed,  however  soon,  or  for  whatever 
rcas(rn,  you  afterwards  change  it.  In  the  latter 
case,  j'ou  have  parted  with  the  Uberty  of  changing. 
All  this  is  plain :  but  it  must  be  observed,  that 
most  of  those  forms  of  speech,  which,  strictly  taken, 
amount  to  no  more  than  declarations  of  present 
intention,  do  yet,  in  the  usual  way  of  understand- 
ing them,  excite  the  expectation,  and  therefore 
carry  with  them  the  force  of  absolute  promises. 
Such  as,  "  I  intend  you  this  place" — "  I  design  to 
leave  you  this  estate" — "  I  purpose  giving  you  my 
vote" — "  I  mean  to  serve  you." — In  which,  al- 
though the  "  intention,"  the  "  design,"  the  "  pur- 
pose," the  "  meaning,"  be  expressed  in  words  of 
the  present  time,  3'et  you  cannot  aftenvards  recede 
from  them  without  a  breach  of  good  faith.  If  you 
choose  therefore  to  make  known  your  present 
intention,  and  yet  to  reserve  to  j'ourself  the  liberty 
of  changing  it,  you  must  guard  your  expressions 
by  an  aditional  clause,  as,  "  I  intend  a(  prcse7it," 
— "  if  I  do  not  alter,'' — or  the  like.  And  after  all, 
as  there  can  be  no  reason  for  communicating  3'our 
intention,  but  to  excite  some  degree  of  expectation 
or  other,  a  wanton  change  of  an  intention  which 
is  once  disclosed,  always  disappoints  somebod}^; 
and  is  always,  for  that  reason,  wrong. 

There  is,  in  some  men,  an  infirmity  with  regard 
to  promises,  which  often  betrays  them  into  great 
distress.  From  the  confusion,  or  hesitation,  or 
obscurity,  with  which  they  express  themselves, 
especially  v/hen  overawed  or  taken  by  surprise, 
they  sometimes  encourage  expectations,  and  bring 
upon  themselves  demands,  which,  possibly,  they 
never  dreamed  of  This  is  a  want,  not  so  much 
of  integrity,  as  of  presence  of  mind. 

III.  In  what  cases  promises  are  not  binding. 

1.  Promises  are  not  binduig,  where  the  perfor- 
mance is  impossible. 

But  observe,  that  the  promiser  is  guilty  of  a 
fraud,  if  he  be  secretly  aware  of  the  impossibility, 
at  the  time  of  making  the  promise.  For,  when 
any  one  promises  a  tiling,  he  asserts  his  belief,  at 
least,  of  the  possibility  of  performing  it ;  as  no  one 
can  accept  or  understand  a  pronuse  under  any 
other  supposition.  Instances  of  this  sort  are  the 
following :  The  minister  promises  a  place,  which 
he  knows  to  be  engaged,  or  not  at  his  disposal : — 
A  father,  in  setthng  marriage-articles,  promises  to 
leave  his  daughter  an  estate,  which  he  knows  to 
be  entailed  upon  the  heir  male  of  his  family : — A 
merchant  promises  a  ship,  or  share  of  a  ship, 
which  he  is  privately  advised  is  lost  at  sea : — An 
incumbent  promises  to  resign  a  living,  being  pre- 
viously assured  that  his  resignation  vAW  not  be 
accepted  by  the  bishop.  The  promiser,  as  in  these 
cases,  with  knowledge  of  the  impossibility,  is 
justly  answerable  in  an  equivalent;  but  other- 
wise not. 

When  the  promiser  himself  occasions  the  im- 
possibility, it  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  direct 
breach  of  the  promise ;  as  when  a  soldier  maims, 
or  a  servant  disables  himself,  to  get  rid  of  liis 
engagements. 

2.  Promises  are  not  binding,  where  the  per- 
formance is  unlauiful. 

There  are  two  cases  of  this :  one,  where  the 
unla-.vfulness  is  known  to  the  parties,  at  the  time 
of  making  the  promise ;  as  where  an  assassin  pro 
mises  his  employer  txj  despatch  his  rival  or  his 
enemy ;  a  servant  to  betray  his  master ;  a  pimp  to 
procure  a  mistress ;  or  a  friend  to  give  his  as 
sistance  in  a  scheme  of  seduction.  The  parties  in 
G 


these  cases  are  not  obliged  to  perform  what  the 
promise  requires,  because  Iheij  were  under  aprlor 
obligation  to  the  contrary.  From  which  prior 
obligation  what  is  there  to  discharge  them  1  I'heir 
promise, — their  own  act  and  deed. — But  an  obli- 
gation, from  which  a  man  can  discharge  himself 
by  Ids  own  act,  is  no  obligation  at  all.  The  guilt 
tliercfore  of  such  promises  lies  in  the  making,  not 
in  the  breaking  of  them ;  and  if,  in  tlie  intenaJ 
betwixt  the  promise  and  the  peribrmance,  a  man 
so  far  recover  his  reflection,  as  to  repent  of  his 
engagements,  he  ought  certainly  to  break  through 
them. 

The  other  case  is,  where  the  unlawfulness  did 
not  exist,  or  was  not  known,  at  the  time  of  maliing 
the  promise;  as  where  a  merchant  promises  his 
correspondent  abroad,  to  send  him  a  ship  load  of 
corn  at  a  time  appointed,  and  before  the  time 
arrive,  an  embargo  is  laid  upon  the  exportation  of 
corn  : — A  woman  gives  a  promise  of  marriage ; 
before  the  marriage,  she  discovers  that  her  intended 
husband  is  too  nearly  related  to  her,  or  that  he  has 
a  wife  yet  living.  In  all  such  cases,  where  the 
contrary  does  not  appear,  it  must  be  presumed 
that  the  parties  supposed  what  they  promised  to 
be  lawful,  and  that  the  promise  proceeded  entirely 
upon  this  supposition.  The  lawfulness  therefore 
becomes  a  condition  of  the  promise ;  which  con- 
dition failing,  the  obligation  ceases.  Of  the  same 
nature  was  Herod's  promise  to  his  daughter-in-law, 
"  that  lij  would  give  her  whatever  she  asked,  even 
to  the  half  of  his  kingdom."  TJie  promise  was 
not  unlawful  in  the  terms  in  which  Herod 
delivered  it ;  and  when  it  became  so  by  the 
daughter's  choice,  by  her  demanding  "  John  the 
Baptist's  head,"  Herod  was  discharged  from  the 
obligation  of  it,  for  tlie  reason  now  laid  down,  as 
well  as  for  that  given  in  the  last  paragraph. 

This  rule,  "  that  promises  are  void,  where  the 
performance  is  unlawful,"  extends  also  to  imper- 
fect obligations :  for,  the  reason  of  the  rule  holds 
of  all  obligations.  Thus,  if  you  promise  a  man  a 
place,  or  your  vote,  and  he  afterwards  render 
himself  unfit  to  receive  either,  you  are  absolved 
from  the  obUgation  of  your  promise ;  or,  if  a  belter 
candidate  appear,  and  it  be  a  case  in  which  you 
arc  bound  by  oath,  or  otherwise,  to  govern  yourself 
by  the  qualification,  the  promise  must  be  broken 
through. 

And  here  I  would  recommend,  to  young  persons 
especially,  a  caution,  from  the  neglect  of  which 
many  involve  themselves  in  embarrassment  and 
disgrace  ;  and  that  is,  "  never  to  give  a  promise, 
which  may  interfere,  in  the  event,  vnXh.  their 
duty ;"  for,  if  it  do  so  interfere,  their  duty  must 
be  discharged,  though  at  the  expense  of  their 
promise,  and  not  unusually  of  their  good  name. 

The  specific  peribrmance  of  promises  is  reck- 
oned a  perfect  obligation.  And  many  casuists 
have  laid  down,  in  opposition  to  what  has  been 
here  asserted,  that,  where  a  perfect  and  an  imper- 
fect obligation  clash,  the  perfect  obligation  is  to  l>e 
preferred.  For  which  opinion,  however,  there 
seems  to  be  no  reason,  but  what  arises  from  the 
terms  "  perfect"  and  "  imperfect,"  the  impropriety 
of  which  has  been  remarked  above.  I'lie  truth 
is,  of  two  contradictory  obligations,  that  ought  to 
prevail  which  is  prior  in  point  of  time. 

It  is  the  performance  lieing  unlawful,  and  not 
unlawfulness  in  the  subject  or  motive  of  the  pro- 
mise, which  destroys  its  validity :  therefore  a  bribe, 
after  the  vote  is  given ;  the  wages  of  prostitution  ; 


50 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


Uie  reward  of  any  crime,  after  the  crime  is  com- 
mitted ;  ought,  if  promised,  to  be  paid.  For  tlie 
sill  and  mischief,  by  this  supposition,  are  over; 
and  will  be  neither  more  nor  less  for  the  perlbr- 
mance  of  the  promise. 

In  like  manner,  a  promise  does  not  lose  its 
obligation  merely  because  it  proceeded  from  an 
unlawful  motive.  A  certain  person,  in  the  life- 
time of  his  wife,  who  was  then  sick,  had  paid  his 
addresses,  and  promised  marriage,  to  another 
woman ; — the  wife  died ;  and  the  woman  demanded 
performance  of  the  promise.  The  man,  who,  it 
seems,  had  changed  his  mind,  either  felt  or  pre- 
tended doubts  concerning  the  obligation  of  such  a 
promise,  and  referred  his  case  to  Bishop  Sander- 
son, the  most  eminent,  in  this  kind  of  knowledge, 
of  his  time.  Bishop  Sanderson,  after  writing  a 
dissertation  upon  the  question,  adjudged  the  pro- 
mise to  be  void.  In  which,  however,  upon  our 
principles,  he  was  wrong ;  for,  however  criminal 
the  aflection  might  be,  which  induced  the  promise, 
the  performance,  when  it  was  demanded,  was 
lawful ;  which  is  the  only  lawfulness  required. 

A  promise  cannot  be  deemed  unlawful,  where 
it  produces,  when  performed,  no  effect,  beyond 
what  woidd  have  taken  place  had  the  promise 
never  been  made.  And  this  is  the  single  case,  in 
which  the  obligation  of  a  promise  will  justify  a 
conduct,  which,  unless  it  had  been  promised, 
would  be  unjust.  A  captive  may  lawfully  recover 
his  liberty,  by  a  promise  of  neutrality ;  for  his 
conqueror  takes  nothing  by  the  promise,  which  he 
might  not  have  secured  by  his  death  or  confine- 
ment ;  and  neutrality  would  be  innocent  in  him, 
although  criminal  in  another.  It  is  manifest, 
however,  that  promises  which  come  into  the  place 
of  coercion,  can  extend  no  further  than  to  passive 
compliance;  for  coercion  itself  could  compel  no 
more.  Upon  the  same  principle,  promises  of 
secrecy  ought  not  to  be  violated,  although  the 
public  would  derive  advantage  from  the  discovery. 
Such  promises  contain  no  unlawfulness  in  them, 
to  destroy  their  obligation :  for,  as  the  information 
would  not  have  been  imparted  upon  any  other 
condition,  the  public  lose  nothing  by  the  promise, 
which  they  would  have  gained  without  it. 

3.  Promises  are  not  binding,  where  they  con- 
tradict a  former  promise. 

Because  the  performance  is  then  unlawful ; 
which  resolves  this  case  into  the  last. 

4.  Promises  are  not  binding  before  acceptance ; 
that  is,  before  notice  given  to  the  promisee ;  for, 
where  the  promise  is  beneficial,  if  notice  be  given, 
acceptance  may  be  presumed.  Until  the  promise 
be  communicated  to  the  promisee,  it  is  the  same 
only  as  a  resolution  in  the  mind  of  the  promiser, 
which  may  be  altered  at  pleasure.  For  no  ex- 
pectation has  been  excited,  therefore  none  can  be 
disappointed. 

But  suppose  I  declare  my  intention  to  a  third 
person,  who,  without  any  authority  from  me,  con- 
veys my  declaration  to  the  promisee ;  is  that  such 
a  notice  as  will  lie  binding  upon  me  1  It  certainly 
is  not :  for  I  have  not  done  that  which  constitutes 
the  essence  of  a  promise ; — I  have  not  voluntarily 
excited  expectation. 

5.  Promises  are  not  binding  which  are  released 
hy  the  promisee. 

This  is  evident :  but  it  may  be  sometimes 
doubted  who  the  promisee  is.  If  I  give  a  promise 
to  A,  of  a  place  or  vote  for  B  ;  as  to  a  father  for 
l>>s  son ;  to  an  uncle  for  his  nephew ;  to  a  friend 


of  mine,  for  a  relation  or  friend  of  his ;  then  A  is 
the  promisee,  whose  consent  I  must  obtain,  to  be 
released  from  the  engagement. 

If  I  promise  a  place  or  vote  to  B  hy  A,  that  is, 
if  A  be  a  messenger  to  convey  the  promise,  as  if 
I  should  say,  "  You  may  tell  B  that  he  shall  have 
this  place,  or  may  depend  upon  my  vote ;"  or  if 
A  be  employed  to  introduce  B's  request,  and  I 
answer  in  any  terms  which  amount  to  a  com- 
pliance with  it :  then  B  is  the  promisee. 

Promises  to  one  person,  lor  the  benefit  of 
another,  are  not  released  by  the  death  of  the  pro- 
misee; for,  his  death  neither  makes  the  perfor- 
mance impracticable,  nor  implies  any  consent  to 
release  the  promiser  from  it. 

6.  Erroneous  promises  are  not  binding  in  cer- 
tain cases ;  as 

1.  Where  the  error  proceeds  from  the  mistake 
or  misrepresentation  of  the  promisee. 

Because  a  promise  evidently  supposes  the  truth 
of  the  account,  which  the  promisee  relates  in  ordei 
to  obtain  it.  A  beggar  sohcits  your  charity,  by  a 
story  of  the  most  pitiable  distress ;  you  promise  to 
relieve  him,  if  he  will  call  again : — In  the  interval 
you  discover  his  story  to  be  made  up  of  lies ; — this 
discovery,  no  doubt,  releases  you  from  your  pro- 
mise. One  who  wants  your  service,  describes  the 
business  or  office  for  which  he  would  engage  you ; 
— you  promise  to  undertake  it ; — when  you  come 
to  enter  upon  it,  you  iind  the  profits  less,  the 
labour  more,  or  some  material  circumstance  dif- 
ferent from  the  account  he  gave  you : — In  such 
case,  you  are  not  bound  bj'  your  promise. 

2.  When  the  promise  is  understood  by  the  pro- 
misee to  proceed  upon  a  certain  supposition,  or 
when  the  promiser  apprehended  it  to  be  so  under- 
stood, and  that  supposition  turns  out  to  be  I'alse ; 
then  the  promise  is  not  binding. 

This  intricate  rule  will  be  best  explained  by  an 
example.  A  father  receives  an  account  from 
abroad,  of  the  death  of  his  only  son ; — soon  after 
which,  he  promises  his  fortune  to  his  nephew. — 
The  account  turns  out  to  be  false. — The  father, 
we  say,  is  released  from  his  promise ;  not  merely 
liecause  he  never  would  have  made  it,  had  he 
known  the  truth  of  the  case, — for  that  alone  will 
not  do; — but  because  the  nephew  also  liimself 
understood  the  promise  to  proceed  upon  the  sup- 
position of  his  cousin's  death :  or,  at  least  his 
uncle  thought  he  so  understood  it ;  and  could  not 
think  otherwise.  The  promise  proceeded  upon 
this  supposition  in  the  promiscr's  own  apprehen- 
sion, and,  as  he  believed,  in  the  apprehension  of 
both  parties ;  and  this  belief  of  his,  is  the  precise 
circumstance  which  sets  him  free.  The  founda- 
tion of  the  rule  is  plainly  this :  a  man  is  bound 
only  to  satisfy  the  expectation  which  he  intended 
to  excite  ;  whatever  condition  therefore  he  intended 
to  subject  that  expectation  to,  becomes  an  essential 
condition  of  the  promise. 

Errors,  which  come  not  within  this  description, 
do  not  annul  the  obligation  of  a  promise,  i  pro- 
mise a  candidate  my  vote ; — presently  another 
candidate  appears,  for  whom  1  certainly  would 
have  reserved  it,  had  I  been  acquainted  with  his 
design.  Here  therefore,  as  before,  my  promise 
proceeded  from  an  error ;  and  I  never  should  have 
given  such  a  promise,  had  I  been  aware  of  the 
truth  of  the  case,  as  it  has  turned  out. — But  the 
promisee  did  not  know  this ; — he  did  not  receive 
the  promise,  subject  to  any  such  condition,  or  as 
proceeding  from  any  such  supposition ;  nor  did  I 


CONTRACTS. 


51 


ijit  the  time  imagine  he  so  received  it.  This  error, 
therefore,  of  niine,  must  fall  upon  my  own  head, 
and  the  promise  be  observed  notwithstanding.  A 
father  promises  a  certain  fortune  with  liis  daughter, 
supposing  hiniseh'  to  be  woi-th  so  much — his  cir- 
cumstances turn  out,  upon  examination,  worse 
than  he  was  aware  of.  Here  again  the  promise 
was  erroneous,  but,  for  the  reason  assigned  in  the 
last  case,  will  nevertheless  be  obligatory. 

The  case  of  erroneous  promises,  is  attended 
with  some  difficulty :  for,  to  allow  every  mistake, 
or  change  of  circumstances,  to  dissolve  the  obliga- 
tion of  a  promise,  would  be  to  allow  a  latitude, 
which  might  evacuate  the  force  of  almost  all 
promises;  and  on  the  other  hand,  to  gird  the 
obligation  so  tight,  as  to  make  no  allowances  for 
manifest  and  fundamental  errors,  w^ould.  in  many 
instances,  be  productive  of  great  hardship  and 
absurdity. 


It  has  long  been  controverted  amongst  moralists, 
whether  promises  be  binding,  which  are  extorted 
by  violence  or  fear.  The  obligation  of  all  promises 
results,  we  have  seen,  from  the  necessity  or  the 
use  of  that  confidence  which  mankind  repose  in 
them.  The  question,  therefore,  whether  these 
promises  are  binding,  will  depend  upon  tliis; 
whether  mankind,  upon  the  whole,  are  benefited 
by  the  confidence  placed  on  such  promises  ?  A 
highwayman  attacks  you — and  being  disappointed 
of  his  booty,  threatens  or  prepares  to  murder  you ; 
— you  promise,  with  many  solemn  asseverations, 
that  if  he  will  spare  your  life,  he  shall  find  a  purse 
of  money  left  for  him,  at  a  place  appointed ; — upon 
the  faith  of  this  promise,  he  forbears  from  further 
violence.  Now,  yom'  life  was  saved  by  the  con- 
fidence reposed  in  a  promise  extorted  by  fear; 
and  the  lives  of  many  others  may  be  saved  by  the 
same.  This  is  a  good  consequence.  On  the 
other  hand,  confidence  in  promises  like  these, 
greatly  facilitates  the  perpetration  of  robberies: 
they  may  be  made  the  instruments  of  almost  un- 
limited extortion.  This  is  a  bad  consequence : 
and  in  the  question  between  the  importance  of 
these  opposite  consequences,  resides  the  doubt 
concerning  the  obligations  of  such  promises. 

There  are  other  cases  which  are  plainer;  as 
where  a  magistrate  confines  a  disturber  of  the 
public  peace  hi  jail,  till  he  promise  to  behave 
better;  or  a  prisoner  of  war  promises,  if  set  at 
liberty,  to  return  within  a  certain  time.  These 
promises,  say  moralists,  are  binding,  because  the 
violence  or  duress  is  just ;  but,  the  truth  is,  be- 
cause there  is  the  same  use  of  confidence  in  these 
promises,  as  of  confidence  in  the  promises  of  a 
person  at  perfect  liberty. 


Vows  are  promises  to  God.  The  obligation 
cannot  be  made  out  upon  the  same  principle  as 
that  of  other  promises.  The  violation  of  them, 
nevertheless,  implies  a  want  of  reverence  to  the  i 
Supreme  Being;  which  is  enough  to  make  it 
sinful. 

There  appears  no  command  or  encouragement 
in  the  Christian  Scriptures  to  make  vows ;  much 
less  any  authority  to  break  through  them  when 
they  are  made.      The  few  instances*  of  vows 


wliich  we  read  of  in  the  New  Testament,  were 
religiously  observed. 

I'he  rules  we  have  laid  down  concerning  pro- 
mises, are  applicable  to  vows.  Thus  Jcphtha's 
vow,  taken  in  the  sense  in  which  that  transaction 
is  commonly  understood,  was  not  binding;  because 
the  pcrlbnnance,  in  that  contingency,  became 
milawtul. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Contracts. 

A  CONTRACT  is  a  mutual  promise.  The  obli- 
gation therefore  of  contracts,  the  sense  in  which 
they  arc  to  be  interpreted,  and  the  cases  where 
they  are  not  bindmg,  will  be  the  same  as  of 
promises. 

From  the  principle  established  in  the  last  chap- 
ter, "that  the  obligation  of  promises  is  to  be 
measured  by  the  expectation  which  the  promiser 
any  how  voluntarily  and  knowingly  excites," 
results  a  rule,  which  governs  the  construction  of 
all  contracts,  and  is  capable,  from  its  simplicity, 
of  being  applied  with  great  ease  and  certainty, 
viz.  That 

Whatever  is  expected  by  one  side,  and  known 
to  be  so  expected  by  the  other,  is  to  be  deemed  a 
part  or  condition,  of  the  contract. 

The  several  kinds  of  contracts,  and  the  order 
in  which  we  propose  to  consider  them,  may  be 
exlubitcd  at  one  view,  thus 


fPale. 
Hazard. 

Contracts  of-i  Lending  of  ^'  Money" 


Inconsumable  Property. 


(  Service. 
J  Coraniissinns. 
1  Partnership. 
f  Olhces. 


*  Acts  xviii.  18.  xxi.  23. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Contracts  of  Sale. 

The  rule  of  justice,  which  wants  with  most 
anxiety  to  be  inculcated  in  the  making  of  bargains, 
is,  that  the  seUer  is  bound  in  consc  ience  to  disclose 
the  faults  of  what  he  oflcrs  to  sale.  Amongst 
other  methods  of  proving  tliis,  one  may  be  the 
following : 

I  suppose  it  will  be  allowed,  that  to  advance  a 
direct  falsehood,  in  recommendation  of  our  wares, 
by  ascribing  to  them  some  quality  which  we  know 
that  they  have  not,  is  dishonest.  Now  compare 
with  this  the  designed  concealment  of  some  fault, 
which  we  know  that  they  have.  The  motives 
and  the  effects  of  actions  are  the  only  points  of 
comparison,  in  which  their  moral  quality  can 
differ ;  but  the  motive  in  these  two  cases  is  the 
same,  viz.  to  procure  a  higher  price  than  we  expect 
otherwise  to  obtain :  the  eflect,  that  is,  the  pre- 
judice to  the  bu}-er,  is  also  the  same;  for  he  finds 
himself  equally  out  of  pocket  by  his  bargain, 
whether  the  commodity,  when  he  gets  home  with 
it,  turn  out  worse  than  he  had  supposed,  by  the 
want  of  some  qualit}'  which  he  expected,  or  the 
discovery  of  some  fault  which  he  did  not  expect. 
If  therefore  actions  be  the  same,  as  to  all  moral 
purposes,  wliich  proceed  from  the  same  motives, 


52 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


and  produce  the  same  effects ;  it  is  making  a  dis- 
tinction without  a  diflerence,  to  esteem  it  a  cheat 
to  magnify  beyond  the  truth  the  virtues  of  what 
we  have  to  sell,  but  not  to  conceal  its  faults. 

It  adds  to  the  value  of  this  kind  of  honesty,  that 
the  faults  of  many  things  are  of  a  nature  not  to  be 
known  by  any,  but  by  the  persons  who  have  used 
them ;  so  that  the  buyer  has  no  security  from  im- 
position, but  in  the  ingenuousness  and  integrity 
of  the  seller. 

There  is  one  exception,  however,  to  this  rule; 
namely,  where  the  silence  of  the  seller  implies 
some  fault  in  the  thing  to  be  sold,  and  where  the 
buyer  has  a  compensation  in  the  price  for  the  risk 
which  he  runs:  as  where  a  horse,  in  a  London 
repository,  is  sold  by  public  auction,  without  war- 
ranty; the  want  of  warranty  is  notice  of  some 
unsoundness,  and  produces  a  proportionable  abate- 
ment in  the  price. 

To  this  of  concealing  the  faults  of  what  we 
want  to  put  ofi',  may  be  referred  the  practice  of 
passing  bad  money.  This  practice  we  sometimes 
hear  defended  by  a  vulgar  excuse,  that  we  have 
taken  the  money  for  good,  and  must  therefore  get 
rid  of  it.  Which  excuse  is  much  the  same  as  if 
one,  who  had  been  robbed  upon  the  highway, 
should  allege  that  he  had  a  right  to  reimburse 
liimself  out  of  the  pocket  of  the  first  traveller  he 
met ;  the  justice  of  which  reasoning,  the  traveller 
possibly  may  not  comprehend. 

Where  there  exists  no  monopoly  or  combination, 
the  market-price  is  always  a  fair  price ;  because 
it  will  always  be  proportionable  to  the  use  and 
scarcity  of  the  article.  Hence,  there  need  be  no 
scruple  about  demanding  or  taking  the  market- 
price  ;  and  all  those  expressions,  "  provisions  are 
extravagantly  dear,"  "  corn  bears  an  unreasonable 
price,"  and  the  like,  import  no  unfairness  or  un- 
reasonableness in  the  seller. 

If  your  tailor  or  your  draper  charge,  or  even  ask 
of  you,  more  for  a  suit  of  clothes,  than  the  market- 
price,  you  complain  that  you  are  imposed  upon ; 
you  pronounce  the  tradesman  who  makes  such  a 
charge,  dishonest;  although,  as  the  man's  goods 
were  his  own,  and  he  had  a  right  to  prescribe  the 
terms  upon  which  he  would  consent  to  part  with 
them,  it  may  be  qviestioned  what  dishonesty  there 
can  be  in  the  case,  or  wherein  the  imposition  con- 
sists. Whoever  opens  a  shop,  or  in  any  manner 
exposes  goods  to  public  sale,  virtually  engages  to 
deal  with  his  customers  at  a  market-price ;  because 
it  is  upon  the  faith  and  opinion  of  such  an  en- 
gagement, that  any  one  comes  within  his  shop 
doors,  or  oHers  to  treat  with  liim.  This  is  ex- 
pected by  the  buyer ;  is  known  to  be  so  expected 
by  the  seller:  which  is  enough,  according  to  the 
rule  delivered  above,  to  make  it  a  part  of  the  con- 
tract between  them,  though  not  a  syllable  be  said 
about  it.  The  breach  of  this  implied  contract 
constitutes  the  fraud  inquired  after. 

Hence,  if  you  disclaim  any  such  engagement, 
you  may  set  what  value  you  please  upon  your 
property.  If,  upon  being  asked  to  sell  a  house, 
you  answer  that  the  house  suits  your  fancy  or 
conveniency,  and  that  you  will  not  turn  yourself 
out  of  it,  under  such  a  price ;  the  price  fixed  may 
be  double  of  what  the  house  cost,  or  would  fetch 
at  a  public  sale,  without  any  imputation  of  injus- 
tice or  extortion  upon  you. 

If  the  thing  sold,  be  damaged,  or  perish,  between 
the  sale  and  the  delivery,  ought  the  buyer  to  bear 
i'he  loss,  or  the  seller  %     This  will  depend  upon 


the  particular  construction  of  the  contract.  If  the 
seller,  eitlier  expressly,  or  by  implication,  or  by 
custom,  engage  to  deliver  the  goods ;  as  if  I  buy 
a  set  of  china,  and  the  china-man  ask  me  to  what 
place  he  shall  bring  or  send  them,  and  they  bo 
broken  in  the  conveyance,  the  seller  must  abide 
by  the  loss.  If  the  thing  sold,  remain  with  tho 
seller,  at  the  instance,  or  for  the  conveniency  of 
the  buyer,  then  the  buyer  undertakes  the  risk ;  as 
if  I  buy  a  horse,  and  mention,  that  I  will  send  for 
it  on  sucli  a  day  (which  is  in  eflect  desiring  that 
it  may  continue  with  the  seller  till  I  do  send  for 
it,)  then,  whatever  misfortune  befalls  the  horse  in 
the  meantime,  must  be  at  my  cost. 

And  here,  once  for  all,  I  would  observe,  that 
innumerable  questions  of  this  sort  are  determined 
solely  by  custom;  not  that  custom  possesses  any 
proper  authority  to  alter  or  ascertain  the  nature  of 
right  or  wrong ;  but  because  the  contracting  par- 
ties are  presumed  to  include  in  their  stipulation, 
all  the  conditions  which  custom  has  annexed  to 
contracts  of  the  same  sort :  and  when  the  usage  is 
notorious,  and  no  exception  made  to  it,  this  pre- 
sumption is  generally  agreeable  to  the  fact.* 

If  I  order  a  pipe  of  port  from  a  wine-merchant 
abroad ;  at  what  period  the  property  passes  from 
the  merchant  to  me ;  whether  upon  delivery  of 
the  wine  at  the  merchant's  warehouse ;  upon  its 
being  put  on  shipboard  at  Oporto ;  upon  the  ar- 
rival of  the  ship  in  England  at  its  destined  port ; 
or  not  till  the  wine  be  committed  to  my  servants, 
or  deposited  in  my  cellar;  are  all  questions 
wliich  admit  of  no  decision,  but  what  custom 
points  out.  Whence,  in  justice,  as  well  as  law, 
what  is  called  the  custom  oj"  merchants,  regulates 
the  construction  of  mercantile  concerns. 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

Contracts  oj"  Hazard. 

By  Contracts  of  Hazard,  I  mean  gaming  and 
insurance. 

What  some  say  of  this  kind  of  contracts,  "  that 
one  side  ought  not  to  have  any  advantage  over 
the  other,"  is  neither  practicable  nor  true.  It  is 
not  practicable ;  for  that  perfect  equality  of  skill 
and  judgment,  which  this  rule  requires,  is  seldom 
to  be  met  with.  I  might  not  have  it  in  my  power, 
to  play  with  fidrness  a  game  at  cards,  billiards,  or 
tennis ;  lay  a  wager  at  a  horse-race ;  or  under- 
write a  policy  of  insurance,  once  in  a  twelvemonth, 
if  I  must  wait  till  I  meet  with  a  person,  whose 
art,  skill,  and  judgment  in  these  matters,  is  neither 
greater  nor  less  than  my  own.  Nor  is  this  equality 
requisite  to  the  justice  of  the  contract.  One  party 
may  give  to  the  other  the  whole  of  the  stake,  if  he 
please,  and  the  other  party  may  justly  accept  it, 
if  it  be  given  him;  much  more  therefore  may 
one  give  to  the  other  a  part  of  the  stake  ;  or,  what 
is  exactly  the  same  thing,  an  advantage  in  the 
chance  of  winning  the  whole. 

*It  happens  here,  as  in  many  cases,  that  what  the 
parties  ought  to  do,  and  what  a  jiulge  or  arbitrator 
would  award  to  be  done,  may  be  very  dilferent.  Wh.it 
the  parties  ought  to  do  by  virtue  of  their  contract,  de- 
pends upon  theirconsciousness  at  the  time  of  making  it ; 
whereas  a  third  person  finds  it  necessary  to  found  his 
judgment  upon  pres\imptions,  which  presumptions  may 
be  false,  although  the  most  probable  that  he  could  pm 
ceed  by. 


LENDING  OF  MONEY. 


53 


The  proper  restriction  is,  that  neither  side  have 
an  advantage  by  means  of  which  the  other  is  not 
aware;  for  this  is  an  advantage  taken,  without 
being  given.  Although  the  event  be  still  an 
uncertainty,  your  advantage  in  the  chance  has  a 
certain  value ;  and  so  much  of  the  st<ike,  as  that 
value  amounts  to,  is  taken  from  your  adversary 
without  his  knowledge,  and  therefore  without  his 
consent.  If  I  sit  down  to  a  game  at  whist,  and 
have  an  advantage  over  the  adversary,  by  means 
of  a  better  memory,  closer  attention,  or  a  superior 
knowledge  of  the  rides  and  chances  of  the  game, 
the  advantage  is  fair ;  because  it  is  ol)tained  by 
means  of  which  the  adversary  is  aware :  for  he  is 
aware,  when  he  sits  down  with  me,  that  I  shall 
exert  the  skill  that  1  possess  to  the  utmost.  But 
if  I  gain  an  advantage  by  packing  the  cards, 
glancmg  my  eye  into  the  adversaries'  hands,  or 
by  concerted  signals  with  my  partner,  it  is  a  dis- 
honest advantage  ;  because  it  depends  upon  means 
which  the  adversary  never  suspects  that  I  make 
use  of 

The  same  distinction  holds  of  all  contracts  into 
which  chance  enters.  If  I  lay  a  wager  at  a  horse- 
race, founded  upon  the  conjecture  I  form  from 
the  appearance,  and  character,  and  breed,  of  the 
hoi  ses,  I  am  justly  entitled  to  any  advantage  which 
my  judgment  gives  me :  but,  if  I  carry  on  a  clan- 
destine correspondence  with  the  jockeys,  and  find 
out  from  them,  that  a  trial  has  been  actually 
made,  or  that  it  is  settled  beforehand  which  horse 
shall  win  the  race ;  all  such  information  is  so 
much  fraud,  because  derived  from  sources  which 
the  other  did  not  suspect,  when  he  proposed  or 
accepted  the  wager. 

In  speculations  in  trade,  or  in  the  stocks,  if  1 
exercise  my  judgment  upon  the  general  aspect  and 
prospect  of  public  affairs,  and  deal  with  a  person 
who  conducts  himself  b}'  the  same  sort  of  judg- 
ment ;  the  contract  has  all  the  equality  in  it  which 
is  necessary:  but  if  1  have  access  to  secrets  of 
state  at  home,  or  private  advice  of  some  decisive 
measure  or  event  abroad,  I  cannot  avail  myself  of 
these  advantages  with  justice,  because  they  are 
excluded  by  the  contract,  which  proceeded  upon 
the  supposition  that  I  had  no  such  advantage. 

In  insurances,  in  which  the  underwriter  com- 
putes his  risk  entirely  from  the  account  given  by 
tlie  person  insured,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
the  justice  and  validity  of  the  contract,  that  this 
account  be  exact  and  complete. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Contracts  of  Lending  of  IncoTisumahle  Property. 

When  the  identical  loan  is  to  be  returned,  as  a 
book,  a  horse,  a  harpsichord,  it  is  called  inconsum- 
able ;  in  opposition  to  corn,  wine,  money,  and 
those  things  which  perish,  or  are  parted  with,  in 
the  use,  and  can  therefore  only  be  restored  in  kind. 

The  questions  imder  this  head  are  few  and 
simple.  The  first  is,  if  the  thing  lent  be  lost  or 
damaged,  who  ought  to  bear  the  loss  or  damage] 
If  it  be  damaged  by  the  use,  or  by  accident  in  the 
use,  for  which  it  was  lent,  the  lender  ought  to 
bear  it ;  as  if  I  hire  a  job-coach,  the  wear,  tear, 
and  soiUng  of  the  coach,  must  belong  to  the 
lender;  or  a  horse,'  to  go  a  particular  journey, 
and  in  going  the  proposed  journey,  the  horse  die 
or  be  lamed,  the  loss  must  be  the  lender's:  on  the 


contrary,  if  the  damage  be  occasioned  by  the 
fiult  of  the  borrower,  or  by  accident  in  some  use 
lor  which  it  was  not  lent,  then  the  borrower  must 
make  it  good ;  as  if  the  coach  be  overturned  or 
broken  to  pieces  by  the  carelessness  of  your  coach- 
man ;  or  the  horse  be  hired  to  take  a  morning's 
ride  upon,  and  you  go  a-hunting  with  him,  or 
leap  him  over  hedges,  or  put  him  into  your  cart 
or  carriage,  and  he  be  strained,  or  staked,  or  galled, 
or  accidentally  hurt,  or  drop  down  dead,  whilst 
you  are  thus  using  him;  you  must  make  satis- 
faction to  the  owner. 

The  two  cases  are  distinguished  by  this  cir- 
cumstance :  that  in  one  case,  the  owner  foresees 
the  damage  or  risk,  and  therefore  consents  1;o 
undertake  it ;  in  the  other  case  he  does  not. 

It  is  possible  that  an  estate  or  a  house  may, 
during  the  term  of  a  lease,  be  so  increased  or 
diminished  in  its  value,  as  to  become  worth  much 
more  or  much  less,  than  the  rent  agreed  to  be 
paid  for  it.  In  some  of  which  cases  it  may  be 
doubted,  to  whom,  of  natural  right,  the  advantage 
or  disadvantage  belongs.  The  rule  of  justice 
seems  to  be  this :  If  the  alteration  might  be  ex- 
pected by  the  parties,  the  hirer  must  take  the 
consequence ;  if  it  could  not,  the  owner.  An 
orchard,  or  a  vineyard,  or  a  mine,  or  a  fishery,  or 
a  decoy,  may  this  year  yield  nothing,  or  next  to 
nothing,  yet  the  tenant  shall  pay  his  rent ;  and  if 
they  next  year  produce  tenfold  the  usual  profit, 
no  more  shall  be  demanded ;  because  the  produce 
is  in  its  nature  precarious,  and  this  variation 
might  be  expected.  If  an  estate  in  the  fens  of 
Lincolnshire,  or  the  isle  of  Ely,  be  overflowed 
with  water,  so  as  to  be  incapable  of  occupation, 
the  tenant,  notwithstanding,  is  bound  by  his  lease  ; 
because  he  entered  into  it  with  a  knowledge  and 
foresight  of  the  danger.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  by  the  irruption  of  the  sea  into  a  country 
where  it  was  never  known  to  have  come  before, 
by  the  change  of  the  course  of  a  river,  the  fall  of  a 
rock,  the  breaking  out  of  a  volcano,  the  bursting 
of  a  moss,  the  incursions  of  an  enemy,  or  by  a 
mortal  contagion  amongst  the  cattle ;  if,  by  means 
like  these,  an  estate  change  or  lose  its  value,  the 
loss  shall  fall  upon  the  owner ;  that  is,  the  tenant 
shall  either  be  discharged  from  his  agreement,  or 
be  entitled  to  an  abatement  of  rent.  A  house  in 
London,  by  the  building  of  a  bridge,  the  opening 
of  a  new  road  or  street,  may  become  of  ten  times 
its  former  value ;  and,  by  contrary  causes,  may  be 
as  much  reduced  in  value :  here  also,  as  before, 
the  owner,  not  the  hirer,  shall  be  aflected  by  the 
alteratioii.  The  reason  upon  which  our  deter- 
mination proceeds  is  this ;  that  changes  such  as 
these,  being  neither  foreseen,  nor  provided  for,  by 
the  contracting  parties,  form  no  part  or  conilition 
of  the  contract;  and  therefore  ought  to  have  the 
same  effect  as  if  no  contract  at  all  had  been  made, 
(for  none  was  made  with  respect  to  them,)  that  is, 
ought  to  fall  upon  the  owner. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Contracts  concerning  the  Lending  of  Money. 

There  exists  no  reason  in  the  law  of  nature, 
why  a  man  should  not  be  paid  for  the  lending  of 
his  money,  as  well  as  of  any  other  property  iiato 
which  the  money  might  be  converted. 

The  scruples  that  have  been  entertained  upon 
5* 


M 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


•iis  head,  and  upon  the  foundation  of  which,  the 
receiving  of  interest  or  usury  (lor  they  formerly 
meant  the  same  thing)  was  once  prohibited  in  al- 
most ail  Christian  countries,*  arose  from  a  pas- 
sage in  the  law  of  Moses,  Deuteronomy,  xxiii. 
ly^  20:  '•  Thou  shalt  not  lend  upon  usury  to  thy 
brother;  usury  of  money,  usury  of  victuals,  usury 
of  any  thing  that  is  lent  upon  usury;  unto  a 
stranger  thou  mayest  lend  upon  usury ;  but  unto 
thy  brother  thou  shalt  not  lend  upon  usury." 

This  prohibition  is  now  generally  understood 
to  have  been  intended  tor  the  Jews  alone,  as  part 
of  the  civil  or  political  law  of  that  nation,  and  cal- 
culated to  preserve  amongst  themselves  that  dis- 
tribution of  property,  to  which  many  of  their  in- 
stitutions were  subservient;  as  the  marriage  of  an 
heiress  within  her  own  tribe;  of  a  widow  who 
was  left  childless,  to  her  husband's  brother;  the 
year  of  jubilee,  when  alienated  estates  reverted  to 
the  family  of  the  original  proprietor : — regulations 
which  were  never  thought  to  be  binding  upon  any 
but  the  commonwealth  of  Israel. 

This  interpretation  is  contirmed,  I  think,  be- 
yond all  controversy,  by  the  distinction  made  in 
the  law,  between  a  Jew  and  a  foreigner: — "unto 
a  stranger  thou  mayest  lend  upon  usury,  but  unto 
thy  brother  thou  mayest  not  lend  upon  usury ;"  a 
distinction  wliich  could  hardly  have  been  admitted 
into  a  law,  which  the  Divine  A  utlior  intended  to 
be  of  moral  and  of  universal  obligation. 

The  rate  of  interest  has  in  most  countries  been 
regulated  by  law.  The  Roman  law  allowed  of 
twelve  pounds  per  cent,  which  Justinian  reduced 
at  one  stroke  to  four  pounds.  A  statute  of  the 
thirteenth  year  of  Glueen  Elizabeth,  wliich  was 
the  first  that  tolerated  the  receiving  of  interest  in 
England  at  all,  restrained  it  to  ten  pounds  per 
cent. ;  a  statute  of  James  the  first,  to  eight  pounds ; 
of  Charles  the  Second,  to  six  pounds;  of  Q,ueen 
Anne,  to  live  pounds,  on  pain  of  forfeiture  of  tre- 
ble the  value  of  the  money  lent :  at  which  rate 
and  penalty  the  matter  now  stands.  The  policy 
of  these  regulations  is,  to  check  the  power  of  ac- 
cumulating wealth  without  industry ;  to  give  en- 
couragement to  trade,  by  enabling  adventurers  in 
it  to  borrow  money  at  a  moderate  price ;  and  of  late 
years  to  enable  the  state  to  borrow  the  subject's 
money  itself 

Compound  interest,  though  forbidden  by  the 
law  of  England,  is  agreeable  enough  to  natural 
equity ;  for  interest  detained  after  it  is  due,  be- 
comes, to  all  intents  and  purposes,  part  of  the  sum 
lent. 

It  is  a  question  which  sometimes  occurs,  how 
money  borrowed  in  one  country  ought  to  be  paid 
in  another,  where  the  relative  value  of  the  pre- 
cious metals  is  not  the  same.  For  example,  sup- 
pose I  borrow  a  hundred  guineas  in  London, 
where  each  guinea  is  worth  one-and-twenty  shil- 
lings, and  meet  my  crethtor  in  the  East  Indies 
where  a  guinea  is  worth  no  more  perhaps  than 
nineteen;  is  it  a  satisfaction  of  the  debt  to  return 
a  hundred  guineas,  or  must  I  make  up  so  many 
times  one-and-twenty  shillings'?  I  should  think 
the  latter ;  for  it  must  be  presumed,  that  my  cre- 
ditor, had  he  not  lent  me  his  guineas,  would  have 
disposed  of  them  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  have 


*  By  a  statute  of  James  the  First,  interest  above  eiglit 
pounds  pm-  cent,  was  proliibitod,  (and  consequently  uu- 
.lor  tliai  rate  allowed,)  with  this  sage  provision  :  Tknt 
this  statute  shall  not  be  construed  or  eipoum/ril  to  allow 
Ike  practice  of  usury  in  point  of  religion  or  conscience. 


now  had,  in  the  place  of  them,  so  many  one-and- 
twenty  shillings ;  and  the  question  supposes  that 
he  neither  intended,  nor  ought  to  be  a  suiitjrer,  by 
parting  with  the  possession  of  his  money  to  me. 

When  the  relative  value  of  coin  is  altered 
by  an  act  of  the  state,  if  the  alteration  would  have 
extended  to  the  identical  pieces  which  were  lent, 
it  is  enough  to  return  an  equal  number  of  pieces 
of  the  same  denomination,  or  their  present  value 
in  any  other.  As,  if  guineas  were  reduced  by  act 
of  parUament  to  twenty  shillings,  so  many  twenty 
shiUings,  as  I  borrowed  guineas,  would  be  a  just 
repayment.  It  would  be  otherwise,  if  the  reduc- 
tion was  owing  to  a  debasement  of  the  coin ;  for 
then  respect  ought  to  be  had  to  the  comparative 
value  of  the  old  guinea  and  the  new. 

Whoever  borrows  money,  is  bound  in  con- 
science to  repay  it.  This,  every  man  can  see  ; 
but  every  man  cannot  see,  or  does  not  however 
reflect,  that  he  is,  in  consequence,  also  bound  to 
to  use  the  means  necessary  to  enable  himself  to 
repay  it.  "  If  he  pay  the  money  when  he  has  it, 
or  has  it  to  spare,  he  does  all  that  an  honest  man 
can  do,"  and  all,  he  imagines,  that  is  required  of 
him ;  whilst  the  previous  measures,  which  are  ne- 
cessary to  furnish  him  with  that  money,  he  makes 
no  part  of  his  care,  nor  observes  to  be  as  much 
his  duty  as  the  other ;  such  as  selling  a  family- 
seat  or  a  family  estate,  contracting  his  plan  of  ex- 
pense, laying  down  his  equipage,  reducing  the 
number  of  his  servants,  or  any  of  those  humiliating 
sacrifices,  which  justice  requires  of  a  man  in  debt, 
the  moment  he  perceives  that  he  has  no  reasona- 
ble prospect  of  paying  his  debts  without  them. 
An  expectation  which  depends  upon  the  con- 
tinuance of  his  own  life,  will  not  satisfy  an  honest 
man,  if  a  better  provision  be  in  his  power ;  for  it  is 
a  breach  of  faith  to  subject  a  creditor ;  when  we 
can  help  it,  to  the  risk  of  our  life,  be  the  event 
what  it  will ;  that  not  being  the  security  to  which 
credit  was  given. 

I  know  few  subjects  which  have  been  more  mis- 
understood, than  the  law  which  authorises  the 
imprisonment  of  insolvent  debtors.  It  has  been 
represented  as  a  gratuitous  cruelty,  which  cori- 
tributed  nothing  to  the  reparation  of  the  creditor's 
loss,  or  to  the  advantage  of  the  community.  This 
prejudice  arises  principally  from  considering  the 
sending  of  a  debtor  to  gaol,  as  an  act  of  private 
satisfaction  to  the  creditor,  instead  of  a  public  pun- 
ishment. As  an  act  of  satisfaction  or  revenge,  it 
is  always  wrong  in  the  motive,  and  often  mtem- 
perate  and  undistinguishing  in  the  exercise.  Con- 
sider it  as  a  public  punishment;  founded  upon 
the  same  reason,  and  subject  to  the  same  rules,  aa 
other  punishments;  and  the  justice  of  it,  together 
with  the  degree  to  which  it  should  be  extciuled, 
and  the  objects  upon  whom  it  may  be  inflicted, 
will  be  apparent.  There  are  frauds  relating  ta 
insolvency,  against  which  it  is  as  necessary  to  pro- 
vide punishment,  as  for  any  public  crimes  what- 
ever :  as  where  a  man  gets  your  money  into  his 
possession,  and  forthwith  runs  away  with  it ;  or, 
what  is  little  better,  squanders  it  in  vicious  ex- 
penses ;  or  stakes  it  at  the  gaming-table ;  in  the 
Alley ;  or  upon  wild  adventures  in  trade ;  or  is 
conscious  at  the  time  he  borrows  it,  that  he  can 
never  repay  it ;  or  wilfully  puts  it  out  of  his  pow- 
er, by  profuse  living ;  or  conceals  his  effects,  or 
transfers  them  by  collusion  to  another:  not  to 
mention  the  obstinacy  of  some  debtors,  who  had 
rather  rot  in  a  gaol,  than  deliver  up  their  estates 


SERVICE. 


55 


for,  to  say  the  truth,  the  first  absurdity  is  in  the 
law  itsrlt',  whicli  leaves  it  in  a  debtor's  power  to 
withhold  any  part  of  his  property  from  the  claim 
of  his  creditors.  The  only  cjuestion  is,  whether 
the  punishment  be  properly  placed  in  the  liands 
of  an  exasjjcrated  creditor:  tor  which  it  may  be 
said,  that  these  frauds  are  so  subtile  and  versatile, 
that  niithing  but  a  discretionary  povi'er  can  over- 
take them;  and  that  no  discretion  is  likely  to  be 
so  well  informed,  so  vigilant,  or  so  active,  as  that 
of  the  creditor. 

It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  con- 
finement of  a  debtor  in  a  jail  is  a  punish  merit ;  and 
that  every  punishment  supposes  a  crime.  To  pur- 
sue, therefore,  with  the  extremity  of  legal  rigour, 
a  sulierer,  whom  the  fraud  or  failure  of  others,  his 
own  want  of  capacity,  or  the  disappointments  and 
miscarriages  to  which  all  human  allairs  are  sub- 
ject, have  reduced  to  ruin,  merely  because  we  are 
provoked  by  our  loss,  and  seek  to  relieve  the  pain 
we  feel  by  that  which  we  infiict,  is  repugnant  not 
only  to  humanity,  but  to  justice;  for  it  is  to  per- 
vert a  provision  of  law,  designed  for  a  dititjrent 
and  a  salutary  purpose,  to  the  gratification  of  pri- 
vate spleen  and  resentment.  Any  alteration  in 
these  laws,  which  could  distinguish  the  degrees  of 
guilt,  or  convert  the  service  of  the  in.solvent  debtor 
to  some  public  profit,  might  be  an  improvement ; 
but  any  consideralile  mitigation  of  their  rigour, 
under  colour  of  relieving  the  poor,  would  increase 
their  hardships.  For  whatever  deprives  the  cre- 
ditor of  his  power  of  coercion,  deprives  him  of  his 
security ;  and  as  this  must  add  greatly  to  the  dif- 
ficulty of  obtaining  credit,  the  poor,  especially  the 
lower  sort  of  tradesmen,  are  the  first  who  would 
sud'er  by  such  a  regulation.  An  tradesmen  must 
hny  before  they  sell,  you  would  exclude  from  trade 
two  thirds  of  those  who  now  carry  it  on,  if  none 
were  enabled  to  enter  into  it  without  a  capital  suf- 
ficient for  prompt  payments.  An  advocate,  there- 
fore, for  the  interests  of  this  iznportant  class  of  the 
community,  will  deem  it  more  eligible,  that  one 
out  of  a  thousand  should  be  sent  to  jail  by  his 
creditors,  than  that  the  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  should  be  straitened  and  embarrassed,  and 
many  of  them  lie  idle  by  the  want  of  credit. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Contracts  of  labour. 


Skrvtck  in  this  country  is,  as  it  ought  to  be, 
voluntary,  and  by  contract;  and  the  master's  au- 
thority extends  no  further  than  the  terms  or 
equitable  construction  of  the  contract  will  justify. 

The  treatment  of  servants,  as  to  diet,  disci- 
pline, and  accommodation,  the  kind  and  quantity 
of  work  to  be  required  of  them,  the  intermission, 
liliertv,  and  indulgence  to  be  allowed  them,  must 
be  determined  in  a  great  measure  by  custom  ;  for 
where  the  contract  involves  so  many  particulars, 
the  contracting  parties  express  a  few  perhaps  of 
the  principal,  and,  by  mutual  understanding,  re- 
fer the  rest  to  the  known  custom  of  the  country 
in  like  cases. 

A  servant  is  not  bound  to  oliey  the  unlawful 
commands  of  bis  master ;  to  minister,  for  instance, 
to  his  unlawful  pleasures ;  or  to  assist  him  by  un- 
lawful practices  in  his  profession;  as  in  smug- 


gling or  adulterating  the  articles  in  which  he 
deals.  For  the  servant  is  bound  by  nothing  but 
his  own  promise ;  and  the  obligation  of  a  promise 
extends  not  to  things  unlawful. 

For  the  same  reason,  the  master's  authority  is 
no  justification  of  the  servant  in  doing  wrong ; 
for  the  servant's  own  promise,  upon  which  that 
authority  is  founded,  would  be  none. 

Clerks  and  apprentices  ought  to  be  employed 
entirely  in  the  profession  or  trade  which  they  are 
intended  to  learn.  Instruction  is  their  hire ;  and 
to  deprive  them  of  the  opportunities  of  instruc- 
tion, by  taking  up  their  time  with  occuiiations 
foreign  to  their  business,  is  to  defraud  them  of 
their  wages. 

The  master  is  responsible  for  what  a  servant 
does  in  the  ordinary  course  of  his  employment ; 
for  it  is  done  under  a  general  authority  committed 
to  liim,  which  is  in  justice  equivalent  to  a  specific 
direction.  Thus,  rf  I  pay  money  to  a  banker's 
clerk,  the  banker  is  accountable  ;  but  not  if  I  had 
paid  it  to  his  butler  or  his  footman,  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  not  to  receive  money.  Upon  the  same 
principle,  if  I  once  send  a  ser\ant  to  take  up 
goods  upon  credit,  whatever  goods  he  afterwards 
takes  up  at  the  same  shop,  so  long  as  he  con- 
tinues in  my  service,  are  justly  chargeable  to  my 
account. 

The  law  of  this  country  goes  great  lengths  in 
intending  a  kind  of  concurrence  in  the  master,  so 
as  to  charge  him  with  the  consequences  of  his 
servant's  conduct.  If  an  inn-keeper's  servant  rob 
his  guests,  the  inn-keeper  must  make  restitution ; 
if  a  farrier's  servant  lame  a  horse,  the  farrier  must 
answer  for  the  damage ;  and  still  further,  if  your 
coachman  or  carter  drive  over  a  passenger  in  the 
road,  the  passenger  may  recover  from  you  a  satis- 
faction for  the  hurt  he  suffers.  But  these  deter- 
minations stand,  I  think,  rather  upon  the  authority 
of  the  law,  than  any  principle  of  natural  justice. 

There  is  a  carelessness  and  facility  in  "  giving 
characters,"  as  it  is  called,  of  servants,  especially 
when  given  in  writing,  or  according  to  some  es- 
tablished form,  wlrich,  to  speak  plainly  of  it,  is  a 
cheat  upon  those  who  accept  them.  They  are 
given  with  so  little  reserve  and  veracity,  '■  that  I 
should  as  soon  depend,"  says  the  author  of  the 
Rambler,  "  upon  an  acquittal  at  the  Old  Bailey, 
by  way  of  recommendation  of  a  servant's  honesty, 
as  upon  one  of  these  characters."  It  is  sometimes 
carelessness ;  and  sometimes  also  to  get  rid  of  a 
bad  servant  without  the  uneasiness  of  a  dispute  ; 
for  which  nothing  can  be  pleaded  but  the  most 
ungenerous  of  all  excuses,  that  the  person  whom 
we  deceive  is  a  stranger. 

There  is  a  conduct  the  reverse  of  this,  but  more 
injurious,  because  the  injury  falls  where  there  is 
no  remedy;  I  mean  the  obstructing  of  a  servant's 
advancement,  because  you  are  unwilling  to  spare 
his  service.  To  stand  in  the  way  of  your  servant's 
interest,  is  a  poor  return  for  his  fidelity ;  and  af- 
fords slender  encouragement  for  good  behaviour, 
in  this  numerous  and  therefore  important  part  of 
the  community.  It  is  a  piece  of  injtistice  which, 
if  practiced  towards  an  equal,  the  law  of  honour 
would  lay  hold  of;  as  it  is,  it  is  neither  uncom- 
mon nor  disreputable. 

A  master  of  a  family  is  culpable,  if  he  permit 
any  vices  among  his  domestics,  which  he  njght 
restrain  by  due  discipline,  and  a  proper  inter- 
ference.  This  results  from  the  general  obligatiim 
to  prevent  misery  when  in  our  power ;  and  the 


56 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


assurance  which  we  have,  tliat  vice  and  misery  at 
the  long  run  go  together.  Care  to  maintain  in  his 
family  a  sense  of  virtue  and  religion,  received  the 
Divine  approbation  in  the  person  of  Abraham, 
Gen.  xviii.  19:  "  I  know  him,  that  he  will  com- 
mand his  children,  and  his  household  after  him ; 
and  they  shall  keep  the  way  of  the  Lord,  to  do 
justice  and  judgment."  And  indeed  no  authority 
seems  so  well  adapted  to  this  purpose,  as  that  of 
masters  of  families ;  because  none  operates  upon 
the  subjects  of  it  with  an  influence  so  immediate 
and  constant. 

What  the  Christian  Scriptures  have  delivered 
concerning  tlie  relation  and  reciprocal  duties  of 
masters  and  servants,  breathes  a  spirit  of  liberality, 
very  httle  known  in  ages  when  servitude  was 
slavery  ;  and  which  flowed  from  a  habit  of  con- 
templating mankind  under  the  common  relation 
in  which  they  stand  to  their  Creator,  and  with 
respect  to  their  interest  in  another  existence  ;* 
"  Servants,  be  obedient  to  them  that  are  your 
masters,  according  to  the  flesh,  with  fear  and  trem- 
bUng ;  in  singleness  of  your  heart,  as  unto  Christ ; 
not  with  eye-service,  as  men-pleasers,  but  as  the 
servants  of  Christ,  doing  the  will  of  God  from  the 
heart ;  tcith  good  will,  doing  service  as  to  the 
Lord,  and  not  to  men  ;  knowing  that  whatsoever 
good  tiling  any  man  doeth,  the  same  shall  he  re- 
ceive of  the  Lord,  whether  he  be  bond  or  free. 
And  ye  masters,  do  the  same  thing  unto  them, 
forbearing  threatening  ;  knowing  that  your  Mas- 
ter also  is  in  heaven;  neither  is  there  respect  of 
persons  with  him."  The  idea  of  referring  their 
service  to  God,  of  considering  hiin  as  having  ap- 
pointed them  their  task,  that  they  were  doing  his 
will,  and  were  to  look  to  /u'/n.  for  their  reward,  was 
new ;  and  aflx)rds  a  greater  security  to  the  master 
than  any  inferior  principle,  because  it  tends  to  pro- 
duce a  steady  and  cordial  obedience,  in  the  place 
of  that  constrained  service,  which  can  never  be 
trusted  out  of  sight,  and  which  is  justly  enough 
called  eye-service.  The  exhortation  to  masters,  to 
keep  in  view  their  own  subjection  and  accountable- 
ness,  was  no  less  seasonable. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

Contracts  of  Labour. 

COMMISSIONS. 

Whoever  undertakes  another  man's  business, 
makes  it  his  own,  that  is,  promises  to  employ  upon 
it  the  same  care,  attention,  and  diligence,  that  he 
would  do  if  it  were  actually  his  own:  for  he 
knows  that  the  business  was  committed  to  him 
with  that  expectation.  And  he  promises  nothing 
more  than  this.  Therefore  an  agent  is  not  obliged 
to  wait,  inquire,  solicit,  ride  about  the  country, 
toil,  or  study,  whilst  there  remains  a  possibility  of 
benefiting  his  employer.  If  he  exert  so  much  of 
his  activity,  and  use  such  caution,  as  the  value  of 
the  business,  in  his  judgment,  deserves;  that  is, 
as  he  would  have  thougnt  sufficient  if  the  same 
interest  of  his  own  had  been  at  stake,  he  has  dis- 
charged his  duty,  although  it  should  afterwards 
turn  out,  that  by  more  activity,  and  longer  perse- 
verance, he  might  have  concluded  the  business 
with  greater  advantage. 

*  Eph.  vi.  5— a. 


This  rule  defines  the  duty  of  factors,  steward:*, 
attorneys,  and  advocates. 

One  of  the  chief  difficulties  of  an  agent's  situa- 
tion is,  to  know  how  far  he  may  depart  from  his 
instructions,  when,  from  some  change  or  disco- 
very in  the  circumstances  of  liis  commission,  he 
sees  reason  to  believe  that  his  employer,  if  he 
were  present,  would  alter  his  intention.  The 
latitude  allowed  to  agents  in  this  respect,  will  be 
dili'ercnt,  according  as  the  commission  was  con- 
fidential or  ministerial ;  and  according  as  the 
general  rule  and  nature  of  the  service  require  a 
prompt  and  precise  obedience  to  orders,  or  not. 
An  attorney,  sent  to  treat  for  an  estate,  if  he 
found  out  a  flaw  in  the  title,  would  desist  from 
ljro}5osing  the  price  he  was  directed  to  propose ; 
and  very  properly.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the 
commander-in-chief  of  an  army  detach  an  officer 
under  him  upon  a  particular  service,  which  ser- 
vice turns  out  more  difficult,  or  less  expedient, 
than  was  supposed  ;  insomuch  that  the  officer  is 
convinced,  that  liis  commander,  if  he  were  ac- 
quainted with  the  true  state  in  which  the  affiiir  is 
found,  would  recall  his  orders;  yet  must  this 
officer,  if  he  cannot  wait  for  fresh  directions  witli- 
out  prejudice  to  the  expedition  he  is  sent  upon, 
pursue  at  all  hazards,  those  which  he  brought  out 
with  him. 

What  is  trusted  to  an  agent,  may  be  lost  or 
damaged  in  his  hands  by  misfortune.  An  agent 
who  acts  witliout  pay,  is  clearly  not  answerable 
for  the  loss ;  for  if  he  give  his  labour  for  nothing, 
it  cannot  be  presumed  that  he  gave  also  his 
security  for  the  success  of  it.  If  the  agent  be 
hired  to  the  business,  the  question  will  depend 
upon  the  apprehension  of  the  parties  at  the  time 
of  making  the  contract ;  which  apprehension  of 
theirs  must  be  collected  chiefly  from  custom,  by 
which  probably  it  was  guided.  Whether  a  public 
carrier  ought  to  account  for  goods  sent  by  him; 
the  owner  or  master  of  a  ship  for  the  cargo  ;  the 
post-office,  for  letters,  or  l^ills  enclosed  in  let- 
ters, where  the  loss  is  not  imputed  to  any  fault  or 
neglect  of  theirs;  ai^e  questions  of  this  sort.  Any 
expression  which  by  implication  amounts  to  a 
promise,  will  be  binding  upon  the  agent,  without 
custom  ;  as  where  the  proprietors  of  a  stage-coach 
advertise  that  they  will  not  be  accountable  lor 
money,  plate  or  jewels,  this  makes  them  account- 
able lor  every  thing  else;  or  where  the  price  is  too 
much  for  the  labour,  part  of  it  may  be  considered 
as  a  premium  for  insurance.  On  the  other  hand, 
any  caution  on  the  part  of  the  owner  to  guard 
against  danger,  is  evidence  that  he  considers  the 
risk  to  be  his :  as  cutting  a  bank-bill  in  two,  to 
send  by  the  post  at  different  times. 

Universally,  unless  a  promise,  either  express  or 
tacit,  can  be  proved  against  the  agent,  the  loss 
must  fall  upon  the  owner. 

The  agent  may  be  a  sufferer  in  his  own  person 
or  property  by  the  business  which  he  undertakes ; 
as  where  one  goes  a  journey  for  another,  and 
lames  his  horse,  or  is  hurt  him.self  bya  fiill  ui)on 
the  road ;  can  the  agent  in  such  a  case  claim  a 
compensation  for  the  misfortune  1  Unless  the 
same  be  provided  for  by  express  stipulation,  the 
agent  is  not  entitled  to  any  compensation  from 
his  employer  on  that  account:  for  where  the  dan- 
ger is  not  foreseen,  there  can  be  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  the  employer  engaged  to  indemnify  the 
agent  against  it:  still  less  where  it  is  foreseen: 
for  whoever  knowingly  undertakes  a  dangerous 


OFFICES. 


57 


cmi)Io3-ment,  in  common  construction,  takes  upon 
hiinseir  the  danger  and  the  consequences ;  as 
where  a  fireman  undertakes  for  a  reward  to  rescue 
a  box  of  writing  from  the  flames ;  or  a  sailor  to 
bring  off  a  passenger  from  a  sliip  in  a  storm. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
Contracts  of  Labour. 

PARTNERSHIP. 

I  KNOW  nothing  upon  the  subject  of  partnership 
that  requires  explanation,  but  in  what  manner  the 
profits  are  to  be  divided,  where  one  partner  con- 
tributes money,  and  the  other  labour ;  which  is  a 
common  case. 

Nitle.  From  the  stock  of  the  partnership  deduct 
the  sum  advanced,  and  divide  the  remainder  be- 
tween the  monied  partner  and  the  labouring 
partner,  in  the  proportion  of  the  interest  of  the 
money  to  the  wages  of  the  labourer,  allowing  such 
a  rate  of  interest  as  money  might  be  borrowed  for 
upon  the  same  security,  and  such  wages  as  a 
journeyman  would  require  for  the  same  labour 
and  trust. 

Example.  A.  advances  a  thousand  pounds,  but 
knows  nothing  of  the  business ;  B.  produces  no 
money,  but  has  been  brought  up  to  the  business, 
and  undertakes  to  conduct  it.  At  the  end  of  the 
year,  the  stock  and  the  effects  of  the  partnership 
amount  to  twelve  hundred  pounds  ;  consequently 
there  are  two  hundred  pounds  to  be  divided. — 
Now,  nobody  would  lend  money  upon  the  event 
of  the  business  succeeding,  which  is  A's  security, 
under  six  per  cent. ; — therefore  A.  must  be  allowed 
sixty  pounds  for  the  interest  of  his  money.  B, 
before  he  engaged  in  the  partnership,  earned  thirty 
pounds  a  year  in  the  same  employment;  his 
labour,  therefore,  ought  to  be  valued  at  thirty 
poimds :  and  the  two  hundred  pounds  must  lie 
divided  between  the  partners  in  the  proportion  of 
sixty  to  thirty;  that  is,  A.  must  receive  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-three  pounds  si.x  shillings  and 
eight  pence,  and  B.  sixty-six  pounds  thirteen 
shillings  and  four  pence. 

If  there  be  nothing  gained,  A.  loses  his  interest, 
and  B.  his  labour;  which  is  right.  If  the  original 
sto'k  be  diminished,  by  this  rule  B.  loses  only  his 
labour,  as  before ;  whereas  A.  loses  his  interest, 
and  part  of  the  principal;  for  which  eventual 
disadvantage  A.  is  com[)ensated,  by  havincr  the 
interest  of  his  money  computed  at  six  per  cent,  in 
the  division  of  the  profits,  when  there  are  any. 

It  is  true  that  the  division  of  the  profit  is  seldom 
forgotten  in  the  constitution  of  the  ])artnership, 
and  is  tlierefore  commonly  settled  by  express 
agreements:  but  these  agreements,  to  be  equit- 
able, should  pursue  the  principle  of  the  rule  here 
laid  down. 

All  the  partners  are  bound  to  what  any  one  of 
tliem  does  in  the  course  of  the  business ;  for. 
quoad  hoc,  each  partner  is  considered  as  an  au- 
thorised agent  for  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
Contracts  of  Labour. 

OFFICES. 

In  many  offices,  as  schools,  fellowships  of  col- 
leges, professorships  of  universities,  and  the  Uke, 


there  is  a  two- fold  contract,  one  with  the  founder, 
the  other  with  the  electors. 

The  contract  with  the  founder  obliges  the  in 
cumbent  of  the  office  to  discharge  everv  duty 
appointed  by  the  charter,  statutes,  deed  of  gilt,  or 
will  of  the  founder;  because  the  endowment  was 
given,  and  consequently  accepted,  for  that  ]urpuse, 
and  upon  those  conditions. 

The  contract  with  the  electors  extends  this 
obligation  to  all  duties  that  have  been  custuviarily 
connected  with  and  reckoned  a  part  of  the  office, 
though  not  prescribed  by  the  founder ;  for  the 
electors  exjjcct  from  the  person  they  choose,  all 
the  duties  which  his  predecessors  have  discharged  ; 
and  as  the  person  elected  cannot  be  ignorant  of 
their  expectation,  if  he  meant  to  have  refused  this 
condition,  he  ought  to  have  apprised  them  of  his 
objection. 

And  here  let  it  be  observed,  that  the  electors 
can  excuse  the  conscience  of  the  person  elected, 
from  this  last  class  of  duties  alone ;  becau.se  this 
class  results  from  a  contract  to  which  the  electors 
and  the  person  elected  are  the  only  parties. — 
The  other  class  of  duties  results  from  a  different 
contract. 

It  is  a  question  of  some  magnitude  and  diffi- 
culty, what  offices  may  be  conscientiously  supplied 
by  a  deputy. 

We  will  state  the  several  objections  to  the  sub- 
stitution of  a  deputy ;  and  then  it  will  be  under- 
stood, that  a  deputy  may  be  allowed  in  all  cases 
to  which  these  objections  do  not  apply. 

An  ofiice  may  not  be  discharged  by  deputy, 

1.  Where  a  particular  confidence  "is  reposed  in 
the  judgment  and  conduct  of  the  person  appoint- 
ed to  it ;  as  the  office  of  a  steward,  guardian, 
judge,  commander-in-chief  by  land  or  sea. 

2.  Where  the  custom  hinders ;  as  in  the  case 
of  schoolmasters,  tutors,  and  of  commissions  in  the 
army  or  navy. 

3.  Where  the  duty  cannot,  from  its  nature,  be 
so  well  performed  by  a  deputy  ;  as  the  deputy 
governor  of  a  province  may  not  possess  the  lega. 
authority,  or  the  actual  influence,  of  his  principal 

4.  When  some  inconveniency  would  result  to 
the  service  in  general  from  the  pennission  oi 
deputies  in  such  cases  :  for  example,  it  is  probable 
that  military  merit  would  be  much  discouraged, 
if  the  duties  belonging  to  commissions  in  tiie 
army  were  generally  allowed  to  be  executed  by 
substitutes. 

The  non-residence  of  the  parochial  clergy,  who 
supply  the  duty  of  their  benefices  by  curates,  is 
worthy  of  a  more  distinct  consiileration.  And  in 
order  to  draw  the  question  ujron  tliis  case  to  a 
point,  we  will  suppose  the  officiating  curate  to 
discharge  every  duty  which  his  principal,  were  he 
present,  would  be  bound  to  discharge,  and  in  a 
manner  equally  beneficial  to  the  parish:  under 
which  circumstances,  the  only  objection  to  the 
absence  of  the  principal,  at  least  the  only  one  ot 
the  foregoing  objections,  is  the  last. 

And,  in  my  judgment,  the  force  of  this  objection 
will  be  much  diminished,  if  the  absent  rector  or 
\  icar  be,  in  the  meantime,  engaged  in  any  function 
or  em[)loyment  of  equal,  or  of  greater,  importance 
to  the  general  interest  of  religion.  For  the  whole 
revenue  of  the  national  church  may  properly 
enough  be  considered  as  a  common  fun  1  for  the 
support  of  the  national  religion;  and  if  a  clergy- 
man be  serving  the  cause  of  Christianity  and  pro- 
i  testantism,  it  can  make  little  difierence,  out  ol 


58 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


what  particular  portion  of  this  fund,  tliat  is,  by 
the  titht's  and  glohe  of  what  particular  parish,  his 
service  he  renuitcil;  any  more  than  it  can  pre- 
judice the  king's  service  that  an  otHcer  who  has 
signalised  his  merit  in  America,  should  be  re- 
warded with  the  government  of  a  fort  or  castle 
in  Ireland,  which  he  never  saw;  but  for  the 
custodv  of  wliich,  proper  provision  is  made,  and 
care  taken. 

Upon  the  principle  thus  explained,  this  indul- 
Seuce  is  due  to  none  more  than  to  those  who  arc 
occupied  in  cultivating  or  conmiunicating  re- 
ligious knowledge,  or  the  sciences  subsidiary  to 
religion. 

This  way  of  considering  the  revenues  of  the 
church  as  a  common  fund  for  the  same  purpose, 
is  the  more  equitable,  as  the  value  of  particular 
preferments  bears  no  proportion  to  the  particular 
charge  or  labour. 

But  when  a  man  draws  upon  this  fund,  whose 
studies  and  employments  bear  no  relation  to  the 
object  of  it,  and  who  is  no  further  a  minister  of 
the  christian  religion  than  as  a  cockade  makes  a 
soldier,  it  seems  a  misapplication  little  better  than 
a  robliery. 

And  to  those  who  have  the  management  of 
such  matters  I  submit  this  question,  whether  the 
impo^■erishment  of  the  fund,  by  converting  the 
best  share  of  it  into  annuities  for  the  gay  and 
illiterate  youth  of  great  families,  threatens  not  to 
starve  and  stifle  the  Uttle  clerical  merit  that  is  left 
amongst  us  1 

All  legal  dispensations  from  residence,  proceed 
upon  the  supposition,  that  the  absentee  is  detained 
from  his  living  by  some  engagement  of  equal  or  of 
greater  public  importance.  Therefore,  if,  in  a 
case  where  no  such  reason  can  with  truth  be 
pleaded,  it  be  said  that  this  question  regards  a 
right  of  property,  and  that  all  right  of  property 
awaits  the  disposition  of  law;  that,  therefore,  if 
the  law  which  gives  a  man  the  emoluments  of  a 
living,  excuse  him  from  residing  upon  it,  he  is 
excused  in  conscience ;  we  answer  that  the  law 
does  not  excuse  him  hy  inteniiun^  and  that  all 
other  excuses  are  fraudulent. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Ldes. 

A  LIE  is  a  breach  of  promise:  for  whoever 
seriously  addresses  his  discourse  to  another,  tacitly 
promises  to  speak  the  truth,  because  he  knows 
that  the  truth  is  expected. 

Or  the  obligation  of  veracity  may  be  made  out 
from  the  direct  ill  consequences  of  lying  to  social 
happiness.  Which  conscipiences  consist,  cither 
in  some  specific  injury  to  parliculur  inilixidiuils, 
or  in  the  destruction  of  that  confidence  which  is 
essential  to  the  intercourse  of  human  life;  for 
which  latter  reason,  a  lie  may  be  pernicious  in  its 
general  tendency,  and  therefore  criminal,  though 
it  produce  no  particular  or  visible  miscliief  to 
any  one. 

There  are  falsehoods  which  are  not  lies;  that 
Is,  which  are  not  criminal :  as, 

1.  Where  no  one  is  deceived ;  which  is  the 
case  in  ])arables,  fables,  novels,  jests,  tales  to  create 
mirth,  ludicrous  embpllishments  of  a  story,  where 
the  declared  design  of  the  sjieaker  is  not  to  inform, 
but  to  divert ;  complhnents  in  the  subscription  of 


a  letter,  a  servant's  denying  his  master,  a  prison- 
er's pleading  not  guilty,  an  advocate  asserting  the 
justice,  or  his  belief  of  the  justice  of  his  client's 
cause.  In  such  instances,  no  confldence  is  de- 
stroyed, because  none  was  reposed ;  no  promise 
to  speak  the  truth  is  violated,  because  noixe  was 
given,  or  understood  to  be  given. 

2.  Where  the  person  to  whom  you  speak  has 
no  right  to  know  the  truth,  or,  more  jiroperly, 
where  little  or  no  inconveniency  results  from  the 
want  of  confidence  in  such  cases;  as  where  you 
tell  a  falsehood  to  a  madman,  for  his  own  ad- 
vantage ;  to  a  robber,  to  conceal  your  property  ; 
to  an  assassin,  to  defeat  or  divert  him  from  his 
purpose.  I'he  particular  consequence  is  by  the 
supposition  beneficial;  and,  as  to  the  general  con- 
sequence, the  worst  that  can  happen  is,  that  the 
madman,  the  robber,  the  assassin,  will  not  trust 
you  again ;  which  (beside  that  the  first  is  incapalile 
of  deducing  regular  conclusions  from  having  been 
once  deceived,  and  the  last  two  not  likely  to  come 
a  second  time  in  your  way)  is  sufficiently  con>- 
pensated  by  the  immediate  benefit  which  you 
propose  by  the  falsehood. 

It  is  upon  this  principle,  that,  by  the  laws  of 
war,  it  is  allowed  to  deceive  an  enemy  by  feints, 
false  colours,*  spies,  false  intelligence,  and  the 
like ;  but  by  no  means  in  treaties,  truces,  signals 
of  capitulation,  or  surrender :  and  the  difl'erence 
is,  that  the  former  suppose  hostilities  to  continue, 
the  latter  are  calculated  to  terminate  or  suspend 
them.  In  the  conduct  of  war,  and  whilst  the  war 
continues,  there  is  no  use,  or  rather  no  place,  for 
confidence  betwixt  the  contending  parties ;  but  in 
whatever  relates  to  the  termination  of  war,  the 
most  religious  fidelity  is  expected,  because  without 
it  wars  could  not  cease,  nor  the  victims  be  secure, 
but  by  the  entire  destruction  of  the  vanquished. 

Many  people  indulge,  in  serious  discourse,  a 
habit  of  fiction  and  exaggeration,  in  the  accounts 
they  give  of  themselves,  of  their  acquaintance,  or 
of  the  extraordinary  things  which  they  have  seen 
or  heard :  and  so  long  as  tlie  facts  they  relate  are 
indiflerent,  and  their  narratives,  though  false,  are 
inoflensive,  it  may  seem  a  superstitious  regard  to 
truth  to  censure  them  merely  for  truth's  sake. 

In  the  fir.st  place,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  pro- 
nounce beforehand,  with  certainty,  concerning  any 
lie,  that  it  is  inoflensive.  Volat  irrevocabile  ;  and 
collects  sometimes  accretions  in  its  flight,  which 
entirely  change  its  nature.  It  may  owe  possibly 
its  mischief  to  the  ofliciousness  or  misrepresenta- 
tion of  those  who  circulate  it ;  but  the  mischief  is, 
nevertheless,  in  some  degree  chargeable  upon  the 
original  editor. 

In  the  next  place,  this  liberty  in  conversation 
defeats  its  own  end.  Much  of  the  pleasure,  and 
all  the  beneflt,  of  conversation,  depends  upon  our 
ojiinion  of  the  speaker's  veracity ;  for  which  this 
rule  leaves  no  foundation.  The  faith  indeed  of  a 
hearer  must  be  extremely  perjtlexed,  who  con- 
siders the  speaker,  or  believes  that  the  s|icaker 
considers  himself  as  under  no  obligation  to  adhere 


*  There  have  been  two  or  three  instances  of  late,  of 
English  ships  decoyinc  an  enemy  into  their  power,  by 
cnunterfeiling  signals  of  distress;  an  artifice  which 
ought  to  be  reprobated  by  the  common  indignation  of 
mankind  !  for  a  few  examples  of  captures  crtictid  by 
tliis  stratagem,  would  put  an  end  to  that  pnuniPtitude 
in  affording  assistance  to  ships  in  distress,  wiiicli  is  the 
best  virtue  in  a  seafaring  character,  and  by  which  tlie 
perils  of  navigation  are  diminislied  to  all. — A.  D.  1775 


OATHS. 


to  troth,  but  according  to  the  particular  impor- 
tance of  what  he  relates. 

But  beside  and  above  both  these  reasons,  ithite 
lies  always  introduce  others  of  a  darker  com- 
plexion. I  have  seldom  known  anv  one  who  de- 
serted truth  in  trides.  that  could  be  trusted  in 
matters  of  importance.  Nice  disiinctions  are  out 
of  the  question,  upon  occasions  which,  like  those 
of  speech,  return  every  hour.  The  habit,  there- 
fore, of  Ivins.  when  once  tbrmed.  is  easilv  ex- 
tended, to  serve  the  designs  of  mahce  or  interest ; — 
like  all  habits,  it  spreads  indeed  of  itself 

Pious  frauds,  as  thev  are  improperly  enough 
called,  pretended  inspirations,  forged  books,  coun- 
terfeit miracles,  are  impositions  of  a  more  serious 
natvire.  It  is  possible  that  they  may  sometimes, 
though  seldom,  have  been  set  up  and  encouraged, 
with  a  design  to  do  good :  but  the  good  they  aim 
at.  requires  that  the  beUef  of  them  should  be  per- 
petual which  is  hardly  possible :  and  the  detec- 
tion of  tlie  fraud  is  sure  to  disparage  the  credit  of 
all  pretensions  of  the  same  nature.  Christianity 
has  suffered  more  injury  from  this  cause,  than 
horn  all  other  causes  put  tosether. 

As  there  may  be  falsehoods  which  are  not  lies, 
so  there  may  be  Ues  without  Uteral  or  direct  felse- 
hood.  An  opening  is  always  left  tor  this  species 
of  prevarication,  when  the  hteral  and  grammati- 
cal signification  of  a  sentence  is  different  from 
the  popular  and  customary  meaning.  It  is  the 
wilful  deceit  that  makes  the  lie ;  and  we  wiLftilly 
deceive,  when  our  expressions  are  not  true  in  the 
sense  in  which  we  believe  the  hearer  to  appre- 
hend them ;  besides  that  it  is  absurd  to  contend 
fen  any  sense  of  words,  in  oppceition  to  usage : 
for  all  senses  of  all  words  are  founded  upon  usage, 
and  upon  nothing  else. 

Or  a  man  may  act  a  he :  as  by  pointing  his  fin-  | 
ger  in  a  wrong  direction,  when  a  traveller  inquires  i 
of  him  his  n^d ;  or  when  a  tradesman  shuts  up  I 
his  windows,  to  induce  his  creditors  to  beheve 
that  he  is  abroad :  tor,  to  all  moral  purposes,  and 
therefore  as  to  veracity,  speech  and  action  are  the 
same :  speech  being  only  a  mode  of  action. 

Or,  lastly,  there  may  be  hes  of  omission.  A 
writer  of  English  history,  who  in  his  account  of 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  First,  should  wilfully 
suppress  any  evidence  of  that  prince's  despotic 
measures  and  designs,  might  be  said  to  he ;  for, 
by  entitling  his  book  a  History  of  England,  he 
engages  to  relate  the  whole  truth  of  the  history, 
or.  at  least,  all  that  he  knows  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

Oaths. 

I.  Forms  of  Oaths. 

II.   Signification. 
III.  Lawfulness. 
W.   Obligation. 

V.   What  Oaths  do  not  bind. 
VI.  In  uhat  sense  Oaths  are  to  he  interpreted. 

I.  The  forms  of  oaths,  like  other  religious  cere- 
monies, have  in  all  ages  been  various :  consistin? 
however,  for  the  most  part,  of  some  bodily  action.* 


*  It  i>  commonly  thousht  that  oaths  are  denominated 
corporal  i^aths  from  the  bodily  action  which  accompa- 
nie?  them,  of  layins  the  risht  hand  upon  a  book  con- 
taining the  four  Gospels.    This  opinion,  however,  ap- 


and  of  a  prescribed  form  of  words.  Amongvt  the 
Jews,  the  juror  held  up  his  right  hand  towards 
heaven,  which  explains  a  passage  in  the  144th 
Psalm ;  "  Whose  nwuth  speaketh  vanity,  and 
their  right  hand  is  a  right  hand  of  fialsehcod." 
The  same  form  is  retained  in  Scotland  stiiL 
Amongst  the  same  Jews,  an  oath  of  fidelity  was 
taken,  by  the  servant's  putting  his  hand  under 
the  thigh  of  his  lord,  as  Ehezer  did  to  Abraham, 
Gen.  xxiv.  2. :  from  whence,  with  no  great  varia- 
tion, is  derived  perhaps  the  form  of  doing  homage 
at  this  day,  by  putting  the  hands  between  the 
knees,  and  within  the  hands,  of  the  Uege. 

Amongst  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  the  form 
varied  with  the  subject  and  occasion  of  the  oath. 
In  private  contracts,  the  parties  took  hold  of  each 
other's  hand,  whilst  they  swore  to  the  perform- 
ance; or  they  touched  the  altar  of  the  god  by 
whose  divinity  they  swore.  Upon  more  solemn 
occasions,  it  was  the  custom  to  slav  a  victim :  and 
the  beast  being  struck  down  with  certain  ceremo- 
nies and  invocations,  gave  birth  to  the  expressions 
rs.u.s.F  :;x:»,  ferire  pactum  ;  and  to  our  English 
phrase,  translated  from  these,  of  "•  striking  a  bar- 
gain.'' 

The  forms  of  oaths  in  Christian  countries  are 
also  very  different ;  but  in  no  country  in  the  world, 
I  beheve,  worse  contrived,  either  to  convey  the 
meaning,  or  impress  the  obligation  of  an  oath, 
than  in  our  own.  The  juror  with  us.  after  re- 
peating the  promise  or  afSrmation  which  the  oath 
is  intended  to  confirm,  adds,  "  So  help  me  God :'"' 
or  more  frequently  the  substance  of  the  oath  is 
repeated  to  the  juror  by  the  olEcer  or  magistrate 
who  administers  it.  adding  in  the  conclusion,  "  So 
help  you  God.'"  The  energy  of  the  sentence  re- 
sides in  the  particle  so  ;  so.  that  is.  hoc  lege,  upon 
condition  of  my  speaking  the  truth,  or  performing 
this  promise,  and  not  otherwise,  may  God  help 
me.  The  juror,  whilst  he  hears  or  repeats  the 
words  of  the  oath,  holds  his  right  hand  upon  a 
Bible,  or  other  book  containing  the  four  Gospels. 
The  conclusion  of  the  oath  sometimes  runs,  "Ita 
me  Deus  adjuvet,  et  hsec  sancta  evangeUa,"  or 
••  So  help  me  God.  and  the  contents  of  this  book :"' 
which  last  clause  forms  a  connexion  between  the 
words  and  action  of  the  juror,  that  before  was 
wanting.  The  juror  then  kisses  the  hook:  the 
kiss,  however,  seems  rather  an  act  of  reverence 
to  the  contents  of  the  book,  (as,  in  the  popish 
ritual,  the  priest  kisses  the  Gospel  before  he  reads 
it.)  than  any  part  of  the  oath. 

This  obscure  and  elhptical  form,  together  with 
the  levity  and  frequency  with  which  it  is  adminis- 
tered, has  brought  about  a  general  inadvertency 
to  the  obligation  of  oaths :  which,  both  in  a  re- 
ligious and  poUtical  view,  is  much  to  he  lamented : 
and  it  merits  pubhc  consideration,  whether  the 
requiring  of  oaths  on  so  many  frivolous  .Tccasions, 
especially  in  the  Customs,  and  in  the  qualification 
for  petty  offices,  has  any  other  effect,  than  to 
make  them  cheap  in  the  minds  of  the  people.  A 
pound  of  tea  cannot  travel  regularly  from  the 
ship  to  the  consumer,  without  costing  half  a  dozen 
oaths  at  the  least :  and  the  same  security  for  the 
due  discharge  of  their  office,  namely,  that  of  an 
oath,  is  required  from  a  churchwajden  and  an 


pears  to  be  a  mistake:  for  the  term  is  borrowed  {rem 
the  ancient  usase  of  toachins.  on  these  occasions,  the 
corporaU,  or  eloth  which  covered  the  consecrated  eie- 

ments. 


CO 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


arclibishop,  from  a  petty  constable  and  the  chief 
justice  of  England.  Let  the  law  continue  its  own 
sanctions,  if  they  he  thought  requisite ;  but  let  it 
spare  the  solemnity  of  an  oath.  And  where,  from 
the  want  of  something  better  to  depend  upon,  it 
is  necessary  to  accept  men's  own  word  or  own 
account,  let  it  annex  to  prevarication  penal- 
ties proportioned  to  the  public  mischief  of  the  of- 
fence. 

[I.  But  whatever  be  the  form  of  an  oath,  the 
signijication  is  the  same.  It  is  "  the  calling  upon 
God  to  witness,  i.  e.  to  take  notice  of,  what  we 
say;"  and  it  is  "invoking  his  vengeance,  or  re- 
nouncing his  favour,  if  what  we  say  be  false,  or 
what  we  promise  be  not  performed." 

III.  CLuakers  and  Moravians  refuse  to  swear 
upon  any  occasion ;  founding  their  scruples  con- 
cerning the  lawfulness  of  oaths  upon  our  Sa- 
viour's prohibition,  Matt.  v.  34.  "  I  say  unto  you, 
Swear  not  at  all." 

The  answer  which  we  give  to  this  objection 
cannot  be  understood,  without  first  stating  the 
whole  passage ;  "  Ye  have  heard  that  it  hath  been 
said  by  them  of  old  time.  Thou  shalt  not  forswear 
thyself,  but  shalt  pertbrm  unto  the  Lord  thine 
oaths.  But  I  say  unto  you,  Swear  not  at  all; 
neither  by  heaven,  for  it  is  God's  throne ;  nor  by 
the  earth,  for  it  is  his  footstool ;  neither  by  Jeru- 
salem, for  it  is  the  city  of  the  great  King.  Nei- 
ther shalt  thou  swear  by  thy  head,  because  thou 
canst  not  make  one  hair  white  or  black.  Bui  let 
your  communication  be.  Yea,  yea ;  Nay,  nav :  for 
whatsoever  is  more  than  these,  cometh  of  evil." 

To  reconcile  with  this  passage  of  Scripture  the 
practice  of  swearing,  or  of  taking  oaths,  when  re- 
quired by  law,  the  following  observations  must  be 
attended  to : 

1.  It  does  not  appear  that  swearing  "  by  hea- 
ven," "  by  the  earth,"  "  by  Jerusalem,"  or  "  by 
their  own  head,"  was  a  form  of  swearing  ever 
made  use  of  amongst  the  Jews  in  judicial  oaths : 
and  consequently,  it  is  not  probable  that  they 
were  judicial  oaths,  which  Christ  had  in  his  mind 
when  he  mentioned  those  instances. 

2.  As  to  the  seeming  universality  of  the  prohi- 
bition, "  Swear  not  at  all,"  the  emphatic  clause 
"  not  at  all"  is  to  be  read  in  connexion  with  what 
follows;  "not  at  all,"  i.  e.  neither  "by  the  hea- 
ven," nor  "  by  the  earth,"  nor  "  by  Jerusalem," 
nor  "by  thy  head;"  "not  at  all,"  does  not  mean 
upon  no  occasion,  but,  by  none  of  these  forms. 
Our  Saviour's  argument  seems  to  suppose,  that 
the  people  to  whom  he  spake,  made  a  distinction 
between  swearing  directly  by  the  "name  of  God," 
and  swearing  by  those  inferior  objects  of  venera- 
tion, "  the  heavens,"  "the  earth,"  "Jerusalem," 
or  "their  own  head."  In  opposition  to  which 
distinction,  he  tells  them,  that  on  account  of  the 
relation  which  these  things  bore  to  the  Supreme 
Being,  to  swear  by  any  of  them,  was  in  eflect  and 
substance  to  swear  by  him  ;  "  by  heaven,  for  it  is 
his  throne :  by  the  earth,  for  it  is  his  footstoo' ;  by 
Jenisalem,  for  it  is  the  city  of  the  great  King  ;  by 
thy  head,  for  it  is  his  workmanship,  not  thine, — 
thou  canst  not  make  one  hair  white  or  black ;"  for 
whi'-h  reason  he  says,  "  Swear  not  at  all,"  thitis, 
neither  directly  by  God,  nor  indirectly  by  any  thing 
related  to  him.  This  interpretation  is  greatly  con° 
finned  by  a  passage  in  the  twenty-third  chapter 
of  the  same  Gospel,  where  a  similar  distinction, 
made  by  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  is  replied  to 
in  the  same  manner. 


3.  Our  Saviour  himself  being  "adjured  by  the 
living  God,"  to  declare  whether  he  was  the  Christ 
the  Son  of  God,  or  not,  condescended  to  answer  the 
high-priest,  without  making  any  objection  to  the 
oath  (for  such  it  was)  upon  which  he  examined 
him. — "  God  is  my  ipitness,"  says  St.  Paul  to  the 
Romans,  "  that  without  ceasing  I  make  mention 
of  you  in  my  prayers :"  and  to  the  Corinthians 
still  more  strongly.  "  I  call  God  for  a  record 
upon  my  soul,  that  to  spare  you,  I  came  not  as 
3'et  to  Corinth."  Both  these  expressions  contain 
the  nature  of  oaths.  The  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews 
speaks  of  the  custom  of  swearing  judicially,  without 
any  mark  of  censure  or  disapprobation ;  "  Men 
verily  swear  by  the  greater:  and  an  oath,  for  con- 
firmation, is  to  them  an  end  of  all  strife." 

Upon  the  strength  of  these  reasons,  we  ex])lain 
our  Saviour's  words  to  relate,  not  to  judicial  oaths, 
but  to  the  practice  of  vain,  wanton,  and  unau- 
thorised swearing,  in  common  discourse.  St. 
James's  words,  chap.  v.  12.  are  not  so  strong  as 
our  Saviour's,  and  therefore  admit  the  same  ex- 
planation with  more  ease. 

IV.  Oaths  are  nugatory,  that  is,  carry  with 
them  no  proper  force  or  obligation,  unless  we 
believe  that  God  will  punish  false  swearing  with 
more  severity  than  a  simple  lie,  or  breach  of  pro- 
mise ;  for  which  belief  there  are  the  following 
reasons : 

1.  Perjury  is  a  sin  of  greater  deliberation.  The 
juror  has  the  thought  of  God  and  of  religion  upon 
his  mind  at  the  time  ;  at  least  there  are  very  few 
who  can  shake  them  off  entirely.  He  offends, 
therefore,  if  he  do  ofll-nd,  with  a  high  hand ;  in 
the  face,  that  is,  and  in  defiance  of  the  sanctions 
of  religion.  His  offence  implies  a  disbelief  or 
contempt  of  God's  knowledge,  power,  and  justice  ; 
which  cannot  be  said  of  a  lie,  where  there  is 
nothing  to  carry  the  mind  to  any  reflection  upon 
the  Deity,  or  the  Divine  Attributes  at  all. 

2.  Perjury  violates  a  superior  confidence. — 
Mankind  must  trust  to  one  another:  and  they 
have  nothing  better  to  trust  to  than  one  another's 
oath.  Hence  legal  adjudications,  which  govern  and 
afl^ect  every  right  and  interest  on  this  side  of  the 
grave,  of  necessity  proceed  and  depend  upon  oaths. 
Perjury,  therefore,  in  its  general  consequence 
strikes  at  the  security  of  reputation,  property,  and 
even  of  life  itself  A  lie  cannot  do  the  same  mis- 
chief, because  the  same  credit  is  not  given  to  it.* 

3.  God  directed  the  Israelites  to  swear  by  his 
name;t  and  was  ])leased,  "in  order  to  show  the 
immutability  of  his  own  counsel,"?  to  confirm  his 
covenant  with  that  people  by  an  oath  :  neither  of 
which  it  is  probable  he  would  have  done,  had  he 
not  intended  to  represent  oaths  as  having  some 
meaning  and  effect  beyond  the  obligation  of  a  bare 
promise ;  which  effect  must  be  owing  to  the 
severer  punishment  with  which  he  will  vindicate 
the  authority  of  oaths. 

V.  Promissory  oaths  are  not  binding  where  the 
promise  itself  would  not  be  so :  for  the  several 
cases  of  which,  see  the  Cha]5ter  of  Promises. 

VI.  As  oaths  are  designed  for  the  security  of 
the  imposer,  it  is  manifest  that  they  must  be  in- 
terpreted and  performed  in  the  sense  in  which  tlie 
imposer  intends  them ;  otherwise,  they  afford  no 

*  Except,  inrieefl,  where  a  Quaker's  or  Moravian's 
affirmation  is  acreptcrl  in  the  placs  of  an  oath;  in 
which  case,  a  lie  partakes,  so  far  as  this  reason  e.xlends, 
of  tlie  nature  and  guilt  of  perjury. 

t  Deut.  V.  n.  X.  20.  t  Heb.  vi.  17. 


OATH  OF  ALLEGIANCE. 


61 


srcurity  to  him.  And  this  is  the  meaning  and 
'■eason  of  the  rule,  "  jurare  in  aninium  imponen- 
tis;"  wliich  rule  the  reader  is  desired  to  carrj- 
along  with  hiui.  whilst  we  proceed  to  consider 
certain  particular  oaths,  which  are  cither  of  greater 
importance,  or  more  likely  to  fall  in  our  way, 
than  others. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
Oath  in  Evidence. 

The  witness  swears  "  to  speak  the  truth,  the 
wliole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  toucliing 
the  matter  in  question." 

Upon  which  it  may  be  obsers'ed,  that  the  de- 
signed concealment  >vf  any  truth,  whicli  relates  to 
the  matter  in  agitation,  is  as  much  a  Aiolation  of 
the  oath,  as  to  testify  a  positive  falsehood;  and 
this,  whether  the  witness  be  interrogated  as  to 
that  particular  point  or  not.  For  when  the  per- 
son to  be  examined  is  sworn  upon  a  roir  dire, 
that  is,  in  order  to  inquire  whether  he  ought  to  be 
admitted  to  give  evidence  in  the  cause  at  all,  the 
form  rvms  thus :  "  You  shall  true  answer  make  to 
all  such  questions  as  shall  be  asked  you:"  but 
when  he  comes  to  be  sworn  in  chief,  he  swears 
"  to  s])eak  the  whole  truth,"  without  restraining 
it,  as  before,  to  the  questions  that  shall  be  asked  : 
which  difference  shows,  that  the  law  intends,  in 
this  latter  case,  to  require  of  tlie  witness,  that  he 
give  a  complete  and  unreserved  account  of  what 
he  knows  of  the  subject  of  the  tnil,  whether  the 
questions  proposed  to  him  reach  the  extent  of  his 
knowledge  or  not.  So  that  it  it  be  mquired  of  the 
witness  afterwards,  why  he  did  not  inform  the 
court  so  and  so,  it  is  not  a  sulficient,  though  a 
very  common  answer,  to  say,  "because  it  was 
never  asked  me." 

I  know  but  one  exception  to  this  rule ;  which 
is,  when  a  full  discovery  of  the  truth  tends  to 
accuse  the  witness  himself  of  some  legal  crime. — 
The  law  of  England  constrains  no  man  to  become 
his  own  accuser ;  consequently  imposes  the  oath 
of  testimony  with  this  tacit  reservation.  But  the 
exception  must  be  confined  to  legal  crimes.  A 
point  of  honour,  of  delicacy,  or  of  reputation,  may 
make  a  witness  backward  to  disclose  some  circum- 
stance with  which  he  is  acquainted  ;  but  will  in 
no  wise  justify  his  concealment  of  the  truth,  unless 
it  could  be  shown,  that  the  law  which  imposes  the 
oath,  intended  to  allow  this  indulgence  to  such 
motives.  The  exception  of  which  we  are  speak- 
ing, is  also  withdrawn  by  a  compact  between  the 
magistrate  and  the  witness,  when  an  accomplice 
is  admitted  to  give  evidence  against  the  partners 
of  his  crime. 

Tenderness  to  the  prisoner,  although  a  specious 
apology  for  concealment,  is  no  just  excuse :  for 
if  this  plea  be  thought  sufficient,  it  takes  the  ad- 
ministration of  penal  justice  out  of  the  hands  of 
judges  and  juries,  and  makes  it  depend  upon  the 
temper  of  prosecutors  and  witnesses. 

Ciuestions  may  be  asked,  which  are  irrelative 
to  the  cause,  which  affect  the  witness  himself,  or 
some  third  person ;  in  which,  and  in  all  cases 
where  the  witness  doubts  of  the  pertinency  and 
,  propriety  of  the  question,  he  ought  to  refer  his 
doulits  to  the  court.  The  answer  of  the  court,  in 
relaxation  of  the  oath,  is  authority  enough  to  the 
witness ;  for  the  law  which  imposes  the  oath,  may 


remit  what  it  will  of  tlie  obligation :  and  it  be- 
longs to  the  court  to  declare  what  the  mind  of  the 
law  is.  Nevertheless,  it  cannot  be  said  universally, 
that  the  answer  of  the  court  is  conclusive  upon  tiie 
conscience  of  the  witness  ;  for  his  obligation,  de- 
pends upon  what  he  apprehended,  at  the  time  of 
taking  the  oath,  to  be  the  design  of  the  law  in 
imposing  it,  and  no  after-requisition  or  explana- 
tion by  the  court  can  carry  the  obligation  beyond 
that. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Oath  of  Allegiance. 

"  I  DO  sincerely  promise  and  swear,  that  I  mil 
be  faithful,  and  bear  true  allegiance  to  his  Ma- 
jesty King  George."  Formerly  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance ran  thus :  "  I  do  promise  to  be  true  and 
faithful,  to  the  king  and  his  heirs,  and  truth  and 
faith  to  bear,  of  life,  and  limb,  and  terrene  honour; 
and  not  to  know  or  hear  of  any  ill  or  damage  in- 
tended him,  without  defending  him  therefrom :" 
and  was  altered  at  the  Revolution  to  the  present 
form.  So  that  the  present  oath  is  a  relaxation  of 
the  old  one.  And  as  the  oath  was  intended  to 
ascertain,  not  so  much  the  extent  of  the  subject's 
obedience,  as  the  person  to  whom  it  was  due,  the 
legislature  seems  to  have  wrapped  up  its  meaning 
uj.'on  the  former  point,  in  a  word  purposely  made 
choice  of  for  its  general  and  indeterminate  sig- 
nification. 

It  will  be  most  convenient  to  consider,  first, 
what  the  oath  excludes  as  inconsistent  with  it; 
secondly,  what  it  permits. 

1.  The  oath  excludes  all  intention  to  support 
the  claim  or  pretensions  of  any  other  person  or 
persons  to  the  crown  and  government,  than  the 
reigning  sovereign.  A  Jacobite,  who  is  persuaded 
of  the  Pretender's  right  to  the  crown,  and  who 
moreover  designs  to  join  with  the  adherents  to 
that  cause  to  assert  this  right,  whenever  a  proper 
opportunity,  with  a  reasonable  prospect  of  suc- 
cess, presents  itself,  cannot  take  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance ;  or,  if  he  could,  the  oath  of  abjuration 
follows,  which  contains  an  express  renunciation 
of  all  opinions  in  favour  of  the  claim  of  the  exiled 
family. 

2.  The  oath  excludes  all  design,  at  the  time, 
of  attempting  to  depose  the  reigning  prince,  for 
any  reason  whatever.  Let  the  justice  of  the 
Revolution  be  what  it  would,  no  honest  man 
could  have  taken  even  the  present  oath  of  alle- 
giance to  James  the  Second,  who  entertained,  at 
the  time  of  taking  it,  a  design  of  joining  in  the 
measures  which  were  entered  into  to  dethrone  him. 

3.  The  oath  forbids  the  taking  up  of  arms 
against  the  reigning  prince,  with  views  of  private 
advancement,  or  from  motives  of  personal  resent- 
ment or  dislike.  It  is  possible  to  happen  in  this, 
what  frequently  happens  in  despotic  governments, 
that  an  ambitious  general,  at  the  head  of  the  mili- 
tary force  of  the  nation,  might,  by  a  conjuncture 
of  fortunate  circumstances,  and  a  great  ascendency 
over  the  minds  of  the  soldiery,  depose  the  prince 
upon  the  throne,  and  make  way  to  it  for  himself, 
or  for  some  creature  of  his  own.  A  person  in  this 
situation  would  be  withholden  from  such  an  at- 
tempt by  the  oath  of  allegiance,  if  he  paid  regard 
to  it.  If  there  were  any  who  engaged  in  the  re- 
bellion of  the  year  forty-five,  with  th;?  expectation 
of  titles,  estates,  or  preferment ;  or  because  they 

6 


62 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


<vere  disappointed,  and  tliought  tliemsclvcs  ne- 
glected and  ill-used  at  court ;  or  because  they 
entertained  a  family  animosity,  or  personal  resent- 
ment, against  the  king,  the  favourite,  or  the  minis- 
ter ; — it'  any  were  induced  to  take  up  arms  by 
these  motives,  they  added  to  the  many  crimes  of 
an  unprovoked  rebellion,  that  of  wiltul  and  cor- 
rupt perjury.  If,  in  the  late  American  war,  the 
same  inotives  determined  others  to  connect  them- 
selves with  that  opposition,  their  part  in  it  was 
charireable  with  perfidy  and  falsehood  to  their  oath, 
whatever  was  the  justice  of  the  opposition  itself, 
or  however  well-founded  their  own  complaints 
might  be  of  private  injury. 

VVe  are  next  to  consider  what  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance permits,  or  does  not  require. 

1.  it  permits  resistance  to  the  king,  when  his 
ill  behaviour  or  imbecility  is  such,  as  to  make  re- 
sistance beneficial  to  the  community.  It  may  fairly 
be  presumed  that  the  Convention  Parliament, 
which  introduced  the  oath  in  its  present  form,  did 
not  intend,  by  imposing  it,  to  exclude  all  resist- 
ance, since  the  members  of  that  legislature  had, 
many  of  them,  recently  taken  up  arms  against 
James  the  Second,  and  the  very  autiiority  by 
which  they  sat  together  was  itself  the  effect  of  a 
successful  opposition  to  an  acknowledged  sove- 
reign. Some  resistance,  therefore,  was  meant  to 
be  allowed ;  and,  if  any,  it  must  be  that  wliich 
has  the  public  interest  for  its  object. 

2.  The  oath  does  not  require  obedience  to  such 
commands  of  the  king  as  are  unauthorized  by  law. 
No  such  obedience  is  implied  by  tlie  terms  of  the 
oath ;  the  fidelity  there  promised,  is  intended  of 
fidelity  in  opposition  to  his  enemies,  and  not  in 
opposition  to  law;  and  allegiance,  at  the  utmost, 
can  only  signify  obedience  to  lawful  commands. 
Therefore,  if  the  king  should  issue  a  proclama- 
tion, levying  money,  or  imposing  any  service  or 
restraint  upon  the  subject  beyond  what  the  crown 
is  empowered  by  law  to  enjoin,  there  would  exist  no 
sort  of  obligation  to  obey  such  a  proclamation,  in 
consequence  of  having  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance. 

3.  The  oath  does  not  require  that  we  should 
continue  our  allegiance  to  the  king,  after  he  is 
actually  and  absolutely  deposed,  driven  into  exile, 
carried  away  captive,  or  otherwise  rendered  in- 
capable of  exercising  the  regal  office,  whether  by 
his  fault  or  without  it.  The  promise  of  allegiance 
implies,  and  is  understood  by  all  parties  to  sup- 
pose, that  the  person  to  whom  the  promise  is 
made,  continues  king ;  continues,  that  is,  to  ex- 
ercise the  power,  and  afford  the  protection  which 
belongs  to  the  office  of  king:  for,  it  is  the  pos- 
session of  this  power,  which  makes  such  a  par- 
ticular person  the  object  of  the  oath ;  without  it, 
why  should  I  swear  allegiance  to  this  man,  ra- 
ther than  to  any  man  in  the  kingdom  1  Beside 
which,  the  contrary  doctrine  is  burthened  with 
this  con.sequence,  that  every  conquest,  revolution 
of  government,  or  disaster  which  befals  the  per- 
son of  the  prince,  must  be  followed  by  perpetual 
and  irremediable  anarchy. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Oath  against  Bribery  in  the  Election  of  Mem- 
bers of  Parliament. 

"  1  DO  swear.  I  have  not  received,  or  had,  I  my- 
self, or  any  person  whatsoever,  in  trust  for  me,  or 


for  my  use  and  benefit,  directly  or  indirectly,  an; 
sum  or  sums  of  money,  office,  place,  or  employ- 
ment, gift  or  reward,  or  any  promise  or  security 
for  any  money,  office,  employment,  or  gift,  in  or- 
der to  give  my  vote  at  tliis  election.'' 

The  several  contrivances  to  evade  this  oath, 
such  as  the  electors  accepting  money  under  colour 
of  borrowing  it,  and  gi\ing  a  promissory  note,  or 
other  security,  for  it,  whicli  is  cancelled  after  the 
election;  receiving  money  from  a  stranger,  or  a 
person  in  disguise,  or  out  of  a  drawer,  or  purse, 
left  open  for  the  purpose ;  or  promises  of  money 
to  be  paid  after  the  election ;  or  stipulating  lor  a 
place,  living,  or  other  private  advantage  of  any 
kind;  if  they  escape  the  legal  penalties  of  perjury, 
incur  the  moral  guilt ;  for  they  are  manife.stly 
within  the  mischief  and  design  of  the  statute 
whicli  imposes  the  oath,  and  within  the  terms  in- 
deed of  the  oath  itself;  for  the  word  "indirectly" 
is  inserted  on  purpose  to  comprehend  such  cases 
as  tliese. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Oath  against  Simony. 

From  an  imaginary  resemblance  between 
the  purchase  of  a  benefice,  and  Simon  Magus's 
attempt  to  purchase  the  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
(Acts  viii.  19,)  the  obtaining  of  ecclesiastical  pre- 
ferment by  pecuniary  considerations  has  been 
termed  Simo7iy. 

The  sale  of  advowsons  is  inseparable  from 
the  allowance  of  private  patronage  ;  as  patronage 
would  otherwise  devolve  to  the  most  indigent,  and 
for  that  reason  the  most  improper  hands  it  could 
be  placed  in.  Nor  did  the  law  ever  intend  to  pro- 
hibit the  passing  of  advowsons  from  one  patron 
to  another ;  but  to  restrain  the  patron,  who  pos- 
sesses the  right  of  presenting  at  the  vacancy, 
from  being  influenced,  in  the  choice  of  his  presen- 
tee, by  a  bribe,  or  benefit  to  himself  It  is  the  same 
distinction  with  that  which  obtains  in  a  free- 
holder's vote  for  his  representative  in  parliament. 
The  right  of  voting,  that  is,  the  freehold  to  which 
the  right  pertains,  may  be  bought  and  sold  as 
freely  as  any  other  property ;  but  the  exercise 
of  that  right,  the  vote  itself,  may  not  be  pur- 
chased, or  influenced  by  money. 

For  this  purpose,  the  law  imposes  upon  the 
presentee,  who  is  generally  concerned  in  the  si- 
mony, if  there  be  any,  the  following  oath  :  "  1  do 
swear,  that  I  have  made  no  simoniacal  payment, 
contract,  or  promise,  directly  or  indirectly,  by  my- 
self, or  by  any  other  to  my  knowledge,  or  with  my 
consent,  to  any  person  or  persons  whatsoever,  for 
or  concerning  the  procuring  and  obtaining  of  tfiis 
ecclesiastical  place,  &c. ;  nor  will,  at  any  time  here- 
after, perform,  or  satisfy,  any  such  kind  of  pay- 
ment, contract,  or  promise,  made  by  any  other 
without  my  knowledge  or  consent:  so  help  me 
God,  through  Jesus  Christ !" 

It  is  extraordinary  that  Bishop  Gibson  should 
have  thought  this  oath  to  be  against  all  {)romises 
whatsoever,  when  the  terms  of  the  oath  expressly 
restrain  it  to  simoniacal  promises;  and  the  law 
alone  must  pronounce  what  jiromises,  as  well  as 
what  payments  and  contracts,  are  simoniacal,  and 
consequently  come  within  the  oath ;  and  what  do 
not  so. 

Now  the  law  adjudges  to  be  sunony, 


SUBSCRIPTION  TO  ARTICLES  OP  RELIGION. 


63 


1.  All  payments,  contracts,  or  promises,  made 
by  any  person  for  a  benefice  already  vacant. 
The  advowson  of  a  void  turn,  by  law,  cannot  be 
transferred  from  one  patron  to  another ;  there- 
fore, if  the  void  turn  be  procured  by  money,  it 
must  be  by  a  pecuniary  influence  upon  the  then 
subsisting  patron  in  the  choice  of  his  presentee, 
which  is  the  very  practice  the  law  condemns. 

2.  A  clergyman's  purchasing  of  the  ne.rt  fnrn 
for  a  benefice_/or  himself,  "  directly  or  indirectly," 
that  is,  by  himself,  or  by  another  person  with  his 
monej'.  It  does  not  appear  that  the  law  prohibits 
a  clergyman  from  purchasing  the  perpetuity  of 
a  patronage,  more  than  any  other  person :  but  pur- 
chasing the  perpetuity,  and  forthwith  selling  it 
again  with  the  reservation  of  the  next  turn,  and 
with  no  other  design  than  to  possess  himself  of 
the  next  turn,  is  injraudem  legis,  and  inconsis- 
tent with  the  oath. 

3.  The  procuring  of  a  piece  of  preferment,  by 
ceding  to  the  patron  any  rights,  or  probable  rights, 
belonging  to  it.  This  is  simony  of  the  worst  kind; 
foi  it  is  not  only  bu3'ing  preferment,  but  robbing 
the  succession  to  pay  for  it. 

4.  Promises  to  the  patron  of  a  portion  of  the 
profit,  of  a  remission  of  tithes  and  dues,  or  other 
advantage  out  of  the  produce  of  the  benefice; 
which  kind  of  compact  is  a  pernicious  conde- 
scension in  the  clergy,  independent  of  the  oath ; 
for  it  tends  to  introduce  a  practice,  which  rnaj" 
very  soon  become  general,  of  giving  the  revenue 
of  churches  to  the  lay  patrons,  and  supplying  the 
duty  by  indigent  stipendiaries. 

5.  General  bonds  of  resignation,  that  is,  bonds 
to  resign  upon  demand. 

I  doubt  not  but  that  the  oath  against  simony  is 
binding  ujjon  the  consciences  of  those  who  take 
it,  though  I  question  much  the  expediency  of  re- 
quiring it.  It  is  very  tit  to  debar  public  patrons, 
such  as  the  king,  the  lord  chancellor,  bishops,  ec- 
clesiastical corporations,  and  the  like,  from  this 
kind  of  traffic :  because  from  them  may  be  ex- 
pected some  regard  to  the  qualifications  of  the 
persons  whom  they  promote.  But  the  oath  lays 
a  snare  for  the  integrity  of  the  clergy ;  and  I  do 
not  perceive,  that  the  requiring  of  it  in  cases  of 
private  patronage,  produces  any  good  effect  suf- 
ficient to  compensate  for  this  danger. 

Where  advowsons  are  holden  along  with  ma- 
nors, or  other  principal  estates,  it  would  be  an  easy 
regulation  to  forbid  that  they  should  ever  hereafter 
be  se[)arated;  and  would,  at  least,  keep  church- 
preferment  out  of  the  hands  of  brokers. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Oatlis  to  Observe  Local  Statutes. 

Members  of  colleges  in  the  Universities,  and 
of  other  ancient  foundations,  are  required  to  swear 
to  the  observance  of  their  respective  statutes; 
which  observance  is  become  in  some  cases  un- 
lawful, in  others  impracticable,  in  others  useless, 
in  others  inconvenient. 

Unlawful  directions  are  countermanded  by  the 
authority  which  made  them  unlawful. 

Impracticable  directions  are  dispensed  with  by 
the  necessity  of  the  case. 

The  only  question  is,  how  far  the  members  of 
these  societies  may  take  upon  themselves  to  judge 
of  the  inconveniency  of  any  particular  direction, 


and  make  that  a  reason  for  laying  aside  the  ob- 
servation of  it. 

The  animus  imponentis,  which  is  the  mea- 
sure of  the  juror's  duty,  seems  to  be  satisfied, 
when  nothing  is  omitted,  but  what,  from  some 
change  in  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was 
prescribed,  it  may  fairly  be  presumed  that  the 
founder  himself  would  have  dispensed  with. 

To  bring  a  case  within  this  rule,  the  inconve- 
niency  must — 

1.  Be  manifest;  concerning  which  there  is  no 
doubt. 

2.  It  must  arise  from  some  change  in  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  institution :  for,  let  the  incon- 
veniency  be  what  it  will,  if  it  existed  at  the  time 
of  the  foundation,  it  must  be  ])resumcd  that  the 
founder  did  not  deem  tlie  avoiding  of  it  of  suf- 
ficient importance  to  alter  his  plan. 

3.  The  direction  of  the  statute  must  not  only 
be  inconvenient  in  the  general  (for  so  may  the 
institution  itself  be,)  but  prejudicial  to  the  particu- 
lar end  proposed  by  the  institution:  for,  it  is  this 
last  circumstance  which  proves  that  the  founder 
would  have  dispensed  with  it  in  pursuance  of  his 
own  purpose. 

The  statutes  of  some  colleges  forbid  the  speak- 
ing of  any  language  but  Latin,  within  the  walls 
of  the  college  ;  direct  that  a  certain  number,  and 
not  fewer  than  that  nXmiber,  be  allowed  the  use  of 
an  apartment  amongst  them ;  that  so  many  hours 
of  each  day  be  employed  in  public  exercises,  lec- 
tures, or  disputations  ;  and  some  other  articles  of 
discipline  adapted  to  the  tender  years  of  the  stu- 
dents who  in  former  times  resorted  to  uni\ersi- 
ties.  Were  colleges  to  I'etain  such  rules,  nobody 
now-a-days  would  come  near  them.  They  are 
laid  aside  therefore,  though  parts  of  the  statutes, 
and  as  such  included  within  the  oath,  not  merely 
because  they  are  inconvenient,  but  because  there 
is  sufficient  reason  to  believe,  that  the  founders 
themselves  would  have  dispensed  with  them,  as 
subversive  of  their  own  designs. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Subscription  to  Articles  of  Religion. 

Subscription  to  articles  of  religion,  though  no 
more  than  a  declaration  of  the  subscriber's  assent, 
may  properly  enough  be  considered  in  connexion 
with  the  subject  of  oaths,  because  it  is  governed 
by  the  same  rule  of  interpretation : 

Which  rule  is  the  animus  imponentis. 

The  inquiry,  therefore,  concerning  subscription, 
will  be,  quis  imposuit,  et  quo  animo  7 

The  bishop  who  receives  the  subscription,  is 
not  the  imposer,  any  more  than  the  crier  of  a  court, 
who  administers  the  oath  to  the  jury  and  wit- 
nesses, is  the  person  that  imposes  it ;  nor,  conse- 
quently, is  the  private  opinion  or  interpretation  of 
the  bishop  of  any  signification  to  the  subscriber 
one  way  or  other. 

The  compilers  of  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  are 
not  to  be  considered  as  the  imposers  of  subscrip- 
tion, any  more  than  the  framer  or  drawer  up  of  a 
law  is  the  person  that  enacts  it. 

The  legislature  of  the  13th  Eliz.  is  the  im- 
poser, whose  intention  the  subscriber  is  bound  to 
satisfy. 

They  who  contend,  that  nothing  less  can  jus- 
tify subscription  to  the  Thirty-nine  Articles,  than 


64 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


the  actual  belief  of  each  and  every  separate  pro- 
position contained  in  them,  must  suppose,  that  the 
legislature  expected  the  consent  of  ten  thousand 
men,  and  that  in  perpetual  succession,  not  to  one 
controverted  proposition,  but  to  many  hundreds. 
It  is  diOicult  to  conceive  how  this  could  be  ex- 
pected l)y  any,  who  observed  tjie  incurable  diver- 
sity of  human  opinion  upon  all  subjects  short  of 
demonstration. 

If  the  autJiors  of  the  law  did  not  intend  tliis, 
what  did  they  intend  1 

Th(>y  intended  to  exclude  from  oiBces  in  the 
church, 

1.  AH  abettors  of  popery : 

2.  Anabaptists ;  who  were  at  that  time  a  pow- 
erful party  on  the  Continent. 

3.  Tlie  puritans ;  who  were  hostile  to  an  epis- 
copal constitution:  and  in  general  the  members 
of  such  leading  sects  or  foreign  establishments  as 
threatened  to  overthrow  our  own. 

Whoever  finds  himself  comprehended  within 
these  descriptions,  ought  not  to  subscribe.  Nor 
can  a  subscriber  to  the  Articles  take  advantage  of 
any  latitude  which  our  rule  may  seem  to  allow, 
who  is  not  first  convinced  that  he  is  truly  and 
substantially  satisfying  the  intention  of  the  legis- 
lature. 

During  the  present  state  of  ecclesiastical  pa- 
tronage, in  winch  private  individuals  are  per- 
mitted to  impose  teachers  upon  parishes  with 
wliich  they  are  often  little  or  not  at  all  connected, 
some  limitation  of  the  patron's  choice  may  be  ne- 
cessary to  prevent  unedifying  contentions  between 
neighbouring  teachers,  or  between  the  teachers, 
and  their  respective  congregations.  But  this 
danger,  if  it  exist,  may  be  provided  against  with 
equal  cHijct,  by  converting  the  articles  of  faith 
into  articles  of  peace. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Wills. 

Thr  fundamental  question  upon  this  subject  is, 
whether  Wills  are  of  natural  or  of  adventitious 
right  ?  that  is,  whether  the  right  of  directing  the 
disposition  of  property  after  his  death  belongs  to 
a  man  in  a  state  of  nature,  and  by  the  law  of  na- 
ture, or  whether  it  be  given  him  entirely  by  the 
positive  regulations  of  the  country  he  lives  in  1 

The  immediate  piroduce  of  each  man's  personal 
labour,  as  the  tools,  weapons,  and  utensils,  which 
he  manufactures,  the  tent  or  hut  that  he  builds, 
and  perhaps  the  flocks  and  herds  which  he  breeds 
and  rears,  are  as  much  liis  own  as  the  labour  was 
which  he  employed  upon  them ;  that  is,  are  his 
property  naturally  and  absolutely ;  and  conse- 
quently he  may  give  or  leave  them  to  whom  he 
pleases,  there  being  nothing  to  limit  the  con- 
tinuance of  his  right,  or  to  restrain  the  ahenation 
of  it. 

But  every  other  species  of  property,  especially 
property  in  land,  stands  upon  a  difi'erent  fomida- 
tion. 

We  have  seen,  in  the  Chapter  upon  Property, 
that,  in  a  stale  of  )iature,  a  man's  right  to  a  par- 
ticular spot  of  ground  arises  from  his  using  it  and 
his  wanting  it ;  consequently  ceases  with  the  use 
and  want :  so  that  at  his  death  the  estate  reverts 
to  the  community,  without  any  regard  to  the  last 
owner's  will,  or  even  any  preference  of  liis  family, 


further  than  as  they  become  the  first  occupier* 
after  him,  and  succeed  to  the  same  want  and  use. 

Moreover,  as  natural  rights  caimot,  like  rights 
created  by  act  of  parliament,  expire  at  the  end  of 
a  certain  number  of  years ;  if  the  testator  have  a 
right,  by  the  law  of  nature,  to  dispose  of  his 
property  one  moment  after  his  death,  he  has  the 
same  right  to  direct  the  disposition  of  it  for  a  mil- 
lion of  ages  after  him  ;  which  is  absurd. 

The  ancient  apprehensions  of  mankind  upon 
the  subject  were  conformable  to  this  account  of  it: 
for,  wills  have  been  introduced  into  most  coun- 
tries by  a  positive  act  of  the  state ;  as  by  the  Laws 
of  Solon  into  Greece;  by  the  Twelve  Tables 
into  Rome ;  and  that  not  till  after  a  considerable 
progress  had  been  made  in  legislation,  and  in 
the  economy  of  civil  life.  Tacitus  relates,  that 
amongst  the  Germans  they  were  disallowed ;  and 
what  is  more  remarkable,  in  this  country,  since 
the  Conquest,  lands  could  not  be  devised  by  will, 
till  within  little  more  than  two  hundred  jears 
ago,  when  this  privilege  was  restored  to  the 
subject,  by  an  act  of  parliament,  in  the  latter  end 
of  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth. 

No  doubt,  many  beneficial  purposes  are  at- 
tained by  extending  the  owner's  power  over  his 
property  beyond  his  life,  and  beyond  his  natural 
right.  It  invites  to  industry ;  it  encourages  mar- 
riage ;  it  secures  the  dutifulness  and  dependency 
of  children  :  but  a  limit  must  be  assigned  to  the 
duration  of  this  power.  The  utmost  extent  to 
which,  in  any  case,  entails  are  allowed  by  the 
laws  of  England  to  operate,  is  during  the  lives  in 
existence  at  the  death  of  the  testator,  and  one-and- 
twcnty  years  beyond  these ;  after  which,  there 
are  ways  and  means  of  setting  them  aside. 

From  the  consideration  that  wills  are  the  crea- 
tures of  the  municipal  law  which  gives  them  their 
efficacy,  may  be  deduced  a  determination  of  the 
question,  whether  the  intention  of  the  testator  in 
an  informal  will,  be  binding  upon  the  conscience 
of  those,  who,  by  operation  of  law,  succeed  to  his 
estate.  By  an  informal  will,  I  mean  a  will  void  in 
law  for  want  of  some  requisite  formality,  though 
no  doubt  be  entertained  of  its  meaning  or  authen- 
ticity :  as,  suppose  a  man  make  his  will,  devising 
his  freehold  estate  to  his  sister's  so3i,  and  the 
wiil  be  attested  by  two  only,  instead  of  three,  sul> 
scribing  witnesses;  would  the  brother's  son,  who 
is  heir  at  law  to  the  testator,  be  bound  in  con- 
science to  resign  his  claim  to  the  estate,  out  of 
deference  to  his  uncle's  intention  1  or,  on  the  con- 
trary, would  not  the  devisee  under  the  will  be 
bound,  upon  discovery  of  this  flaw  in  it,  to  sur- 
render the  estate,  suppose  he  had  gained  posses- 
sion of  it,  to  the  heir  at  law  1 

Generally  speaking,  the  heir  at  law  is  not  bound 
by  the  intention  of  the  testator :  for  the  intention 
can  signify  nothing,  unless  the  person  intending 
have  a  right  to  govern  the  descent  of  the  estate. 
That  is  the  first  question.  Now  this  right  the 
testator  can  only  derive  from  the  law  of  the  land: 
but  the  law  confers  the  right  upon  certain  con- 
ditions, with  which  conditions  he  has  not  com- 
plied ;  therefore,  the  testator  can  lay  no  claim  to 
the  power  which  he  pretends  to  exercise,  as  he 
hath  not  entitled  himself  to  the  benefit  of  fliat 
law,  by  virtue  of  which'  alone  the  estate  ought  to 
attend  his  disposal.  Consequently,  the  devisee 
under  the  will,  who,  by  conceahng  this  flaw  in  it, 
keeps  possession  of  the  estate,  is  in  the  situation 
of  any  other  person  who  avails  himself  of  his 


WILLS. 


65 


riC'ighbour's  ignorance  to  detain  from  him  his  pro- 
perty. The  will  is  so  much  waste  paper,  from  the 
defect  of  right  in  the  person  who  made  it.  Nor  is 
this  catcliing  at  an  expression  of  law  to  per\'ert  the 
substantial  design  of  it :  for  I  apprehend  it  to  be 
the  deliberate  mind  of  the  legislature,  that  no  will 
should  talve  etiect  upon  real  estates,  unless  au- 
thenticated in  the  precise  manner  which  the  sta- 
tute describes.  Had  testamentary  dispositions 
been  founded  in  any  natural  right,  independent 
of  positive  constitutions  I  should  have  thought 
diflerently  of  this  question  :  for  then  I  should  ha\e 
considered  the  law  rather  as  refusing  its  assistance 
t)  enforce  the  right  of  the  devisee,  than  as  ex- 
tinguisliing  or  working  any  alteration  in  the  right 
itself 

And  after  all,  I  sliould  choose  to  propose  a 
case,  where  no  consideration  of  pity  to  distress, 
of  duty  to  a  parent,  or  of  gratitude  to  a  benefactor, 
interfered  with  the  general  rule  of  justice. 

The  regard  due  to  kindred  in  the  disposal  of 
our  fortune  (except  the  case  of  lineal  kindred, 
which  is  different)  arises  either  from  the  respect 
we  owe  to  the  presumed  intention  of  the  ancestor 
from  whom  we  received  our  fortunes,  or  from  the 
expectations  which  we  have  encouraged.  The 
intention  of  the  ancestor  is  presumed  with  greater 
certainty,  as  well  as  entitled  to  more  respect,  the 
fewer  degrees  he  is  removed  from  us ;  which 
makes  the  dilference  in  the  diticrent  degrees  of 
kindred.  For  instance,  it  may  be  prcsmncd  to  be 
a  father's  intention  and  desire,  that  the  inheritance 
which  he  leaves,  after  it  has  served  the  turn  and 
generation  of  one  son,  should  remain  a  provision 
for  the  families  of  his  otiier  children,  equally  re- 
lated and  dear  to  him  as  the  oldest.  Whoever, 
therefore,  without  cause,  gives  away  his  patrimony 
from  his  brother's  or  sister's  family,  is  guilty  not 
so  much  of  an  injury  to  them,  as  of  ingratitude 
to  his  parent.  The  deference  due  from  the  pos- 
sessor of  a  fortune  to  the  presumed  desire  of  his 
ancestor,  will  also  vary  with  this  circumstance : 
whether  the  ancestor  earned  the  fortune  by  his 
personal  industry,  acquired  it  by  accidental  suc- 
cesses, or  only  transmitted  the  inheritance  wliich 
he  received. 

Where  a  man's  fortune  is  acquired  by  himself, 
and  he  has  done  nothing  to  excite  expectation, 
but  rather  has  refrained  from  those  particular 
attentions  which  tend  to  cherish  expectation,  he 
is  perfectly  disengaged  from  the  force  of  the  above 
reasons,  and  at  liberty  to  leave  his  fortune  to  his 
friends,  to  charitable  or  public  purposes,  or  to 
whom  he  will ;  the  same  blood,  proximity  of 
blood,  and  the  like,  are  merely  modes  of  speech, 
implying  nothing  real,  nor  any  obligation  of  them- 
selves. 

There  is  always,  however,  a  reason  for  pro- 
viding for  our  poor  relations,  in  preierence  to 
others  who  may  be  equally  necessitous,  which  is, 
that  if  we  do  not,  no  one  else  will;  mankind, 
by  an  established  consent,  leaving  tlie  reduced 
branches  of  good  families  to  the  bounty  of  their 
Wealthy  alliances. 

The  not  making  a  will,  is  a  very  culpable 
omission,  where  it  is  attended  with  the  following 
effects :  where  it  leaves  daughters,  or  younger 
children,  at  the  mercy  of  the  oldest  son  ;  where  it 
distributes  a  personal  fortune  equally  amongst  the 
children,  although  there  be  no  equality  in  their 
exigences  or  situations ;  where  it  leaves  an  open- 
ing for  htigation;  or  lastly,  and  principally,  where 


it  defrauds  creditors  ;  for,  by  a  defect  in  our  laws 
which  has  been  long  and  strangely  overiool^ed, 
real  estates  are  not  subject  to  the  payment  of 
debts  by  simple  contract,  unless  made  so  by  will; 
although  credit  is,  in  fact,  generally  given  to  the 
possession  of  such  estates  :  he,  therelbre,  who  ne- 
glects to  make  the  necessary  appointments  for  the 
payment  of  his  debts,  as  far  as  his  effects  extend, 
sins,  as  it  has  been  justly  said,  in  his  grave;  and 
if  he  omits  this  on  purpose  to  defeat  the  demands 
of  his  creditors,  he  dies  with  a  deliberate  fraud  in 
liis  heart. 

Anciently,  when  any  one  died  without  a  will, 
the  bishop  of  the  diocese  took  possession  of  liis 
personal  fortune,  in  order  to  dispose  of  it  for  the 
benefit  of  liis  soul,  that  is,  to  pious  or  charitable 
uses.  It  became  necessarj',  therefore,  that  the 
bishop  should  be  satisfied  of  the  authenticity  of 
the  will,  when  there  was  any,  before  he  resigned 
the  right  which  he  had  to  take  possession  of  the 
dead  man's  fortune  in  case  of  intestacy.  In  tbjs 
way  wills  and  controversies  relating  to  wills,  came 
within  the  cognizance  of  ecclesiastical  courts ;  un- 
der the  jurisdiction  of  which,  wills  of  personals 
(the  only  wills  that  were  made  formerly)  still  con- 
tinue, though  in  truth,  no  more  now-a-days  con- 
nected with  religion,  than  any  other  instruments 
of  conveyance.  Tliis  is  a  peculiarity  in  the  En- 
glish laws. 

Succession  to  intestates  must  be  regulated  by 
positive  rules  of  law,  there  being  no  principle  of 
natural  justice  whereby  to  ascertain  the  propor- 
tion of  the  ditlerent  claimants :  not  to  mention 
that  the  claim  itself,  especially  of  collateral  kin- 
dred, seems  to  have  little  foundation  in  the  laws 
of  nature. 

These  regulations  should  be  guided  by  the  duty 
and  presumed  inclination  of  the  deceased,  so  far  as 
these  considerations  can  be  consulted  by  general 
rules.  The  statutes  of  Charles  the  Second,  com- 
monly called  the  Statutes  of  Distribution,  which 
adopt  the  rules  of  the  Roman  law  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  personals,  are  sufficiently  equitable. 
They  assign  one-third  to  the  widow,  and  two- 
thirds  to  the  children  ;  in  case  of  no  children,  one 
half  to  the  widow,  and  the  other  half  to  the  next  of 
kin  ;  where  neither  widow  nor  lineal  descendants 
survive,  the  whole  to  the  next  of  kin,  and  to  be 
equally  divided  amongst  kindred  of  equal  degree, 
without  distinction  of  whole  blood  and  half  blood, 
or  of  consanguinity  by  the  father's  or  mother's 
side. 

The  descent  of  real  estates,  of  houses,  that  is, 
and  land,  having  been  settled  in  more  remote  and 
in  ruder  times,  is  less  reasonable.  There  never 
can  be  much  to  complain  of  in  a  rule  which  e\ery 
person  may  avoid,  by  so  easy  a  provision  as  that 
of  making  his  will :  otherwise,  our  Islw  in  this  re- 
spect is  chargeable  with  some  flagrant  absurdities; 
such  as,  that  an  estate  shall  in  no  wise  go  to  the 
brother  or  sister  of  the  half  blood,  though  it  came 
to  the  deceased  from  the  common  parent ;  that  it 
shall  go  to  the  remotest  relation  the  intestate  has 
in  the  world,  rather  than  to  his  own  father  or 
mother;  or  even  be  forfeited  for  want  of  an  heir, 
though  both  parents  survi\e ;  that  the  most  dis- 
tant paternal  relation  shall  be  preferred  to  an  un- 
cle, or  own  cousin,  by  the  mother's  side,  notwith- 
standing the  estate  was  purchased  and  acquired 
by  the  intestate  himself 

Land  not  being  so  divisible  as  money,  may  be  a 
reason  for  making  a  diflcrence  in  the  course  of 
"      6* 


6G 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


inheritance :  but  there  ought  to  be  no  difference 
but  what  is  founded  upon  that  reason.  The  Ro- 
man law  made  none. 


BOOK  III. 


PART  II. 

OF  RELATIVE  DUTIES  WHICH  ARE  INDETER- 
MINATE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Charity. 

I  USE  the  term  Charity  neither  in  the  common 
sense  of  bounty  to  the  poor,  nor  in  St.  Paul's 
sense  of  benevolence  to  all  mankind :  but  I  apply 
it  at  present,  in  a  sense  more  commodious  to  my 
purpose,  to  signify  the  promoting  the  happiness 
of  our  inferiors. 

Charity,  in  this  sense,  I  take  to  be  the  princi- 
pal proviiice  of  virtue  and  religion :  for,  whilst 
worldly  prudence  will  direct  our  behaviour  to- 
wards our  superiors,  and  politeness  towards  our 
equals,  there  is  little  beside  the  consideration  of 
duty,  or  an  habitual  humanity  which  comes  into 
the  place  of  consideration,  to  produce  a  proper 
conduct  towards  those  who  are  beneath  us,  and 
dependant  upon  us. 

There  are  three  principal  methods  of  promoting 
the  happiness  of  our  inferiors. 

1.  By  the  treatment  of  our  domestics  and  de- 
pendants. 

2.  By  professional  assistance. 

3.  By  pecuniary  bounty. 


CHAPTER  n. 

Charity. 

THE    TREATMENT     OF    OUR    DOMESTICS    AND    DE- 
PENDANTS. 

A  PARTY  of  friends  setting  out  together  upon 
a  journey,  soon  find  it  to  be  the  best  tor  all  sides, 
that  while  they  are  upon  the  road,  one  of  the  com- 
pany should  wait  upon  the  rest ;  another  ride  for- 
ward to  seek  out  lodging  and  entertainment ;  a 
third  carry  the  portmanteau ;  a  fourth  take  charge 
of  the  horses  ;  a  fifth  bear  the  purse,  conduct  and 
direct  the  route  ;  not  forgetting,  however,  that,  as 
they  were  equal  and  independent  when  they  set 
out,  so  they  are  all  to  return  to  a  level  again  at 
their  journey's  end.  The  same  regard  and  re- 
spect ;  the  same  forbearance,  lenity,  and  reserve 
in  using  their  service ;  the  same  mildness  in  de- 
livering commands ;  the  same  study  to  make  their 
journey  comfortable  and  pleasant,  which  he  whose 
lot  it  was  to  direct  the  rest,  would  in  common 
decency  think  himself  bound  to  observe  towards 
them;  ought  we  to  show  to  those  who,  in  the 
casting  of  the  parts  of  human  society,  happen  to 
be  placed  within  our  power,  or  to  depend  upon  us. 

Another  reflection  of  a  hke  tendency  with  the 


former  is,  that  our  obligation  to  them  is  much 
greater  than  theirs  to  us.  It  is  a  mistake  to  sup- 
pose, that  the  rich  man  maintains  his  servants, 
tradesmen,  tenants,  and  labourers :  the  truth  is, 
they  maintain  him.  It  is  their  industry  which 
supplies  his  table,  furnishes  his  wardrobe,  builds 
his  houses,  adorns  his  equipage,  provides  his 
amusements.  It  is  not  the  estate,  but  the  labour 
employed  upon  it,  that  pays  his  rent.  All  that  he 
does,  is  to  distribute  what  others  produce ;  which 
is  the  least  part  of  the  business. 

Nor  do  I  perceive  any  foundation  for  an  opinion, 
which  is  often  handed  round  in  genteel  company, 
that  good  usage  is  thrown  away  upon  low  and 
ordinary  minds ;  that  they  are  insensible  of  kind- 
ness, and  incapable  of  gratitude.  If  by  "low  and 
ordinary  minds"  are  meant  the  minds  of  men  in 
low  and  ordinary  stations,  they  seem  to  be  aflect- 
ed  by  benelits  in  the  same  way  that  all  others  are, 
and  to  be  no  less  ready  to  requite  them :  and  it 
would  be  a  very  unaccountable  law  of  nature  if  it 
were  otherwise. 

Whatever  uneasiness  we  occasion  to  our  domes- 
tics, which  neither  promotes  our  service,  nor  an- 
swers the  just  ends  of  punishment,  is  manifestly 
wrong ;  were  it  only  upon  the  general  principle 
of  diminishing  the  sum  of  human  happiness. 

By  which  rule  we  are  forbidden, 

1.  To  enjoin  unnecessary  labour  or  confine- 
ment i'rom  the  mere  love  and  wantonness  of  domi- 
nation. 

2.  To  insult  our  servants  by  harsh,  scornful,  or 
opprobrious  language. 

3.  To  refuse  them  any  harmless  pleasures. 
And,  by  the  same  principle,  are  also  forbidden 

causeless  or  immoderate  anger,  habitual  peevish- 
ness, aiid  groundless  suspicion. 


CHAPTER  in. 
Slavery. 

The  prohibitions  of  the  last  chapter  extend  to 
the  treatment  of  slaves,  being  founded  upon  a 
principle  independent  of  the  contract  between 
masters  and  servants. 

I  define  slavery  to  be  "  an  obligation  to  labour 
for  the  benefit  of  the  master,  without  the  contract 
or  consent  of  the  servant." 

This  obligation  may  arise,  consistently  with  the 
law  of  nature,  from  three  causes : 

1.  From  crimes. 

2.  From  captivity. 

3.  From  debt. 

In  the  first  case,  the  continuance  of  the  slavery, 
as  of  any  other  punishment,  ought  to  be  projior- 
tioned  to  the  crime ;  in  the  second  and  third  cases, 
it  ought  to  cease,  as  soon  as  the  demand  of  the  in- 
jured nation,  or  private  creditor,  is  satisfied. 

The  slave-trade  upon  the  coast  of  Africa  is  not 
excused  by  these  principles.  When  slaves  in  that 
country  are  brought  to  market,  no  questions,  I 
believe,  are  asked  about  the  origin  or  justice  of  the 
vendor's  title.  It  may  be  presumed,  therefore, 
that  this  title  is  not  always,  if  it  be  ever,  founded 
in  any  of  the  causes  above  assigned. 

But  defect  of  right  in  the  first  jnirchase,  is  the 
least  crime  with  which  this  traffic  is  chari:;rable. 
The  natives  are  excited  to  war  and  mutual  di'pre. 
dation,  for  the  sake  of  supplying  their  contracts, 
or  furnishing  the  market  with  slaves.    With  thii 


CHARITY. 


67 


the  wickedness  begins.  The  slaves,  torn  away 
from  parents,  wives,  children,  from  their  friends 
and  companions,  their  fields  and  Hocks,  their 
home  and  country,  are  transported  to  the  Eu- 
ropean settlements  in  America,  with  no  other  ac- 
commodation on  shipboard  than  what  is  provided 
for  brutes.  This  is  the  second  stage  of  cruelty  ; 
from  which  the  miserable  exiles  are  delivered, 
only  to  he  placed,  and  that  for  lite,  in  subjection 
to  a  dominion  and  system  of  laws,  the  most  mer- 
ciless and  tyrannical  that  ever  were  tolerated  upon 
the  flice  of  the  earth ;  and  from  all  that  can  be 
learned  by  the  accounts  of  the  people  upon  the 
spot,  the  inordinate  authority  which  the  planta- 
tion-laws confer  upon  the  slave-holder  is  exercised, 
by  the  English  slave-holder  especially,  with  rigour 
and  brutality. 

But  necessity  is  pretended;  the  name  under 
which  every  enormity  is  attempted  to  be  justified. 
And,  after  all,  what  is  the  necessity ']  It  has  never 
been  proved  that  the  land  could  not  be  cultivated 
there,  as  it  is  here,  by  hired  servants.  It  is  said 
that  it  could  not  be  cultivated  with  quite  the  same 
conveniency  and  cheapness,  as  by  the  labour  of 
slaves :  by  which  means,  a  pound  of  sugar,  which 
the  planter  now  sells  for  sixpence,  could  not  be 
afforded  under  sixpence-halfpenny ; — and  this  is 
the  necessity. 

The  great  revolution  which  has  taken  place  in 
the  Western  world,  may  probably  conduce  (and 
who  knows  but  that  it  was  designed  \)  to  accele- 
rate the  fall  of  this  abominable  tyranny :  and  now 
that  this  contest,  and  the  passions  which  attend  it, 
are  no  more,  there  may  succeed  perhaps  a  season 
for  reflecting,  whether  a  legislature  which  had  so 
long  lent  its  assistance  to  the  support  of  an  insti- 
tution replete  with  human  misery,  was  fit  to  be 
trusted  with  an  empire  the  most  extensive  that 
ever  obtained  in  any  age  or  quarter  of  the  world. 

Slavery  was  a  part  of  the  civil  constitution  of 
most  countries,  when  Christianity  appeared ;  yet 
no  passage  is  to  be  found  in  the  Christian  Scrip- 
tures, by  which  it  is  condemned  or  prohibited. 
This  is  true  ;  for  Christianity,  soliciting  admis- 
sion into  all  nations  of  the  world,  abstained,  as 
behoved  it,  from  intermeddling  with  the  civil  in- 
stitutions of  any.  But  does  it  follow,  from  the 
silence  of  Scripture  concerning  them,  that  all  the 
ci^■il  institutions  which  then  prevailed  were  right  % 
or  that  the  bad  should  not  be  exchanged  for  bet- 
ter 1 

Besides  this,  the  discharging  of  slaves  from  all 
obligation  to  obey  their  masters,  which  is  the  con- 
sequence of  pronouncing  slavery  to  be  unlawful, 
wovdd  have  had  no  better  efl'ect  than  to  let  loose 
one  half  of  mankind  upon  the  other.  Slaves 
would  have  been  tempted  to  embrace  a  religion, 
which  asserted  their  right  to  freedom ;  masters 
would  hardly  have  been  persuaded  to  consent  to 
claims  founded  upon  such  authority ;  the  most 
calamitous  of  all  contests,  a  bellum  servile,  might 
probably  have  ensued,  to  the  reproach,  if  not  the 
extinction,  of  the  Christian  name. 

The  truth  is,  the  emancipation  of  slaves  should 
be  gradual  and  be  carried  on  by  provisions  of  law, 
and  under  the  protection  of  civil  government. 
Christianity  can  only  operate  as  an  alterative.  By 
the  mild  diffusion  of  its  light  and  influence,  the 
minds  of  men  are  insensibly  prepared  to  perceive 
and  correct  the  enormities,  which  folly,  or  wicked- 
ness, or  accident,  have  introduced  into  their  public 
estabUshments.     In  tliis  way  the  Greek  and  Ro- 


man slavery,  and  since  these,  the  feudal  tyranny, 
has  declined  before  it.  And  we  trust  that,  as  the 
knowledge  and  authority  of  the  same  religion  ad- 
vance in  the  world,  they  will  banish  what  remains 
of  this  odious  institution. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Charity. 

PROFESSIONAL  ASSISTANCE. 

This  kind  of  beneficence  is  chiefly  to  be  ex 
pected  from  members  of  the  legislature,  magisj 
trates,  medical,  legal,  and  sacerdotal  proft  ssioiis. 

1.  The  care  of  the  poor  ought  to  be  the  prin- 
cipal object  of  all  laws  ;  for  this  plain  reason, 
that  the  rich  are  able  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

Much  has  been,  and  more  might  be,  done  by 
the  laws  of  this  country,  towards  the  relief  of  the 
impotent,  and  the  protection  and  encouragement 
of  the  industrious  poor.  Whoever  applies  him- 
self to  collect  observations  upon  the  state  and 
operation  of  the  poor  laws,  and  to  contrive  reme- 
dies for  the  imperfections  and  abuses  which  he 
observes,  and  digests  these  remedies  into  acts  of 
parliament ;  and  conducts  them,  by  argument  or 
influence,  through  the  two  branches  of  the  legisla- 
ture, or  communicates  his  ideas  to  those  who  are 
more  likely  to  carry  them  into  effect,  deserves 
well  of  a  class  of  the  community  so  numerous, 
that  their  happiness  forms  a  principal  part  of  the 
whole.  The  study  and  activity  thus  employed, 
is  charity,  in  the  most  meritorious  sense  of  the 
word. 

2.  The  application  of  parochial  relief  is  in- 
trusted, in  the  first  instance,  to  overseers  and  con- 
tractors, who  have  an  interest  in  opposition  to 
that  of  the  poor,  inasmuch  as  whatever  they  allow 
them  comes  in  part  out  of  their  own  pocket.  For 
this  reason,  the  law  has  deposited  with  justices  of 
the  peace  a  power  of  superintendence  and  con- 
trol ;  and  the  judicious  interposition  of  this  power 
is  a  most  useful  exertion  of  charity,  and  oft-times 
within  the  ability  of  those  who  have  no  other  way 
of  serving  their  generation.  A  country  gentle- 
man of  very  moderate  education,  and  who  has  little 
to  spare  from  his  fortune,  by  learning  so  much  of 
the  poor-law  as  is  to  be  found  in  Dr.  Burn's  .Jus- 
tice, and  by  furnishing  himself  with  a  knowledge 
of  the  prices  of  labour  and  provision,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  estimate  the  exigencies  of  a  family,  and 
what  is  to  be  expected  from  their  industry,  may, 
in  this  way,  place  out  the  one  talent  committed  to 
him,  to  great  account. 

3.  Of  all  private  professions,  that  of  medicine 
puts  it  in  a  man's  power  to  do  the  most  good  at 
the  least  expense.  Health,  which  is  precious  to 
all,  is  to  the  |ioor  invaluable :  and  their  complaints, 
as  agues,  rheumatisms,  &c.  are  often  such  as  yield 
to  medicine.  And,  with  respect  to  the  expense, 
drugs  at  first  hand  cost  little,  and  advice  costs  no- 
thing, where  it  is  only  bestowed  upon  those  who 
could  not  afford  to  pay  for  it. 

4.  The  rights  of  the  poor  are  not  so  important 
or  intricate,  as  their  contentions  are  violent  and 
ruinous.  A  lawyer  or  attorney,  of  tolerable 
knowledge  in  his  profession,  has  commonly  judg- 
ment enough  to  adjust  these  disputes,  with  all  the 
effect,  and  without  the  expense,  of  a  law-suit ;  and 
he  may  be  said  to  give  a  poor  man  twenty  pounds 


68 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


who  prtvenls  his  throwhig  it  away  upon  law.  A 
legal  man,  whether  of  the  profession  or  not,  who, 
together  with  a  spirit  of  concihation,  possesses  the 
confidence  of  his  neighbourliood,  will  be  much 
resorted  to  for  this  purj)ose,  especially  since  the 
great  increase  of  costs  has  produced  a  general 
dread  of  going  to  law. 

Nor  is  this  line  of  beneficence  confined  to  arhi- 
tration.  Seasonable  counsel,  coming  with  the 
weight  which  the  reputation  of  the  adviser  gives 
it,  will  often  keep  or  extricate  the  rash  and  unin- 
ibrmed  out  of  great  diliiculties. 

Lastly,  I  know  not  a  more  exalted  charity  than 
that  which  presents  a  shield  against  the  rapacity 
or  persecution  of  a  tyrant. 

5.  Bc-twixt  argument  and  authority  (I  mean 
that  authority  which  flows  from  voluntary  respect, 
and  attends  upon  sanctity  and  disinterestedness 
of  character)  something  may  be  done,  amongst  the 
lower  orders  of  mankind,  towards  the  regulation 
of  their  conduct,  and  the  satisfaction  of  their 
thoughts.  This  office  belongs  to  the  ministers  of 
religion ;  or  rather,  whoever  undertakes  it,  be- 
comes a  minister  of  religion.  The  inferior  clergy, 
who  are  nearly  upon  a  level  with  the  common  sort 
of  their  parishioners,  and  who  on  that  account 
gain  an  easier  admission  to  their  society  and  con- 
fidence, have  in  this  respect  more  in  their  power 
than  their  superiors :  the  discreet  use  of  this  power 
con.stitutes  one  of  the  most  respectable  functions 
of  human  nature. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Charity. 

PECUNIARY  BOUNTY. 

1.    The  obligation  to  bestow  relief  upon  the  poor. 
II.    The  manner  of  bestoicing  it. 
III.    The  pretences  by  which  vien  excuse  them- 
selves from  it. 


1.    The  obligation  to  bestow  relief  upon  the  poor. 

They  who  rank  pity  amongst  the  original  im- 
pulses of  our  nature,  rightly  contend,  that,  when 
this  principle  prompts  us  to  the  relief  of  human 
misery,  it  indicates  the  Divine  intention,  and  our 
duty.  Indeed,  the  same  conclusion  is  deducible 
from  the  existence  of  the  passion,  whatever  ac- 
count be  given  of  its  origin.  Whether  it  be  an 
instinct  or  a  habit,  it  is  in  fact  a  property  of  our 
nature,  which  God  appointed  :  and  the  final  cause 
for  which  it  was  appointed,  is  to  afford  to  the 
miserable,  in  the  compassion  of  their  fellow-crea- 
tures, a  remedy  for  those  inequalities  and  distress- 
es which  God  foresaw  that  many  must  be  exposed 
to,  under  every  general  rule  for  the  distribution  of 
property. 

Beside  this,  the  poor  have  a  claim  founded  In 
the  law  of  nature,  which  maybe  thus  explained  : — 
All  things  were  originally  common.  No  one  be- 
ing able  to  produce  a  charter  from  Heaven,  had 
any  better  title  to  a  particular  possession  than  his 
next  neighbour.  There  were  reasons  for  man- 
kind's agreeing  upon  a  separation  of  this  common 
fund ;  and  God  for  these  reasons  is  presumed  to 
have  ratified  it.  But  this  separation  was  made  and 
Dtmsented  to,  upon  the  expectation  and  condition 
that  every  one  should  liave  left  a  sulHciency  for 


his  subsistence,  or  the  means  of  procuring  it :  ami 
as  no  fixed  laws  for  the  regulatioii  of  property 
can  be  so  contrived,  as  to  provide  for  the  relief  of 
every  case  and  distress  which  may  arise,  these 
cases  and  distresses,  when  their  right  and  share 
in  the  common  stock  were  given  up  or  taken  from 
them,  were  supposed  to  be  left  to  the  voluntary 
bounty  of  those  who  might  be  acquainted  with  the 
exigencies  of  their  situation,  and  in  the  way  of 
atlbrding  assistance.  And,  therefore,  when  the 
partition  of  property  is  rigidly  maintained  against 
the  claims  of  indigence  and  distress,  it  is  main- 
tained in  opposition  to  the  intention  of  those  who 
made  it,  and  to  his,  who  is  the  Supreme  Proprietor 
of  every  thing,  and  who  has  filled  the  world  with 
plenteousness,  for  the  sustentatioii  and  comfort  of 
all  whom  he  sends  into  it. 

The  Christian  Scriptures  are  more  copious  and 
explicit  upon  this  duty  than  upon  almost  any 
other.  The  description  which  Christ  hath  left 
us  of  the  proceedings  of  the  last  day,  establishes 
the  obligation  of  bounty  beyond  controversy ; — 
"  When  the  son  of  man  shall  come  in  his  glory, 
and  all  the  holy  angels  with  hun,  then  shall  he  sit 
upon  the  throne  of  his  glory,  and  before  him  shall 
be  gathered  all  nations;  and  he  shall  separate 
them  one  from  another. — Then  shall  the  King 
say  unto  them  on  his  right  hand.  Come,  ye  blessed 
of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you 
from  the  foundation  of  the  world :  Por  1  was  an 
hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  meat:  I  was  thirsty, 
and  ye  gave  me  drink :  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye 
took  me  in :  naked,  and  ye  clothed  me :  I  was 
sick,  and  ye  visited  me :  I  was  in  prison,  and  ye 
came  unto  me. — And  inasmuch  as  ye  have  done 
it  to  one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have 
done  it  unto  me."*  It  is  not  necessary  to  uniler- 
stand  this  passage  as  a  literal  account  of  what  will 
actually  pass  on  that  day.  Supposing  it  only  a 
scenical  description  of  the  rules  and  principles,  by 
which  the  Supreme  Arbiter  of  our  destiny  will 
regulate  his  decisions,  it  conveys  the  same  lesson 
to  us ;  it  equally  demonstrates  of  how  great  value 
and  importance  these  duties  in  the  sight  of  God 
are,  and  what  stress  will  be  laid  upon  them.  The 
apostles  also  describe  this  virtue  as  propitiating 
the  Divine  favour  in  an  eminent  degree.  And 
these  recommendations  have  produced  their  eflect. 
It  does  not  appear  that,  before  the  times  of  Chris- 
tianity, an  infirmary,  hospital,  or  public  charity 
of  any  kind,  existed  in  the  world ;  whereas  most 
countries  in  Christendom,  have  long  abounded 
with  these  institutions.  To  which  may  be  added, 
that  a  spirit  of  private  hberality  seems  to  flourish 
amidst  the  decay  of  many  other  virtues ;  not  to 
mention  the  legal  provision  for  the  poor,  which 
obtains  in  this  country,  and  which  was  unknown 
and  unthought  of  by  the  most  humanised  nations 
of  antiquity. 

St.  Paul  adds  u{)on  the  subject  an  excellent 
direction,  and  which  is  practicable  by  all  who 
have  any  thing  to  give: — '•  Upon  the  first  day  of 
the  week  (or  any  other  stated  time)  let  every  one 
of  you  lay  by  in  store,  as  God  hath  prospered 
him."  By  which  1  und'^rstand  St.  Paul  to  re- 
connncnd  what  is  the  very  thing  wanting  vritb 
most  men,  the  being  charitable  upon  a  plan  ;  that 
is,  upon  a  deliberate  comparison  of  our  fortunes 
with  the  reasonable  expenses  and  expectation  of 
our  families,  to  compute  what  we  can  spare,  and 

*  Matthew,  xxv.  31. 


PECLiNIARY  BOUNTY. 


69 


to  lay  by  so  much  for  charitable  purposes  in  some 
mode  or  other.  The  mode  will  be  a  consideration 
atterwards. 

The  efiect  which  Christianity  produced  upon 
some  of  its  first  converts,  was  such  as  might  be 
looked  for  from  a  di\ine  religion,  coming  with  full 
force  and  miraculous  evidence  upon  the  con- 
sciences of  mankind.  It  overwhelmed  all  worldly 
considerations  in  the  expectation  of  a  more  im- 
portant existence  : — "  And  the  multitude  of  them 
that  believed,  were  of  one  heart  and  of  one  soul ; 
neither  said  any  of  them  that  aught  of  the  things 
which  he  possessed  was  his  own ;  but  they  had 
all  things  in  common. — Neither  was  there  any 
among  them  that  lacked ;  for  as  many  as  were 
possessors  of  lands  or  houses,  sold  them,  and 
brought  the  prices  of  the  things  that  were  sold, 
and  laid  them  down  at  the  apostles'  feet ;  and  dis- 
tribution was  made  unto  every  man  according  as 
he  had  need."     Acts  iv.  3'2. 

Nevertheless,  this  community  of  goods,  how- 
ever it  manitestcd  the  sincere  zeal  of  the  primitive 
Christians,  is  no  precedent  for  our  imitation.  It 
was  confined  to  the  church  at  Jerusalem;  con- 
tinued not  long  there ;  was  never  enjoined  upon 
any  (Acts  v.  4. ;)  and  although  it  might  suit  with 
the  particular  circumstances  of  a  small  and  select 
society,  is  altogether  impracticable  in  a  large  and 
mixed  community. 

The  conduct  of  the  apostles  upon  the  occasion, 
deserves  to  be  noticed.  Their  followers  laid  down 
their  fortunes  at  their  feet ;  but  so  far  were  they 
from  taking  advantage  of  this  unlimited  confidence, 
to  enrich  themselves,  or  to  establish  their  own  au- 
thority, that  they  soon  afler  got  rid  of  this  business, 
as  inconsistent  with  the  main  object  of  their  mis- 
sion, and  transferred  the  custody  and  management 
of  the  public  fund  to  deacons  elected  to  that  otiice 
by  the  people  at  large.     (Acts  vi.) 

II.  T'he  manner  of  bestowing  bounty  ;  or  the 
different  kinds  of  charity. 

Every  question  between  the  different  kinds 
of  charity,  supposes  the  sum  bestowed  to  be  the 
same. 

There  are  three  kinds  of  charity  which  prefer  a 
claim  to  attention. 

The  first,  and  in  my  judgment  one  of  the  best, 
is  to  gi\e  stated  and  considerable  sums,  by  way 
of  pension  or  annuity,  to  individuals  or  families, 
with  whose  behaviour  and  distress  we  ourselves 
are  acquainted.  When  I  speak  of  considerable 
sums,  1  mean  only  that  five  pounds,  oi  anj'  other 
sum,  given  at  once,  or  divided  amongst  five  or 
fewer  families,  will  do  more  good  than  the  same 
sum  distributed  amongst  a  greater  number  in  shil- 
lings or  half-crowns ;  and  that,  because  it  is  more 
likely  to  be  properly  applied  by  the  persons  who 
receive  it.  A  poor  fellow,  who  can  find  no  bet- 
ter use  for  a  shilling  than  to  drink  his  benefactor's 
health,  and  ]mrchase  half  an  hour's  recreation  for 
himself,  would  hardly  break  into  a  guinea  for  any 
such  a  purpose,  or  be  so  improvident  as  not  to  lay 
it  by  for  an  occasion  of  importance,  e.  g.  for  his 
rent,  his  clothing,  fuel,  or  stock  of  winter's  pro- 
vision. It  is  a  still  greater  recommendation  of  this 
kind  of  charity,  that  pensions  and  annuities,  which 
are  paid  regularly,  and  can  be  expected  at  the 
time,  are  the  only  way  by  which  we  can  prevent 
one  part  of  a  poor  man's  sufferings, — the  dread 
of  want. 

2.  But  as  this  kind  of  charity  supposes  that 
pro])er  objects  of  such  expensive  benefactions  fall 


within  our  private  knowledge  and  observation, 
which  does  not  happen  to  all,  a  second  method  of 
doing  good,  which  is  in  every  one  s  power  who 
has  the  money  to  spare,  is  by  subscription  to  pub- 
lic charities.  Public  charities  adniit  of  this  ar- 
gument in  their  favour,  that  your  money  goes 
farther  towards  attaijiing  the  end  for  which  it  is 
given,  than  it  can  do  by  any  private  and  separate 
benelicenre.  A  guinea,  for  example,  contribute  d 
to  an  inrirmary,  becomes  the  means  of  providing 
one  patient  at  least  with  a  physician,  surgeon, 
apothecary,  with  medicine,  diet,  lodging,  and  suit- 
able attendance ;  whirh  is  not  the  tenth  part  of 
what  the  same  assistance,  if  it  could  be  procured 
at  all,  would  cost  to  a  sick  person  or  family  in  any 
other  situation. 

3.  The  last,  and,  compared  with  the  former, 
the  lowest  exertion  of  benevolence,  is  in  the  re- 
lief of  beggars.  Nevertheless,  1  by  no  means 
approve  the  indiscriminate  rejection  of  all  who 
implore  our  alms  in  this  way.  Some  may  perish 
by  such  a  conduct.  Men  are  sometimes  overtaken 
by  distress,  for  wliich  all  other  relief  would  come 
(\>o  late.  Beside  whiih,  resolutions  of  this  kind 
compel  us  to  oiler  such  violence  to  our  humanity, 
as  may  go  near,  in  a  little  while,  to  suffocate  the 
principle  itself;  which  is  a  ver\-  serious  considera- 
tion. A  good  man,  if  he  do  not  surrender  himself 
to  his  feelings  without  reserve,  will  at  least  lend  an 
ear  to  im[)ortuniti(>s  which  come  accompanied  with 
outward  attestations  of  distress ;  and  afler  a  pa- 
tient audience  of  the  complaint,  will  direct  him- 
self, not  so  much  by  any  previous  resolution  vi-hich 
he  may  have  formed  upon  the  subject,  as  by  the 
circumstances  and  credibility  of  the  account  that 
he  receives. 

There  are  other  species  of  charity  well  con- 
trived to  make  the  money  expended  go  far :  such 
as  keeping  down  the  price  of  fuel  or  provision,  in 
case  of  monopoly  or  temporary  scarcity,  by  pur- 
chasing the  articles  at  the  best  market,  and  retail- 
ing them  at  prime  cost,  or  at  a  small  loss ;  or  the 
adding  of  a  bounty  to  particular  species  of  labour, 
when  the  price  is  accidentally  depressed. 

The  proprietors  of  large  estates  have  it  in  their 
power  to  facilitate  the  maintenance,  and  thereby 
to  encourage  the  establishment,  of  families,  (which 
is  one  of  the  noblest  ])urposes  to  which  the  rich 
and  great  can  convert  their  endeavours,)  by  build- 
ing cottages,  splitting  farms,  erecting  manufacto- 
ries, cultivating  wastes,  embanking  the  sea,  drain- 
ing marshes,  and  other  expedients,  which  the 
situation  of  each  estate  points  out.  If  the  profits 
of  these  undertakings  do  not  repay  the  expense, 
let  the  authors  of  them  place  the  difference  to  the 
account  of  charity.  It  is  true  of  almost  all  such 
projects,  that  the  pubhc  is  a  gainer  by  them,  what- 
ever the  owner  be.  And  where  the  loss  can  be 
spared,  this  consideration  is  sufficient. 

It  is  become  a  question  of  some  importance, 
under  what  circumstances  works  of  charity  ought 
to  be  done  in  private,  and  when  they  may  be  made 
public  without  detracting  from  the  merit  of  the 
action,  if  indeed  they  ever  may ;  the  Author  of  our 
religion  having  delivered  a  rule  upon  this  sub- 
ject which  seems  to  enjoin  universal  secrecy : — 
"  When  thou  doest  alms,  let  not  thy  left  hand 
know  what  thy  right  hand  doeth ;  that  thy  alms 
may  be  in  secret,  and  thy  Father,  which  seeth  in 
secret,  himself  shall  reward  thee  openly."  (Mat. 
vi.  3,  4.)  From  the  preamble  to  this  prohibition 
I  tliink  it,  however,  plain,  that  our  Saviour's  sole 


70 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


design  was  to  forbid  ostentation,  and  all  publish- 
ing of  good  works  wliicli  proceeds  from  that  mo- 
tive. "  Take  heed  that  ye  do  not  your  alms  be- 
fore men,  to  be  seen  of  them;  otherwise  ye  have 
no  reward  of  your  1^'ather  which  is  in  heaven ; 
therefore,  when  thou  doest  thine  alms,  do  not 
sound  a  trumpet  before  thee,  as  the  hypocrites  do, 
in  the  synagogues  and  in  the  streets,  that  they  may 
have  glury  of  men.  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  they 
have  their  reward."  ver.  1,  2.  There  are  motives 
for  tlie  doing  our  alms  in  public,  beside  those  of 
ostentation,  with  which  therefore  our  Saviour's 
rule  has  no  concern :  such  as  to  testify  our  ap- 
probation of  some  particular  species  of  charity, 
and  to  recommend  it  to  others ;  to  take  off  the 
prejudice  which  the  want,  or,  which  is  the  same 
thing,  the  suppression,  of  our  name  in  the  list  of 
contributors  might  excite  against  the  charity,  or 
against  ourselves.  And,  so  long  as  these  motives 
are  free  from  any  mixture  of  vanity,  they  are  in 
no  danger  of  invading  our  Saviour's  prohibition; 
they  rather  seem  to  comply  with  another  direction 
which  he  has  left  us:  "Let  your  light  so  shine 
before  men,  that  they  may  see  your  good  works, 
and  glorify  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven."  If 
it  be  necessary  to  propose  a  precise  distinction 
upon  the  subject,  I  can  think  of  none  better  than 
the  following :  When  our  bounty  is  beyond  our 
fortune  and  station,  that  is,  when  it  is  more  than 
could  be  expected  from  us,  our  charity  should  be 
private,  if  privacy  be  practicable:  when  it  is  not 
more  than  might  be  expected,  it  may  be  public: 
for  we  cannot  hope  to  influence  others  to  the  imi- 
tation of  extraordinary  generosity,  and  therefore 
want,  in  the  former  case,  the  only  justifiable  rea- 
son for  making  it  public. 

Having  thus  described  several  different  exer- 
tions of  charity,  it  may  not  be  improper  to  take 
notice  of  a  species  of  liberality,  which  is  not 
charity,  in  any  sense  of  the  word :  I  mean  the 
giving  of  entertainments  or  liquor,  for  the  sake 
of  popularity;  or  the  rewarding,  treating,  and 
maintaining,  the  companions  of  our  diversions, 
as  hunters,  shooters,  fishers,  and  the  Uke.  I  do 
not  say  that  this  is  criminal ;  I  only  say  that  it  is 
not  charity ;  and  that  we  are  not  to  suppose,  be- 
cause we  give,  and  give  to  the  foor,  that  it  will 
stand  in  the  place,  or  supersede  the  obligation,  of 
more  meritorious  and  disinterested  bounty. 

III.  The  pretences  by  irhich  men  excuse  them- 
selves from  giving  to  the  poor. 

1.  "  That  they  have  nothing  to  spare,"  i.  e. 
nothing  for  which  they  have  not  provided  some 
other  use;  nothing  which  their  plan  or  expense, 
together  with  the  savings  they  have  resolved  to 
lay  by,  will  not  exhaust:  never  reflecting  whether 
it  be  in  their  power,  or  that  it  is  their  duty,  to 
retrench  their  expimses,  and  contract  their  plan, 
"  that  they  may  have  to  give  to  them  that  need:" 
or,  rather,  that  this  ought  to  have  been  part  of 
their  plan  originally. 

2.  "  That  they  have  families  of  their  own,  and 
that  charity  begins  at  home."  The  extent  of  this 
plea  will  be  considered,  when  we  come  to  explain 
the  duty  of  parents. 

3.  "That  charity  does  not  consi-st  in  giving 
money,  but  in  benevolence,  philanthropy,  love  to 
all  mankind,  goodness  of  heart,"  &c.  Hear  St. 
James :  "  If  a  brother  or  sister  be  naked,  and 
destitute  of  daily  food,  and  one  of  you  say  unto 
them,  depart  in  peace  ;  be  ye  warmed  and  filled; 
notwithstanding  ye  give  them  not  those  things 


ichich    are   needful  to  the  body;   what  doth 
profit!"  r James  ii.  15,  16.) 

4.  "  That  giving  to  the  poor  is  not  mentioned 
in  St.  Paul's  description  of  charity,  in  the  thir- 
teenth chapter  of  his  First  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians." 1'his  is  not  a  description  of  charity,  but 
of  good-nature ;  and  it  is  necessary  that  every 
duty  be  mentioned  in  every  place. 

5.  "  That  they  pay  the  poor-rates."  They 
might  as  well  allege  that  they  pay  their  debts : 
for  the  poor  have  the  same  right  to  that  portion 
of  a  man's  property  which  the  laws  assign  to 
them,  that  the  man  himself  has  to  the  remainder. 

6.  "  That  they  employ  many  poor  persons;" — 
for  their  own  sake,  not  the  poor's — otherwise  it 
is  a  good  plea. 

7.  "  That  the  poor  do  not  sufl'er  so  much  as 
we  imagine;  that  education  and  habit  have  re- 
conciled them  to  the  evils  of  their  condition,  and 
make  them  easy  under  it."  Habit  can  never 
reconcile  human  nature  to  the  extremities  of  cold, 
hunger,  and  thirst,  any  more  than  it  can  reconcile 
the  hand  to  the  touch  of  a  red-hot  iron :  besides, 
the  question  is  not,  how  unhappy  any  one  is,  but 
how  much  more  happy  we  can  make  him. 

8.  "  That  these  people,  give  them  what  you 
will,  will  never  thank  you,  or  think  of  you  for  it." 
In  the  first  place,  this  is  not  true:  in  the  second 
place,  it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  their  thanks  that 
you  relieved  them. 

9.  "  That  we  are  liable  to  be  imposed  upon." 
If  a  due  inquiry  be  made,  our  merit  is  the  same : 
beside  that  the  distress  is  generally  real,  although 
the  cause  be  untruly  stated. 

10.  "  That  they  should  apply  to  their  parishes." 
This  is  not  always  practicable:  to  which  we  may 
add,  that  there  are  many  re((uisites  to  a  comfort- 
able subsistence,  which  parish  relief  does  not  sup- 
ply ;  and  that  there  are  some,  who  would  suffer 
almost  as  much  from  receiving  parish  relief  as  by 
the  want  of  it ;  and,  lastly,  that  there  are  many 
modes  of  charity  to  which  this  answer  does  not 
relate  at  all. 

11.  "That  giving  money,  encourages  idleness 
and  vagrancy."  This  is  true  only  of  injudicious 
and  indiscriminate  generosity. 

12.  "  That  we  have  too  many  objects  of  charity 
at  home,  to  bestow  any  thing  upon  strangers;  or, 
that  there  are  other  cliarities,  which  are  more  use- 
ful, or  stand  in  greater  need."  The  value  of  this 
excuse  depends  entirely  upon  the  fact,  whether 
we  actually  relieve  those  neighbouring  objects, 
and  contribute  to  those  other  charities. 

Beside  all  these  excuses,  pride,  or  prudery,  or 
delicacy,  or  love  of  ease,  keep  one  half  of  the 
world  out  of  the  way  of  observing  what  the  other 
half  sufier. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Resentment. 

Resentment  may  be  distinguished  into  angei 
and  revenge. 

By  anger,  I  mean  the  pain  we  suffer  upon  the 
receipt  of  an  injury  or  affront,  with  the  usual  ef- 
fects of  that  pain  upon  ourselves. 

By  revenge,  the  inflicting  of  pain  upon  the 
person  who  has  injured  or  offended  us,  farther 
than  the  just  ends  of  punislunent  or  reparation 
require. 


REVENGE. 


71 


Anger  prompts  to  revenge ;  but  it  is  possible 
to  suspend  the  eiiect,  when  we  cannot  altogether 
quell  the  princi[)le.  We  are  bound  also  to  en- 
deavour to  quality  and  correct  the  principle  itself. 
So  lliat  our  duty  requires  two  difl'erent  applica- 
tions of  the  mind ;  and,  for  that  reason,  anger  and 
revenge  may  be  considered  separately. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Anger. 

"  Bf.  ye  angry,  and  sin  not ;"  therefore  all  anger 
is  not  sinful ;  1  suppose,  because  some  degree  of  it, 
and  upon  some  occasions,  is  inevitable. 

It  becomes  sinful,  or  contradicts,  however,  the 
rule  of  Scripture,  when  it  is  conceived  upon 
slight  and  inadequate  provocations,  and,  when  it 
continues  long. 

1.  When  it  is  conceived  upon  slight  provoca- 
tions :  for,  "  charity  suifereth  long,  is  not  easily 
provoked.'' — "  Let  every  man  be  slow  to  anger." 
Peace,  long-suffering,  gentleness,  meekness,  are 
enumerjted  among  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit,  Gal. 
V.  22.  and  compose  the  true  Christian  temper,  as 
to  this  article  of  duty. 

2.  When  it  continues  long:  for,  "let  not  the 
sun  go  down  upon  your  wrath." 

These  precepts,  and  all  reasoning  indeed  on 
the  subject,  su[)pose  the  passion  of  anger  to  be 
within  our  power  ;  and  tliis  power  consists  not  so 
much  in  any  faculty  we  possess  of  appeasing  our 
wrath  at  the  time,  (for  we  are  passive  under  the 
smart  which  an  injury  or  afi'ront  occasions,  and 
all  we  can  then  do,  is  to  prevent  its  breaking  out 
into  action,)  as  in  so  mollifying  our  minds  by 
habits  of  just  reflection,  as  to  be  less  irritated  by 
impressions  of  injury,  and  to  be  sooner  pacified. 

Relicctions  proper  for  this  purpose,  and  which 
may  be  called  the  sedatives  of  anger,  are  the  fol- 
lowing :  the  possibility  of  mistaking  the  motives 
from  which  the  conduct  that  ofl'ends  us  proceeded ; 
how  often  our  offences  have  been  the  effect  of 
inadvertency,  when  they  were  construed  into  in- 
dications of  malice ;  the  inducement  which  prompt- 
ed our  adversary  to  act  as  he  did,  and  how  power- 
fully the  same  inducement  has,  at  one  time  or 
other,  operated  upon  ourselves:  that  he  is  suf- 
fering perhaps  under  a  contrition,  which  he  is 
ashamed  or  wants  opportunity  to  confess;  and 
how  ungenerous  it  is  to  triumph  by  coldness  or 
insult  over  a  spirit  already  humbled  in  secret; 
that  the  returns  of  kindness  are  sweet,  and  that 
there  is  neither  honour,  nor  virtue,  nor  use,  in  re- 
sisting them: — for,  some  persons  thmk  them- 
selves bound  to  cherish  and  keep  alive  their  in- 
dignation, when  they  find  it  dying  away  of  itself 
We  may  remember  that  others  have  their  pas- 
sions, their  prejudices,  their  favourite  aims,  their 
fears,  their  cautions,  their  interests,  their  sudden 
impulses,  their  varieties  of  apprehension,  as  well 
as  we :  we  may  recollect  what  hath  sometimes 
passed  in  our  minds,  when  we  have  gotten  on  the 
wrong  side  of  a  quarrel,  and  imagine  the  same  to 
be  passing  in  our  adversary's  mind  now ;  when 
we  became  sensible  of  our  misbehaviour,  what 
palliations  we  perceived  in  it,  and  expected  others 
to  ]3erceive ;  how  we  were  affected  by  the  kind- 
ness, and  felt  the  superiority,  of  a  generous  re- 
ception and  ready  forgiveness ;  how  persecution 
revived  our  spirits  with  our  enmity,  and  seemed 


to  justify  the  conduct  in  ourselves  which  we  be- 
fore blamed.  Add  to  this,  the  indecency  of  ex- 
travagant anger ;  how  it  renders  us,  whilst  it  lasts, 
the  scorn  and  sport  of  all  about  us,  of  which  it 
leaves  us,  when  it  ceases,  sensible  and  ashamed ; 
the  inconveniences  and  irretrievable  misconduct 
into  which  our  irascibility  has  sometimes  betrayed 
us ;  the  friendships  it  has  lost  us;  the  distresses  and 
embarrassments  in  which  we  have  been  involved 
by  it ;  and  the  sore  repentance  which,  on  one  ac- 
count or  other,  it  always  cost  us. 

But  the  reflection  calculated  above  all  others 
to  allay  the  haughtiness  of  temper  which  is  ever 
finding  out  provocations,  and  which  renders  anger 
so  impetuous,  is  that  which  the  Gospel  proposes ; 
namely,  that  we  ourselves  are,  or  shortly  shall  be, 
supphants  for  mercy  and  pardon  at  the  judgment- 
seat  of  God.  Imagine  our  secret  sins  disiiosed  and 
brought  to  light ;  imagine  us  thus  humbled  and 
exposed  ;  trembling  under  the  liand  of  God  ;  cast- 
ing ourselves  on  his  compassion ;  crying  out  Ibr 
mercy ;  imagine  such  a  creature  to  talk  of  satis- 
faction and  revenge ;  refusing  to  be  entreated, 
disdaining  to  forgive;  extreme  to  mark  and  to 
resent  what  is  done  amiss ; — imagine,  I  say,  this, 
and  you  can  hardly  frame  to  yourself  an  instance 
of  more  impious  and  unnatural  arrogance. 

The  point  is,  to  habituate  ourselxes  to  these 
reflections,  till  they  rise  up  of  their  own  accord 
when  they  are  wanted,  that  is,  instantly  upon  the 
receipt  of  an  injury  or  affront,  and  with  such  force 
and  colouring,  as  both  to  mitigate  tlie  paroxysms 
of  our  anger  at  the  time,  and  at  length  to  produce 
an  alteration  in  tlie  temper  and  disposition  itself 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
Revenge. 

All  pain  occasioned  to  another  in  consequence 
of  an  offence  or  injury  received  from  him,  further 
than  what  is  calculated  to  procure  reparation,  or 
promote  the  just  ends  of  punislunent,  is  so  much 
revenge. 

There  can  be  no  difficulty  in  knowing  when 
we  occasion  pain  to  another ;  nor  much  m  dis- 
tinguishing whether  we  do  so,  with  a  view  only 
to  the  ends  of  punishment,  or  from  revenge ;  for. 
in  the  one  case  we  proceed  with  reluctance,  in 
tlie  other  with  pleasure. 

It  is  highly  probable,  from  the  light  of  nature, 
that  a  passion,  which  seeks  its  gratification  im- 
mediately and  expressly  in  giving  pain,  is  dis- 
agreeable to  the  benevolent  will  and  counsels  of 
the  Creator.  Other  passions  and  pleasures  may, 
and  often  do,  produce  pain  to  some  one  :  but  then 
pain  is  not,  as  it  is  here,  the  object  of  the  passion, 
and  the  direct  cause  of  the  pleasure.  Tliis  pro- 
bability is  converted  into  certainty,  if  we  give 
credit  to  the  authority  which  dictated  the  several 
passages  of  the  Christian  Scriptures  that  condemn 
revenge,  or,  what  is  the  same  tiling,  which  enjoin 
forgiveness. 

We  will  set  down  the  principal  of  these  pas- 
sages ;  and  endeavour  to  collect  from  them,  what 
conduct  upon  the  whole  is  allowed  towards  an 
enemy,  and  what  is  forbidden. 

"  If  ye  forgive  men  their  trespasses,  your  hea- 
venly Father  will  also  forgive  you ;  but  if  ye  forgive 
not  men  their  trespasses,  neither  will  your  Father 
forgive  your  trespasses." — "  And  his   lord   was 


72 


Mural  and  political  philosophy. 


wroth,  and  delivered  him  to  the  tormentors,  till 
he  should  pay  all  that  was  due  unto  him:  so  like- 
wise shall  my  heavenly  Father  do  also  unto  you, 
if  ye  from  your  hearts  forgive  not  every  one  his 
brother  their  trespasses." — ■'  Put  on  bowels  of 
merry,  kindness,  humbleness  of  mind,  meekness, 
long-suffering  ;  forbearing  one  another,  Ibrgiving 
one  another,  if  any  man  have  a  quarrel  against 
any,  even  as  Christ  forgave  you,  so  also  do  ye." — 
"  Be  patient  towards  all  men ;  see  that  none 
render  e\'il  for  evil  to  any  man." — "  Avenge  nt)t 
yourselves,  but  rather  give  place  unto  wrath :  for 
it  is  written.  Vengeance  is  mine ;  I  will  repay, 
saith  the  Lord.  Therefore,  if  thine  enemy  hunger, 
feed  him;  if  he  thirst,  give  him  drink:  for,  in 
so  doing,  thou  shall  heap  coals  of  fire  on  his  head. 
Be  not  overcome  of  evil,  but  overcome  evil  with 
good."* 

I  think  it  evident,  from  some  of  these  passages 
taken  separately,  and  still  more  so  from  all  of 
them  together,  that  revenge,  as  described  in  the 
beginning  of  this  chapter,  is  forltidden  in  every 
degree,  under  all  forms,  and  upon  every  occasion. 
We  are  likewise  forbidden  to  refuse  to  an  enemy 
even  the  most  imperfect  right:  "if  he  hunger, 
feed  him;  if  he  thirst,  give  him  drink ;"+  which 
are  examples  of  imperfect  rights.  If  one  who  has 
ofTended  us,  solicit  from  u.s  a  vote  to  which  his 
qualifications  entitle  him,  we  may  not  refuse  it 
from  motives  of  resentment,  or  the  remembrance 
of  what  we  h.ave  suffered  at  his  hands.  His  right, 
and  our  obligation  which  follows  the  right,  are 
not  altered  by  his  enmity  to  us,  or  by  ours  to  him. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  do  not  conceive  that  these 
prohibitions  were  intended  to  interfere  with  the 
puni;5hment  or  prosecution  of  public  offenders. 
In  the  eighteenth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew,  our  Sa- 
viour tells  his  disL-iples,  "  If  thy  brother  who  has 
trespassed  against  thee  neglect  to  hear  the  church, 
let  him  be  unto  thee  as  an  heathen  man,  and  a 
publican."  Immediately  after  this,  when  St.  Pe- 
ter asked  him,  "  How  oft  shall  my  brother  sin 
against  me,  and  I  forgive  him  1  till  seven  times  "]" 
Christ  replied,  "  I  say  not  unto  thee  until  seven 
times,  but  until  seventy  times  seven  ;"  that  is,  as 
often  as  he  repeats  the  ofl'ence.  From  these  two 
adjoining  passages  compared  together,  we  are  au- 
thorised to  conclude  that  the  forgiveness  of  an 
enemy  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  proceedings 
against  him  as  a  public  offender ;  and  that  the  dis- 
cipline established  in  religious  or  civil  societies,  for 
the  restraint  or  punishment  of  criminals,  ought  to 
be  upholden. 

If  the  magistrate  be  not  tied  down  with  these 
prohibitions  from  the  execution  of  his  office,  nei- 
ther is  the  prosecutor ;  for  the  office  of  the  prose- 
cutor is  as  necessary  as  that  of  the  magistrate. 

Nor,  by  parity  of  reason,  are  private  persons 
withholden  from  the  correction  of  vice,  when  it  is 
in  their  power  to  exercise  it ;  provided  they  be  as- 
sured that  it  is  the  guilt  which  provokes  them,  and 
not  the  injury;  and  that  their  motives  are  pure 
from  all  mixture  and  every  particle  of  that  spirit 
vvliich  delights  and  triumplis  in  the  humiliation  of 
an  adversary. 

*  Matt.  vi.  14,  1.5:  xviii.  34,  .^5.  Col.  iii.  12,  13. 
1  Tties.  V.  14,  15.     Rom.  xii.  19,  20,  '21. 

t  See  also  Exodus,  xxiii.  4.  "  If  thou  meet  thine  ene- 
my's ox,  or  his  ass,  goin^  astray,  thou  shall  surely  bring 
It  back  to  him  again;  if  thou  see  the  ass  of  him  that 
hatcth  thee,  lyinj;  under  his  burden,  and  wouldst  for- 
bear to  hcip  him,  thou  shall  surely  help  with  him."         I 


Thus  it  is  no  breach  of  Christian  .larity,  lo 
withdraw  our  company  or  civility  when  the  same 
tends  to  discountenance  any  vicious  practice. 
This  is  one  branch  of  that  extrajudicial  discii)line, 
which  supplies  the  defects  and  the  remissness  of 
law ;  and  is  ex])ressly  authorised  by  St.  Paul  ( I 
<-'ov.  V.  II.)  "  But  now  I  have  written  unto  you 
not  to  keep  company,  if  any  man  that  is  called  a 
brother  be  a  fornicator,  or  covetous,  or  an  idolater, 
or  a  railer,  or  a  drunkard,  or  an  extortioner;  with 
such  an  one,  no  not  to  eat."  The  use  of  this  as- 
sociation against  vice  continues  to  be  experienced 
in  one  remarkable  instance,  and  might  he  extend- 
ed with  good  eflect  to  otiiers.  The  confederacy 
amongst  women  of  character,  to  exclude  from  their 
society  kept-mistresses  and  prostitutes,  contri- 
butes more  perhaps  to  discourage  that  condition 
of  life,  and  prevents  greater  numb.ers  from  enter- 
ing into  it,  than  all  the  considerations  of  prudence 
and  religion  put  together. 

We  are  likewise  allowed  to  practise  so  much 
caution  as  not  to  put  ourselves  in  the  way  of  inju- 
ry, or  invite  the  rej)etition  of  it.  If  a  servant  or 
tradesman  has  cheated  us,,  we  are  not  bound  to 
trust  him  again ;  for  this  is  to  encourage  him  in 
his  dishonest  practices,  which  is  doing  him  much 
harm. 

Where  a  benefit  can  be  conferred  only  upon 
one  or  few,  and  the  choice  of  the  person  upon 
whom  it  is  conferred  is  a  proper  oliject  of  favour, 
we  are  at  liberty  to  prefer  those  who  have  not  of- 
fended us  to  tho.se  who  have;  the  contrary  being 
no  where  required. 

Christ,  who,  as  hath  been  well  demonstrated,* 
estimated  virtues  by  their  solid  utility,  and  not  by 
their  fashion  or  popularity,  prefei-s  this  of  the  for- 
giveness of  injuries  to  every  other.  He  enjoins 
it  oftener  ;  with  more  earnestness ;  under  a  great- 
er variety  of  forms ;  and  with  this  weighty  and  pe- 
culiar circumstance,  that  the  forgiveness  of  others 
is  the  condition  upon  which  alone  we  are  to  ex- 
pect, or  even  ask,  from  God,  forgiveness  for  our- 
selves. And  this  preference  is  justified  by  the 
superior  importance  of  the  virtue  itself  The 
feuds  and  animosities  in  families,  and  between 
neighbours,  which  disturb  the  intercourse  of  hu- 
man life,  and  collectively  compose  half  the  misery 
of  it,  have  their  foundation  in  the  want  of  a  for- 
giving temper ;  and  can  never  cease,  but  by  the 
exercise  of  this  virtue,  on  one  side,  or  on  both. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Duelling. 

DuELi/iNG  as  a  punishment  is  absurd  ;  because 
it  is  an  equal  chance,  whether  the  punishment  fall 
upon  tlie  ollendcr,  or  the  person  offended.  Nor 
is  it  much  better  as  a  reparation:  it  being  difficult 
to  explain  in  what  the  satisfaction  consists,  or 
how  it  tends  to  undo  the  injury,  or  to  afford  a 
compensation  for  the  damage  already  sustained. 

The  truth  is,  it  is  not  considered  as  either.  A 
law  of  honour  having  annexed  the  imputation  of 
cowardice  to  patience  under  an  affront,  challenges 
are  given  and  accepted  with  no  other  design  than 
to  prevent  or  wipe  off  this  suspicion ;  without 
malice  against  the  adversary,  generally  without  a 

*  See  a  View  of  the  Internal  Evidence  of  the  CliriS' 
tian  Religion. 


J 


LITIGATION. 


wish  to  Jpstroy  him,  or  any  other  concern  than  to 
preserve  the  duellist's  own  reputation  and  recep- 
tion in  the  world. 

The  unreasonableness  of  this  rule  of  manners 
is  one  consideration  ;  the  duty  and  conduct  of  in- 
dividuals, while  such  a  rule  exists,  is  another. 

As  to  which,  the  proper  and  single  question  is 
this,  whether  a  regard  for  our  own  rejiutation  is, 
or  is  not,  sufficient  to  jastify  the  taking  away  the 
life  of  another  I 

Murder  is  forbidden;  and  wherever  human  life 
is  deliberately  taken  away,  otherwise  than  by  pub- 
lic authority,  there  is  murder.  The  value  and  se- 
curity of  human  life  make  this  rule  necessary ;  for 
I  do  not  see  what  other  idea  or  definition  of  mur- 
der can  be  admitted,  which  will  not  let  in  so  much 
private  violence,  as  to  render  society  a  scene  of 
peril  and  bloodshed. 

If  unauthorised  laws  of  honour  be  allowed  to 
create  exceptions  to  divine  prohibitions,  there  is 
an  end  of  all  morality,  as  founded  in  the  will  of 
the  Deity ;  and  the  obligation  of  every  duty  may, 
at  one  time  or  other,  be  discharged  by  the  caprice 
and  fluctuations  of  fashion. 

"  But  a  sense  of  shame  is  so  much  torture ;  and 
no  relief  presents  itself  otherwise  than  by  an  at- 
tempt upon  the  life  of  our  adversary."  What  then  1 
The  distress  which  men  sufier  by  the  want  of 
monej'  is  oftentimes  extreme,  and  no  resource  can 
be  discovered  but  that  of  removing  a  life  which 
stanils  between  the  distressed  person  and  his  in- 
heritance. The  motive  in  this  case  is  as  urgent, 
and  the  means  much  the  same,  as  in  the  former ; 
yet  this  case  finds  no  advocate. 

Take  away  the  circumsfcmce  of  the  duellist's 
exposing  his  own  life,  and  it  becomes  assassina- 
tion ;  add  this  circumstance,  and  what  difference 
does  it  make '?  None  but  this,  that  the  fewer  per- 
hajis  will  imitate  the  example,  and  human  life 
will  be  somewhat  more  safe,  when  it  cannot  be 
attacked  without  equal  danger  to  the  aggressor's 
own.  Experience,  however,  proves  that  there  is 
fortitude  enough  in  most  men  to  undertake  this 
hazard;  and  were  it  otherwise,  tlie  defence,  at 
best,  would  be  only  that  which  a  highwayman  or 
housebreaker  might  plead,  whose  attempt  had 
been  so  daring  and  desperate,  that  few  were  likely 
to  repeat  the  same. 

In  expostulating  with  the  duellist,  I  all  along 
suppose  his  adversary  to  fall.  Which  supposition 
I  am  at  liberty  to  make,  because,  if  he  have  no 
right  to  kill  his  adversary,  he  has  none  to  attempt  it. 

In  return,  I  forbear  from  apjjlying  to  the  case 
of  duelling  the  Christian  principle  of  the  forgive- 
ness of  injuries;  because  it  is  possible  to  suppose 
the  injury  to  be  forgiven,  and  the  duellist  to  act 
entirely  from  a  concern  for  his  own  reputation : 
where  this  is  not  the  case,  the  guilt  of  duelling 
is  manifest,  and  is  greater. 

In  this  view  it  seems  unnecessary  to  distinguish 
between  him  who  gives,  and  him  who  accej^ts,  a 
challenge:  for,  on  the  one  hand,  they  incur  an 
equal  hazard  of  destroying  life ;  and  on  the  other, 
both  act  upon  the  same  persuasion,  that  what  they 
do  is  necessary,  in  order  to  recover  or  preserve  the 
good  opinion  of  1  he  world. 

Public  opinion  is  not  easily  controlled  by  civil 
institutions :  for  wliich  reason  I  question  whether 
any  regulations  can  be  contrived,  of  sufficient 
force  to  suppress  or  chdnge  the  rule  of  honour, 
which  stigmatises  all  scruples  about  duelling  with 
the  reproach  of  cowardice. 
K 


The  insufficiency  of  the  redress  which  the  Uiw 
of  the  land  afi()rds,  for  those  injuries  which  chiolly 
affect  a  man  in  his  sensibility  and  reputation, 
tempts  many  to  redress  themselves.  Prosecutions 
for  such  offences,  by  tlie  trilling  damages  that  are 
recovered,  serve  only  to  make  the  suffnrer  more 
ridiculous. — This  ought  to  be  remedied. 

For  the  army,  wliere  the  point  of  honour  is 
cultivated  with  exquisite  attention  and  refinement, 
I  would  establish  a  Court  of  Honour,  with  a  power 
of  awarding  those  submissions  and  acknowledg 
ments,  which  it  is  generally  the  jjuriiose  of  a 
challenge  to  obtain  ;  and  it  might  grow  into  a 
fashion,  with  persons  of  rank  of  all  professions,  to 
refer  their  quarrels  to  this  tribunal. 

Duelling,  as  the  law  now  stands,  can  seldom  be 
overtaken  by  legal  punishment.  The  challenge, 
appointment,  and  otlier  previous  circumstances, 
which  indicate  the  intention  with  which  the  com- 
batants met,  being  suppressed,  nothing  appears 
to  a  court  of  justice,  but  the  actual  rencounter; 
and  if  a  person  be  slain  when  actually  fighting 
with  his  adversary,  the  law  deems  his  death  no- 
thing more  than  manslaughter. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Litigation. 

"  If  it  be  possible,  live  peaceably  with  all  men ;'' 
which  precept  contains  an  indirect  confession  that 
this  is  not  always  possible. 

The  instances  *  in  the  fifth  chapter  of  Sain) 
Matthew  are  rather  to  be  understood  as  |  rovcrbial 
methods  of  describing  the  general  duties  of  for- 
giveness and  benevolence,  and  the  temper  which 
we  ought  to  aim  at  acquiring,  than  as  directions 
to  be  specifically  observed  ;  or  of  themselves  of  any 
great  importance  to  be  observed.  The  first  of  these 
is,  "  If  thine  enemy  smite  th<'e  on  thy  right  cheek, 
turn  to  him  the  other  also;"  yet,  when  one  of  the 
officers  struck  .Jesus  with  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
we  find  Jesus  rebuking  him  for  the  outrage  with 
becoming  indignation;  "If  I  have  sjioken  evil, 
bear  witness  of  the  evil ;  but  if  well,  why  smitest 
thou  me?"  (John  xviii.  43.)  It  may  be  observed, 
likewise,  that  the  several  examples  are  drawn 
from  instances  of  small  and  toleralile  injuries.  A 
rule  which  forbade  all  opposition  to  injury,  or  de- 
fence against  it,  could  have  no  other  etiect,  than 
to  put  the  good  in  sul>jection  to  the  bad,  and  de- 
liver one  half  of  mankind  to  the  depredations  of 
the  other  half;  which  must  be  the  case,  so  long  as 
some  considered  themselves  as  bound  by  such  a 
rule,  whilst  others  despised  it.  Saint  Paul,  though 
no  one  inculcated  forgiveness  and  forbearance  with 
a  deeper  sense  of  the  value  and  obligation  of  these 
virtues,  did  not  interpret  either  of  them  to  require 
an  unresisting  submission  to  every  contumely,  or 
a  neglect  of  the  means  of  safety  and  self-defence. 
He  took  refuge  in  the  laws  of  his  country,  and  in 
the  privileges  of  a  Roman  citizen,  from  the  con- 
spiracy of  the  Jews  (Acts  xxv.  11;)  and  from 
the  clandestine  violence  of  the  chief  captain  (Acts 
xxii.  25.)     And  yet  this  is  the  same  apostle  who 


*"  Whosoever  pliall  smite  thee  on  thy  right  cheek 
turn  to  him  the  other  also:  and  if  any  man  will  sue  thee 
at  the  law,  and  take  away  thy  mat,  let  liim  have  tliy 
cloak  also ;  and  whosoever  shall  compel  thee  to  go  a 
mile,  go  with  liim  twain." 


74 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


reproved  the  litigiousness  of  his  Corinthian  con- 
verts with  so  nmoh  severity.  "  Now,  therefore, 
there  is  utterly  a  fault  among  you,  because  ye  go 
to  law  one  with  another.  Why  do  ye  not  rather 
take  wrong  1  why  do  ye  not  rather  sulier  your- 
selves to  be  defrauded  ? 

On  the  one  hand,  therefore,  Christianity  ex- 
cludes all  vindictive  motives,  and  all  frivolous 
causes,  of  prosecution;  so  that  where  the  injury 
is  small,  where  no  good  purpose  of  public  example 
is  answered,  where  forbearance  is  not  likely  to 
invite  a  repetition  of  the  injury,  or  where  the  ex- 
pense of  an  action  becomes  a  punishment  too  se- 
vere for  the  oilence ;  there  the  Christian  is  with- 
holden  by  the  authority  of  his  religion  Irom  going 
to  law. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  law-suit  is  inconsistent 
with  no  rule  of  the  Gospel,  when  it  is  instituted, 

1.  For  the  establishing  of  some  important  right. 

2.  For  the  procuring  a  compensation  for  some 
considerable  damage. 

3.  For  the  preventing  of  future  injury. 

But  since  it  is  supposed  to  be  undertaken  sim- 
ply with  a  view  to  the  ends  of  justice  and  safety, 
the  prosecutor  of  the  action  is  bound  to  confine 
hiiiiself  to  the  cheapest  process  which  will  ac- 
complish these  ends,  as  well  as  to  consent  to  any 
peaceable  expedient  for  the  same  purpose ;  as  to  a 
reference,  in  which  the  arbitrators  can  do,  what 
the  law  cannot,  divide  the  damage,  when  the  fault 
is  mutual;  or  to  a  compounding  of  the  dispute, 
by  accepting  a  compensation  in  the  gross,  without 
entering  into  articles  and  items,  which  it  is  often 
very  difficult  to  adjust  separately. 

As  to  the  rest,  the  duty  of  the  contending  par- 
ties may  be  expressed  in  the  following  directions : 

Not  by  appeals  to  prolong  a  suit  against  your 
own  conviction. 

Not  to  undertake  or  defend  a  suit  against  a 
poor  adversary,  or  render  it  more  dilatory  or  ex- 
pensive than  necessary,  with  the  hope  of  intimi- 
dating or  wearing  him  out  by  the  expense. 

Not  to  influence  evidence  by  authority  or  ex- 
pectation ; 

Nor  to  stifle  any  in  your  possession,  although 
it  make  against  you. 

Hitherto  we  have  treated  of  civil  actions.  In 
criminal  prosecutions,  the  private  injury  should  be 
forgotten,  and  the  prosecutor  proceed  with  the 
same  temper,  and  upon  the  same  motives,  as  the 
magistrate ;  the  one  being  a  necessary  minister  of 
justice  as  well  as  the  other,  and  both  bound  to  di- 
rect their  conduct  by  a  dispassionate  care  of  the 
public  welfare. 

In  whatever  degree  the  punishment  of  an  of- 
fender is  conducive,  or  his  escape  dangerous,  to 
the  interest  of  the  community,  in  the  same  degree 
is  the  party  against  whom  the  crime  was  com- 
mitted bound  to  prosecute ;  because  such  prosecu- 
tions must  in  their  nature  originate  from  the  suf- 
ferer. 

Therefore  great  public  crimes,  as  robberies, 
forgeries,  and  the  like,  ought  not  to  be  spared, 
from  an  apprehension  of  trouble  or  expense  in 
carrying  on  the  prosecution,  from  false  shame,  or 
misplaced  compassion. 

There  are  many  offences,  such  as  nuisances, 
neglect  of  public  roads,  forestalling,  engrossing, 
smuggling,  sabbath-breaking,  profaneness,  drunk- 
enness, prostitution,  the  keeping  of  lewd  or  dis- 
orderly houses,  the  writing,  publishing,  or  expos- 
uig  to  sale,  lascivious  books  or  pictures,  with  some 


others,  the  prosecution  of  which,  being  of  equal 
concern  to  the  whole  neighbourliood,  cannot  be 
charged  as  a  peculiar  obligation  upon  any. 

Nevertheless,  there  is  great  merit  in  the  person 
who  undertakes  such  prosecutions  upon  proper 
motives  ;  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 

The  character  of  an  inforvier  is  in  this  country 
undeservedly  odious.  But  where  any  public  ad- 
vantage is  likely  to  be  attained  by  information,  oj 
other  activity  in  promoting  the  execution  of  the 
laws,  a  good  man  will  despise  a  prejudice  founded 
in  no  just  reason,  or  will  acquit  himself  of  tlie 
imputation  of  interested  designs  by  giving  away 
his  share  of  the  penalty. 

On  the  other  hand,  prosecutions  for  the  sake 
of  the  reward,  or  for  the  gratification  of  private 
enmity,  where  the  offence  produces  no  public 
mischief,  or  where  it  arises  from  ignorance  or  in- 
advertency, are  reprobated  under  the  general  de- 
scription of  applying  a  rule  of  law  to  a  purpose 
for  which  it  was  not  intended.  Under  which 
description  may  be  ranked  an  officious  revival  of 
the  laws  against  Popish  priests,  and  dissenting 
teachers. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Gratitude. 

Examples  of  ingratitude  check  and  discourage 
voluntary  beneficence :  and  in  this,  the  mischief 
of  ingratitude  consists.  Nor  is  the  mischief  small ; 
for  after  all  is  done  that  can  be  done,  towards  pro- 
viding for  the  public  happiness,  by  prescribing 
rules  of  justice,  and  enforcing  the  observation  of 
them  by  penalties  or  compulsion,  much  must  be 
left  to  those  offices  of  kindness,  which  men  remain 
at  liberty  to  exert  or  withhold.  Now  not  only  the 
choice  of  the  objects,  but  the  quantity  and  even 
the  existence  of  this  sort  of  kindness  in  the  world, 
depends,  in  a  great  measure,  upon  the  return 
which  it  receives :  and  this  is  a  consideration  of 
general  importance. 

A  second  reason  for  cultivating  a  grateful  tem- 
per in.  ourselves,  is  the  following;  The  same 
principle,  which  is  touched  with  the  kindness  of 
a  human  benefactor,  is  capable  of  being  affected 
by  the  divine  goodness,  and  of  becoming,  under 
the  influence  of  that  affection,  a  source  of  the 
purest  and  most  exalted  virtue.  The  love  of  God 
is  the  sublimcst  gratitude.  It  is  a  mistake,  there- 
fore, to  imagine,  that  this  virtue  is  omitted  in 
the  Christian  Scriptures ;  for  every  precept  which 
commands  us  "to  love  God,  because  he  first  loved 
us,"  presupposes  the  principle  of  gratitude,  and 
directs  it  to  its  proper  object. 

It  is  impossible  to  particularise  the  several  ex- 
pressions of  gratitude,  inasmuch  as  they  vary  with 
the  character  and  situation  of  the  benefactor,  and 
with  the  opportunities  of  the  person  obliged-, 
which  variety  admits  of  no  bounds. 

It  may  be  observed,  however,  that  gratitude  can 
never  oblige  a  man  to  do  what  is  wrong,  and 
what  by  consequence  he  is  previously  obliged  not 
to  do.  It  is  no  ingratitude  to  refuse  to  do,  what 
we  cannot  reconcile  to  any  apprehensions  of  our 
duty ;  but  it  is  ingratitude  and  hypocrisy  together, 
to  pretend  this  reason,  when  it  is  not  the  real  one  : 
and  the  frequency  of  such  pretences  has  brought 
this  apology  for  non-compliance  with  the  will  of  a 
benefactor  into  unmerited  disgrace 


PUBLIC  USE  OF  MARRIAGE  INSTITUTIONS. 


It  has  long  been  accounted  a  violation  of  delica- 
cy and  generosity  to  upbraid  men  with  the  favours 
they  have  received :  but  it  argues  a  total  destitu- 
tion of  both  these  qualities,  as  well  as  of  moral 
probity,  to  take  advantage  of  that  ascendency 
which  the  conferring  of  benetits  justly  creates,  to 
draw  or  drive  those  whom  we  have  obliged  into 
mean  or  dishonest  compliances. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Slander. 

Speaking  is  acting,  both  in  philosophical  strict- 
ness, and  as  to  all  moral  purposes :  tor  if  the  mis- 
chief and  motive  of  our  conduct  be  the  same,  the 
means  which  we  use  make  no  difference. 

And  this  is  in  effect  what  our  Saviour  declares. 
Matt.  xii.  37 : — "  By  thy  words  thou  shalt  be 
justified,  and  by  thy  words  thou  shalt  be  condemn- 
ed:" by  thy  words,  as  well,  that  is,  as  by  thy 
actions ;  the  one  shall  be  taken  into  the  account 
as  well  as  the  other,  for  they  both  possess  the  same 
property  of  voluntarily  producing  good  or  evil. 

Slander  may  be  distinguished  into  two  kinds : 
malicious  slander,  and  inconsiderate  slander. 

Malicious  slander  is  the  relating  of  either  truth 
or  falsehood,  for  the  purpose  of  creating  misery. 

I  acknowledge  that  the  truth  or  falsehood  of 
what  is  related,  varies  the  degree  of  g>ult  consider- 
ably ;  and  that  slander,  in  the  ordinary  accepta- 
tion of  the  term,  signifies  the  circulation  of  mis- 
chievous/a/sft/iootZ ;  but  truth  may  be  made  instru- 
mental to  the  success  of  malicious  designs  as  well 
as  falsehood ;  and  if  the  end  be  bad,  the  means 
cannot  be  innocent. 

I  think  the  idea  of  slander  ought  to  be  confined 
to  the  production  of  gratuitous  miscliief  When 
we  have  an  end  or  interest  of  our  own  to  serve, 
if  we  attempt  to  compass  it  by  falsehood,  it  is 
fraud ;  if  by  a  publication  of  the  truth,  it  is  not 
without  some  additional  circumstance  of  breach 
of  promise,  betraying  of  confidence,  or  the  like,  to 
be  deemed  criminal. 

Sometimes  the  pain  is  intended  for  the  person 
to  whom  we  are  speaking ;  at  other  times,  an  en- 
mity is  to  be  gratified  by  the  prejudice  or  disquiet 
of  a  third  person.  To  infuse  suspicions,  to  kindle 
or  continue  disputes,  to  avert  the  favour  and  es- 
teem of  benefactors  from  their  dependents,  to  ren- 
der some  one  whom  we  dislike  contemptible  or 
obnoxious  in  the  public  opinion,  are  all  offices  of 
slander ;  of  which  the  guilt  must  be  measured  by 
the  intensity  and  extent  of  the  misery  produced. 

The  disguises  under  which  slander  is  conveyed, 
whether  in  a  whisper,  with  injunctions  of  secrecy 
by  way  of  caution,  or  with  affected  reluctance,  are 
ail  so  many  aggravations  of  the  offence,  as  they 
indicate  more  deliberation  and  design. 

Inconsiderate  slander  is  a  different  offence,  al- 
though the  same  mischief  actually  follow,  and  al- 
though the  mischief  might  have  been  foreseen. 
The  not  being  conscious  of  that  design  which  we 
have  hitherto  attributed  to  the  slanderer,  makes 
the  difference 

The  guilt  here  consists  in  the  want  of  that  re- 
gard to  the  consequences  of  our  conduct,  which  a 
just  affection  for  human  happiness,  and  concern 
for  our  duty  would  not  have  failed  to  have  pro- 
duced in  us.  And  it  is  no  answer  to  this  crimina- 
tion to  say,  that  we  entertained  no  evil  design.  A 


servant  may  be  a  very  bad  servant,  and  yet  seldom 
or  never  design  to  act  in  opposition  to  liis  mas- 
ter's interest  or  will :  and  his  master  may  justly 
punish  such  servant  for  a  thoughtlessness  and 
neglect  nearly  as  prejudicial  as  deliberate  disobe- 
dience. I  accuse  you  not,  he  may  say,  of  any 
express  intention  to  hurt  me ;  but  had  not  the 
fear  of  my  displeasure,  the  care  of  my  interest, 
and  indeed  all  the  quahties  which  constitute  the 
merit  of  a  good  servant,  been  wanting  in  you, 
they  would  not  only  have  excluded  every  direct 
purpose  of  giving  me  uneasiness,  but  have  been 
so  iar  present  to  your  thoughts,  as  to  have  checked 
that  unguarded  licentiousness  by  which  I  have 
suffered  so  much,  and  inspired  you  in  its  place 
with  an  habitual  solicitude  about  the  efl'ects  and 
tendency  of  what  you  did  or  said. — This  very 
much  resembles  the  case  of  all  sins  of  inconsidera- 
tion ;  and,  amongst  the  foremost  of  these,  that  of 
inconsiderate  slander. 

Information  conununicated  for  the  real  purpose 
of  warning,  or  cautioning,  is  not  slander. 

Indiscriminate  praise  is  the  opposite  of  slander, 
but  it  is  the  opposite  extreme ;  and,  however  it 
may  affect  to  be  thought  to  be  excess  of  candour, 
is  conmionly  the  effusion  of  a  frivolous  under- 
stiinding,  or  proceeds  from  a  settled  contempt  of 
all  moral  distinctions. 


BOOK  III. 


PART  III. 

OF  RELATIVE  DUTIES  WHICH  RESULT  FROM 
THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  SEXES. 

The  constitution  of  the  sexes  is  the  foundation 
of  marriage. 

Collateral  to  the  subject  of  marriage,  are  for- 
nication, seduction,  adultery,  incest,  polygamy, 
divorce. 

Consequential  to  marriage,  is  the  relation  and 
reciprocal  duty  of  parent  and  child. 

We  will  treat  of  these  subjects  in  the  following 
order:  first,  of  the  public  use  of  marriage  institu- 
tions ;  secondly,  of  the  subjects  collateral  to  mar- 
riage, in  the  order  in  which  we  have  here  pro- 
posed them;  thirdly,  of  marriage  itself;  and, 
lastly,  of  the  relation  and  reciprocal  duties  of  pa- 
rents and  cliildren. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Of  the  Public  Use  of  Marriage  Institutions. 

The  public  use  of  marriage  institutions  con- 
sists in  their  promoting  the  following  beneficial 
effects. 

1.  The  private  comfort  of  individuals,  especially 
of  the  female  sex.  It  may  be  true,  that  all  are  not 
interested  in  this  reason ;  nevertheless,  it  is  a  rea- 
son to  all  for  abstaining  from  any  conduct  which 
tends  in  its  general  consequence  to  obstruct  mar- 
riage :  for  whatever  promotes  the  happiness  of  the 
majority,  is  binding  upon  the  whole^ 

2.  The  production  of  the  greatest  number  of 


7f> 


AluRAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


noalthy  children,  tlicir  Ijetter  educatim,  and  the 
making  of  due  jirovision  tor  their  settlement  in  life. 
\i.  i'iie  peace  of  human  soL-icty,  in  cutting  oft' a 
principal  source  of  contention,  by  assigning  one 
or  more  women  to  one  man,  and  protecting  his 
exclusive  right  by  sanctions  of  morality  and  law, 

4.  The  better  government  of  society,  by  dis- 
tributing the  community  into  separate  families, 
and  appointing  over  each  the  authority  of  a  mas- 
ter ot  a  family,  which  has  more  actual  influence 
than  all  civil  authority  put  together. 

5.  rhe  same  end,  in  the  additional  security 
which  the  state  receives  tor  the  good  behaviour  of 
its  citizens,  from  the  solicitude  they  feel  for  the 
welfare  of  their  children,  and  from  their  being 
conlined  to  permanent  habitations. 

ti.    i'he  encouragement  of  industry. 

Some  ancient  nations  appear  to  have  been  more 
sensible  of  the  importance  of  marriage  institutions 
than  we  are.  Tlie  Spartans  obliged  their  citizens 
to  marry  by  penalties,  and  the  Romans  encouraged 
tlicirs  by  the  jus  triuin  liberorum.  A  man  who 
had  no  child,  was  entitled  by  the  Roman  law  only 
to  one  half  of  any  leg  icy  that  should  be  left  him, 
that  is,  at  the  mo.st,  could  only  receive  one  half  of 
the  testator's  fortune. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Furiiication. 

The  first  and  great  mischief,  and  by  conse- 
quence the  guilt,  of  promisL-uous  concubinage, 
consists  in  its  tendency  to  diminish  marriages, 
and  thereby  to  deteat  the  several  beneticial  pur- 
poses enumerated  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

Promiscuous  concubinage  discourages  marriage, 
by  abating  the  cliief  temptation  to  it.  The  male 
part  of  the  species  will  not  undertake  the  en- 
cumbrance, expense,  and  restraint  of  married  life, 
if  they  can  gratity  their  passions  at  a  cheaper 
jjfice  ;  and  they  will  undertake  any  thing,  rather 
than  not  gratity  them. 

The  reader  will  learn  to  comprehend  the  mag- 
nitude of  this  mischief,  by  attending  to  the  im- 
portance and  variety  of  the  uses  to  which  mar- 
riage is  subservient;  and  by  recollecting  withal, 
that  the  malignity  and  moral  quality  of  each  crime 
is  not  to  be  estimated  Ijy  the  particular  efl'ect  of 
one  offence,  or  of  one  jjerson's  oflending,  but  by 
the  general  tendency  and  consequence  of  crimes 
of  the  same  nature.  I'he  libertine  may  not  be 
conscious  that  these  irregularities  hinder  his  own 
marriage,  from  which  he  is  deterred,  he  may  al- 
lege, by  different  considerations ;  much  less  does 
he  perceive  how  his  indulgences  can  hinder  other 
men  from  marrying;  ,but  what  will  he  say  would 
be  the  consequence,  if  the  same  licentiousness 
were  universal  1  or  what  should  hinder  its  be- 
coming universal,  if  it  be  innocent  or  allowable  in 
him  1 

2.  Fornication  supposes  prostitution ;  and  pros- 
titution brings  and  leaves  the  victims  of  it  to  al- 
most certain  misery.  It  is  no  small  quantity  of 
niisery  in  ths  aggregate,  which,  between  want, 
disease,  and  insult,  is  suffered  by  those  outcasts 
ot  human  society,  who  infest  populous  cities ;  the 
whole  oi  which  is  a  general  consequence  of  for- 
nication, and  to  the  increase  and  continuance  of  | 
which,  every^act  and  instance  of  fornication  con 
tributes. 


3.  Fornication*  produces  habits  of  ungovernable 
lewdness,  which  introduces  the  more  aggravated 
crunes  of  seduction,  adultery,  violation,  6:c.  Like- 
wise, however  it  be  accounted  lor,  the  criminal 
commerce  of  the  sexes  corrupts  and  depraves  the 
uiind  and  moral  character  more  than  any  single 
species  of  vice  whatsoever.  I'hat  ready  percep- 
tion of  guilt,  that  prompt  and  decisive  resolution 
against  it,  which  constitutes  a  virtuous  character, 
is  seldom  found  in  persons  addicted  to  these  in- 
dulgences. I'hey  j)re|iare  an  easy  admission  for 
every  sin  that  .seeks  it ;  are,  in  low  life,  usually  the 
first  stage  in  men's  progress  to  the  most  desperate 
villanies ;  and,  in  high  life,  to  that  lamented  disso- 
luteness of  principle,  which  manifests  itself  in  a 
profligacy  of  public  conduct,  and  a  contempt  of  the 
obligations  of  religion  and  of  moral  probity.  Add 
to  this,  that  habits  of  libertinism  incapacitate  and 
indispose  the  mind  lor  all  intellectual,  moral,  and 
religious  pleasures  ;  which  is  a  great  loss  to  any 
man's  happiness. 

4.  Fornication  perpetuates  a  disease,  which 
may  be  accounted  one  of  the  sorest  maladies  of 
human  nature ;  and  the  effects  of  which  are  said 
to  visit  the  constitution  of  even  distant  genera- 
tions. 

The  passion  being  natural,  proves  that  it  was 
intended  to  be  gratified :  but  under  what  restric- 
tions, or  whether  without  any,  must  be  collected 
from  different  considerations. 

The  Christian  Scriptures  condemn  fornication 
absolutely  and  peremptorily.  "  (_)ut  of  the  heart," 
says  our  Saviour,  "  proceed  evil  thoughts,  mur- 
ders, adulteries,  fornication,  thefts,  false  witness, 
blasphemies ;  tliese  are  the  things  which  defile  a 
man."  These  are  Christ's  own  words :  and  one 
word  from  him  upon  the  subject,  is  final.  It  may 
be  observed  with  what  society  fornication  is  class- 
ed ;  with  murders,  thefts,  false  witness,  blasphe- 
mies. I  do  not  mean  that  these  crimes  are  all 
equal,  because  they  are  all  mentioned  together; 
but  it  proves  that  tiiey  are  all  crimes.  The  apos- 
tles arc  more  full  u|ion  this  tojiic.  One  well-known 
passage  in  the  Eirislle  to  the  Hebrews,  may  stand 
in  the  place  of  all  others  ;  because,  admitting  the 
authority  by  which  the  apostles  of  Christ  spake 
and  wrote,  it  is  decisive  :  "  Marriage  and  the  bed 
undefiled  is  honourable  amongst  all  men :  but 
whoremongers  and  adulterers  Cod  will  judge;" 
which  was  a  great  deal  to  say,  at  a  time  when  it 
was  not  agreed,  even  amongst  philosophers  them- 
selves, that  fornication  was  a  crime. 

The  Scriptures  give  no  sanction  to  those  aus- 
terities, which  have  been  since  imposed  upon  the 
world  under  the  name  of  Christ's  reJigion ;  as  the 
celibacy  of  the  clergy,  the  praise  of  perpetual  vir- 
ginity, the  prohibitio  concubitus  cum  gravida 
uxore  ;  but  with  a  just  knowledge  of,  and  regard 
to,  the  condition  and  interest  of  the  human  sjie- 
cies,  have  provided,  in  the  marriage  of  one  man 
with  one  woman,  an  adequate  gratification  for  the 
propensities  of  their  nature,  and  have  restricted 
them  to  that  gratification. 

The  avowed  toleration,  and  in  some  countries 
the  licensing,  taxing,  and  regulating  of  public 
brothels,  liasiippeared  to  the  people  an  authorising 
of  fornication ;  and  has  "ontributed,  witii  other 


*  Of  tliis  passion  it  lias  been  truly  said,  that  "  irregu 
larity  has  no  limits;  that  one  excess  draws  on  another- 
that  the  most  easy,  therefore,  as  well  as  the  most  e.\ceJ 
lent  way  of  being  virtuous,  is  to  ba  so  entirely."  Ogder, 
Serin,  xvi. 


J 


SEDUCTION, 


77 


causes,  so  far  to  vitiate  the  public  opinion,  that 
there  is  no  practice  of  which  the  immorahty  is  so 
httle  thought  of  or  acknowledcred,  although  there 
are  few  in  which  it  can  more  plainly  be  made  out. 
The  legislators  who  have  patronised  receptacles 
of  prostitution,  ought  to  have  foreseen  this  efli?ct, 
as  well  as  considered,  that  whatever  facilitates  for- 
nication, diminishes  marriages.  And,  as  to  the 
usual  apology  for  this  relaxed  disciphne,  the 
danger  of  grea*^or  enormities,  if  access  to  prosti- 
tutes were  too  strictly  watched  and  prohibited,  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  look  to  that,  when  the  laws 
and  the  magistrates  have  done  their  utmost.  The 
greatest  vigilance  of  both  will  do  no  more,  than 
oppose  some  bounds  and  some  difficulties  to  this 
intercourse.  And,  alter  all,  these  pretended  fears 
are  without  foundation  in  experience.  The  men 
are  in  all  respects  the  most  virtuous,  in  countries 
where  the  women  are  most  chaste. 

There  is  a  species  of  cohabitation,  distinguish- 
able, no  doubt,  from  vagrant  concubinage,  and 
which,  by  reason  of  its  resemblance  to  marriage, 
may  be  thought  to  participate  of  the  sanctity  and 
innocence  of  that  estate ;  1  mean  the  case  of  kept 
miiitrcsses,  under  the  favourable  circumstance  of 
mutual  lidelit3\  This  case  I  have  heard  defended 
by  some  such  apology  as  the  following: 

"  That  the  marriage-rite  being  ditierent  in  dif- 
ferent countries,  and  in  the  same  country  amongst 
dillerent  sects,  and  with  some  scarce  any  thing ; 
and,  moreover,  not  being  prescribed  or  even  men- 
tioned in  Scripture,  can  be  accounted  for  only  as 
jf  a  form  and  ceremony  of  human  invention: 
that,  consequently,  if  a  man  and  woman  betroth 
and  confine  themselves  to  each  other,  their  inter- 
course must  be  the  same,  as  to  all  moral  purposes, 
as  if  they  were  legally  married ;  for  the  addition  or 
omission  of  that  which  is  a  mere  form  and  cere- 
mony, can  make  no  difference  in  the  sight  of  God, 
or  in  the  actual  nature  of  right  and  wrong." 

To  all  which  it  may  be  replied, 

1.  If  the  situation  of  the  parties  be  the  same 
thing  as  marriage,  why  do  they  not  marry  1 

2.  If  the  man  choose  to  have  it  in  his  power  to 
dismiss  the  woman  at  his  pleasure,  or  to  retain 
her  in  a  state  of  humiliation  and  dependence  in- 
consistent with  the  rigiits  which  marriage  would 
confer  upon  her,  it  is  not  the  same  thing. 

It  is  not  at  any  rate  the  same  thing  to  the 
children. 

Again,  as  to  the  marriage-rite  being  a  mere 
form,  and-  that  also  variable,  the  same  may  be 
said  of  signing  and  sealing  of  bonds,  wills,  deeds 
of  conveyance,  and  the  like,  which  yet  make  a 
great  ditlerence  in  the  rights  and  obligations  of 
the  parties  concerned  in  them. 

And  with  respect  to  the  rite  not  being  appoint- 
ed in  Scripture ; — the  Scriptures  forbid  fornica- 
tion, that  is,  cohabitation  without  marriage,  leaving 
it  to  the  law  of  each  country  to  pronounce  what 
is,  or  what  makes,  a  marriage;  in  like  manner 
as  they  forbid  thefts,  that  is,  the  taking  away  of 
another's  property,  leaving  it  to  the  municipal 
law  to  fix  what  makes  the  thing  property,  or 
whose  it  is :  which  also,  as  well  as  marriage,  de- 
pend upon  arbitrary  and  mutable  forms. 

Laying  aside  the  injunctions  of  Scripture,  the 
plain  account  of  the  question  seems  to  be  this  :  It 
is  immoral,  because  it  is  pernicious,  that  men  and 
women  should  cohabit,  without  undertaking  cer- 
tain irrevocable  obligations,  and  mutually  con- 
ferring certain  civil  rights;  if,  therefore,  the  law 


has  annexed  these  rights  and  obligations  to  cer- 
taui  forms,  so  that  they  cannot  be  secured  or  un- 
dertaken by  any  other  means,  which  is  the  case 
here  (for,  whatever  the  parties  may  promise  to 
each  other,  nothing  but  the  niarriageccremony 
can  make  their  promise  irrevocable,)  it  becomes  in 
the  same  degree  immoral,  that  men  and  women 
should  cohabit  without  the  interposition  of  these 
forms. 


If  fornication  be  criminal,  all  those  incentives 
which  lead  to  it  are  accessaries  to  the  crime;  as 
lascivious  conversation,  whether  expressed  in  ob- 
scene, or  disguised  under  modest  [)hrases ;  also 
wanton  songs,  pictures,  books  ;  tlie  writing,  pub- 
lishing, and  circulating  of  which,  whether  out  of 
frolic,  or  for  some  pitilul  profit,  is  productive  of  so 
extensive  a  miscliief  from  so  mean  a  temptation, 
that  lew  crimes,  within  the  reach  of  private  wick- 
edness, have  more  to  answer  for,  or  less  to  plead 
in  their  excuse. 

Indecent  conversation,  and  by  parity  of  reason 
all  the  rest,  are  forbidden  by  Saint  Paul,  Eph.  iv. 
"29.  "  Let  no  corrupt  communication  proceed  out 
of  your  mouth;"  and  again,  Col.  iii.  8.  "  Put  off 
filthy  conmiunication  out  of"  your  mouth." 

The  invitation,  or  voluntary  admission,  of  im- 
pure thoughts,  or  the  suH'ering  them  to  get  pos- 
session of  the  imagination,  falls  within  the  same 
description,  and  is  condemned  by  Christ,  Matt.  V. 
28.  "  Whosoever  looketh  on  a  woman  to  lust  after 
her,  hath  committed  adultery  with  her  already  in 
his  heart."  Christ,  by  thus  enjoining  a  regulation 
of  the  thoughts,  strikes  at  the  root  of  the  evil. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Seduction. 

The  seducer  piactises  the  same  stratagems  to 
draw  a  woman's  person  into  his  power,  that  a 
swindler  does  to  get  possession  of  your  goods,  or 
money  ;  yet  the  law  of  honour,  which  abhors  de- 
ceit, applauds  the  address  of  a  successful  intrigue ; 
so  much  is  this  capricious  rule  guided  by  names, 
and  with  such  facility  does  it  accommodate  itself 
to  the  pleasures  and  conveniency  of  higher  life  ! 

Seduction  is  seldom  accomplished  without  fraud ; 
and  the  fraud  is  by  so  much  more  criminal  than 
other  frauds,  as  the  injury  effected  by  it  is  greater, 
continues  longer,  and  less  admits  reparation. 

This  injury  is  threefold :  to  the  woman,  to  her 
family,  and  to  the  public. 

I.  The  injury  to  the  woman  is  made  up  of  the 
pain  slie  suffers  from  shame,  or  the  Joss  she  sustains 
in  her  reputation  and  prospects  of  marriage,  and 
of  the  dt'pravation  of  her  moral  principle. 

1.  This  ]>ain  must  be  extreme,  if  wc  may  judge 
of  it  from  those  barbarous  endeavours  to  conceal 
their  disgrace,  to  which  women,  under  such  cir 
cumstances,  sometimes  have  recourse  ;  comparing 
also  this  barbarity  with  their  passionate  fondness 
for  their  offspring  in  other  cases.  Nothing  but  an 
agony  of  mind  the  most  insupportable  can  induce 
a  woman  to  forget  her  nature,  and  the  pity  which 
even  a  stranger  would  show  to  a  helpless  and  im- 
ploring infant.  It  is  true,  that  all  are  not  urged 
to  this  extremity ;  but  if  any  are,  it  affords  an  in- 
dication of  how  much  all  suffer  from  the  same 
cause.  What  shall  we  say  to  the  authors  of  such 
mischief  ]  _ . 


78 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


2.  T  he  loss  which  a  woman  sustains  by  the  ruin 
of  her  reputation,  ahnost  exceeds  computation, 
fivery  person's  happiness  depends  in  part  upon 
the  respect  and  reception  which  they  meet  with 
in  the  world ;  and  it  is  no  inconsiderable  mortifi- 
cation, even  to  the  firmest  tempers,  to  be  rejected 
from  the  society  of  their  equals,  or  received  there 
with  neglect  and  disdain.  But  this  is  not  all,  nor 
the  worst.  By  a  rule  of  life,  which  it  is  not  easy 
to  blame,  and  which  it  is  impossible  to  alter,  a 
woman  loses  with  her  chastity  the  chance  of  mar- 
rying at  all,  or  in  any  manner  equal  to  the  hopes 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  entertain.  Now  mar- 
riage, whatever  it  be  to  a  man,  is  that  from  which 
every  woman  expects  her  chief  happiness.  And 
this  is  still  more  true  in  low  life,  of  which  con- 
dition the  women  are  who  are  most  exposed  to 
solicitations  of  this  sort.  Add  to  this,  that  where 
a  woman's  maintenance  depends  upon  her  cha- 
racter (as  it  does,  in  a  great  measure,  with  those 
who  are  to  support  themselves  by  service,)  little 
sometimes  is  left  to  tlie  forsaken  suHerer,  but  to 
starve  for  want  of  employment,  or  to  have  re- 
course to  prostitution  for  food  and  raiment. 

3.  As  a  woman  collects  her  virtue  into  this 
point,  the  loss  of  her  chastity  is  generally  the 
destruction  of  her  moral  principle  ;  and  this  con- 
sequence is  to  be  apprehended,  whether  the  cri- 
minal intercourse  be  discovered  or  not. 

II.  The  injury  to  the  family  may  be  understood, 
by  the  application  of  that  intiiUible  rule,  "  of  do- 
ing to  others,  what  we  would  that  others  should 
do  unto  us." — Let  a  father  or  a  brother  say,  for 
what  consideration  they  would  suffer  this  injury 
to  a  daughter  or  a  sister ;  and  whether  any,  or 
even  a  total,  loss  of  fortune,  could  create  equal 
affliction  and  distress.  And  when  they  reject 
upon  this,  let  them  distinguish,  if  Ihey  can,  be- 
tween a  robbery,  committed  upon  their  property 
l)y  fraud  or  forgery,  and  the  ruin  of  their  happiness 
by  the  treachery  of  a  seducer. 

III.  The  pubhc  at  large  lose  the  benefit  of  the 
woman's  service  in  her  proper  place  and  destina- 
tion, as  a  wife  and  parent.  This,  to  the  whole 
community,  may  be  little ;  but  it  is  often  more 
than  all  the  good  which  the  seducer  does  to  the 
community  can  recompense.  Moreover,  prostitu- 
tion is  supplied  by  seduction ;  and  in  proportion 
to  the  danger  there  is  of  the  woman's  betaking 
herself,  after  her  first  sacrifice,  to  a  life  of  public 
lewdness,  the  seducer  is  answerable  for  the  mul- 
tiplied evils  to  which  his  crime  gives  birth. 

Upon  the  whole,  if  we  pursue  the  effects  of  se- 
duction through  the  complicated  misery  which  it 
occasions,  and  if  it  be  right  to  estimate  crimes  by 
the  mischief  they  knowingly  produce,  it  will  ap- 
pear something  more  than  mere  invective  to  as- 
sert, that  not  one  half  of  the  crimes,  for  which 
men  suffer  death  by  the  laws  of  England,  are  so 
flagitious  as  this.* 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Adultery. 

A   NEW  sufferer  is   introduced, — the  injured 
husband,  who  receives  a  wound  in  his  sensibility 

*  Yet  the  law  has  provided  no  punishment  for  this 
offence  beyond  a  pecuniary  satisfaction  to  the  injured 
family;  and  this  can  only  be  come  at,  by  one  of  the 
quaintest  fictions  in  the  vi'orld  :  by  the  father's  bringing 
his  action  a-iainst  the  seducer,  for  the  loss  of  his 
daughter's  service,  during  her  pregnancy  and  nurturing. 


and  affections,  the  most  painful  and  incurablt 
that  human  nature  knows.  In  all  other  respects, 
adultery  on  the  part  of  the  man  who  solicits  the 
chastity  of  a  married  woman,  includes  the  crime 
of  seduction,  and  is  attended  with  the  same  mis- 
chief 

The  infidelity  of  the  woman  is  aggravated  by 
cruelty  to  her  children,  who  are  generally  in- 
volved in  their  parents'  shame,  and  always  made 
unhappy  by  their  quarrel. 

If  it  be  said  that  the.se  consequences  are  charge- 
able not  so  much  upon  the  crime,  as  the  discox  cry, 
we  answer,  first,  that  the  crime  could  not  he  dis- 
covered unless  it  were  committed,  and  that  the 
commission  is  never  secure  from  discovery ;  and 
secondly,  that  if  we  excuse  adulterous  connexions, 
whenever  they  can  hope  to  escape  detection, 
which  is  the  conclusion  to  which  this  argument 
conducts  us,  we  leave  the  husband  no  other  se- 
curity for  his  wife's  chastity,  than  in  her  want  of 
opportunity  or  temptation;  which  would  j)robably 
either  deter  men  from  marrying,  or  render  mar- 
riage a  state  of  such  jealousy  and  alarm  to  the 
husband,  as  must  end  in  the  slavery  and  confine- 
ment of  the  wife. 

The  vow,  by  which  married  persons  mutually 
engage  their  fidelity,  "  is  witnessed  before  God," 
and  accompanied  with  circumstances  of  solemnity 
and  religion,  which  approach  to  the  nature  of  an 
oath.  The  married  offender  therefore  incurs  a 
crime  little  short  of  perjury,  and  the  seduction  of 
a  married  woman  is  little  less  than  subornation 
of  perjury; — and  this  guilt  is  independent  of  the 
discovery. 

All  behaviour  wliich  is  designed,  or  which 
knowingly  tends,  to  captivate  the  afl'ection  of  a 
married  woman,  is  a  barbarous  intrusion  upon 
the  peace  and  virtue  of  a  family,  though  it  fall 
short  of  adultery. 

The  usual  and  only  apology  for  adultery  is,  the 
prior  transgression  of  the  other  party.  There  are 
degrees,  no  doubt,  in  this,  as  in  other  crimes; 
and  so  far  as  the  bad  eflt-cts  of  adultery  are  anti- 
cipated by  the  conduct  of  the  husband  or  wife 
who  ollends  first,  the  guilt  of  the  second  offender 
is  less.  But  this  falls  very  far  short  of  a  justitica- 
tion;  unless  it  could  be  shown  that  the  obligation 
of  the  marriage-vow  depends  upon  the  comlition 
of  reciprocal  fidelity;  for  which  construction  there 
appears  no  foundation,  either  in  expediency,  or  in 
the  terms  of  the  promise,  or  in  the  design  of  the 
legislature  which  prescribed  the  marriage-rite. 
Moreover,  the  rule  contended  for  by  this  plea,  has 
a  manifest  tendency  to  multiply  the  offence,  but 
none  to  reclaim  the  ofiendcr. 

The  way  of  considering  the  offence  of  one 
party  as  a  provocation  to  the  other,  and  the  other 
iis  only  retaliating  the  injury  by  repeating  the 
crime,  is  a  childish  trifling  with  words. 

"Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery,"  was  an 
interdict  delivered  by  God  hiniself  By  the  Jew- 
ish law,  adultery  was  capital  to  both  parties  in 
the  crime:  "Even  he  that  committeth  adultery 
with  his  neighbour's  wife,  the  adulterer  and  adul- 
teress shall  surely  be  put  to  death." — Levit.  xx.  10. 
Which  passages  prove,  that  the  Divine  Legis- 
lator placed  a  great  difference  between  adultery 
and  fornication.  And  with  this  agree  the  Chris- 
tian Scriptures;  for,  in  almost  all  the  catalogues 
they  have  left  us  of  crimes  and  criminals,  they 
enumerate  "fornication,  adultery,  whoremongers 
adulterers."  (Matthew  xv.  19.    1  Cor.  vi.  9.  Gal 


INCEST. 


79 


V.  9.  Heb.  viii.  4.)  by  which  mention  of  both,  they 
show  that  they  did  not  consider  them  as  the  same : 
but  tliat  the  crime  of  adultery  was,  in  their  ap- 
prehension, distinct  from,  and  accumulated  upon 
that  of  fornication. 

The  history  of  the  woman  taken  in  adultery, 
recorded  in  the  eighth  chapter  of  St.  J  ohn's  Gos- 
|je!,  lias  b;  en  thought  by  some  to  give  countenance 
to  that  crime.  As  Christ  told  the  woman,  "Neither 
do  1  condemn  thee,"  we  must  believe,  it  is  said, 
that  he  deemed  her  conduct  either  not  criminal, 
or  not  a  crime,  however,  of  the  heinous  nature 
vvhicii  we  represent  it  to  be.  A  more  attenti\e 
examination  of  the  case  will,  I  think,  convince  us, 
I  liat  from  it  nothing  can  be  concluded  as  to  Christ's 
opinion  concerning  adultery,  either  one  way  or 
the  otlier.  The  transaction  is  thus  related:  "tarly 
ill  the  morning  Jesus  came  again  into  the  temple, 
auil  all  the  people  came  unto  him:  and  he  sat 
down  and  taught  them.  And  the  Scribes  and 
Pharisees  brought  unto  him  a  woman  taken  in 
adultery:  when  they  had  set  her  in  the  midst, 
they  say  unto  him.  Master,  this  woman  was  taken 
in  adultery,  in  the  very  act :  now  Moses  in  the  law 
connnanded  that  such  should  be  stoned ;  but  what 
s.iycst  thou  %  This  they  said  tempting  him,  that 
they  might  have  to  accuse  hiin.  But  Jesus  stoop- 
ed down,  and  with  his  finger  wrote  on  the  ground, 
as  though  he  heard  them  not.  So  when  they 
continued  asking  him,  he  lift  up  himself,  and  said 
unto  them,  He  that  is  without  sin  amongst  you, 
let  him  tirst  cast  a  stone  at  her;  and  again  he 
stooped  down  and  wrote  on  the  ground  :  and  they 
which  heard  it.  being  convicted  by  their  own  con- 
science, went  out  one  by  one,  beginning  at  the 
eldest  even  unto  the  last ;  and  Jesus  was  left  alone, 
and  the  woman  standing  in  the  midst.  Wlien 
Jesus  had  lift  up  himself  and  saw  none  but  the 
woman,  he  said  unto  her.  Woman,  where  are 
tliose  thine  accusers '!  hath  no  man  condemned 
thee  I  She  said  unto  him.  No  man,  Lord.  And 
he  said  unto  her.  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee ;  go, 
and  sin  no  more." 

'■This  they  said  tempting  liim,  that  they  might 
have  to  accuse  liim;"  to  draw  him,  that  is,  into  an 
exercise  of  judicial  authority,  that  they  might  have 
t(j  accuse  him  before  the  Roman  governor,  of  usurp- 
ing or  intermeddling  with  the  civil  government. 
This  was  their  design;  and  Christ s  behaviour 
throughout  the  whole  aflair  proceeded  from  a 
knowleilge  of  this  design,  and  a  determination  to 
defeat  it.  He  gives  them  at  first  a  cold  and  sullen 
reception,  well  suited  to  the  insidious  intention 
with  which  they  came :  "He  stooped  down,  and 
'vith  his  finger  wrote  on  the  ground,  as  though 
iie  heard  them  not."  "When  they  continued  a.sk- 
iiig  liiiii,''  when  they  teased  him  to  speak,  he  dis- 
iiiis.-;ed  them  with  a  rebuke,  which  the  impertinent 
malice  of  their  errand,  as  well  as  the  sacred  cha- 
racter of  many  of  thein,  deserved:  "He  that  is  with- 
out sin  (that  is,  this  sin)  among  you,  let  him  first 
cast  a  stone  at  her."  This  had  its  effect.  Stung 
with  tlie  reproof,  and  disappointed  of  their  aian, 
they  stole  away  one  by  one,  and  left  Jesus  and 
t!ie  woman  alone.  And  then  follows  the  con- 
vers;ition,  which  is  the  part  of  the  narrative  most 
material  to  our  present  subject.  "Jesus  said  unto 
hsT,  Woman,  where  are  those  thine  accusers? 
hath  no  man  condemned  thee  1  She  said,  No  man. 
Lord.  And  Jesus  said  unto  her.  Neither  do  I 
condemn  thee ;  go,  and  sin  no  more."  Now,  when 
Christ  asked  the  woman,  "Hath  no   man  con- 


demned  thee  1"  he  certainly  spoke,  and  was  un- 
derstood by  the  woman  to  speak,  of  a  legal  and 
judicial  condemnation ;  otherwise,  her  answer, 
"No  man.  Lord,"  was  not  true.  In  every  other 
sense  of  condemnation,  as  blame,  censure,  rejjroof, 
private  judgment,  and  the  like,  many  had  con- 
demned her;  all  those  indeed  who  had  brought 
her  to  Jesus.  If  then  a  judicial  sentence  was  what 
Christ  meant  by  condemning  in  the  question,  tlie 
common  use  of  language  requires  us  to  suppose 
that  he  meant  the  same  in  his  reply,  "Neither  do 
I  condemn  thee,"  i.  e.  I  pretend  to  no  judicial 
character  or  authority  over  thee ;  it  is  no  office  or 
business  of  mine  to  pronounce  or  execute  the  sen- 
tence of  the  law. 

When  Christ  adds,  "Go,  and  sin  no  more,"  he 
in  effect  tells  her,  that  she  had  sinned  already  : 
but  as  to  the  degree  or  quality  of  the  sin.  or 
Christ's  opinion  concerning  it,  nothing  is  declared, 
or  can  be  inferred,  either  way. 

Adultery,  which  was  punished  with  death  dur- 
ing the  Usurpation,  is  now  regarded  by  the  law 
of  England  only  as  a  civil  injury ;  for  which  the 
imperfect  satisfaction  that  money  can  afli)rd,  may 
be  recovered  by  the  husband. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Incest. 

In  order  to  preserve  chastity  in  families,  and 
between  persons  of  different  sexes,  brought  up 
and  living  together  in. a  state  of  unreserved  in- 
timacy, it  is  necessary,  by  every  method  possible, 
to  inculcate  an  abhorrence  of  incestuous  conjunc- 
tions ;  which  abhorrence  can  only  be  upholden  hv 
the  absolute  reprobation  of  all  commerce  of  the 
sexes  between  near  relations.  Upon  this  prin- 
ciple, the  marriage  as  well  as  other  cohabitations 
of  brothers  and  sisters,  of  lineal  kindred,  and  of 
all  who  usually  live  in  the  same  family,  may  be 
said  to  be  forbidden  by  the  law  of  nature. 

Restrictions  which  extend  to  remoter  degrees 
of  kindred  than  what  this  reason  makes  it  neces- 
sary to  proliibit  from  intermarriage,  are  foimdcd 
in  the  authority  of  the  positive  law  which  ordains 
them,  and  can  only  be  justified  by  their  tendency 
to  diffuse  wealth,  to  connect  families,  or  to  pro- 
mote some  political  advantage. 

The  Levitical  law,  which  is  received  in  this 
country,  and  from  which  the  rule  of  the  Ptoman 
law  differs  very  little,  proliihits*  marriage  between 
relations,  within  three  degrees  of  kindred  ;  com- 
puting the  generations,  not  from,  but  through  the 
common  ancestor,  and  accounting  affinity  the 
same  as  consanguinity.  The  issue,  however,  of 
such  marriages,  are  not  bastardised,  unless  the 
parents  be  divorced  during  their  lite-time. 

The  Egyptians  are  said  to  have  allowed  of  the 
marriage  of  brothers  and  sisters.  Amongst  the 
Athenians,  a  very  singular  regulation  prevailed ; 
brothers  and  sisters  of  the  half-blood,  if  related  by 
the  father's  side,  might  marry ;  if  by  the  mother's 
side,  they  were  prohibited  from  marrying.  The 
same  custom  also  probably  obtained  in  Chaldea  so 
early  as  the  age  in  which  Abraham  left  it :  for  he 
and  Sarah  his  wife  stood  in  this  relation  to  each 


*  The  Roman  law  continued  tfie  profiibition  to  the 
descendants  of  brothers  and  sisters  without  limits.  In 
the  Levitical  and  English  law,  there  is  nothing  to  hin 
del"  a  man  from  marrying  his  great-niece. 


80 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


other:  "And  yet,  indeed,  she  is  my  sister;  she  is 
the  daughter  of  uiy  lather,  but  not  of  my  motlier ; 
and  she  became  my  wife."  Gen.  xx.  12. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Polygamy. 

The  equality*  in  the  number  of  males  and  fe- 
males born  into  the  world,  intimates  the  intention 
of  God,  that  one  woman  should  be  assigned  to  one 
man :  tor  if  to  one  man  be  allowed  an  exclusive 
right  to  live  or  more  women,  four  or  more  men 
must  be  deprived  of  the  exclusive  possession  of 
any  :  which  could  never  be  the  order  intended. 

It  seems  also  a  significant  indication  of  the  di- 
vine will,  that  he  at  lirst  created  only  one  woman 
to  one  man.  Had  God  intended  polygamy  for  the 
species,  it  is  probable  he  would  have  begun  with 
it ;  especially  as,  by  giving  to  Adam  more  wives 
than  one,  the  multiplication  of  the  human  race 
would  have  proceeded  with  a  quicker  j^rogress. 

Polygamy  not  only  violates  the  constitution  of 
nature,  and  the  apparent  design  of  the  Deity,  but 
produces  to  the  parties  themselves,  and  to  the  pub- 
lic, the  following  bad  eflects  ;  contests  and  jealou- 
sies amongst  the  wives  of  the  same  husband  ;  dis- 
tracted alfections,  or  the  loss  of  all  affection,  in  the 
husband  himself:  a  voluptuousness  in  the  rich, 
which  dissolves  the  vigour  of  their  intellectual  as 
well  as  active  faculties,  producing  that  indolence 
and  imbecility  both  of  mind  and  body,  which  have 
long  characterised  the  nations  of  the  East ;  the 
abasement  of  one  half  of  the  human  species,  who, 
in  countries  where  polygamy  obtains,  are  degraded 
into  mere  instroments  of  physical  pleasure  to  the 
other  half;  neglect  of  children;  and  the  mani- 
fold, and  sometimes  unnatural  mischiefs,  which 
arise  from  a  scarcity  of  women.  To  compensate 
for  these  evils,  polygamy  does  not  offer  a  single 
advantage.  In  the  article  of  population,  which  it 
has  been  thought  to  promote,  the  community  gain 
nothing  :t  for  the  question  is  not,  whether  one 
man  will  have  more  children  by  live  or  more  wives 
than  by  one ;  but  whether  these  five  wives  would 
not  bear  the  same  or  a  greater  number  of  children 
to  five  separate  husbands.  And  as  to  the  care  of 
the  children,  when  produced,  and  the  sending  of 
them  into  the  world  in  situations  in  which  they 
may  be  likely  to  form  and  bring  up  famihes  of 

*  This  equality  is  not  exact.  The  number  of  male 
infants  exceeds  that  of  females  in  the  proportion  of 
nineteen  toeiffhteen,  or  thereabouts :  which  excess  pro- 
vides for  the  greater  consumption  of  males  by  war,  sea- 
faring, and  other  dangerous  or  unhealthy  occupations. 

t  Nothing,  I  moan,  compared  with  a  state  in  which 
marriage  is  nearly  universal.  Where  marriages  are  less 
general,  and  many  women  unfruitful  from  the  want  of 
husbands,  polygamy  might  at  first  add  a  little  to  popula- 
tion, and  but  a  little  ;  for,  as  a  variety  of  wives  would 
be  sought  chiefly  from  temptations  of  voluptuousness,  it 
would  rather  increase  the  demand  for  female  beauty, 
than  for  the  sex  at  large.  And  this  little  would  soon  be 
made  less  by  many  deductions.  For,  first,  as  none  but 
the  opulent  can  maintain  a  plurality  of  wives,  where 
polygamy  obtains,  the  rich  indulge  in  it  while  the  rest 
take  up  with  a  vague  and  barren  incontinency.  And, 
secondly,  'vomen  would  grow  less  jealous  of  their  vir- 
tue, when  they  had  nothing  for  which  to  reserve  it,  but 
a  cliainber  in  the  haram;  when  their  chastity  was  no 
longer  to  be  rewarded  with  the  rights  and  happiness  of 
a  wifc,  as  enjoyed  under  the  marriage  of  one  woman  to 
one  man.  These  considerations  may  be  added  to  what 
is  mentioned  in  the  text,  concerning  the  easy  and  early 
nettlement  of  children  in  the  world. 


their  own,  upon  which  the  increase  and  succes- 
sion of  the  human  species  in  a  great  degree 
depend  ;  this  is  less  provided  for,  and  less  practi- 
cable, where  twenty  or  thirty  children  are  to  be 
supported  by  the  attention  and  fortunes  of  one 
father,  than  if  they  were  divided  into  five  or  six 
families,  to  each  of  which  were  assigned  the  indus- 
try and  inheritance  of  two  parents. 

Whether  simultaneous  polygamy  was  permit- 
ted by  the  law  of  Moses,  seems  doubtl'ul  ;* 
but  whether  permitted  or  not,  it  was  certainly 
practised  by  the  Jewish  patriarchs,  both  belbre 
that  law,  and  under  it.  I'he  permission,  if  there 
were  any,  might  be  like  that  of  divorce,  "  for  the 
hardness  of  their  heart,"  in  condescension  to  their 
established  indulgences,  rather  than  from  the 
general  rectitude  or  propriety  of  the  thing  itself. 
The  state  of  manners  in  Judea  had  probably 
undergone  a  reformation  in  this  respect  before  the 
time  of  Christ;  for  in  the  New  Testament  we 
meet  with  no  trace  or  mention  of  any  such  prac- 
tice being  tolerated. 

For  which  reason,  and  because  it  was  likewise 
forbidden  amongst  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  we 
canirot  expect  to  find  any  express  law  upon  the 
subject  in  the  christian  code.  The  words  of 
Christ  t  (Matt.  xix.  9.)  may  be  construed,  by  an 
easy  implication,  to  prohibit  polygamy:  for,  if 
whoever  putteth  away  his  wile,  and  marricth 
another,  committeth  adultery,"  he  who  rnarrieth 
another  without  puttiirg  away  the  first,  is  no  less 
guilty  of  adultery:  because  the  adultery  does  not 
consist  in  the  repudiation  of  the  first  wife  (for. 
however  unjust  or  cruel  that  may  be,  it  is  not 
adultery,)  but  in  entering  into  a  second  marriage 
during  tlie  legal  existence  and  obligation  of  the 
first.  The  several  passages  in  St.  Paul's  writings, 
which  speak  of  marriage,  always  suppose  it  to 
signify  the  union  of  one  man  with  one  woman. 
Upon  this  supposition  he  argues,  Rom.  vii.  1,  3, 
3.  "  Know  ye  not,  brethren,  (for  1  speak  to  them 
that  know  the  law,)  how  that  the  law  hath 
dominion  over  a  man,  as  long  as  he  liveth  1  I'or 
the  woman  which  hath  an  husband,  is  bound  by 
the  law  to  her  husband  so  long  as  he  liveth ;  but  if 
the  husband  be  dead,  she  is  loosed  from  the  law 
of  her  husband ;  so  then,  if  while  her  husband 
liveth  she  be  married  to  another  man,  she  shall  be 
called  an  adulteress."  When  the  same  apostle 
permits  marriage  to  his  Corinthian  converts, 
(which,  "  for  the  present  distress,"  he  judges  to  be 
inconvenient,)  he  restrains  the  permission  to  the 
marriage  of  one  husband  with  one  wife  : — '•  It  is 
good  for  a  man  not  to  touch  a  woman  ;  neverthe- 
less, to  avoid  fornication,  let  every  man  have  his 
own  wife,  and  let  every  woman  have  her  own 
husband." 

The  manners  of  different  countries  have  varied 
in  nothing  more  than  in  their  domestic  constitu- 
tions. Less  polished  and  more  luxurious  nations 
have  either  not  perceived  the  bad  efiects  of  poly- 
gamy, or,  if  they  did  perceive  them,  they  who  in 
such  countries  possessed  the  power  of  reforming 
the  laws  have  been  unwilling  to  resign  their  own 
gratifications.  Polygamy  is  retained  at  this  day 
among  the  Turks,  and  throughout  every  part  of 
Asia  in  whii'h  Christianity  is  not  proti^sscd.  In 
Christian  countries,  it  is  universally  prohibited. 


*  >'ee  Deut.  xvii.  J7;  xxi.  15. 

1 1  say  unto  you.  Whosoever  shall  put  away  his  wife, 
except  it  be  for  fornication,  and  shall  marry  another, 
committeth  adultery. 


DIVORCE. 


81 


In  Sweden,  it  is  punished  with  death.  Iii  Eng- 1 
land,  besides  the  nullity  of  the  second  marriage, 
it  subjects  the  ofT'endcr  to  transportation,  or  im- 
prisonment and  branding,  for  the  first  oflence, 
and  to  capital  punishment  for  the  second.  And 
whatever  may  be  said  in  behalf  of  polygamy  when 
it  is  authorised  by  the  law  of  the  land,  the  mar- 
riage of  a  second  wife  during  the  life-tune  of  the 
first,  in  countries  where  such  a  second  marriage 
is  void,  must  be  ranked  with  the  most  dangerous 
and  cruel  of  those  frauds,  by  which  a  woman  is 
cheated  out  of  her  fortune,  her  person,  and  her 
happiness.  The  ancient  Medes  compelled  their 
citizens,  in  one  canton,  to  take  seven  wives ;  in 
another,  each  woman  to  receive  five  husbands : 
according  as  war  had  made,  in  one  quarter  of  their 
country,  an  extraordinary  havoc  among  the  men, 
or  t!ie  women  had  been  carried  away  by  an  enemy 
ttoni  another.  This  regulation,  so  far  as  it  was 
ad  ipted  to  the  proportion  wliich  subsisted  between 
the  number  of  males  and  females,  was  founded  in 
the  reason  upon  which  the  most  approved  nations 
of  Europe  proceed  at  present. 

Caesar  found  amongst  the  inhabitants  of  this 
island  a  species  of  polygamy,  if  it  may  be  so  called, 
which  was  perfectly  singular.  U.vores,  says  he, 
habent  deni  duodenique  inter  se  communes  ;  et 
ina.xime  fratres  cum  fratribus,  parentesgue  cum 
liberis  ;  sed  si  qui  siiit  ex  his  naCi,  corum  haben- 
tur  liberi,  quo  primum  virgo  quceqiie  deducta  est. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
Of  Divorce. 

By  divorce,  I  mean  a  dissolution  of  the  mar- 
riage-contract, by  the  act,  and  at  the  will,  of  the 
husband. 

This  power  was  allowed  to  the  husband,  among 
the  Jews,  the  Greeks,  and  latter  Romans ;  and 
is  at  tliis  day  exercised  by  the  Turks  and  Per- 
sians. 

The  congruity  of  such  a  right  with  the  law  of 
nature,  is  the  question  before  us. 

And,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  manifestly  incon- 
sistent with  the  duty  which  the  parents  owe  to 
their  children:  which  duty  can  never  be  so  well 
fulfilled  as  by  their  cohaliitation  and  united  care. 
It  is  also  incompatible  with  the  right  which  the 
mother  possesses,  as  wcU  as  the  father,  to  the 
gratitude  of  her  cliildren,  and  the  comfort  of  their 
society  ;  of  both  which  she  is  almost  necessarily- 
deprived,  by  her  dismission  from  her  husband's 
family. 

Where  this  objection  does  not  interfere,  I  know 
of  no  principle  of  the  law  of  nature  ap[)Iicab]e  to 
the  question,  beside  that  of  general  exj^edioncy. 

For,  if  we  say  that  arbitrary  divorces  are  ex- 
cluded by  the  terms  of  the  marriage-contract,  it 
may  be  answered,  that  the  contract  might  be  so 
framed  as  to  admit  of  this  condition. 

If  we  argue,  with  some  moralists,  that  the 
obligation  of  a  contract  naturally  continues,  so  i 
long  as  the  purpose,  which  the  contracting  parties 
had  in  view,  requires  its  continuance ;  it  will  be 
ditficult  to  show  what  purpose  of  the  contract  (the 
care  of  children  excepted,)  should  confine  a  man 
to  a  woman,  from  whom  he  seeks  to  be  loose. 

If  we  contend,  with  others,  that  a  contract  can- 
not, by  the  law  of  nature,  be  dissolved,  unless  the 
parties  be  replaced  in  the  situation  which  each 


possessed  before  the  contract  was  entered  into; 
we  shall  be  called  upon  to  prove  this  to  be  an 
universal  or  indispensable  property  of  contracts. 

1  confess  myself  unable  to  assign  any  circum- 
stance in  the  marriage-contract,  wnich  essentially 
distinguishes  it  from  other  contracts,  or  which 
proves  that  it  contains,  what  many  have  ascribed 
to  it,  a  natural  incapacity  of  being  dissolved  by 
the  consent  of  the  parties,  at  the  option  of  one  of 
them,  or  cither  of  them.  But  if  we  trace  the 
efiects  of  such  a  rule  upon  the  general  happiness 
of  married  life,  we  shall  perceive  reasons  of  expe- 
diency, that  abundantly  justify  the  policy  of  those 
laws  which  refuse  to  the  husband  the  power  of 
divorce,  or  restrain  it  to  a  few  extreme  and  spe- 
cific provocations  :  and  our  piinciples  teach  us  to 
pronounce  that  to  be  contrary  to  the  law  of  na- 
ture, which  can  be  proved  to  be  detrimental  to  the 
conmion  happiness  of  the  human  species. 

A  lawgiver,  whose  counsels  are  directed  by 
views  of  general  utility,  and  obstructed  by  no  local 
impediment,  would  make  the  marriage  contract 
indissoluble  during  the  joint  lives  of  the  parties, 
for  the  sake  of  the  ibllowing  advantages : — 

I.  Because  tins  tends  to  preserve  peace  an<J 
concord  between  married  persons,  by  perpetuating 
their  coumion  interest,  and  by  iiiducing  a  neces 
sity  of  mutual  compliance. 

There  is  great  weight  and  substance  in  both 
these  considerations.  An  earlier  termination  of 
the  union  would  produce  a  separate  interest.  The 
wife  would  naturally  look  forward  to  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  partnership,  and  endeavour  to  draw 
to  herself  a  fund  against  the  time  when  she 
was  no  longer  to  have  access  to  the  same  re- 
sources. Tins  would  beget  peculation  on  one  side, 
and  mistrust  on  the  other;  evils  which  at  present 
verj'  little  disturb  the  confidence  of  a  married  lite. 
The  second  efiect  of  making  the  Uiuon  determin- 
able only  by  death,  is  not  less  beneficial.  It  ne- 
cessarily happens  that  adverse  tempers,  habits, 
and  tastes,  oftentimes  meet  in  marriage.  In  which 
case,  each  party  must  take  pains  to  give  up  what 
oflcnds,  and  practise  what  may  gratify  the  other. 
A  man  and  woman  in  love  with  each  other,  do 
tliis  insensibly ;  but  love  is  neither  general  nor 
durable  ;  and  where  that  is  wanting,  no  lessons  of 
duty,  no  delicacy  of  sentiment,  wUl  go  half  so  far 
with  the  generality  of  mankind  and  womankind 
as  this  one  intelligible  refiection,  that  they  must 
each  make  the  best  of  their  bargain;  and  that, 
seeing  they  must  either  both  be  miserable,  or  both 
share  the  same  happiness,  neither  can  find  their 
own  comfort  but  in  promoting  the  pleasure  of  the 
other.  These  compliances,  though  at  first  ex- 
torted by  necessity,  become  in  time  easy  and  mu- 
tual ;  and,  though  less  endearing  than  assiduities- 
which  take  their  rise  from  afitction,  generally  jjry- 
cure  to  the  married  pair  a  repose  and  satisfaction, 
sufficient  for  their  happiness. 

II.  Because  new  objects  of  desire  would  be  con^ 
tinually  sought  after,  if  men  could,  at  will,  be  re- 
leased from  their  subsisting  engagements.  Sui>- 
pose  the  husband  to  have  once  preferred  his  wife 
to  all  other  women,  the  duration  of  this  preference 
cannot  be  trusted  to.  Possession  makes  a  great 
dillerence  :  and  there  is  no  other  security  against 
the  invitations  of  novelt)^,  than  the  known  im{x)s- 
sibility  of  obtaining  the  object.  Did  the  cause 
winch  brings  the  sexes  together,  hold  them 
together  by  the  same  force  with  which  it  first 
attracted  them  to  each  other ;  or  could  the  woman 


82 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


be  restored  to  her  personal  integrity,  and  to  all  the 
advautuges  of  her  virgin  estate ;  tlie  power  of 
divorce  might  be-  deposited  in  the  hands  of  the 
husband,  with  less  danger  of  abuse  or  inconve- 
niencv.  But  constituted  as  mankind  are,  and 
injured  as  the  repudiated  wife  generally  must  be, 
it  is  necessary  to  add  a  stability  to  the  condition 
of  mar/led  women,  more  secure  than  the  con- 
tinuance of  their  husbands'  affection ;  and  to 
supply  to  both  sides,  by  a  sense  of  duty  and  of 
obligation,  what  satiety  has  impaired  of  passion 
and  of  personal  attachment.  Upon  the  whole,  the 
power  of  divorce  is  evidently  and  greatly  to  the 
disadvantage  of  the  woman :  and  the  only  question 
appears  to  be  whether  the  real  and  permanent 
happiness  of  one  half  of  the  species  should  be  sur- 
rendered to  the  caprice  and  voluptuousness  of  the 
other  ] 

We  have  considered  divorces  as  depending 
upon  the  will  of  the  husband,  because  that  is  the 
way  in  which  they  have  actually  obtained  in 
many  parts  of  the  world  :  but  the  same  objections 
apply,  in  a  great  degree,  to  divorces  by  mutual 
consent;  especially  when  we  consider  the  indeU- 
cate  situation  and  small  prospect  of  happiness, 
which  rejnains  to  the  party  who  opposed  his  or 
her  dissent  to  the  Uberty  and  desire  of  the  other. 

The  law  of  nature  admits  of  an  exception  in 
favour  of  the  injured  party,  in  cases  of  adultery, 
of  obstinate  desertion,  of  attempts  upon  life,  of 
outrageous  cruelty,  of  incurable  madness,  and 
perhaps  of  personal  imbecility ;  but  by  no  means 
indulges  the  same  privilege  to  mere  dislike,  to  op- 
position of  humours  and  inclination,  to  contrariety 
of  taste  and  temper,  to  complaints  of  coldness, 
neglect,  severity,  peevishness,  jealousy  :  not  that 
these  reasons  are  trivial,  but  because  such  objec- 
tions may  always  be  alleged,  and  are  impossible 
by  testimony  to  be  ascertained ;  so  that  to  allow 
implicit  credit  to  them,  and  to  dissolve  marriages 
whenever  either  party  thought  fit  to  pretend 
them,  would  lead  in  its  effect  to  all  the  licentious- 
ness of  arbitrary  divorces. 

Milton's  story  is  well  known.  Upon  a  quar- 
rel with  his  wife,  he  paid  his  addresses  to  another 
woman,  and  set  forth  a  public  vindication  of  his 
conduct,  by  attempting  to  prove,  that  confirmed 
dislike  was  as  just  a  foundation  for  dissolving  the 
marriage-contract,  as  adultery  :  to  which  position, 
and  to  all  the  arguments  by  which  it  can  be  sup- 
ported, the  above  consideration  affords  a  sufficient 
answer.  And  if  a  married  pair,  in  actual  and  ir- 
reconcileable  discord,  complain  that  their  hap[)i- 
ness  would  be  better  consulted,  by  permitting 
them  to  determine  a  connexion  which  is  become 
odious  to  both,  it  may  be  told  them,  that  the  same 
permission,  as  a  general  rule,  would  produce  liber- 
tinism, dissension,  and  misery,  amongst  thousands, 
who  are  now  virtuous,  and  quiet,  and  happy  in 
their  condition :  and  it  ought  to  satisfy  them  to 
reflect,  that  when  their  happiness  is  sacrificed  to 
the  operation  of  an  unrelenting  rule,  it  is  sacri- 
ficed to  the  happiness  of  the  community. 

The  Scriptures  seem  to  have  drawn  the  obliga- 
tion tighter  than  the  law  of  nature  left  it.  "  Who- 
soever," saith  Chri.st,  "  shall  put  away  his  wife,  ex- 
cept it  be  for  fornication,  and  shall  marry  another, 
committeth  adultery;  and  whoso  marrieth  her 
which  is  put  away,  doth  commit  adultery." — 
Matt.  xix.  i).  The  law  of  Moses,  for  reasons  of 
local  expediency,  permitted  the  Jewish  husband 
to  put  away  his   wife:   but  whether   for  every 


cause,  or  for  what  causes,  appears  to  have  beei-. 
controverted  amongst  the  interpreters  of  those 
times.  Christ,  the  precepts  of  whose  religion 
were  calculated  for  more  general  use  and  observa- 
tion, revokes  this  permission  (as  given  to  the 
Jews,  "  tor  the  hardness  of  their  hearts,")  and 
pronmlges  a  law  which  was  thenceforward  tc 
confine  divorces  to  the  single  case  of  adultery  in 
the  wife.  And  1  see  no  sufficient  reason  to  de- 
part from  the  plain  and  strict  meaning  of  Christ's 
words.  The  rule  was  new.  It  both  surprised  and 
offended  his  disciples;  yet  Christ  added  nothing 
to  relax  or  explain  it. 

Inferior  causes  may  justify  the  separation  of 
husband  and  wife,  although  they  will  not  au- 
thorise such  a  dissolution  of  the  marriage  con- 
tract as  would  leave  either  party  at  liberty  to 
marry  again ;  for  it  is  that  liberty,  in  which  the 
danger  and  mischief  of  divorces  principally  con- 
sist. If  the  care  of  children  does  not  require  that 
they  should  live  together,  and  it  is  become,  in  the 
serious  judgment  of  both,  necessary  for  their  mu- 
tual happiness  that  they  should  separate,  let  them 
separate  by  consent.  Nevertheless,  this  necessity 
can  hardly  exist,  without  guilt  and  misconduct  on 
one  side  or  both.  Moreover,  cruelty,  ill-usuge,  ex- 
treme violence,  or  moroseness  of  temper,  or  other 
great  and  continued  provocations,  make  it  lawful 
for  the  party  aggrieved  to  withdraw  from  the  so- 
ciety of  the  otTender  without  his  or  her  consent. 
The  law  which  imposes  the  marriage-vow,  where- 
by the  parties  promise  to  "  keep  to  each  other,"  or 
in  other  words,  to  live  together,  must  be  under- 
stood to  impose  it  with  a  silent  reservation  of  these 
cases  ;  because  the  same  law  has  constituted  a  ju- 
dicial relief  from  the  tyranny  of  the  husband,  by 
the  divorce  o  mensa  et  toro,  and  by  the  provision 
which  it  makes  for  the  separate  maintenance  of 
the  injured  wife.  St.  Paul  likewise  distinguishes 
between  a  wife's  merely  separating  herself  from 
the  family  of  her  husband,  and  her  marrying 
again: — "Let  not  the  wile  depart  from  her  hus- 
band :  hut  and  if  she  do  depart,  let  her  remain 
unmarried." 

The  law  of  this  country,  in  conformity  to  our 
Saviour's  injunction,  confines  the  dissolution  of 
the  marriage-contract  to  the  single  case  of  adul- 
tery in  the  wife ;  and  a  divorce,  even  in  that  case, 
can  only  be  brought  about  by  the  operation  of  an 
act  of  parliament,  founded  upon  a  previous  sen- 
tence in  the  ecclesiastical  court,  and  a  verdict 
against  the  adulterer  at  common  law :  which  pro- 
ceedings taken  together,  compose  as  complete  an 
investigation  of  the  complaint  as  a  cause  can  re- 
ceive. It  has  lately  been  proposed  to  the  legisla- 
ture to  annex  a  clause  to  these  acts,  restraining 
the  offending  party  from  marrying  with  the  com- 
panion of  her  crime,  who,  by  the  course  of  pro- 
ceeding, is  always  known  and  convicted:  for  there 
is  reason  to  fear,  that  adulterous  connexions  are 
often  formed  with  the  prospect  of  bringing  them 
to  this  conclusion  ;  at  least,  when  the  seducer  has 
once  captivated  the  affection  of  a  married  woman, 
he  may  avail  himself  of  this  tempting  argument 
to  subdue  her  scruples,  and  complete  nis  victory ; 
and  the  legislature,  as  the  business  is  managed  at 
present,  assists  by  its  interposition  the  criminal 
design  of  the  offenders,  and  confers  a  privilege 
where  it  ought  to  inflict  a  punishment.  The  pro- 
posal deserved  an  experiment :  but  something 
more  penal  will,  I  apprehend,  be  found  necessary 
to  check  the  progress  of  this  alarming  depravity, 


MARRIAGE. 


83 


Wliether  a  law  might  not  be  framed  directing 
the  fortune  of  the  adulteress  to  descend  as  in 
case  of  her  natural  death;  reserving,  however, 
a  certain  proportion  of  the  produce  of  it,  by  way 
of  annuity,  for  her  subsistence  (such  annuity,  in 
no  case,  to  exceed  a  fixed  sum,)  and  also  so  tar 
suspending  the  estate  in  the  hands  of  the  heir  as 
to  preserve  the  inheritance  to  any  children  she 
might  bear  to  a  second  marriage,  in  case  there 
was  none  to  succeed  in  the  place  of  their  mother 
by  the  first ;  whether,  I  say,  such  a  law  would  not 
render  female  virtue  in  higher  life  less  vincible,  as 
well  as  the  seducers  of  that  virtue  less  urgent  in 
their  suit,  we  recommend  to  the  deliberation  of 
those  who  are  willing  to  attempt  the  reformation 
of  this  important,  but  most  incorrigible,  class  of 
the  community.  A  passion  for  splendor,  lor  ex- 
pensive amusements  and  distinction,  is  commonly 
found,  in  that  description  of  women  who  would 
become  the  objects  of  such  a  law,  not  less  inordi- 
nate than  their  other  appetites.  A  severity  of  the 
kind  we  propose,  applies  immediately  to  that  pas- 
sion. And  there  is  no  room  for  any  complaint  of 
injustice,  since  the  provisions  above  stated,  with 
others  which  might  be  contrived,  confine  the 
punishment,  so  tar  as  it  is  possible,  to  the  person 
of  the  ofJender ;  suflering  the  estate  to  remain  to 
the  heir,  or  within  the  family,  of  the  ancestor 
from  whom  it  came,  or  to  attend  the  appointments 
of  his  will. 

Sentences  of  the  ecclesiastical  courts,  which 
release  the  parties  a  rinculo  matrimonii  by  rea- 
son of  impuberty,  frigidity,  consanguinity  within 
the  prohibited  degrees,  prior  marriage,  or  want  of 
the  requisite  consent  of  parents  and  guardians, 
are  not  dissolutions  of  the  marriage-contract,  but 
judicial  declarations  that  there  never  was  any 
marriage  ;  such  impediment  subsisting  at  the  time, 
as  rendered  the  celebration  of  the  marriage-rite  a 
mere  nullity.  And  the  rite  itself  contains  an  ex- 
ception of  these  impediments.  The  man  and  wo- 
man to  be  married  are  charged,  "  if  the)^  know  any 
impediment  why  they  may  not  be  lawfully  joined 
together,  to  confess  it;"  and  assured  "that  so 
many  as  are  coupled  together,  otherwise  than  God's 
word  doth  allow,  are  not  joined  together  by  God, 
neither  is  their  matrimony  lawful ;"  all  which  is 
intended  by  way  of  solemn  notice  to  the  parties, 
that  the  vow  they  are  about  to  make  will  bind 
their  consciences  and  authorise  their  cohabitation, 
only  upon  the  supposition  that  no  legal  impedi- 
ment exists. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Marriage. 

Whethf.r  it  hath  grown  out  of  some  tradition 
of  the  Divine  appointment  of  marriage  in  the 
persons  of  our  first  parents,  or  merely  from  a  de- 
sign to  impress  the  obligation  of  the  marriage-con- 
tract with  a  solemnity  suited  to  its  importance, 
the  marriage-rite,  in  almost  all  countries  of  the 
world,  has  been  made  a  religious  ceremony  ;*  al- 


*  It  was  not,  however,  in  Christian  countries  re- 
qnireil  tliat  marriages  sliould  be  celebrated  in  clmrches, 
till  the  thirteenth  century  of  the  Christian  fera.  Mar- 
riages in  Knglavd  during  tlie  Usurpation,  were  so- 
lemnized before  justices  of  the  peace  :  but  for  what  pur- 
piise  this  novelty  was  introduced,  except  to  degrade  the 
clergy,  does  not  appear. 


though  marriage,  in  its  own  nature,  and  ati-.fract- 
ed  from  the  rules  and  declarations  which  the  Jew- 
ish and  Christian  Scriptures  deliver  concerninif 
it,  be  properly  a  civil  contract,  and  nothing  more 

With  respect  to  one  main  article  in  matrimonial 
alliances,  a  total  alteration  has  taken  place  in  the 
fashion  of  the  world  ;  the  wife  now  brings  money 
to  her  husband,  whereas  anciently  the  husbantl 
paid  money  to  the  finnily  of  the  wife;  as  was  the 
case  among  the  Jewish  patriarchs,  the  Greeks, 
and  the  old  inhabitants  of  Germany*  This  al- 
teration has  proved  of  no  small  advantage  to  the 
female  sex  :  tor  their  importance  in  point  of  for- 
tune procures  to  them,  in  modern  times,  that  as- 
siduity and  respect,  which  are  always  wanted  to 
compensate  for  the  inferiority  of  their  strength : 
but  which  their  personal  attractions  would  not 
always  secure. 

Our  business  is  with  marriage,  as  it  is  esta- 
blished in  this  country.  And  in  treating  thereof, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  state  the  terms  of  the  mar- 
riage vow,  in  order  to  discover : — 

1.  What  duties  this  vow  creates. 

2.  What  a  situation  of  mind  at  the  time  is  in- 
consistent with  it. 

3.  By  what  subsequent  behaviour  it  is  violated. 
The  husband  promises  on  his  part,  "to  love, 

comfort,  honour,  and  keep,  his  wife  ;"  the  wife  on 
hers,  "  to  obey,  serve,  love,  honour,  and  keep,  liei 
husband;"  in  every  variety  of  health,  fortune,  and 
condition :  and  both  stipulate  "  to  forsake  all 
others,  and  to  keep  only  unto  one  another,  so  long 
as  they  both  shall  live."  This  promise  is  called 
the  marriage  vow ;  is  witnessed  before  God  and 
the  congregation ;  accompanied  with  prayers  to 
Almighty  God  for  his  blessing  upon  it ;  and  at- 
tended with  such  circumstances  of  devotion  and 
solemnity  as  place  the  obligation  of  it,  and  the 
guilt  of  violating  it,  nearly  upon  the  same  foun- 
dation with  that  of  oaths. 

The  parties  by  this  vow  engage  their  personal 
fidehty  expressly  and  specifically;  they  engage 
likewise  to  consult  and  promote  each  other's  hap- 
piness ;  the  wife,  moreover,  promises  obedience  to 
her  husband.  Nature  may  have  made  and  lefttl;e 
sexes  of  the  human  species  nearly  equal  in  their 
faculties,  and  perfectly  so  in  their  rights ;  but  to 
guard  against  those  competitions  which  equalitv,  or 
a  contested  superiority,  is  ahnost  sure  to  produce, 
the  Christian  Scriptures  enjoin  upon  the  wife 
that  obedience  which  she  here  promises,  and  in 
terms  so  peremptory  and  absolute,  that  it  seems 
to  extend  to  every  thing  not  criminal,  or  not  en- 
tirely inconsistent  with  the  woman's  happiness. 
"  Let  the  wife,"  says  St.  Paul,  "  be  subject  to  her 
husband  in  every  thing." — "  The  ornament  of  a 
meek  and  quiet  spirit,"  says  the  same  apostle, 
speaking  of  the  duty  of  wives,  "  is,  in  the  sight 
of  God,  of  great  price."  No  words  ever  expressed 
the  true  merit  of  the  female  character  so  well  as 
these. 

The  condition  of  human  hfe  will  not  pennit  us 
to  say,  that  no  one  can  conscientiously  marry, 
who  does  not  prefer  the  person  at  the  altar  to  all 
other  men  or  women  in  the  world  :  but  we  can 
have  no  difficulty  in  pronouncing  (whether  we 
respect  the  end   of  the  institution,  or  the  plain 


+  The  ancient  .Assyrians  sold  their  beauties  by  an  an- 
nual auction.  The  prices  were  applied  by  way  of  por 
tions  to  the  more  homely.  By  this  contrivance,  all  of 
both  sorts  were  disposed  of  in  marriage. 


84 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


temis  in  which  the  contract  is  conceived,)  that 
whoever  is  conscious,  at  tlie  time  ol'  his  marriage, 
of  such  a  dishke  to  the  woman  he  is  about  to  mar- 
ry, or  of  such  a  subsisting  attachment  to  some 
other  woman,  that  lie  cannot  reasonably,  nor  does 
in  fact,  expect  ever  to  entertain  an  all'ection  for 
Ills  future  wife,  is  guilty,  when  he  pronounces  the 
marriage  vow,  of  a  direct  and  deliberate  prevarica- 
tion;  and  that,  too,  aggravated  by  tlie  presence  of 
those  ideas  of  rehgion,  and  of  the  Supreme  Being, 
which  the  place,  the  ritual,  and  the  solenuiity  of  the 
occasion,  cannot  fail  of  bringing  to  his  thoughts. 
The  same  likewise  of  the  woman.  This  charge 
must  be  imputed  to  all  who,  from  mercenary  mo- 
tives, marry  the  objects  of  their  aversion  and  dis- 
gust ;  and  likewise  to  those  who  desert,  from  any 
motive  whatever,  the  object  of  their  aflection,  and, 
without  being  able  to  subdue  that  aiiection,  marry 
another. 

The  crime  of  falsehood  is  also  incurred  by  the 
man  who  intends,  at  the  time  of  his  marri.ige,  to 
commence,  renew,  or  continue  a  personal  com- 
merce with  any  other  woman.  And  the  parity  of 
reason,  if  a  wife  be  capable  of  so  much  guilt,  ex- 
tends to  her. 

The  marriage-vow  is  violated, 

I.  By  adultery. 

II.  By  any  behaviour  which,  knowingly,  ren- 
ders the  life  of  the  other  miserable ;  as  desertion, 
neglect,  prodigality,  drunkenness,  peevishness, 
penuriousness,  jealousy,  or  any  levity  of  conduct 
which  administers  occasion  of  jealousy. 

A  late  regulation  in  the  law  of  marriages,  in 
this  country,  has  made  the  consent  of  the  lather, 
if  he  be  living,  of  the  mother,  if  she  survive  the 
father,  and  remain  unmarried,  or  of  guardians,  if 
both  parents  be  dead,  necessary  to  the  marriage  of 
a  person  under  twenty-one  years  of  age.  By  the 
Roman  law,  the  consent  et  avi  et  pcUris  was  re- 
quired so  long  as  they  lived.  In  France,  the  con- 
sent of  parents  is  necessary  to  tlie  marriage  of 
sons,  until  they  attain  to  thirty  years  of  age ;  of 
daughters,  until  twenty-five.  In  Holland,  for  sons 
till  twenty-five;  for  daughters  till  twenty.  And 
this  distinction  between-  the  sexes  appears  to  be 
well  founded ;  for  a  woman  is  usually  as  properly 
qualified  for  the  domestic  and  interior  duties  of  a 
wife  or  mother  at  eighteen,  as  a  man  is  for  the 
business  of  the  world,  and  the  more  arduous  care 
of  providing  for  a  family,  at  twenty-one. 

The  constitution  also  of  the  human  species  in- 
dicates the  same  distinction.* 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Of  the  Duty  of  Parents. 

That  virtue,  which  confines  its  beneficence 
within  the  walls  of  a  man's  own  house,  we  have 
been  accustomed  to  consider  as  little  better  than 
a  more  refined  selfishness ;  and  yet  it  will  be  con- 
fessed, that  the  subject  and  matter  of  this  class 
of  duties  are  inferior  to  none  in  utility  and  im- 
portance :  and  where,  it  may  be  asked,  is  virtue, 
the  most  valuable,  but  where  it  does  the  most 
good  '?  What  duty  is  the  most  obligatory,  but  that 
on  which  the  most  depends  1  And  where  have  we 


*  Cum  vis  prolem  procreanfli  diutius  hiEroat  in  mare 
quam  in  feinina  piipulj  tiumt^nis  nequatjuain  minuetur, 
si  serius  venerem  colore  iiiceperiiit  viri. 


happiness  and  misery  so  much  in  our  power,  or 
liable  to  be  so  aflected  by  our  conduct,  as  in  ouf 
own  families '!  It  will  also  be  acknowledged  that 
the  good  order  and  happiness  of  the  world  are  bet- 
ter upholden  whilst  each  man  applies  himself  to 
Ills  own  concerns  and  the  care  of  his  own 
family,  to  which  he  is  present,  than  if  every  man, 
from  an  excess  of  mistaken  generosity,  should 
leave  his  own  business,  to  undertake  his  neigh- 
bour's, which  he  must  always  manage  with  less 
knowledge,  conveniency,  and  success.  If  there- 
fore, the  low  estimation  of  these  virtues  be  well 
founded,  it  must  be  owing,  not  to  their  interior 
importance,  but  to  some  defect  or  impurity  in  the 
motive.  And  indeed  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  it 
is  in  the  power  of  association  so  to  unite  our 
children's  interest  with  our  own,  as  that  we  shall 
often  pursue  both  from  the  same  motive,  place 
both  in  the  same  object,  and  with  as  little  sense 
of  duty  in  one  pursuit  as  in  the  other.  Where 
this  is  the  case,  the  judgment  above  stated  is  not 
far  from  the  truth.  And  so  oitcn  as  we  find  a  so- 
licitous care  of  a  man's  own  family,  in  a  total  ab- 
sence or  extreme  penury  of  every  other  virtue,  or 
interfering  with  other  duties,  or  directing  its 
operation  solely  to  the  temporal  happiness  of  the 
children,  placing  that  happiness  in  anmsement 
and  indulgence  whilst  they  are  young,  or  in  ad- 
vancement of  fortune  when  they  grow  up,  there 
is  reason  to  believe  that  this  is  the  case.  In  this 
way,  the  common  opinion  concerning  these  duties 
may  be  accounted  for  and  defended.  If  we  look  to 
the  subject  of  them,  we  perceive  them  to  be  in- 
dispensable. If  we  regard  the  motive,  we  find 
them  often  not  very  meritorious.  Wherefore,  al- 
though a  man  seldom  rises  high  in  our  esteem  who 
has  nothing  to  recommend  him  beside  the  care  of 
his  own  family,  yet  we  always  condenm  the  ne- 
glect of  this  duty  with  the  utmost  severity ;  both 
by  reason  of  the  manifest  and  immediate  mischief 
which  we  see  arising  from  this  neglect,  and  he- 
cause  it  argues  a  want  not  only  of  parental  af- 
fection, but  of  those  moral  principles  which  ought 
to  come  in  aid  of  that  afl(?ction  where  it  is  want- 
ing. And  if,  on  the  other  hand,  our  praise  and 
esteem  of  these  duties  be  not  proportioned  to  the 
good  they  produce,  or  to  the  indignation  with 
which  we  resent  the  absence  of  them,  it  is  lor 
this  reason,  that  virtue  is  the  most  valuable,  not 
where  it  produces  the  most  good,  but  where  it  is 
the  most  wanted:  which  is  not  the  case  liere;  be- 
cause its  place  is  often  supplied  by  instincts,  or  in- 
voluntary associations.  Nevertheless,  the  ofiices 
of  a  parent  may  be  discharged  from  a  conscious- 
ness of  their  obligation,  as  well  as  other  duties  ; 
and  a  sense  of  this  obligation  is  sometimes  neces- 
sary to  assist  the  stimulus  of  parental  aflection ; 
especially  in  stations  of  life  in  which  the  wants  of 
a  family  cannot  he  supplied  without  the  continual 
hard  labour  of  the  father,  and  without  his  re- 
fraining from  many  indulgences  and  recreations 
which  unmarried  men  of  Uke  condition  are  able  to 
purchase.  Where  the  parental  aflection  is  suf- 
ficiently strong,  or  has  fewer  difficulties  to  sur- 
mount, a  principle  of  duty  may  still  be  wanted  to 
direct  and  regulate  its  exertions :  for  otherwise  it 
is  apt  to  spend  and  waste  itself  in  a  womanish 
fondness  for  the  person  of  the  child ;  an  impro- 
vident attention  to  his  present  ease  and  gratifica- 
tion ;  a  pernicious  facility  and  compliance  with 
his  humours ;  an  excessive  and  superfluous  care 
to  provide  the  externals  of  happiness,  with  little 


DUTY  OF  PARENTS. 


85 


or  no  attention  to  the  internal  sources  of  virtue 
and  satisfaction.  Universally,  wherever  a  parent  s 
conilact  is  prompted  or  directed  by  a  sense  of  duty, 
there  is  so  much  virtue. 

Having  premised  thus  much  concerning  the 
place  which  parental  duties  hold  in  the  scale  of 
liuinan  virtues,  we  proceed  to  state  and  explain 
tlie  duties  themselves. 

When  moralists  tell  us,  that  parents  are  bound 
to  do  all  they  can  for  their  children,  they  tell  us 
more  than  is  true ;  for,  at  that  rate,  every  expense 
which  might  have  been  spared,  and  every  proht 
omitted  which  might  have  been  made,  would  be 
criminal. 

The  duty  of  parents  has  its  limits,  like  other 
duties  ;  and  admits,  if  not  of  perfect  precision,  at 
least  of  rules  definite  enough  for  application. 

These  rules  may  be  explained  under  the  several 
heads  oi maintenance,  education,  and  a  reasonable 
•provision  for  the  child's  happiness  in  respect  of 
oatxcard  condition. 

I.  Maintenance. 

The  wants  of  children  make  it  necessary  that 
some  person  maintain  them;  and,  as  no  one  has 
a  right  to  burthen  others  by  his  act,  it  follows, 
that  the  parents  are  hound  to  undertake  this 
charge  themselves.  Beside  this  plain  inference, 
the  afi'ection  of  parents  to  their  children,  if  it  be 
instinctive,  and  the  provision  which  nature  has 
prepared  in  the  person  of  the  mother  for  the  sus- 
tentation  of  the  infant,  concerning  the  existence 
and  design  of  which  there  can  be  no  doubt,  are 
manifest  indications  of  the  Divine  will. 

Hence  we  learn  the  guilt  of  those  who  run 
away  from  their  families,  or  (what  is  much  the 
same,)  in  consequence  of  idleness  or  drunkenness, 
throw  them  upon  a  parish  ;  or  who  leave  them 
destitute  at  their  death,  when,  by  diligence  and 
frugality,  they  might  have  laid  up  a  provision  for 
their  support :  also  of  those  who  refuse  or  neglect 
the  care  of  their  bastard  ofl'spring,  abandoning 
them  to  a  condition  in  which  they  must  either 
perish  or  become  burthensome  to  others ;  for  the 
dut}'  of  maintenance,  like  the  reason  upon  which 
it  is  founded,  extends  to  bastards,  as  well  as  to 
legitimate  children. 

The  Christian  Scriptures,  although  they  con- 
cern themselves  little  with  maxims  of  prudence 
or  economy,  and  much  less  authorize  worldly- 
mindedness  or  avarice,  have  yet  declared  in  ex- 
plicit terms  their  judgment  of  the  obligation  of  this 
duty  :  "  If  any  provide  not  for  his  own,  especially 
for  those  of  his  own  household,  he  hath  denied  the 
faith,  and  is  worse  than  an  infidel,"  (1  Tim.  v.  8. ;) 
he  hath  disgraced  the  Christian  profession,  and 
fallen  short  in  aduty  wliicheven  infidels  acknow- 
ledge. 

II.  Education. 

Education,  in  the  most  extensive  sense  of  the 
word,  may  comprehend  every  preparation  that  is 
made  in  our  youth  for  the  sequel  of  our  lives;  and 
in  this  sense  I  use  it.  Some  such  preparation  is 
necessary  for  children  of  all  conditions,  becau.se 
without  it  they  must  he  miserable,  and  probably 
will  be  vicious,  when  they  grow  up,  either  from 
want  of  the  means  of  subsistence,  or  from  want  of 
rational  and  inoffensive  occupation.  In  civilized 
life,  every  thing  is  effected  by  art  and  skill. 
Whence  a  person  who  is  provided  with  neither 
(and  neither  can  be  acquired  without  exercise  and 
instruction)  will  he  useless ,  and  he  that  is  useless, 
will  generally  be  at  the  same  tun-^  mischievous  to 


the  community.  So  that  to  send  an  unt^ducated 
child  into  the  world,  is  injurious  to  the  rest  of 
mankind ;  it  is  little  better  than  to  turn  out  a 
mad  dog  or  a  wild  beast  into  the  streets. 

In  the  inferior  classes  of  the  comnmnity,  this 
principle  condemns  the  neglect  of  parents,  who 
do  not  inure  their  children  betimes  to  labour  and 
restraint,  by  providing  them  with  apprenticeships, 
services,  or  othci  regular  employment,  but  who 
sutler  them  to  waste  their  youth  in  idleness  and 
vagrancy,  or  to  betake  themselves  to  some  lazy, 
trilling,  and  precarious  calling :  for  the  conse- 
quence of  having  thus  tasted  the  sweets  of  na- 
tural liberty,  at  an  age  when  their  passion  and 
relish  for  it  are  at  the  highest,  is,  that  they  become 
iucainible,  for  the  remainder  of  their  lives,  of  con- 
titmed  industry,  or  of  persevering  attention  to  any 
thing ;  spend  their  time  in  a  miserable  struggle 
between  the  importunity  of  want,  and  the  irk- 
someness  of  regular  application ;  and  are  pre- 
pared to  embrace  every  exjiedient,  which  presents 
a  hope  of  supplying  their  necessities  without  con- 
fining them  to  the  plough,  the  loom,  the  shop,  or 
the  counting-house. 

In  the  middle  orders  of  society,  those  parents 
are  most  reprehensible,  who  neither  qualify  their 
children  for  a  profession,  nor  enable  them  to  Uve 
without  one  ;*  and  those  in  the  highest,  who,  from 
indolence,  indulgence,  or  avarice,  omit  to  procure 
their  children  those  liberal  attainments  which  are 
necessary  to  make  them  useful  in  the  stations  to 
which  they  are  destined.  A  man  of  fortune,  who 
permits  his  son  to  consume  the  season  of  educa- 
tion in  hunting,  shooting,  or  in  frequenting  horse- 
races, assemblies,  or  other  unetlifying,  if  not  vi- 
cious, diversions,  defrauds  the  community  of  a 
benefactor,  and  bequeaths  them  a  nuisance. 

Some,  though  not  the  same,  preparation  for  the 
sequel  of  their  lives,  is  necessary  for  youth  of  every 
description ;  and  therefore  for  bastards,  as  well  as 
for  children  of  better  expectations.  Consequently, 
they  who  leave  the  education  of  their  bastards  to 
chance,  contenting  themselves  with  making  pro- 
vision for  their  sul>sistence,  desert  half  their  duty. 

III.  A  reasonable  provision  for  the  happiness 
of  a  child,  in  respect  of  outward  condition,  re- 
quires three  things :  a  situation  suited  to  his  ha- 
bits and  reasonable  expectations;  a  competent 
provision  for  the  exigencies  of  that  situation ;  and 
a  probable  security  for  his  virtue. 

The  first  two  articles  will  vary  with  the  con 
diticn  of  the  parent.  A  situation  somewhat  ap- 
proaching in  rank  and  condition  to  the  parent's 
own ;  or,  where  that  is  not  practicable,  similar  to 
what  other  parents  of  like  condition  provide  for 
their  children  ;  bounds  the  reasonable,  as  well  as 
(generally  speaking)  the  actual,  expectations  of 
the  child,  and  therefore  contains  the  extent  of  the 
parent's  obligation. 

Hence,  a  peasant  satisfies  his  duty,  who  sends 
out  his  children,  properly  instructed  for  their  oc- 
cupation, to  husbandry  or  to  any  branch  of  manu- 
facture. Clergymen,  lawyers,  physicians,  officers 
in  the  army  or  navy,  gentlemen  possessing  mo- 
derate fortunes  of  inheritance,  or  exercising  trade 
in  a  large  or  liberal  way,  are  required  by  the  same 
rule  to  provide  their  sons  with  learned  professions, 


*  Amongst  the  Athenians,  if  the  parent  did  not  put 
his  child  into  a  way  of  getting  a  livelihood,  the  child 
was  not  bound  to  make  provision  for  the  parent  when 
old  and  necessitous.  „ 


86 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


commissions  in  the  army  or  navy,  places  in  public 
olKces,  or  reputable  branches  of  merchandise. 
Providing  a  child  with  a  situation,  includes  a 
competent  supply  for  the  expenses  of  that  situa- 
tion, until  the  proiits  of  it  enables  the  child  to  sup- 
port iiimscif  Noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  high 
rank  and  fortune  may  be  bound  to  transmit  an 
inht^ritance  to  the  representatives  of  their  family, 
sulHcient  tor  their  support  without  the  aid  of  a 
trade  or  profession,  to  which  there  is  little  hope 
that  a  youth,  who  lias  been  flattered  with  other 
expectations,  will  apply  himself  with  diligence  or 
success.  In  these  parts  of  the  world,  public  opinion 
has  assorted  the  members  of  the  community  into 
four  or  five  general  classes,  each  class  comprising 
a  great  variety  of  employments  and  proiessions^ 
the  choice  of  which  must  be  committed  to  the 
private  discretion  of  the  parent.*  All  that  can  be 
expected  from  parents  as  a  duty,  and  thereibre 
the  only  rule  which  a  moralist  can  deliver  upon 
the  subject,  is,  that  they  endeavour  to  preserve 
their  children  in  the  class  in  which  they  are  born, 
that  is  to  say,  in  which  others  of  similar  expecta- 
tions are  accustomed  to  be  placed;  and  that  they 
be  careful  to  coniine  their  hopes  and  habits  of  in- 
dulgence to  objects  which  will  continue  to  be  at- 
tainable. 

it  is  an  ill-judged  thrift,  in  some  rich  parents, 
to  bring  up  their  sons  to  mean  employments,  for 
the  sake  of  saving  the  charge  of  a  more  expensive 
education :  for  these  sons,  when  they  become  mas- 
ters of  their  liberty  and  ibrtune,  will  hardly  con- 
tinue in  occupations  by  which  they  think  them- 
selves degraded,  and  are  seldom  qualified  for  any 
thing  better. 

An  attention,  in  the  first  place,  to  the  exigen- 
cies of  the  children's  respective  conditions  in  the 
world ;  and  a  regard,  in  the  second  place,  to  their 
reasonable  expectations,  always  postponing  the 
expectations  to  the  exigencies  when  both  cannot 
be  satisiicd,  ought  to  guide  parents  in  the  disposal 
of  their  fortunes  after  their  death.  And  these 
exigencies  and  expectations  must  be  measured  by 


*  Tlie  health  and  virtue  of  a  child's  future  life  are 
consiilorations  so  superior  to  all  others,  thai  whatever 
is  likely  to  have  the  smallest  influence  upon  these,  de- 
serves the  parent's  first  attention.  In  respect  of  health, 
agriculture,  and  all  active,  rural,  and  out-of-door  em- 
ployments, are  to  be  preferred  to  manufactures  and  se- 
dentary occupations.  In  respect  of  virtue,  a  course  of 
dealings  in  which  the  advantage  is  mutual,  in  which 
the  profit  on  one  side  is  connected  with  the  benefit  of 
the  other  (which  is  the  case  in  trade,  and  all  serviceable 
art  or  labour,)  is  more  favourable  to  the  moral  charac- 
ter, than  callings  in  which  one  man's  gain  is  another 
man's  loss;  in  which  what  you  acquire,  is  acquired 
without  equivalent,  and  parted  with  in  distress;  as  in 
gaming,  and  whatever  partakes  of  gaming,  and  in  the 
predatory  profits  of  war.  The  following  distinctions 
also  deserve  notice:  A  business,  like  a  retail  trade,  in 
which  the  profits  are  small  and  frequent,  and  accruing 
from  the  employment,  furnishes  a  moderate  and  con- 
stant engagement  of  the  mind,  and,  so  far,  suits  better 
with  the  general  disposition  of  mankind,  than  profes- 
sions which  are  supported  by  fixed  salaries,  as  stations 
in  the  church,  army,  navy,  revenue,  public  offices,  &c. 
or  wherein  the  profits  are  made  in  large  sums,  by  a  few 
great  concerns,  or  fortunate  adventures;  as  in  many 
branches  of  wholesale  and  foreign  merchandise,  in 
which  the  occupation  is  neither  so  constant,  nor  the 
activity  so  kept  alive  by  immediate  encouragement. 
J'or  security,  manual  arts  exceed  merchandise,  and 
such  as  supply  the  wants  of  mankind  are  better  than 
those  which  minister  to  their  pleasure.  Situations 
which  promise  an  early  settlement  in  marriage,  are  on 
many  accounts  to  be  chosen  before  those  which  require 
i  longer  waiting  for  a  larger  establistmient. 


the  standard  which  custom  has  established :  fof 
tiiere  is  a  certain  appearance,  attendance,  estab- 
lishment, and  mode  of  living,  which  custom  has 
annexed  to  the  several  ranks  and  orders  of  civil 
life  (and  which  compose  what  is  called  decency,) 
together  with  a  certain  society,  and  particular 
pleasures,  belonging  to  each  class :  and  a  young 
person  who  is  withheld  from  sharing  in  these  tor 
want  of  fortune,  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  a 
fair  chance  for  happiness;  the  intlignity  and  mor- 
tification of  such  a  seclusion  being  what  lew 
tempers  can  bear,  or  bear  with  contentment.  And 
as  to  the  second  consideration,  of  what  a  child  may 
reasonably  expect  from  his  parent,  he  will  expect 
what  he  sees  all  or  most  others  in  similar  circum- 
stances receive ;  and  we  can  hanlly  call  expecta- 
tions unreasonable,  which  it  is  impossible  to  sup- 
press. 

By  virtue  of  this  rule,  a  parent  is  justified  in 
making  a  difference  between  his  children  accord- 
ing as  they  stand  in  greater  or  less  need  of  the 
assistance  of  his  fortune,  in  consequence  of  the 
difierence  of  their  age  or  sex,  or  of  the  situations 
in  which  they  are  placed,  or  the  various  success 
which  they  have  met  with. 

On  account  of  the  few  lucrative  employments 
which  are  left  to  the  female  sex,  and  by  conse- 
quence the  little  opportunity  they  have  of  adding 
to  their  income,  daughters  ought  to  be  the  par- 
ticular objects  of  a  parent's  care  and  foresight ; 
and  as  an  option  of  marriage,  from  which  they 
can  reasonably  expect  happiness,  is  not  presented 
to  every  woman  who  deserves  it,  especially  in 
times  in  which  a  licentious  celibacy  is  in  fashion 
with  the  men,  a  father  should  endeavour  to  enable 
his  daughters  to  lead  a  single  life  with  independence 
and  decorum,  even  though  he  subtract  more  for 
that  purpose  from  the  portions  of  his  sons  than  is 
agreeable  to  modern  usage,  or  than  they  expect. 

But  when  the  exigencies  of  their  several  situa- 
tions are  provided  for,  and  not  before,  a  parent 
ouglit  to  admit  the  second  consideration,  the  satis- 
faction of  his  children's  expectations ;  and  upon 
that  principle  to  prefer  the  eldest  son  to  the  rest, 
and  sons  to  daughters :  which  constitutes  the  right, 
and  the  whole  right,  of  primogeniture,  as  well  as 
the  only  reason  for  the  preference  of  one  sex  to 
the  other.  The  jireference,  indeed,  of  the  first- 
born, has  one  public  good  eflect,  that  if  the  estate 
were  divided  equally  amongst  the  sons,  it  would 
probably  make  them  all  idle ;  whereas,  by  the 
present  rule  of  descent,  it  makes  only  one  so ; 
which  is  the  less  evil  of  the  two.  And  it  must 
further  be  observed  on  the  part  of  the  sons,  that 
if  the  rest  of  the  community  make  it  a  rule  to  pre- 
fer sons  to  daughters,  an  individual  of  that  com- 
munity ought  to  guide  himself  by  the  same  rule, 
upon  principles  of  mere  equality.  For,  as  the  son 
sufli;rs  by  the  rule,  in  the  fortune  he  may  expect 
in  marriage,  it  is  but  reasonable  that  he  should 
receive  the  advantage  of'it  in  his  own  inheritance. 
Indeed,  whatever  the  rule  be,  as  to  the  preference 
of  one  sex  to  the  other,  marriage  restores  the 
equality.  And  as  money  is  generally  more  con- 
vertible to  jirofit,  and  more  likely  to  promote  in- 
dustry, in  the  hands  of  men  than  of  women,  the 
custom  of  this  country  may  properly  be  complied 
with,  when  it  does  not  interfere  with  the  weiglitier 
reason  explained  in  the  last  paragraph. 

The  point  of  the  children's  actual  expectations, 
together  with  the  expediency  of  subjecting  the  il- 
licit commerce  of  the  sexes  to  every  discourage- 


DUTY  OF  PARENTS. 


87 


merit  which  it  can  receive,  makes  the  iliflercnce 
between  the  chiims  oi'  legitimate  children  and 
of  bastards.  But  neither  reason  will  in  any  case 
justify  the  leaving  of  bastards  to  the  world  with- 
out provision,  education,  or  profession;  or,  what 
is  more  cruel,  without  the  means  of  continuing 
in  the  situation  to  whic-h  the  parent  has  intro- 
duced them  ;  v.'liich  last  is,  to  leave  them  to  in- 
evitable misery. 

Att'T  the  first  requisite,  namely,  a  provision  for 
the  exigencies  of  his  situation,  is  satisfied,  a  parent 
may  diminish  a  child's  portion,  in  order  to  punish 
any  flagrant  crime,  or  to  punish  contumacy  and 
Want  of  filial  duty  in  instances  not  otherwise 
criminal :  for  a  child  who  is  conscious  of  bad  be- 
haviour, or  of  contempt  of  his  parent's  will  and 
happiness,  cannot  reasonably  expect  the  same  in- 
stances of  his  munificence. 

A  child's  vices  may  be  of  that  sort,  and  his 
vicious  habits  so  incorrigiiile,  as  to  afford  much 
the  same  reason  for  beheving  that  he  will  waste 
or  misemploy  the  fortune  put  into  his  power,  as  if 
he  were  mad  or  idiotish,  in  which  case  a  parent 
may  treat  him  as  a  madman  or  an  idiot ;  that  is, 
may  deem  it  sufficient  to  provide  for  his  support, 
by  an  annuity  equal  to  his  wants  and  innocent 
enjoyments,  and  which  he  may  be  restrained  from 
alienating.  This  seems  to  be  the  only  case  in 
which  a  disinherison,  nearly  absolute,  is  jus- 
tifiable. 

Let  not  a  father  hope  to  excuse  an  inofficious 
disposition  of  his  fortune,  by  alleging,  that  "  every 
man  may  do  what  he  will  with  his  own."  All  the 
truth  which  this  expression  contains  is,  that  this 
discretion  is  under  no  control  of  law;  and  that 
his  will,  however  capricious,  will  be  valid.  This 
by  no  means  absolves  his  conscience  from  the  ob- 
ligations of  a  parent,  or  imports  that  he  may  ne- 
glect, without  injustice,  the  several  wants  and  ex- 
pectations of  his  family,  in  order  to  gratify  a 
whim  or  pique,  or  indulge  a  preference  founded 
in  no  reasonable  distinction  of  merit  or  situation. 
Although  in  his  intercourse  with  his  family,  and 
in  the  lesser  endearments  of  domestic  life,  a  pa- 
rent may  not  always  resist  his  partiality  to  a  fa- 
vourite child  (which,  however,  should  be  both 
avoided  and  concealed,  as  oftentimes  productive 
of  lasting  jealousies  and  discontents;)  yet,  when 
he  sits  down  to  make  his  will,  these  tendernesses 
must  give  place  to  more  manly  deliberations. 

A  father  of  a  family  is  bound  to  adjust  his 
economy  with  a  view  to  these  demands  upon  his 
fortune;  and  until  a  sufficiency  for  these  ends  is 
acquired,  or  in  due  time  probably  will  be  acquired 
(for,  in  human  alTairs,  probability  ought  to  con- 
tent us.)  frugality  and  exertions  of  industry  are 
duties.  He  is  also  justified  in  the  declining  ex- 
pensive liberality :  for,  to  take  from  those  who 
want,  in  order  to  give  to  those  who  want,  adds 
nothing  to  the  stock  of  public  happiness.  Thus 
far,  therefore,  and  no  farther,  the  plea  of  "children," 
of  "  large  families,"  "  charity  begins  at  home,"  &c. 
is  an  excuse  for  parsimony,  and  an  answer  to 
those  who  solicit  our  bounty.  Beyond  this  point, 
as  the  use  of  riches  becomes  less,  the  desire  of 
laying  up  should  abate  proportionably.  The 
truth  is,  our  children  gain  not  so  much  as  we 
imagine,  in  the  chance  of  this  world's  happiness, 
or  even  of  its  external  prosperity,  by  setting  out 
in  it  with  large  capitals.  Of  those  who  have  died 
rich,  a  great  part  began  with  little.  And  in  re- 
spect of  enjoyment,  there  is  no  comparison  between 


a  fortune  which  a  man  acquires  by  well-appliec 
industry,  or  by  a  series  of  success  in  his  business, 
and  one  found  in  liis  possession,  or  received  from 
another. 

A  principal  part  of  a  parent's  duty  is  still  be- 
hind, viz :  the  using  of  proper  precautions  and 
expedients,  in  order  to  form  and  preserve  his 
children's  virtue. 

To  us,  who  believe  that,  in  one  stage  or  other 
of  our  existence,  \irtuc  will  conduct  to  hajipiness, 
and  vice  terminate  in  misery  ;  and  who  observe 
withal,  that  men's  virtues  and  vices  are,  to  a  cer- 
tain degree,  produced  or  affi'ctcd  by  the  manage- 
ment of  their  youth,  and  the  situations  in  which 
they  are  placed  ;  to  all  who  attend  to  the.-ic  reasons, 
the  ol)ligation  to  consult  a  child  s  virtue  will  ap- 
pear to  differ  in  notlnng  from  that  by  which  the 
parent  is  bound  to  provide  for  his  maintenance  or 
fortune.  The  child  s  interest  is  concerned  in  the 
one  means  of  happiness  as  well  as  in  tlie  other  ; 
and  both  means  are  equally,  and  almost  exclu- 
sively, in  the  parent's  power. 

For  this  purpose,  the  first  point  to  be  endeav- 
oured after  is,  to  impress  upon  children  the  ideaol 
accountableness ,  that  is,  to  accustom  them  to  look 
forward  to  the  consecjuences  of  their  actions  in 
another  world ;  which  can  only  be  brought  about 
by  the  parents  visibly  acting  with  a  view  to  these 
consequences  themselves.  Parents,  to  do  them 
justice,  are  seldom  sparing  of  lessons  of  virtue  and 
religion:  in  admonitions  which  cost  little,  and 
which  profit  less  ;  whilst  their  example  exhibits  a 
continual  contradiction  of  what  they  teach.  A 
father,  for  instance,  will,  with  much  solemnity 
and  apparent  earnestness,  warn  his  son  against 
itlieness,  excess  in  drinking,  debauchery,  and  ex- 
travagance, who  himself  loiters  about  all  day 
without  employment ;  comes  home  every  night 
drunk ;  is  made  infamous  in  his  neighbourhood  by 
some  profligate  connexion ;  and  wastes  the  for- 
tune which  should  support,  or  remain  a  provision 
for  his  family,  in  riot,  or  luxury,  or  ostentation. 
Or  he  will  discourse  gravely  before  his  children 
of  the  obligation  and  miportance  of  revealed  re- 
ligion, whilst  they  see  the  most  frivolous  and 
oftentimes  feigned  excuses  detain  him  from  its 
reasonable  and  solemn  ordinances.  Or  he  will 
set  before  them,  perhaps,  the  supreme  and  tre- 
mendous authority  of  Almighty  God  ;  that  such 
a  Being  ought  not  to  be  named,  or  even  thought 
upon,  without  sentiments  of  profound  awe  and 
veneration.  This  may  be  the  lecture  he  delivers 
to  his  family  one  hour ;  when  the  next,  if  an 
occasion  arise  to  excite  his  anger,  his  mirth  or  his 
surprise,  they  will  hear  him  treat  the  name  of  the 
Deity  with  the  most  irreverent  profanation,  and 
sport  with  the  tenns  and  denunciations  of  the 
Christian  religion,  as  if  they  were  the  lajiguage  of 
some  ridiculous  and  long  exploded  superstition. 
Now,  even  a  child  is  not  to  be  unposcd  upon  by 
such  mockery.  He  sees  through  the  grimace  of 
this  counterfeited  concern  for  virtue.  He  dis- 
covers that  his  parent  is  acting  a  part ;  and  re- 
ceives his  admonitions  as  he  would  hear  the  same 
maxims  from  the  mouth  of  a  player.  And  when 
once  this  opinion  has  taken  possession  of  the 
child's  mind,  it  has  a  fatal  eflect  upon  the  parent's 
influence  in  all  subjects ;  even  those,  in  which  he 
himself  may  be  sincere  and  convinced.  Whereas 
a  silent,  but  observable,  regard  to  the  duties  of  re- 
ligion, in  the  parent's  own  behaviour,  will  take  a 
sure  and  gradual  hold  of  the  cliild's  disposition,. 


MORAL   4.ND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


much  beyond  formal  reproofs  and  eludings,  which, 
being  generally  prompted  by  some  present  provo- 
cation, discover  more  of  anger  than  of  principle, 
and  are  always  received  with  a  temporary  aUen- 
ation  and  disgust. 

A  good  parent's  first  care  is,  to  be  virtuous 
himself;  a  second,  to  make  his  virtues  as  easy  and 
en'Tainnif  to  those  about  him  as  their  nature  will 
admit.  Virtue  itself  oHcnds,  when  coupled  with 
forbidding  manners.  And  some  virtues  may  be 
urged  to  such  excess,  or  brought  tbrward  so  un- 
seasonably, as  to  discourage  and  repel  those  who 
observe  and  who  are  acted  upon  by  them,  instead 
of  e.xciting  an  inclination  to  imitate  and  adopt 
them.  Young  minds  are  particularly  Hable  to 
these  unfortunate  impressions.  For  instance,  if 
a  lather's  economy  degenerate  into  a  minute  and 
teasing  parsimony,  it  is  odds  but  that  the  son, 
who  has  sullered  under  it,  sets  out  a  sworn  enemy 
to  all  rules  of  order  and  frugality.  If  a  father's 
piety  be  morose,  rigorous,  and  tinged  with  melan- 
choly, perpetually  lireakin^  in  upon  the  recreation 
of  his  family,  and  surfeiting  them  with  the  lan- 
guage of  religion  on  all  occasions,  there  is  danger 
lest  the  son  carry  from  home  with  him  a  settled 
prejudice  against  seriousness  and  religion,  as  in- 
consistent with  every  plan  of  a  pleasureable  life; 
and  turn  out,  when  he  mixes  with  the  world,  a 
character  of  levity  or  dissoluteness. 

Something  likewise  may  be  done  towards  the 
correcting  or  improving  of  those  early  inchnations 
which  children  discover,  by  disposing  them  into 
situations  the  least  dangerous  to  their  particular 
characters.  Thus,  I  would  make  choice  of  a 
retired  life  for  young  persons  addicted  to  licen- 
tious pleasures ;  of  private  stations  for  the  proud 
and  passionate  ;  of  liberal  professions,  and  a  town 
life,  for  the  mercenary  and  sottish :  and  not, 
according  to  the  general  practice  of  parents,  send 
dissolute  youths  into  the  army ;  penurious  tem- 
pers to  trade ;  or  make  a  crafty  lad  an  attorney  ; 
ir  Hatter  a  vain  and  haughty  temper  with  ele- 
vated names,  or  situations,  or  callings,  to  which 
the  fashion  of  the  world  has  annexed  precedency 
and  distinction,  but  in  which  his  dispo.sition,  with- 
out at  all  promoting  his  success,  will  serve  both  to 
multiply  and  exasperate  his  disappointments.  In 
the  same  way,  that  is,  with  a  view  to  the  particu- 
lar frame  and  tendency  of  the  pupil's  character,  I 
would  make  choice  of  a  public  or  private  education. 
The  reserved,  timid,  and  indolent,  will  have  their 
faculties  called  forth,  and  their  nerves  invigorated, 
by  a  public  education.  Youths  of  strong  spirits 
and  passions  will  be  safer  in  a  private  education. 
At  our  public  schools,  as  far  as  I  have  observed, 
more  literature  is  acquired,  and  more  vice  ;  quick 
parts  are  cultivated,  slow  ones  are  neglected. 
Under  private  tuition,  a  moderate  proficiency  in 
juvenile  learning  is  seldom  exceeded,  but  with 
more  certainty  attained. 


CHAPTER  X. 

'The  Rights  of  Parents. 

The  rights  of  parents  result  from  their  duties. 
If  it  be  the  duty  of  a  parent  to  educate  his  chil- 
dren, to  form  them  for  a  life  of  usefulness  and  vir- 
tue, to  provide  for  them  situations  needful  for 
their  subsistence,  and  suited  to  their  circumstances, 
and  to  prepare  them  for  those  situations ;  he  has 


a  rigiit  to  such  authority,  and  in  support  of  that 
authority  to  exercise  such  discipline  as  may  be 
necessary  for  these  purposes.  ^J  he  law  of  nature 
acknowledges  no  other  foundation  ol'  a  parent's 
right  over  his  children,  besides  his  duty  towards 
them.  (I  speak  now  of  such  rights  as  may  be 
enforced  by  coercion  )  I'his  relation  confers  no 
property  in  their  persons,  or  natural  donunion 
over  them,  as  is  commonly  supposed. 

Since  it  is,  in  general,  necessary  to  determine 
the  destination  ol'  children,  before  they  are  capa- 
ble of  judging  of  their  own  happiness,  parents 
have  a  riglit  to  elect  jjrofessions  for  them. 

As  the  mother  her.self  owes  obedience  to  the 
father,  her  authority  must  submit  to  his.  In  a 
competition,  therefore,  of  connnands,  the  father  i.'S 
to  be  obeyed,  in  case  of  the  death  of  either,  the 
authority,  as  well  as  duty,  of  both  parents,  de- 
volves upon  the  surxivor. 

These  rights,  always  following  the  duty,  be- 
long likewise  to  guardians ;  and  so  much  ot  them 
as  is  delegated  In'  the  parents  to  guardians,  be- 
longs to  tutors,  school-masters,  &c. 

irom  this  principle,  "that  the  rights  of  parents 
result  from  their  duty,"  it  follows,  that  parents 
have  no  natural  right  over  the  fives  of  their  chil- 
dren, as  was  absurdly  allowed  to  Roman  fathers ; 
nor  any  to  exercise  unprofitable  severities ;  nor  to 
command  the  commission  of  crimes  :  for  these 
rights  can  never  be  wanted  for  the  purpose  of  a 
parent's  duty. 

Nor,  for  the  same  reason,  have  parents  any 
right  to  sell  their  children  into  slavery.  Upon 
which,  by  the  way,  we  niay  observe,  that  the 
children  of  slaves,  are  not,  b}-  the  law  of  nature, 
born  slaves :  for,  as  the  master's  right  is  derived 
to  him  through  the  parent,  it  can  never  be  greater 
than  the  parent's  own. 

Hence  also  it  appears,  that  parents  not  only 
pervert,  but  exceed  their  just  authority,  when 
they  consult  their  own  ambition,  interest,  or  pre- 
judice, at  the  manliest  expense  of  their  children's 
happiness.  Of  which  abuse  of  parental  power, 
the  following  are  instances:  the  shutting  up  of 
daughters  and  younger  sons  in  nunneries,  and 
monasteries,  in  order  to  preserve  entire  the  estate 
and  dignity  of  the  family ;  or  the  using  of  any  arts, 
either  of  kindness  or  unkindness,  to  induce  them 
to  make  choice  of  this  way  of  life  themselves ; 
or,  in  countries  where  the  clergy  are  prohibited 
from  marriage,  putting  sons  into  the  church  for 
the  same  end,  who  are  never  hkely  to  do  or 
receive  any  good  in  it,  sufficient  to  compensate 
for  this  sacrifice ;  the  urging  of  children  to  mar- 
riages from  which  they  are  averse,  with  the  view 
of  exalting  or  enriching  the  family,  or  for  the  sake 
of  connecting  estates,  parties,  or  interests ;  or  the 
opposing  of  a  marriage,  in  which  the  child  would 
probably  find  his  happiness,  from  a  motive  of  pride 
or  avarice,  of  family  hostility,  or  j)ersonal  pique. 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  Duty  of  Children. 

The  duty  of  children  may  be  considered, 

I.  During  childhood. 

II.  After  they  have  attained  to  manhood,  but 
continue  in  their  father's  family. 

III.  After  they  have  attained  to  manhood, and 
have  left  their  father's  family. 


DUTY  OF  CHILDREN. 


89 


T.  During  childhood. 

Children  must  be  supposed  to  have  attained  to 
some  decrree  of  discretion  before  they  are  capable 
of  any  duty.  There  is  an  interval  of  eight  or  nine 
years  between  the  dawning  and  the  maturity  of 
reason,  in  which  it  is  necessary  to  subject  the  in- 
clination of  children  to  many  restraints,  and  di- 
rect their  application  to  many  employments,  of  the 
tendency  and  use  of  which  they  cannot  judge ;  lor 
which  cause,  the  submission  of  children  during 
this  period  must  be  ready  and  implicit,  with  an 
exception,  however,  of  any  manifest  crime  which 
may  be  commanded  them. 

II.  After  they  have  attaitied  to  manhood,  but 
continue  in  their  father  s  family. 

If  children,  when  they  are  grown  up,  volun- 
tarily continue  members  of  their  father's  family, 
they  are  bound,  beside  the  general  duty  of  grati- 
tude to  their  parents,  to  observe  such  regulations 
of  the  family  as  the  father  shall  appoint ;  con- 
tribute their  labour  to  its  support,  if  required ;  and 
confine  themselves  to  such  expenses  as  he  shall 
allow,  The  obligation  would  be  the  same,  if  they 
were  admitted  into  an}'  other  family,  or  received 
sujiport  from  any  other  hand. 

III.  After  they  hare  attained  to  -manhood,  and 
hare  left  their  father  s  family. 

In  this  state  of  the  relation,  tlie  duty  to  parents 
is  sim])ly  the  duty  of  gratitude;  not  different 
in  kind,  from  that  which  we  owe  to  any  other 
benefictor;  in  degree,  just  so  much  exceeding 
oth">"  obligations,  by  how  much  a  parent  has  been 
a  greater  benefactor  than  any  other  friend.  The 
sei  /ices  and  attentions,  by  which  filial  gratitude 
may  be  testified,  can  be  comprised  within  no  enu- 
meration. It  will  show  itself  in  compliances  with 
the  will  r>f  the  parents,  however  contrary  to  the 
child's  owt  taste  or  judgment,  provided  it  be  nei- 
ther criminal,  nor  totally  inconsistent  with  his 
happiness;  in  a  constant  endeavour  to  promote 
their  enjoyments,  prevent  their  wishes,  and  soften 
their  anxieties,  in  small  matters  as  well  as  in 
great ;  in  assisting  them  in  their  business  ;  in  con- 
tributing to  their  support,  ease,  or  better  accom- 
modation, when  their  circumstances  require  it; 
in  alfording  them  our  company,  in  preference  to 
more  amusing  engagements ;  in  waiting  upon 
their  si  -kness  or  decre])itude  ;  in  bearing  with 
the  infirmities  of  their  health  or  temper,  with  the 
peevishness  and  complaints,  the  unfashionable, 
negligent,  austere  manners,  and  offensive  habits, 
which  often  attend  upon  advanced  years :  for  where 
must  old  age  find  indulgence,  if  it  do  not  meet 
with  it  in  the  piety  and  partiality  of  children  % 

The  most  serious  contentions  between  parents 
and  their  children  are  those  commonly  which  re- 
late to  marriage,  or  to  the  choice  of  a  profession. 

A  parent  has,  in  no  case,  a  right  to  destroy  his 
child's  happiness.  If  it  be  true,  therefore,  that 
there  exist  such  personal  and  exclusive  attach- 
ments between  individuals  of  different  sexes,  that 
the  possession  of  a  particular  man  or  woman  in 
marriage  be  really  necessary  for  the  child's  hap- 
piness; or,  if  it  be  true,  that  an  aversion  to  a  par- 
ticular profession  may  be  involuntary  and  uncon- 
querable ;  then  it  will  follow,  that  parents,  where 
this  is  the  case,  ouglit  not  to  urge  their  authority, 
and  that  the  child  is  not  bound  to  obey  it. 

The  point  is,  to  discover  how  far,  in  any  par- 
ticular instance,  this  is  the  case.  Whether  the 
fondness  of  lovers  ever  continues  with  such  in- 
tensity, and  so  long,  that  the  success  of  their  de- 
M 


sires  constitutes,  or  the  disappointment  affects 
any  considerable  portion  of  their  happiness,  com- 
jiared  with  that  of  their  whole  lite,  it  is  ditlicult  to 
determine ;  but  there  can  be  no  difficulty  in  i)ro- 
nouncing,  that  not  one  half  of  tliose  attachments, 
which  young  people  conceive  with  so  much  husle 
and  passion,  are  of  this  sort.  1  believe  it  also  to 
be  true,  that  there  are  few  aversions  to  a  profes- 
sion, which  resolution,  perseverance,  activity  in 
going  about  the  duty  of  it,  and,  above  all,  despair 
of  changing,  will  not  subdue  :  yet  there  are  some 
such.  Wherefore,  a  child  who  respects  his  jxa- 
rcnts"  ju<lgment,  and  is,  as  he  ought  to  be,  tender 
of  their  happiness,  owes,  at  least,  so  nmch  de- 
ference to  their  will,  as  to  try  fairly  and  liiitlifully, 
in  one  case,  whether  time  and  absence  will  not 
cool  an  aficction  which  they  disapprove;  and,  in 
the  other,  whether  a  longer  continuance  in  the 
profession  which  they  have  chosen  for  him  may 
not  reconcile  him  to  it.  The  whole  depends  upon 
the  experiment  being  made  on  the  child's  part 
with  sincerity,  and  not  merely  with  a  design  of 
compassing  his  purpose  at  last,  by  means  of  a 
simulated  and  temporary  comphanee.  It  is  the 
nature  of  love  and  hatred,  and  of  all  violent  af- 
fections, to  delude  the  mind  with  a  persuasion  tha- 
we  shall  always  continue  to  feel  them  as  we  feel 
them  at  present ;  we  cannot  conceive  that  they 
will  either  change  or  cease.  Experience  of  similar 
or  greater  changes  in  ourselves,  or  a  habit  of 
giving  credit  to  what  our  parents,  or  tutors,  or 
books,  teach  us,  may  control  this  persuasion, 
otherwi.se  it  renders  youth  very  untractable :  for 
they  see  clearly  and  truly  that  it  is  impossible 
they  should  be  happy  under  the  circumstances 
proposed  to  them,  in  their  present  state  of  mind. 
After  a  sincere  hut  inelTectual  endeavour,  by  the 
child,  to  accommodate  his  inclination  to  his  pa- 
rent's pleasure,  he  ought  not  to  suffer  in  his  pa- 
rent's affection,  or  in  his  fortunes.  The  parent, 
when  he  has  reasonable  proof  of  this  should  ac- 
quiesce ;  at  all  events,  the  child  is  then  at  liberty 
to  provide  for  his  own  happiness. 

Parents  have  no  right  to  urge  their  children 
upon  marriages  to  which  they  are  averse:  nor 
ought,  in  any  shape,  to  resent  the  children's  dis- 
obedience to  such  commands.  This  is  a  different 
case  from  opposing  a  match  of  inclination,  because 
the  child's  misery  is  a  much  more  probable  con- 
sequence ;  it  being  easier  to  live  without  a  person 
that  we  love,  than  with  one  whom  we  hate.  Add 
to  this,  that  compulsion  in  marriage  necessarily 
leads  to  prevarication ;  as  the  reluctant  party  pro- 
mises an  affection,  which  neither  exists,  nor  is  ex- 
pected to  take  place  :  and  parental,  like  all  human 
authority,  ceases  at  the  point  where  obedience  be- 
comes criminal. 

In  the  above-mentioned,  and  in  all  contests  be- 
tween parents  and  children,  it  is  the  parent's  duty 
to  represent  to  the  child  the  consequences  of  his 
conduct ;  and  it  will  be  found  his  best  policy  to 
represent  them  with  fidehty.  It  is  usual  for  pa- 
rents to  exaggerate  these  descriptions  beyond  pro- 
bability, and  by  exaggeration  to  lose  all  credit  with 
their  children ;  thus,  in  a  great  measure,  defeating 
their  own  end. 

Parents  are  forbidden  to  interfere,  where  a  trust 
is  reposed  personally  in  the  son  ;  and  where,  con- 
sequently, the  son  was  expected,  and  by  virtue 
of  that  expectation  is  obliged,  to  pursue  his  own 
judgment,  and  not  that  of  any  other :  as  is  the 
case  with  judicial  magistrates  in  the  execution  of 


90 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


their  office ;  with  members  of  the  legislature  in 
their  votes ;  with  electors  wliere  preierence  is  to 
be  given  to  certain  prescribed  qualifications.  The 
sou  may  assist  his  own  judgment  by  the  advice  of 
his  father,  or  of  any  one  whom  he  chooses  to  con- 
sult :  but  his  own  judgment,  whether  it  proceed 
upon  knowledge  or  authority,  ought  finally  to  de- 
termine his  conduct. 

The  duty  of  children  to  their  parents  was 
thought  worthy  to  be  made  tlie  subject  of  one  of 
the  Ten  Commandments  ;  and,  as  such,  is  re- 
cognised by  Christ,  together  with  the  rest  of  the 
moral  precepts  of  the  Decalogue,  in  various  places 
of  the  Gospel. 

The  same  divine  Teacher's  sentiments  con- 
cerning the  relief  of  indigent  parents,  appear 
sufficiently  from  that  manly  and  deserved  indig- 
nation with  which  he  reprehended  the  wretched 
casuistry  of  the  Jewish  expositors,  who,  under  the 
name  of  a  tradition,  had  contrived  a  method  of 
evading  this  duty,  by  converting,  or  pretending  to 
convert,  to  the  treasury  of  the  temple,  so  much  of 
their  property  as  their  distressed  parent  might  be 
entitled  by  their  law  to  demand. 

Agreeably  to  this  law  of  Nature  and  Chris- 
tianity, children  are,  by  the  law  of  England,  bound 
to  support,  as  well  their  immediate  parents,  as 
their  graiidfither  and  grandmother,  or  remoter 
ancestors,  who  stand  in  need  of  support. 

Obediejice  to  parents  is  enjoined  by  St.  Paul  to 
the  Ephesians:  "Children  obey  your  parents  in 
the  Lord,  for  this  is  right;"  and  to  the  Colossians: 
"  Children,  obey  your  parents  in  all  things,  for 
this  is  well-pleasing  unto  the  Lord.''* 

By  the  Jewish  law,  disobedience  to  parents 
was  in  some  extreme  cases  capital :  Deut.  xxi.  18. 


BOOK  IV. 


DUTIES  TO  OURSELVES. 

This  division  of  the  subject  is  retained  merely 
for  the  sake  of  method,  by  which  the  writer  and 
the  reader  are  equally  assisted.  To  the  subject 
itself  it  imports  nothing ;  for,  the  obligation  of  all 
duties  being  fundamentally  the  same,  it  matters 
little  under  what  class  or  title  any  of  them  are 
considered.  In  strictness,  there  are  few  duties  or 
crimes  which  terminate  in  a  man's  self;  and  so 
far  as  others  are  affected  by  their  operation,  they 
have  been  treated  of  in  some  article  of  the  pre- 
ceding book.  We  have  reserved,  however,  to  this 
head,  the  rights  of  self-defence ;  also  the  con- 
sideration of  drunkenness  and  suicide,  as  offences 
against  that  care  of  our  faculties,  and  preservation 
of  our  persons,  which  we  account  duties,  and  call 
duties  to  ourselves. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Rights  of  Self- Defence. 

It  has  been  asserted,  that  in  a  state  of  nature 
we  might  lawfully  defend  the  most  insignificant 


*  Upon  which  two  phrases,  "  this  is  right,"  and,  "  for 
this  is  well-pleasinir  unto  the  Lord,"  bein?  used  by  St. 
Paul  in  a  sense  perfectly  parallel,  we  may  observe,  that 
moral  rectitude,  and  conformity  to  the  Divine  will,  were 
in  his  apprehension  the  same. 


right,  provided  it  were  a  perfect  determinate  rigm, 
by  any  extremities  which  the  obstinacy  of  the 
aggressor  rendered  necessary.  Of  this  I  doubt ; 
because  I  doubt  whether  the  general  rule  be  wortJi 
sustaining  at  such  an  expense ;  and  because,  apart 
from  the  general  consequence  of  yielding  to  the 
attempt,  it  cannot  be  contended  to  be  lor  the  aug- 
mentation of  human  happiness,  that  one  uian 
should  lose  his  fife,  or  a  limb,  rather  than  another 
a  pennyworth  of  his  property.  Nevertheless, 
perfect  rights  can  only  be  distijiguished  by  tlitir 
value;  and  it  is  impossible  to  ascertain  the  value 
at  which  the  liberty  of  using  extreme  violence  be- 
gins. The  person  attacked,  must  balance,  as  well 
as  he  can,  between  the  general  consequence  of 
yielding,  and  the  particular  effect  of  resistance. 

However,  this  right,  if  it  exist  in  a  state  of  na- 
ture, is  suspended  by  the  establishment  of  civil 
society :  because  thereby  other  remedies  are  pro- 
vided against  attacks  upon  our  property,  and  be- 
cause it  is  necessary  to  the  peace  and  safety  of  the 
connnunity,  that  the  prevention,  punishment, 
and  redress  of  injuries,  he  adjusted  by  public  laws. 
Moreover,  as  the  individual  is  assisted  in  the  re- 
covery of  his  right,  or  of  a  compensation  for  his 
right,  by  the  public  strength,  it  is  no  less  equitable 
than  expedient,  that  he  should  submit  to  })ul>lic 
arbitration  the  kind,  as  well  as  the  measure  of 
the  satisfaction  which  he  is  to  obtain. 

There  is  one  case  in  which  all  extremities  are 
justifiable ;  namely,  when  our  life  is  assaulted,  and 
it  becomes  necessary  for  our  preservation  to  kill  the 
assailant.  This  is  evident  in  a  state  of  nature ; 
unless  it  can  be  shown,  that  we  are  bound  to  pre- 
fer the  aggressor's  life  to  our  own,  that  is  to  say, 
to  love  our  enemy  better  than  ourselves,  which 
can  never  be  a  debt  of  justice,  nor  any  where  ap- 
pears to  be  a  duty  of  charity.  Nor  is  the  case 
altered  by  our  living  in  civil  society ;  because,  by 
the  supposition,  the  laws  of  society  cannot  inter- 
pose to  protect  us,  nor,  by  the  nature  of  the  case, 
compel  restitution.  This  liberty  is  restrained  to 
cases  in  which  no  other  probable  means  of  pre- 
serving our  life  remain,  as  flight,  calling  for  assist- 
ance, disarming  the  adversary,  &c.  The  rule 
holds,  whether  the  danger  proceed  from  a  volun- 
tary attack,  as  by  an  enemy,  robber,  or  assassin ; 
or  from  an  involuntary  one,  as  by  a  madman,  or 
person  sinking  in  the  water,  and  dragging  us  after 
him;  or  where  two  persons  are  reduced  to  a  situa- 
tion in  which  one  or  both  of  them  must  perish  :  as 
in  a  shipwreck,  where  two  seize  upon  a  plank, 
which  will  support  only  one  :  although,  to  say  the 
truth,  these  extreme  cases,  which  happen  seldom, 
and  hardly,  when  they  do  happen,  admit  of  moral 
agency,  are  scarcely  worth  mentioning,  much  less 
discussing  at  length. 

The  instance  which  approaches  the  nearest  ♦o 
the  preservation  of  life,  and  which  seems  to  ju.stify 
the  same  extremities,  is  the  defence  of  chastity. 

In  all  other  cases,  it  appears  to  me  the  safest  to 
consider  the  taking  away  of  life  as  authorised  by 
the  law  of  the  land ;  and  the  person  who  takes  it 
away,  as  in  the  situation  of  a  minister  or  execu- 
tioner of  the  law. 

In  wliich  view,  homicide,  in  England,  is  justi- 
fiable : 

1.  To  prevent  the  commission  of  a  crime,  which, 

when  committed,  would  be  punishable  with  death. 

Thus,  it  is  lawful  to  shoot  a  highwayman,  or  one 

attempting  to  break  into  a  house  by  night  ;  but 

i  not  so  if  the  attempt  be  made  in  the  day-time ; 


DRUNKENNESS. 


91 


which  particular  distinction,  by  a  consent  of  le- 
gislation that  is  remarkable,  obtained  also  in  the 
Jewish  law,  as  well  as  in  the  laws  both  of  Greece 
and  Rome. 

•2.  In  necessary  endeavours  to  carry  the  law 
into  execution,  as  in  suppressing  riots,  apprehend- 
ing malefactors,  preventing  escapes,  &c. 

1  do  not  know  that  the  law  holds  forth  its  au- 
thority to  any  cases  besides  those  which  fall  within 
one  or  other  of  the  above  descriptions ;  or,  that, 
after  the  exception  of  immediate  danger  to  life  or 
chastity,  the  destruction  of  a  human  being  can  be 
innocent  without  an  authority. 

The  rights  of  war  are  not  here  taken  into  the 
account. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Drunkenness. 

Drunkenness  is  either  actual  or  habitual ; 
just  as  it  is  one  thing  to  be  drunk,  and  another  to 
be  a  drunkard.  What  we  shall  deliver  upon  the 
subject  must  principally  be  understood  of  a  habit 
of  intemperance  ;  although  part  of  the  guilt  and 
danger  described,  may  be  applicable  to  casual  ex- 
cesses ;  and  all  of  it  in  a  certain  degree,  forasmuch 
as  every  habit  is  only  a  repetition  of  single  in- 
stances. 

The  mischief  of  drunkenness,  from  which  we 
are  to  compute  the  guilt  of  it,  consists  in  following 
the  bad  effects : 

1.  It  betrays  most  constitutions  either  to  extra- 
vagances of  anger,  or  sins  of  lewdness. 

2.  It  disqualifies  men  for  the  duties  of  their 
station,  both  by  the  temporary  disorder  of  their 
faculties,  and  at  length  by  a  constant  incapacity 
and  stupefaction. 

3.  It  is  attended  with  expenses,  which  can  often 
be  ill  spared. 

4.  It  is  sure  to  occasion  uneasiness  to  the  family 
of  the  drunkard. 

5.  It  shortens  life. 

To  these  consequences  of  drunkenness  must 
be  added  the  peculiar  danger  and  mischief  of  the 
example.  Drunkenness  is  a  social  festive  vice; 
apt,  beyond  any  vice  that  can  be  mentioned, 
to  draw  in  others  by  the  example.  The  drinker 
collects  his  circle ;  the  circle  naturally  spreads  ;  of 
those  who  are  drawn  within  it,  many  become  the 
corrupters  and  centres  of  sets  and  circles  of  their 
own  ;  every  one  countenancing,  and  perhaps  emu- 
lating the  rest,  till  a  whole  neighbourhood  be  in- 
fected from  the  contagion  of  a  single  example. 
I'his  account  is  confirmed  by  what  we  often  ob- 
serve of  drunkenness,  that  it  is  a.local  vice  ;  found 
to  prevail  in  certain  countries,  in  certain  districts 
of  a  country,  or  in  particular  towns,  without  any 
reason  to  be  given  for  the  fashion,  but  that  it  had 
been  introduced  by  some  popular  examples.  With 
tliis  observation  upon  the  spreading  quality  of 
drunkenness,  let  us  connect  a  remark  which  be- 
longs to  the  several  evil  effects  above  recited.  The 
consequences  of  a  vice,  like  the  symptoms  of  a  dis- 
ease, though  they  be  aU  enumerated  in  the  de- 
scription, seldom  all  meet  in  the  same  subject. 
In  the  instance  under  consideration,  the  age  and 
temperature  of  one  drunkard  may  have  little  to 
fear  from  inflammations  of  lust  or  anger ;  the  for- 
tune of  a  second  may  not  be  injured  by  the  ex- 
pense ;  a  tliird  may  have  no  family  to  be  disquieted 


by  his  irregularities ;  and  a  fourth  may  possess 
a  constitution  fortified  against  the  poison  of 
strong  liquors.  But  if,  as  we  always  ought  to  do, 
we  comprehend  within  the  consequences  of  our 
conduct  the  mischief  and  tendency  of  the  exam- 
ple, the  above  circumstances,  however  fortunate 
for  the  individual,  will  be  found  to  vary  the  guilt 
of  his  intemperance  less,  probably,  than  he  sup- 
poses. The  moralist  may  expostulate  with  him 
thus  :  Although  the  waste  of  time  and  of  money 
be  of  small  importance  to  you,  it  may  be  of  the 
utmost  to  some  one  or  other  whom  your  society 
corrupts.  Repeated  or  long-continued  excesses, 
which  hurt  not  your  health,  may  be  fatal  to  your 
companion.  Although  you  have  neither  wife  or 
child,  nor  parent,  to  lament  your  absence  from 
home,  or  expect  your  return  to  it  with  terror :  other 
families,  in  which  husbands  and  fathers  have  been 
invited  to  share  in  your  ebriety,  or  encouraged  to 
imitate  it,  may  justly  lay  their  misery  or  ruin  at 
your  door.  This  will  hold  good  whether  the  per- 
son seduced  be  seduced  immediately  by  you,  or 
the  vice  be  propagated  from  you  to  bun  through 
several  intermediate  examples.  All  these  consid- 
erations it  is  necessary  to  assemble,  to  judge  truly 
of  a  vice  which  usually  meets  with  milder  names 
and  more  indulgence  than  it  deserves. 

I  omit  those  outrages  upon  one  another,  and 
upon  the  peace  and  safety  of  the  neighbourhood, 
in  which  drunken  revels  often  end ;  and  also  those 
deleterious  and  maniacal  eflects  which  strong  li- 
quors produce  upon  particular  constitutions :  be- 
cause, in  general  propositions  concerning  drunk- 
enness, no  consequences  should  be  included,  but 
what  are  constant  enough  to  be  generally  ex- 
pected. 

Drunkenness  is  repeatedly  forbidden  by  St. 
Paul:  "  Be  not  drunk  with  wine,  wherein  is  ex 
cess."  "  Let  us  walk  honestly  as  in  the  day,  not 
in  rioting  and  drunkenness."  "  Be  not  deceived; 
neither  tbrnicators,  nor  drunkards,  nor  revilers, 
nor  extortioners,  shall  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God." 
Ephes.  V.  18;  Romans  xiii.  13;  1  Cor.  vi.  9,  10. 
The  same  apostle  likewise  condemns  drunkenness, 
as  peculiarly  inconsistent  with  the  Christian  pro- 
fession : — "  I'hey  that  be  drunken,  are  drunken 
in  the  night :  but  let  us,  who  are  of  the  day,  be 
sober."  1  Thess.  v.  7,  8.  We  are  not  concerned 
with  the  argument:  the  words  amount  to  a  pro- 
hibition of  drunkenness,  and  the  authority  is  con- 
clusive. 

It  is  a  question  of  some  importance,  how  far 
drunkenness  is  an  excuse  for  the  crimes  which  the 
drunken  person  commits. 

In  the  solution  of  this  question,  we  will  first 
suppose  the  drunken  person  to  be  altogether  de- 
prived of  moral  agency,  that  is  to  say,  of  all  re- 
flection and  foresight.  In  this  condition,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  he  is  no  more  capable  of  guilt  than  a 
madman  ;  although,  like  him,  he  may  be  extreme- 
ly mischievous.  The  only  guilt  with  which  he  is 
charueable,  was  incurred  at  the  time  when  he  vo- 
luntarily brought  himself  into  this  situation.  And 
as  every  man  is  responsible  for  the  consequences 
which  he  foresaw,  or  might  have  foreseen,  and  for 
no  other,  this  guilt  vrill  be  in  proportion  to  the 
probability  of  such  consequences  ensuing.  _  From 
which  principle  results  the  following  rule,  viz.  that 
the  guilt  of  any  action  in  a  drunken  man,  bears 
the  same  proportion  to  the  guilt  of  the  like  action 
in  a  sober  man,  that  the  probability  of  its  being 
the  consequence  of  drunkenness,  bears  to  absolute 


92 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


certainty.  By  virtue  of  tliis  rule,  those  vices  which 
are  tlie  known  etiects  of  drunkenness,  either  in 
general  or  upon  particular  constitutions,  are  in  all,  or 
in  men  of  such  constitutions,  nearly  as  criminal 
as  if  committed  with  all  their  faculties  and  senses 
about  tlicm. 

If  tiie  privation  of  reason  be  only  partial,  the 
guilt  will  be  of  a  mixed  nature.  For  so  much  of 
his  self  government  as  the  drunkard  retains,  he  is 
as  responsible  then  as  at  any  other  time.  He  is 
entitled  to  no  abatement  beyond  the  strict  propor- 
tion in  which  his  moral  faculties  are  impaired. 
Now  I  call  the  guilt  of  the  crime,  if  a  sober  man 
had  committed  it,  the  whole  guilt.  A  person  in 
the  condition  we  des-ribe,  incurs  part  of  this  at 
the  instant  of  perpetration  ;  and  by  bringing  him- 
self into  such  a  condition,  he  incurred  that  fraction 
of  the  remaining  part,  which  the  danger  of  this 
consequence  was  of  an  integral  certainty.  For 
the  sake  of  illustration,  we  are  at  liberty  to  sup- 
pose, that  a  man  loses  half  his  moral  faculties  by 
drunkenness  ;  this  leaving  him  but  half  his  re- 
sponsibility, he  incurs,  when  he  commits  the  action, 
half  of  the  whole  guilt.  We  will  also  suppose 
that  it  was  known  beforehand,  that  it  was  an  even 
chance,  or  half  a  certainty,  that  this  crime  would 
follow  his  getting  drunk.  This  makes  him  charge- 
able with  half  of  the  remainder;  so  that  alto- 
gether, he  is  responsible  in  three-fourths  of  the 
guilt  which  a  sober  man  would  have  incurred  by 
the  same  action. 

I  do  not  mean  that  any  real  case  can  be  reduced 
to  numbers,  or  the  calculation  be  ever  made  with 
arithmetical  precision  ;  but  these  are  the  princi- 
ples, and  this  the  rule  by  which  our  general  ad- 
measurement of  the  guilt  of  such  oflences  should 
be  regulated. 

The  appetite  for  intoxicating  liquors  appears  to 
me  to  be  almost  always  acquired.  One  proof  of 
which  is,  that  it  is  apt  to  return  only  at  particular 
times  and  places :  as  after  dinner,  in  the  evening, 
on  the  market-day,  at  the  market-town,  in  such  a 
company,  at  such  a  tavern.  And  this  may  be  the 
reason  that,  if  a  habit  of  drunkenness  be  ever  over- 
come, it  is  upon  some  change  of  place,  situation, 
company,  or  profession.  A  man  sunk  deep  in  a 
habit  of  drunkenness  will,  upon  such  occasions 
as  these,  when  he  finds  himself  loosened  from  the 
associations  which  held  him  fast,  sometimes  make  a 
plunge,  and  get  out.  In  a  matter  of  so  great  im- 
portance, it  is  well  worth  while,  where  it  is  in  any 
degree  practicable,  to  change  our  habitation  and 
society,  for  the  sake  of  the  experiment. 

Habits  of  drunkenness  commonly  take  their  rise 
either  from  a  fondness  for,  and  connexion  with, 
some  company,  or  some  companion,  already  ad- 
dicted to  this  practice ;  which  affords  an  almost 
irresistible  invitation  to  take  a  share  in  the  indul- 
gences which  those  about  us  are  enjoying  with  so 
much  apparent  relish  and  delight ;  or  from  want 
of  regular  employment,  which  is  sure  to  let  in 
ninny  superfluous  cravings  and  customs,  and  often 
this  among  the  rest ;  or,  lastly,  from  grief,  or  fa- 
tigue, both  which  strongly  solicit  that  relief  which 
inebriating  liquors  administer,  and  also  furnish  a 
spe:-ious  excuse  foi  complying  with  the  incli- 
nation. But  the  habit,  when  once  set  in,  is  con- 
tinued by  different  motives  from  those  to  which 
it  owes  its  origin.  Persons  addicted  to  excessive 
drinking,  s\ifler  in  the  intervals  of  sobriety,  and 
near  the  return  of  their  ac -ustomed  indulgence,  a 
faititness  and  oppression  circa  prcBcordia,  which 


it  exceeds  the  ordinary  patience  of  human  nature 
to  endure.  This  is  usually  relieved  for  a  short 
time,  by  a  repetition  of  the  same  excess  ;  and  to 
this  relief,  as  to  the  removal  of  every  long  contin- 
ued pain,  they  who  have  once  experienced  it,  are 
urged  almost  beyond  the  power  of  resistance. 
This  is  not  all:  as  the  liquor  loses  its  stimulus, 
the  dose  must  be  increased,  to  reach  the  same 
pitch  of  elevation  or  ease ;  which  increase  pro})or- 
tionably  accelerates  the  progress  of  all  the  iiiala- 
dies  that  drunkenness  brings  on.  Whoever  re- 
flects upon  the  violence  of  the  craving  in  the 
advanced  stages  of  the  habit,  and  the  fatal  termi- 
nation to  which  the  gratification  of  it  leads,  will, 
the  moment  he  perceives  in  himself  the  first 
symptoms  of  a  growing  inclination  to  intcm- 
fierance,  collect  his  resolution  to  this  point ;  or 
(what  perhaps,  he  will  find  his  best  security,) 
arm  himself  with  some  peremptory  rule,  as  to  the 
times  and  quantity  of  his  indulgences.  I  own 
myself  a  friend  to  the  laying  down  of  rules  to 
ourselves  of  this  sort,  and  rigidly  abiding  by  them. 
They  may  be  exclaimed  against  as  stiff,  but  they 
are  often  salutary.  Indefinite  resolutions  of  ab- 
stemiousness are  apt  to  yield  to  extraordinary 
occasions;  and  e:r;l?-aorc/i/!a7-2/ occasions  to  occur 
perpetually.  Whereas,  the  stricter  the  rule  is, 
the  more  tenacious  we  grow  of  it ;  and  many  a 
man  will  abstain  rather  than  break  his  rule,  who 
would  not  easily  be  brought  to  exercise  the  ssme 
mortification  from  higher  motives.  Not  to  men- 
tion, that  when  our  rule  is  once  known,  we  are 
providi^d  with  an  answer  to  every  importunity. 

There  is  a  difference,  no  doubt,  between  con- 
nvial  intemperance,  and  that  sohtary  sottishness 
which  waits  neither  for  company  nor  invitation. 
But  the  one,  I  am  afraid,  commonly  ends  in  the 
other :  and  this  last,  in  the  basest  degradation 
to  which  the  faculties  and  dignity  of  human  na- 
ture can  be  reduced. 


CPIAPTER  III. 
Suicide. 

Therk  is  no  subject  in  morality  in  which  the 
consideration  of  general  consequences  is  more 
necessary  than  in  this  of  Suicide.  Particular  and 
extreme  cases  of  suicide  may  be  imagined,  and 
may  arise,  of  which  it  would  be  difficult  to 
assign  the  particular  mischief,  or  from  that  con- 
sideration alone  to  demonstrate  the  guilt;  and 
these  cases  have  been  the  chief  occasion  of  con- 
fusion and  doubtfulness  in  the  question:  albeit, 
this  is  no  more  than  what  is  sometimes  true  of 
the  most  acknowleilged  vices.  I  could  propose 
many  possible  cases  even  of  murder,  which,  if 
they  were  detached  from  the  general  rule,  and 
governed  by  their  own  particular  consequences 
alone,  it  would  be  no  easy  undertaking  to  prove 
criminal. 

The  true  question  in  this  argument  is  no  other 
than  this :  May  every  man  who  chooses  to  de- 
stroy his  life,  innocently  do  sol  Limit  and  dis- 
tinguish the  subject  as  you  can,  it  wiU  come  at 
last  to  this  question. 

For,  shall  we  say,  that  we  are  then  at  liberty 
to  commit  suicide  when  we  find  our  continuance 
in  life  become  useless  to  mankind'?  Any  one  who 
pleases,  may  make  himself  useless ;  and  melan- 
choly minds   are  prone  to  think  themselves  use- 


SUICIDE. 


93 


less,  when  they  really  are  not  so.  Supposing  a 
Jaw  were  promulg;;tod,  allowing  each  private  per- 
son to  destroy  every  man  he  met,  whose  longer 
continuance  in  the  world  he  judged  to  be  uneles-s  ; 
who  would  not  condemn  the  latitude  of  such  a 
rule  ]  who  does  not  perceive  that  it  amounts  to  a 
permission  to  commit  murder  at  pleasure  ]  A 
similar  rule,  regulating  the  right  over  our  own 
lives,  would  be  capalrle  of  the  same  extension. 
Beside  which,  no  one  is  useless  for  the  purpose  of 
this  plea,  but  he  who  has  lost  every  capacity  and 
Oj)[)ortunity  of  being  useful,  together  with  the  pos- 
siijiiity  of  recovering  any  degree  of  either;  which 
is  a  state  of  such  complete  destitution  and  despair, 
as  cannot,  I  believe,  be  predicated  of  any  man 
living. 

( 'r  rather,  shall  we  say  that  to  depart  volunta- 
rily out  of  life,  is  lawful  tor  those  alone  who  leave 
none  to  lament  their  death  1  If  this  consideration 
is  to  be  taken  into  the  account  at  all,  the  subject 
of  debate  will  be,  not  whether  there  are  any  to 
sorrow  for  us,  but  whether  their  sorrow  for  our 
death  will  exceed  that  which  we  should  suffer  by 
continuing  to  live.  Now  this  is  a  comparison  of 
things  so  indeterminate  in  their  nature,  capable 
of  .so  diiit?rent  a  judgment,  and  concerning  which 
the  judgment  will  dirler  so  much  according  to  the 
state  of  the  spirits,  or  the  pressure  of  any  present 
anxiety,  that  it  would  vary  little,  in  hypochon- 
driacal constitutions,  from  an  unqualified  license 
to  commit  suicide,  whenever  the  distresses  which 
men  felt,  or  fancied,  rose  high  enough  to  over- 
come the  pain  and  dread  of  death.  Men  are 
never  tempted  to  destroy  themselves  but  when 
under  the  oppression  of  some  grievous  uneasi- 
ness :  the  restrictions  of  the  rule  therefore  ought 
to  apply  to  these  cases.  But  what  effect  can  we 
look  lor  from  a  rule  which  proposes  to  weigh  our 
pain  against  that  of  another;  the  misery  that  is 
i(  It,  against  ihat  wliich  is  only  conceived  ;  and  in 
so  corrupt  a  bal'mce  as  the  party's  own  distempered 
imagination  1 

in  like  manner,  whatever  other  rule  you  assign, 
it  will  ultimately  bring  us  to  an  indiscriminate 
toleration  ot  suicide,  in  all  cases  in  which  there  is 
danger  of  its  being  conmitted.  It  remains,  there- 
fore, to  inquire  what  would  be  the  effect  of  such 
a  toleration :  evidently,  the  loss  of  many  lives  to 
the  community,  of  which  some  might  be  useful  or 
important;  the  affliction  of  many  families,  and 
the  consternation  of  all :  for  mankind  must  live 
in  continual  alarm  for  the  fate  of  their  friends  and 
dearest  relations,  when  the  restraints  of  religion 
and  morality  are  withdrawn ;  when  every  disgust 
which  is  powerlul  enough  to  tempt  men  to  suicide, 
shall  be  deemed  sufficient  to  justify  it ;  and  when 
tlie  follies  and  vices,  as  well  as  the  inevitable  ca- 
lamities, of  human  lite,  so  often  make  existence  a 
burthen. 

A  second  consideration,  and  perfectly  distinct 
from  the  former,  is  this :  by  continuing  in  the 
world,  and  in  the  exercise  of  those  virtues  which 
remain  within  our  power,  we  retain  the  oppor- 
tunity of  meliorating  our  condition  in  a  future 
state.  This  argument,  it  is  true,  does  not  in  strict- 
ness prove  suicide  to  be  a  crime ;  but  if  it  supply 
a  motive  to  dissuade  us  from  committing  it,  it 
amounts  to  much  the  same  thing.  Now  there  is 
no  condition  in  human  life  which  is  not  capable 
of  some  virtue,  active  or  passive.  Even  piety  and 
re;  ignation  under  the  sufferings  to  which  we  are 
called,  testify  a  trust  and  acquiescence  in  the  Di- 


vine counsels,  more  acceptable  perhaps,  than  the 
most  prostrate  devotion;  atlord  an  edifying  ex- 
ample to  all  who  observe  them ;  and  may  hope  tor 
a  recompense  among  the  most  arduous  of  human 
virtues.  These  qualities  are  always  in  the  power 
of  the  miserable ;  indeed  of  none  but  the  niiseralile. 

The  two  considerations  above  stated,  belong 
to  all  cases  of  suicide  whatever.  Beside  which 
general  reasons,  each  case  will  be  aggravated  by 
its  own  proper  and  particular  consequences ;  by 
the  duties  that  are  deserted  ;  by  the  claims  that 
are  defrauded  ;  by  the  loss,  affliction,  or  disgrace, 
which  our  death,  or  the  manner  of  it,  causes  our 
family,  kindred,  or  friends ;  by  the  occasion  we 
give  to  many  to  suspect  the  sincerity  of  our  moral 
and  religious  professions,  and,  together  with  ours, 
those  of  all  others ;  by  the  reproach  we  draw  upon 
our  order,  calling,  or  sect ;  in  a  word,  by  a  great 
variety  of  evil  consequences  attending  upon  pe- 
culiar situations,  with  some  or  other  of  wiiich  every 
actual  case  of  suicide  is  chargeable. 

I  refrain  from  the  common  topics  of  "  deserting 
our  post."  "throwing  up  our  trust,"  "rushing 
uncalled  into  the  presence  of  our  Maker,"  with 
some  others  of  the  same  sort,  not  because  they  are 
common,  (lor  that  rather  affords  a  presumption 
in  their  favour,)  but  because  I  do  not  perceive  in 
them  much  argument  to  which  an  answer  may 
not  easily  be  given. 

Hitherto  we  have  pursued  upon  the  subject  the 
light  of  nature  alone ;  taking  however  into  the 
account,  the  expectation  of  a  future  existence, 
without  which  our  reasoning  upon  this,  as  indeed 
all  reasoning  upon  moral  questions,  is  vain:  we 
proceed  to  inquire,  whether  any  thing  is  to  be  met 
with  in  Scripture,  which  may  add  to  the  proba- 
bility of  the  conclusions  we  have  been  endeavour- 
ing to  support.  And  here  I  acknowledge,  that 
there  is  to  be  found  neither  any  express  determi- 
nation of  the  question,  nor  sufficient  evidence  to 
prove  that  the  case  of  suicide  was  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  law  which  prohibited  murder.  Any 
inference,  therefore,  wliich  we  deduce  from  Scrip- 
ture, can  be  sustained  only  by  construction  and 
implication :  that  is  to  say,  although  they  who 
were  authorised  to  instruct  mankind,  have  not 
decided  a  question  which  never,  so  far  as  appears 
to  us,  came  before  them ;  yet  I  think,  they  have 
left  enough  to  constitute  a  presumption  how  they 
would  have  decided  it,  had  it  been  proposed  or 
thought  of. 

What  occurs  to  this  purpose,  is  contained  in 
the  following  observations : 

1.  Human  life  is  spoken  of  as  a  term  assigned 
or  prescribed  to  us:  "Let  us  run  with  patience 
the  race  that  is  set  before  us." — "  I  have  finished 
my  course." — "  That  I  may  finish  my  course  with 
joy." — "  Ye  have  need  of  patience,  that,  after  ye 
have  done  the  will  of  God,  ye  might  receive  the 
promise." — These  expressions  appear  to  me  in- 
consistent with  the  opinion,  that  we  are  at  liberty 
to  determine  the  duration  of  our  lives  for  ourselves. 
If  this  were  the  case,  with  what  propriety  could 
life  be  called  a  race  that  vs  set  before  us;  or, 
wliich  is  the  same  thing,  "  orir  course ;"  that  is, 
the  course  set  out  or  appointed  to  usl  The  re- 
maining quotation  is  equally  strong ; — "  That  af- 
ter ye  have  done  the  will  of  "God,  ye  might  receive 
the  promise."  The  most  natural  meaning  that 
can  be  gi\'en  to  the  words,  "  after  ye  have  done 
the  will  of  God,"  is,  after  ye  have  discharged  the 
duties  of  life  so  long  as  God  is  pleased  to  continue 


94 


MORAL  AND  POLIT[CAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


you  in  it.  According  to  which  interpretation,  the 
text  militates  strongly  against  suicide:  and  they 
who  reject  this  paraphrase,  will  please  to  propose 
a  lietter. 

2.  There  is  not  one  quality  which  Clirist  and 
his  apostles  inculcate  upon  their  tbllowersso  often, 
or  so  earnestly,  as  that  of  patience  under  affliction. 
Now  this  virtue  would  have  heen  in  a  great  mea- 
sure superseded,  and  the  exhortations  to  it  might 
have  heen  spared,  if  the  disciples  of  his  religion 
had  heen  at  liberty  to  quit  the  world  as  soon  as 
they  grew  weary  of  the  ill  usage  which  they  re- 
ceived in  it. — When  the  evils  of  life  pressed  sore, 
they  were  to  look  forward  to  a  "  far  more  exceed- 
ing and  eternal  weight  of  glory  ;"  they  were  to 
receive  them,  "  as  cTiastenings  of  the  Lord,"  as 
intimations  of  his  care  and  love  :  by  these  and  the 
like  rejections  they  were  to  support  and  improve 
themselves  under  their  sufferings ;  but  not  a  hint 
has  any  where  escaped  of  seeking  relief  in  a  volun- 
tary death.  The  following  text  in  particular 
strongly  combats  all  imj)atience  of  distress,  of 
which  the  greatest  is  that  which  prompts  to  acts 
of  suicide: — "  Consider  Him  that  endured  such 
contradiction  of  sinners  against  himself,  lest  ye  be 
wearied  and  faint  in  your  minds."  I  would  offer 
my  comment  upon  this  passage,  in  these  two 
queries:  first.  Whether  a  Christian  convert,  who 
had  been  impelled  by  the  continuance  and  urgency 
of  his  sutlerings  to  destroy  his  own  life,  would  not 
have  been  thought  by  the  author  of  this  text  "  to 
have  been  weary,"  to  have  "  fainted  in  his  mind," 
to  have  fallen  off  from  that  example  which  is  here 
proposed  to  tlie  meditation  of  (Christians  in  dis- 
tress 1  And  yet,  secondly.  Whether  such  an  act 
would  not  have  been  attended  with  all  the  circum- 
stances of  mitigation  which  can  excuse  or  extenu- 
ate suicide  at  this  day  1 

3.  The  conduct  of  the  apostles,  and  of  the 
Christains  of  the  apostolic  age,  affords  no  obscure 
indication  of  their  sentiments  upon  this  point. 
They  lived,  we  are  sure,  in  a  confirmed  persuasion 
of  the  existence,  as  well  as  of  the  happiness,  of  a 
future  state.  They  experienced  in  this  world  every 
extremity  of  external  injury  and  distress.  To  die, 
was  gain.  The  change  which  death  brought 
with  it  was,  in  their  expectation,  infinitely  bene- 
ficial. Yet  it  never,  that  we  can  find,  entered  into 
the  intention  of  one  of  them  to  hasten  this  change 
by  an  act  of  suicide ;  from  which  it  is  difficult  to 
say  what  motive  could  have  so  universally  with- 
held them,  except  an  apprehension  of  some  un- 
lawfulness in  the  expedient. 

Having  stated  what  we  have  been  able  to  collect 
in  op-position  to  the  lawfulness  of  suicide,  by  way  of 
direct  jiroof,  it  seems  unnecessary  to  open  a  sepa- 
rate controversy  with  all  the  arguments  which 
are  made  use  of  to  defend  it ;  which  would  only 
lead  us  into  a  repetition  of  what  has  been  offered 
already.  The  following  argument,  however,  being 
somewhat  more  artificial  and  imposing  than  the 
rest,  as  well  as  distinct  from  the  general  consider- 
ation of  the  subject,  cannot  so  properly  be  passed 
over.  If  we  deny  to  the  individual  a  right  over 
his  own  life,  it  seems  impossible,  it  is  said,  to  re- 
concile with  the  law  of  nature  that  right  which  the 
state  claims  and  exercises  over  the  lives  of  its  sub- 
jects, when  it  ordains  or  inflicts  capital  punish- 
ments. For  this  right,  like  all  other  just  authority 
in  the  state,  can  only  be  deriveil  from  the  comj)act 
and  virtual  consent  of  the  citizens  which  compose 
♦*^  state ;  and  it  seems  self-evident,  if  any  prin- 


ciple in  morality  be  so,  that  no  one,  by  his  consent, 
can  transfer  to  another  a  right  which  he  does  not 
possess  himself  It  will  be  equally  difficult  to  ac- 
count lor  the  power  of  the  state  to  commit  its 
subjects  to  the  dangers  of  war,  and  toexpo.se  their 
lives  without  scruple  in  the  field  of  battle  ;  espe- 
cially in  oflcnsive  hostilities,  in  which  the  privi- 
leges of  self-defence  cannot  be  pleaded  with  any 
ajjpearance  ol  truth  :  and  still  more  difficult  to  ex- 
plain, how  in  such,  or  in  any  circumstances,  pro- 
digality of  life  can  be  a  virtue,  if  the  preservation 
of  it  be  a  duty  of  our  nature. 

I'his  whole  reasoning  sets  out  from  one  error, 
namely,  that  the  state  acquires  its  right  over  the 
life  of  the  subject  from  the  subject's  own  consent, 
as  a  part  of  wb.;it  originally  and  personally  belong- 
ed to  himself,  and  which  he  has  made  over  to  his 
governors.  The  truth  is,  the  state  derives  this 
right  neither  from  the  consent  of  the  subject,  nor 
through  the  medium  of  that  consent ;  but,  as  I 
may  say,  immediately  from  the  donation  of  the 
Deity.  Finding  that  such  a  power  in  the  sove- 
reign of  the  community  is  expedient,  if  not  ne 
cessary,  for  the  community  itself,  it  is  justly  pre- 
sumed to  be  the  v/ill  of  God,  that  the  sovereign 
should  possess  and  exercise  it.  It  is  this  presump- 
tion which  constitutes  the  right ;  it  is  the  same 
indeed  which  constitutes  every  other:  and  if  there 
were  the  like  reasons  to  authorise  the  presumjition 
in  the  case  of  private  persons,  suicide  would  be  as 
justifiable  as  war,  or  capital  executions.  But  un- 
til it  can  be  shown  that  the  power  over  human 
life  may  be  converted  to  the  same  advantage  in 
the  hands  of  individuals  over  their  own,  as  in 
those  of  the  state  over  the  lives  of  its  subjects, 
and  that  it  may  be  entrusted  with  equal  safety  to 
both,  there  is  no  room  for  arguing,  from  the  exist- 
ence of  such  a  right  in  the  latter,  to  the  toleration 
of  it  in  the  former. 


BOOK  V. 

DUTIES  TOWARDS  GOD. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Division  of  these  Duties. 

In  one  sense,  every  duty  is  a  duty  towards  God, 
since  it  is  his  will  which  makes  it  a  duty :  but 
there  are  some  duties  of  which  God  is  the  objii  t_ 
as  well  as  the  author;  and  these  are  peculiaiiv, 
and  in  a  more  appropriated  sense,  called  duties 
towards  God. 

That  silent  piety,  which  consists  in  a  habit  of 
tracing  out  the  Creator  s  wisdom  and  goodness  in 
the  objects  around  us,  or  in  the  history  of  liis 
dispensations  ;  of  referring  the  blessings  we  enjoy 
to  his  bounty,  and  of  resorting  in  our  distresses  to 
his  succour ;  may  possibly  be  more  acceptable  to 
the  Deity  than  any  visible  expressions  of  devotion 
whatever.  Yet  these  latter,  (which,  although  they 
may  be  excelled,  arc  not  superseded,  by  the  for- 
mer,) compose  the  only  part  of  the  subject  which 
admits  of  direction  or  disquisition  from  a  moralist. 

Our  duty  towards  God,  so  far  as  it  is  external, 
is  dixided  into  worship  and  reverence.  God  is 
the  inmiediate  object  of  both ;  and  the  difltrence 


DUTY  AND  EFFICACY  OF  PRAYER. 


95 


between  them  is,  that  the  one  consists  in  action, 
the  other  in  forbearance.  When  we  go  to  church 
on  the  Lord's  day,  led  thither  by  a  sense  of  duty 
towards  God,  we  perforin  an  act  of  worship : 
when,  from  the  same  motive,  we  rest  in  a  journey 
upon  that  day,  we  discharge  a  duty  of  reverence. 
Divine  worship  is  made  up  of  adoration,  thanks- 
giving, and  prayer. — But,  as  wliat  we  have  to 
offer  concerning  the  two  former  may  be  observed 
of  prayer,  we  shall  make  that  the  title  of  the  fol- 
lowing chapters,  and  the  direct  subject  of  our 
consideration. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Of  the  Duty  and  of  the  Efjicacy  of  Prayer,  so  far 
an  the  same  appear  from  the  Light  of  Nature. 

WiiKN"  one  man  desires  to  obtain  any  thing  of 
another,  lie  betakes  himself  to  entreaty ;  and  this 
may  be  observed  of  mankind  in  all  ages  and  coun- 
tries of  the  world.  Now,  what  is  universal,  may 
be  called  natural ;  and  it  seems  probable  that  God, 
as  our  supreme  governor,  should  expect  that  to- 
wanls  himself,  which,  by  a  natural  impulse,  or  by 
the  irresistible  order  of  our  constitution,  he  has 
prompted  us  to  pay  to  every  other  being  on  whom 
we  dej5end. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  thanksgiving. 

Prayer  likewise  is  necessary  to  keep  up  in  the 
minds  of  mankind  a  sense  of  God's  agency  in  the 
universe,  and  of  their  own  dependency  upon  him. 

Yet,  after  ail,  the  duty  of  prayer  depends  upon 
its  efficacy :  for  I  confess  njyself  unable  to  con- 
ceive, how  any  man  can  pray,  or  be  obliged  to 
pray,  who  expects  nothing  from  his  prayers  ;  but 
who  is  persuaded,  at  the  time  he  utters  his  request, 
that  it  cannot  possibly  produce  the  smallest  im- 
pression upon  the  being  to  whom  it  is  addressed, 
or  advantage  to  himself  Now,  the  efficacy  of^ 
prayer  imports,  that  we  obtain  something  in  con- 
sequence of  praying,  which  we  should  not  have 
recei\'ed  without  prayer ;  against  all  expectation 
of  which,  the  following  objection  has  been  often 
and  seriously  alleged  :  "  If  it  be  most  agreeable  to 
perfect  wisdom  and  justice  that  we  should  rtceive 
wliat  we  desire,  God,  as  perfectly  wise  and  just, 
will  give  it  to  us  without  asking ;  if  it  be  not 
agreeable  to  these  attributes  of  his  nature,  our  en- 
treaties cannot  move  him  to  give  it  us,  and  it  were 
impious  to  expect  that  they  should."  In  fewer 
words,  thus :  "  If  what  we  request  be  lit  for  us,  we 
shall  have  it  without  praying;  if  it  be  not  lit  for  us, 
we  cannot  obtain  it  by  praying."  This  objection 
admits  but  of  one  answer,  namely,  that  it  may  be 
agreeable  to  perfect  wisdom  to  grant  that  to  our 
prayers,  which  it  would  not  have  been  agreeable 
to  the  same  wisdom  to  have  given  us  without 
praying  for.  But  what  virtue,  you  will  ask,  is 
thsre  in  prayer,  which  should  make  a  favour  con- 
sistent with  wisdom,  which  would  not  have  been 
so  without  it  ]  To  this  question,  which  contains 
the  whole  difficulty  attcndin<x  the  subject,  the  fol- 
lowing possibilities  are  offered  in  reply  : 

1.  A  fiivour  granted  to  prayerinay  be  more  apt, 
on  that  very  account,  to  produce  good  etTects  upon 
the  person  obliged.  It  may  hold  in  the  Divine 
oounty.  what  experience  has  raised  into  a  proverb 
in  the  collation  of  human  benelits,  that  what  is 
obtained  without  asking,  is  oftentimes  received 
without  gratitude. 


2.  It  may  be  consistent  with  the  wisdom  of  the 
Deity  to  withhold  his  favours  till  they  be  asked 
for,  as  an  expedient  to  encourage  devotion  in  his 
rational  creation,  in  order  thereby  to  keep  up  and 
circulate  a  knowledge  and  sense  of  their  depen- 
dency upon  him. 

3.  Prayer  has  a  natural  tendency  to  amend  the 
petitioner  himself;  and  thus  to  bring  him  within 
the  rules  which  the  wisdom  of  the  Deity  has  pre- 
scribed to  the  dispensation  of  his  favours. 

If  these,  or  any  other  assignable  suppositions, 
serve  to  remove  the  apparant  repugnancy  between 
the  success  of  prayer  and  the  character  of  the 
Deity,  it  is  enough  ;  for  the  question  with  the  pe- 
titioner is  not  from  which,  out  of  many  motives, 
God  may  grant  his  petition,  or  in  what  particular 
manner  he  is  moved  by  the  supplications  of  his 
creatures  ;  but  whether  it  be  consistent  with  his 
nature  to  be  moved  at  all,  and  whether  there  be 
any  conceivable  motives  wliich  may  dispose  the 
Divine  Will  to  grant  the  petitioner  what  he  wants, 
in  consequence  of  his  praying  for  it.  It  is  suffi- 
cient for  the  petitioner,  that  he  gain  his  end.  It 
is  not  necessary  to  devotion,  perhaps  not  very 
consistent  with  it,  that  the  circuit  of  causes,  by 
which  his  prayers  prevail,  should  be  known  to  the 
petitioner,  much  less  that  they  should  be  present 
to  his  hnagination  at  the  time.  All  that  is  neces- 
sary is,  that  there  be  no  uiipossibility  apprehended 
in  the  matter. 

Thus  much  must  be  conceded  to  the  objection : 
that  prayer  cannot  reasonably  be  offered  to  God 
with  all  the  same  views,  with  which  we  often- 
times address  our  entreaties  to  men  (views  which 
are  not  commonly  or  easily  separated  from  it.) 
viz.  to  inform  them  of  our  wants  and  desires ;  to 
tease  them  out  by  importunity;  to  work  upon 
their  indolence  or  compassion,  in  order  to  per- 
suade them  to  do  what  they  ought  to  have  done 
before,  or  ought  not  to  do  at  all. 

But  supjiose  there  existed  a  prince,  who  was 
known  by  his  subjects  to  act,  of  his  own  accord, 
always  and  invariably  for  the  best ;  the  situation 
of  a  petitioner,  who  solicited  a  favour  or  pardon 
from  such  a  prince,  would  sufficiently  resemble 
ours:  and  the  question  with  him,  as  with  us, 
would  be,  whether,  the  character  of  the  prince 
being  considered,  there  remained  any  chance  that 
he  should  obtain  from  him  by  prayer,  what  he 
would  not  have  received  without  it.  I  do  not  con- 
ceive that  the  character  of  such  a  prince  would 
necessarily  exclude  the  effect  of  his  subject's 
prayers ;  for  when  that  prince  reflected  that  the 
earnestness  and  humility  of  the  supplication  had 
generated  in  the  suppliant  a  frame  of  mind,  upon 
which  the  pardon  or  favour  asked  would  produce 
a  permanent  and  active  sense  of  gratitude ;  that 
the  granting  of  it  to  prayer  would  put  others  upon 
jiraying  to  him,  and  by  that  means  preserve  the 
the  love  and  submission  of  his  subjects,  u\ton 
which  love  and  submission  their  own  happiness, 
as  well  as  his  glory,  deytended ;  that,  beside  that 
the  memory  of  the  particular  kindness  would  be 
heightened  and  prolonged  by  the  anxiety  with 
which  it  had  been  sued  for,  prayer  had  in  other 
respects  so  disposed  and  prepared  the  mind  of  the 
petitioner,  as  to  render  capable  of  future  services 
him  who  before  was  unqualified  for  any :  might 
not  that  prince,  I  say,  although  he  proceeded  upon 
no  other  considerations  than  the  strict  rectitude 
and  expediency  of  the  measure,  grant  a  favour  or 
pardon  to  this  man,  which  he  did  not  grant  to 


96 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


another,  wlio  was  too  proud,  too  lazy,  or  too  busy, 
too  inditibrent  whether  he  received  it  or  not,  or 
too  insensible  of  the  sovereign's  absolute  power  to 
give  or  to  witlihold  it,  ever  to  ask  for  it  1  or  even 
to  the  pkilonupher,  who,  from  an  opinion  of  the 
fruitlessuess  of  all  addresses  to  a  prince  of  the  cha- 
racter which  he  had  formed  to  himself,  refused  in 
his  ov/n  example,  and  discouraged  in  others,  all 
outward  returns  of  gratitude,  acknowledgment  of 
duty,  or  application  to  the  sovereign's  mercy  or 
bounty  ;  the  disuse  of  which,  (seeing  affections  do 
not  long  subsist  which  are  never  expressed)  was 
followed  by  a  decay  of  loyalty  and  zeal  amongst 
his  subjects,  and  threatened  to  end  in  a  forgetlul- 
ness  of  his  rights,  and  a  contempt  of  his  authority  1 
These,  together  with  other  assignable  considera- 
tions, and  some  perhaps  inscrutable,  and  even  in- 
conceivable, by  the  persons  upon  whom  his  will 
was  to  be  exercised,  might  pass  in  the  mind  of  the 
prince,  and  move  his  counsels ;  whilst  nothing,  in 
tiie  mean  time,  dwelt  in  the  petitioner's  thoughts, 
but  a  sense  of  his  own  grief  and  wants ;  of  the 
power  and  goodness  from  which  alone  he  was  to 
look  for  relief;  and  of  his  obligation  to  endeavour, 
by  future  obedience,  to  render  that  person  pro- 
pitious to  his  happiness,  in  whose  hands,  and  at 
the  disposal  of  whose  mercy,  he  found  himself 
to  be. 

The  objection  to  prayer  supposes,  that  a  per- 
fectly wise  being  must  necessarily  be  inexorable  : 
but  where  is  the  proof,  that  inexorability  is  any 
part  of  perfect  wisdom ;  especially  of  that  wisdom 
which  is  explained  to  consist  in  bringing  about 
the  most  beneficial  ends  by  the  wisest  means  1 

The  objection  likewise  assumes  another  prin- 
ciple, which  is  attended  with  considerable  difficulty 
and  obscurity,  namely,  that  upon  every  occasion 
there  is  o?ie,  and  only  one,  mode  of  acting_/br  the 
best ;  and  that  the  Divine  Will  is  necessarily  de- 
termined and  confined  to  that  mode :  both  which 
positions  presume  a  knowledge  of  universal  na- 
ture, much  beyond  what  we  are  capable  of  at- 
taining. Indeed,  when  we  apply  to  the  Divine 
Nature  such  expressions  as  these,  "  God  must 
always  do  what  is  right,"  "  God  cannot,  from  the 
moral  perfection  and  necessity  of  his  nature,  act 
otherwise  than  for  the  best,"  we  ought  to  apply 
them  with  much  indeterminateness  and  reserve  ; 
or  rather,  we  ought  to  confess,  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  subject  out  of  the  reach  of  our  appre- 
hension ;  for,  in  our  apprehension,  to  be  under  a 
necessity  of  acting  according  to  any  rule,  is  in- 
consistent with  free  agency;  and  it  makes  no 
dill'erence  which  we  can  understand,  whether  the 
necessity  be  internal  or  external,  or  that  the  rule 
is  the  rule  of  perfect  rectitude. 

But  efficacy  is  ascribed  to  prayer  without  the 
proof,  we  are  told,  which  can  alone  in  such  a  sub- 
ject produce  conviction, — the  confirmation  of  ex- 
perience. Concerning  the  appeal  to  experience, 
I  shall  content  myself  with  this  remark,  that  if 
prayer  were  suffered  to  disturb  the  order  of  second 
causes  appointed  in  the  universe,  too  much,  or  to 
produce  its  effects  with  the  same  regularity  that 
they  do,  it  would  introduce  a  change  info  human 
affairs,  which,  in  some  important  respects,  would 
be  evidently  for  the  worse.  Who,  for  example, 
would  labour,  if  his  necessities  could  be  supplied 
with  equal  certainty  by  prayer  1  How  few  would 
contain  within  any  bounds  of  moderation  those 
passions  and  pleasures,  which  at  present  are 
checked   only  by  disease,  or  the  dread  of  it,  if 


prayer  would  infallibly  restore  health  1  In  short, 
if  the  efficacy  ol'  prayer  were  so  constant  and  ob- 
servable as  to  be  relied  upon  beforehand,  it  is  easy 
to  foresee  that  the  conduct  of  mankind  would,  in 
proportion  to  that  reliance,  become  careless  and 
disorderly.  It  is  possible,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
that  our  prayers  may,  in  many  instances,  be  ef- 
ficacious, and  yet  our  experience  of  tlieir  efficacy 
be  dubious  and  ob.scure.  Therefore,  if  the  light  of 
nature  instruct  us  by  any  other  arguments  to  hope 
for  eficct  from  prayer ;  still  more,  if  the  Scriptures 
authorise  these  hopes  by  promises  of  acceptance; 
it  seems  not  a  sufficient  reason  for  calling  in  ques- 
tion the  reality  of  such  efl'ects,  that  our  observa- 
tions of  them  are  ambiguous ;  especially  since  it 
appears  probable,  that  this  very  ambiguity  is  ne- 
cessary to  the  happiness  and  safety  of  human  lile. 
But  some,  whose  objections  do  not  exclude  all 
prayer,  are  offended  with  the  mode  of  prayer  in 
use  amongst  us,  and  with  many  of  the  subjects 
which  are  almost  universally  introduced  mto  pub- 
lic worship,  and  recommended  to  private  devotion. 
To  pray  for  particular  favours  by  name,  is  to  dic- 
tate, it  has  been  said,  to  Divine  wisdom  and  good- 
ness :  to  intercede  ibr  others,  especially  lor  v^'hole 
nations  and  empires,  is  still  worse ;  it  is  to  presume 
that  we  possess  such  an  interest  with  the  Deity,  as 
to  be  able,  by  our  applications,  to  bend  the  most 
important  of  his  counsels ;  and  that  the  happiness 
of  others,  and  even  the  prosperity  of  communities, 
is  to  depend  upon  this  interest,  and  upon  our 
choice.  Now,  how  unequal  soever  our  knowledge 
of  the  Divine  economy  may  be  to  the  solution  of 
this  difficulty,  which  requires  perhaps  a  compre- 
hension of  the  entire  plan,  and  of  all  the  ends  of 
God's  moral  government,  to  explain  satisfactorily, 
we  can  understand  one  thing  concerning  it:  that 
!t  is,  after  all,  nothing  more  than  the  making  of 
one  man  the  instrument  of  happiness  and  misery 
to  another ;  which  is  perfectly  of  a  piece  with  the 
course  and  order  that  obtain,  and  which  we  must 
believe  were  intended  to  obtain,  in  human  affairs. 
Why  may  we  not  be  assisted  by  the  prayers  of 
other  men,  who  are  beholden  for  our  support  to 
their  labour  1  Why  may  not  our  happiness  be 
made  in  some  cases  to  depend  upon  the  interces- 
sion, as  it  certainly  does  in  many  upon  the  good 
offices,  of  our  neighbours?  The  happiness  and 
misery  of  great  numbers  we  see  oftentimes  at  the 
disposal  of  one  man's  choice,  or  liable  to  be  much 
affected  by  his  conduct :  what  greater  difliculty  is 
there  in  supposing,  that  the  prayers  of  an  in- 
dividual may  avert  a  calamity  from  multitudes,  or 
be  accepted  to  the  benefit  of  whole  commmiities  1 


CHAPTER  III. 
Of  the  Duty  and  Efficacy  of  Prayer  as  Re- 
presented in  Scripture. 

The  reader  will  have  observed,  that  the  reflec- 
tions stated  in  the  preceding  chapter,  whatever 
truth  and  weight  they  may  be  allowed  to  contain, 
rise  many  of  tiiem  no  higher  than  to  negative  ar- 
guments in  favour  of  the  propriety  of  aildressing 
prayer  to  God.  To  prove  that  the  efficacy  of 
prayers  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  attributes  of 
the  Deity,  does  not  prove  that  prayers  are  actually 
efficacious:  and  in  the  want  of  that  unequivocal 
testimony,  which  experience  alone  could  afford  to 
this  point,  (but  whicli  we  do  not  possess,  and  nave 


DUTY  AND  EFFICACY  OF  PRAYER, 


97 


seen  good  reason  why  we  are  not  to  expect,)  the 
light  of  nature  leaves  us  to  controverted  proba- 
bilities, drawn  from  the  impulse  by  which  man- 
kind have  been  almost  universally  prompted  to 
devotion,  and  from  some  beneficial  purposes, 
which,  it  is  conceived,  may  be  better  answered  by 
the  audience  of  prayer  than  by  any  other  mode  of 
communicating  the  same  blessings.  The  revela- 
tions which  we  deem  authentic,  completely  supply 
this  defect  of  natural  religion.  Thej'  require 
prayer  to  God  as  a  duty ;  and  they  contain  posi- 
tive assurance  of  its  efficacy  and  acceptance.  We 
could  have  no  reasonable  motive  for  the  exercise 
of  prayer,  without  believing  that  it  may  avail  to 
the  relief  of  our  wants.  This  belief  can  only  be 
founded,  either  in  a  sensible  experience  of  the  ef- 
fect of  prayer,  or  in  promises  of  acceptance  sig- 
nified by  D'vine  authority.  Our  knowledge  would 
have  come  to  us  in  the  former  way,  less  capable 
indeed  of  doubt,  but  subjected  to  the  abuses  and 
inconveniences  briefly  described  above ;  in  the 
latter  way,  that  is,  by  authorized  significations  of 
God's  general  disposition  to  hear  and  answer  the 
devout  supplications  of  his  creatures,  we  are  en- 
couraged to  pray,  but  not  place  such  a  dependence 
upon  prayer  as  might  relax  other  obligations,  or 
confound  the  order  of  events  and  of  human  ex- 
pectations. 

The  Scriptures  not  only  affirm  the  propriety 
of  prayer  in  general,  but  furnish  precepts  or  ex- 
amples which  justify  some  topics  and  some  modes 
of  prayer  that  have  been  thought  exceptionable. 
And  as  the  whole  subject  rests  so  much  upon  the 
foundation  of  Scripture,  I  shall  put  down  at  length 
texts  applicable  to  the  five  following  heads  :  to  the 
duty  and  efficac}^  of  prayer  in  general ;  of  prayer 
for  particular  favours  by  name  ;  for  public  national 
blessings ;  of  intercession  for  others ;  of  the  repe- 
tition of  unsuccessful  prayers. 

1.  Texts  enjoying  prayer  in  general :  "  Aslc,  and 
it  shall  be  given  you  ;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find  : — If 
ye,  being  evil,  know  how  to  gi\e  good  gifts  unto 
your  children,  how  much  more  shall  your  Father, 
which  is  in  heaven,  give  gx)d  things  to  them  that 
ask  him  ?" — "  Watch  ye,  therefore,  and  pray  al- 
waijSj  that  ye  may  be  accounted  worthy  to  escape 
all  those  things  that  shall  come  to  pass,  and  to 
stand  before  the  Son  of  man." — "  Serving  the 
Lord,  rejoicing  in  hope,  patient  in  tribulation, 
continuing  instant  in  prayer." — "  Re  careful  for 
nothing,  but  in  every  thing,  by  prayer  and  sup- 
plication, with  thanksgi^'ing,  let  your  requests  be 
made  known  unto  God." — "I  will,  therefore,  that 
men  pray  every  vjhere,  lifting  up  holy  hands 
without  wrath  and  doubting." — "  Pray  icithout 
ceasing."  Matt.  vii.  7.  11 ;  Luke  xxi.  36;  Rom. 
xii.  12;  Phil.  iv.  6;  1  Thess.  v.  17;  1  Tim.  ii.  8. 
Add  to  these,  that  Christ's  reproof  of  the  ostenta- 
tion and  prolixity  of  pharisaical  prayers,  and  his 
recommendation  to  his  disciples,  of  retirement  and 
simplicity  in  theirs,  together  with  his  dictating  a 
particular  form  of  prayer,  all  presuppose  praj'er 
to  be  an  acceptable  and  availing  service. 

2.  Examples  of  prayer  for  particular  favours 
by  name  :  "  For  this  thing"  (to  wit,  some  bodily 
infirmity,  which  he  calls  '  a  thorn  given  him  in  the 
flesh')  "  I  besought  the  Lord  thrice,  that  it  might 
depart  from  me." — "  Night  and  day  praying  ex- 
ceedingly, that  we  might  see  your  face,  and  per- 
fect that  which  is  lacking  in  your  faith."  2  Cor. 
xii.  8 :  J  Thess.  iii.  10. 

3.  Directions  to  pray  for  national  or  public 


bles.sings  :  "  Pray  for  the  peace  nf  Jerusalem." — 
"  Ask  ye  of  the  Lord  rain,  in  the  time  of  the  latter 
rain ;  so  the  Lord  shall  make  bright  clouds,  and 
give  them  showers  of  rain,  to  every  one  grass  in 
the  field." — "  I  exhort,  therefore,  that  first  of  all, 
supiilications,  prayers,  intercessions,  and  giving  of 
thanks,  be  made  for  all  men ;  for  kings,  and  for 
all  that  are  in  authority,  that  we  may  lead  a  quiet 
and  peaceable  life,  in  all  godliness  and  honcstj' ; 
for  this  is  good  and  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God 
our  Sa\iour."  Psalm  cxxii.  6;  Zech.  x.  1 ;  1  Tim. 
ii.  1,  2,  3. 

4.  Examples  of  intercession,  and  exhortations 
to  intercede  for  others  : — "  And  Moses  besought 
the  Lord  lais  God,  and  said,  Lord,  why  doth  thy 
wrath  wax  hot  against  thy  people  1  Remember 
Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Israel,  thy  servants.  And 
the  Lord  repented  of  the  evil  which  he  thouglit 
to  do  unto  his  people." — "  Peter,  therefore,  was 
kept  in  prison,  but  pra3-er  was  made  without  i' eas- 
ing of  the  church  unto  G:o(}i  for  him." — "  For  God 
is  my  witness,  that  without  ceasing  I  make  men- 
tion of  you  aheays  in  my  prayers." — "  Now  I 
beseech  you,  bretheren,  for  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ's 
sake,  and  for  the  love  of  the  Spirit,  that  je  strive 
together  -vvith  me,  in  your  prayers  far  -me." — 
"  Confess  your  faults  one  to  another,  and  pray 
one  for  another,  that  ye  may  be  healed  :  the  ef- 
fectual fervent  prayer  of  a  righteous  man  avaUeth 
much."  Exod.xxxii.il;  Acts  xii.  5;  Rom.  i. 9. 
XV.  30;  James  v.  16. 

5.  Declarations  and  examples  authorising  the 
repetition  of  unsuccessful  prayer :  "  And  he  spake 
a  parable  unto  them,  to  this  end,  that  men  ought 
always  to  pray,  and  not  to  faint." — "  And  he  left 
them,  and  went  away  again,  and  prayed  the  third 
time,  saying  the  sanie  v;vrds." — "  For  this  thing 
I  besought  the  Lord  thrice,  that  it  might  depart 
from  me."  Luke  xviii.  1 ;  Matt.  xx\i.  44 ;  2  Cor. 
xii.  8.* 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Of  Private  Prayer,  Family  Prayer,  and 
Public  Worship. 

Concerning  these  three  descriptions  of  de- 
votion, it  is  first  of  all  to  be  observed,  that  each 
has  its  separate  and  peculiar  use ;  and  therefore, 
that  the  exercise  of  one  species  of  worshi]),  how- 
ever regular  it  he,  does  not  supersede,  or  dispense 
with,  the  obligation  of  either  of  the  other  two. 

1.  Pr irate  Prayer  is  recommended  for  the  sake 
of  the  following  advantages  : 

Private  wants  cannot  always  be  made  the  sub- 
ject of  public  prayer :  but  whatever  reason  there 
is  for  pra3ang  at  all,  there  is  the  same  for  making 
the  sore  and  grief  of  each  man's  own  heart  the 
business  of  his  application  to  God.  This  must  be 
the  office  of  private  exercises  of  devotion,  being 
imperfectly,  if  at  all,  practicable  in  any  other. 


*  The  reformed  Churches  of  Christendom,  sticking 
close  in  tliis  article  to  their  guide,  have  laid  aside  pray- 
ers for  the  dead,  as  authorised  by  no  precept  or  precedent 
found  in  Scripture.  For  the  same  reason  they  properly 
reject  the  invocation  of  saints  ;  as  also  because  such  in- 
vocations sujiDose,  in  the  saints  whom  they  address,  a 
knowledge  whichcan  perceive  what  passes  in  different 
regions  of  the  earth  at  the  same  time.  And  they  deem 
it  too  much  to  take  for  granted,  w  ithout  the  smallest  in- 
timation of  such  a  thing  in  Scripture,  that  any  on  ated 
being  possesses  a  faculty  little  short  of  that  omniscience 
and  omnipresence  which  they  ascribe  to  the  Deity, 


98 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


Private  prayer  is  generally  more  devout  and 
earnest  than  the  share  we  are  capable  of  taking 
in  joint  acts  of  worship;  because  it  affords  leisure 
and  opjwrt  unity  for  the  circumstantial  recollection 
of  those  personal  wants,  by  the  remembrance  and 
ideas  of  which  the  warmth  and  earnestness  of 
prayer  are  chiefly  excited. 

Private  prayer,  in  proportion  as  it  is  usually  ac- 
companied with  more  actual  thought  and  reflection 
of  the  petitioner's  own,  has  a  greater  tendency  than 
other  motles  of  devotion  to  revive  and  fasten  upon 
the  mind  the  general  impressions  of  religion.  So- 
litude powerfully  assists  this  efl'ect.  When  a  man 
linds  himself  alone  in  communication  with  his 
Creator,  his  imagination  becomes  lilled  with  a 
conflux  of  awful  ideas  concerning  the  universal 
agency,  and  invisible  presence,  of  that  Being; 
concerning  what  is  likely  to  become  of  himselt ; 
and  of  the  superlative  importance  of  providing  for 
the  happiness  of  his  future  existence  by  endea- 
vours to  please  him  who  is  the  arbiter  of  his  des- 
tiny :  reflections  which,  whenever  they  gain  ad- 
mittance, for  a  season  overwhelm  all  others ;  and 
leave,  when  they  depart,  a  solemnity  upon  the 
thoughts,  that  will  seldom  fail,  in  some  degree,  to 
affect  the  conduct  of  life. 

Private  prayer,  thus  recommended  by  its  own 
propriety  and  by  advantages  not  attainable  in  any 
form  of  religious  communion,  receives  a  superior 
sanction  from  the  authority  and  example  of  Christ: 
"  When  thou  prayest,  enter  into  thy  closet ;  and 
when  thou  hast  shut  the  door,  pray  to  thy  Father, 
which  is  in  secret ;  and  thy  Father,  which  seeth  in 
secret,  shall  reward  thee  openly." — "  And  when 
he  had  sent  the  multitudes  away,  he  went  up 
into  a  mountain  apart  to  pray."  Matt.  vi.  6 ; 
xiv.  23. 

II.  Family  Prayer. 

The  peculiar  use  of  family  piety  consists  in  its 
influence  upon  servants,  and  the  young  members 
of  a  family,  who  want  sufficient  seriousness  and 
reflection  to  retire  of  their  own  accord  to  the  ex- 
ercise of  private  devotion,  and  whose  attention  you 
cannot  easily  command  in  public  worship.  The 
example  also  and  authority  of  a  father  and  master 
act  in  this  way  with  the  greatest  force ;  for  his 
private  prayers,  to  which  his  children  and  servants 
are  not  witnesses,  act  not  at  all  upon  them  as  ex- 
amples ;  and  his  attendance  upon  public  worship 
they  will  readily  impute  to  fashion,  to  a  care  to 
preserve  appearances,  to  a  concern  for  decency  and 
character,  and  to  many  motives  besides  a  sense  of 
duty  to  God.  Add  to  this,  that  forms  of  public 
worship,  in  proportion  as  they  are  more  compre- 
hensive, are  always  less  interesting,  than  family 
prayers  ;  and  that  the  ardour  of  devotion  is  better 
supported,  and  the  sympathy  more  easily  propaga- 
ted, tljrough  a  small  assembly,  connected  by  the 
alfections  of  domestic  society,  than  in  the  presence 
of  a  mixed  congregation. 

IIT.   Public  Worship. 

If  the  worship  of  God  be  a  duty  of  religion, 
public  worship  is  a  necessary  institution;  foras- 
nmch  ac  vrithout  it,  the  greater  j)art  of  mankind 
would  exercise  no  religious  worship  at  all. 

These  assemblies  afford  also,  at  the  same  time, 
opportunities  for  moral  and  religious  instruction  to 
those  who  otherwise  would  receive  none.  In  all 
protestant,  and'in  most 'Christian  countries,  the 
elements  of  natural  religion,  and  the  important 
parts  of  the  Evangelic  history,  are  familiar  to  the 
''.»west  of  the  people.     This  competent  degree  and 


general  diffusion  of  religious  knowledge  amongs*; 
all  orders  of  Christians,  which  will  appear  a  great 
thing  when compared'with  the  intellectual  condition 
of  barbarous  nations,  can  fairly,  I  think,  be  ascrib- 
ed to  no  other  cause  than  the  regular  establishment 
of  assemblies  for  divnie  worship  ;  in  which,  either 
portions  of  Scripture  are  recited  and  explained,  or 
the  principles  of  Christian  erudition  are  so  con- 
stantly taught  in  sermons,  incorporated  with  li- 
turgies, or  expressed  in  extempore  prayer,  as  to 
imprint,  by  the  very  repetition,  some  knowledge 
and  memory  of  these  subjects  upon  the  most  un- 
qualifled  and  careless  hearer. 

The  two  reasons  above  stated,  bind  all  the  mem- 
bers of  a  community  to  uphold  public  worship,  by 
their  presence  and  example,  although  the  helps  and 
opportunities  wliich  it  atibrds  may  not  be  neces.sary 
to  the  devotion  or  edification  of  all ;  and  to  some 
may  be  useless :  for  it  is  easily  foreseen,  how  soon 
religious  assemblies  would  fall  into  contempt  and 
disuse,  if  that  class  of  mankind  who  are  above 
seeking  instruction  in  them,  and  want  not  that 
their  own  piety  should  be  assisted  by  either  forms 
or  society  in  devotion,  were  to  withdraw  their  at- 
tendance ;  especially  when  it  is  considered,  that 
all  who  please,  are  at  liberty  to  rank  themselves 
of  this  class.  This  argument  meets  the  only  se- 
rious apology  that  can  be  made  for  the  absenting 
of  ourselves  from  public  worship. — "  Surely  (some 
will  say)  I  may  be  excused  from  going  to  church, 
so  long  as  I  pray  at  home  :  and  have  no  reason  to 
doubt  that  my  prayers  arc  as  acceptable  and  effi- 
cacious in  my  closet,  as  in  a  cathedral;  still  less  can 
I  think  myself  obliged  to  sit  out  a  tedious  sermon, 
in  order  to  hear  what  is  known  already,  what  is 
better  learnt  from  books,  or  suggested  by  medita- 
tion."— They,  whose  qualifications  and  habits 
best  supply  to  themselves  all  the  effect  of  public 
ordinances,  will  be  the  last  to  prefer  this  excuse, 
when  they  advert  to  the  general  cun.-^equence  of 
setting  up  such  an  exemjftion,  as  well  as  when 
they  consider  the  turn  which  is  sure  to  be  given 
in  the  neighbourhood  to  their  absence  from  public 
worship.  You  stay  from  church,  to  employ  the 
Sabbath  at  home  in  exercises  and  studies  suited  to 
its  proper  business :  your  next  neighbour  stays 
from  church  to  spend  the  seventh  day  less  reli- 
giously than  he  passed  any  of  the  six,  in  a  sleepy, 
stupid  rest,  or  at  some  rendezvous  of  drunkenness 
and  debauchery,  and  yet  thinks  that  he  is  only 
imitating  you,  because  you  both  agree  in  not  going 
to  church.  The  same  consideration  should  over- 
rule  many  small  scruples  concerning  the  rigorous 
propriety  of  some  things,  which  maybe  contuined 
in  the  forms,  or  admitted  into  the  administration, 
of  the  public  worship  of  our  conmiunion ;  Ibr  it 
seems  impossible  that  even  "  two  or  three  should 
be  gathered  together"  in  any  act  of  social  worship, 
if  each  one  require  from  the  rest  an  implicit  sub- 
mission to  his  objections,  and  if  no  man  will  at- 
tend upon  a  religious  service  v^'hich  in  any  point 
contradicts  his  opinion  of  truth,  or  tiills  short  of 
his  ideas  of  perfection. 

Beside  the  direct  necessity  of  public  worshij)  to 
the  greater  part  of  every  Christian  connnunity, 
(supposing  worship  at  all  to  be  a  Christian  duty,) 
there  are  other  valuable  advantages  growing  out 
of  the  use  of  religious  assemblies,  without  being 
designed  in  the  institution  or  thought  of  by  the 
individuals  who  compose  them. 

1.  Joining  in  prayer  and  praises  to  their  com- 
mon Creator  and  Governor,  has  a  sensible  ten- 


OF  FORMS  OF  PRAYER. 


99 


(lency  to  unite  mankind  together,  and  to  cherish 
and  enlarge  the  generous  ati'ections. 

So  many  pathetic  reflections  are  awakened  by 
every  exercise  of  social  devotion,  that  most  men,  I 
believe,  carry  away  from  public  worship  a  better 
temper  towards  the  rest  of  mankind,  than  they 
brought  with  them.  Sprung  from  the  same  ex- 
traction, preparing  together  for  the  period  of  all 
worldly  distinctions,  reminded  of  their  nmtual  in- 
firmities and  common  dependency,  imploring  and 
receiving  support  and  supplies  from  the  same  great 
source  of  power  and  bounty,  having  all  one  in- 
terest to  secure,  one  Lord  to  serve,  one  judgment, 
the  supreme  object  to  all  of  their  hopes  and  fears, 
to  look  towards;  it  is  hardly  possible,  in  this  po- 
sition, to  behold  mankind  as  strangers,  competitors, 
or  enemies ;  or  not  to  regard  them  as  children  of 
the  same  family,  assembled  before  their  common 
parent,  and  with  some  portion  of  the  tenderness 
which  belongs  to  the  most  endearing  of  our  do- 
mestic relations.  It  is  not  to  be  expected,  that  any 
single  effect  of  this  kind  should  be  considerable  or 
lasting  ;  but  the  frequent  return  of  such  sentiments 
as  the  presence  of  a  devout  congregation  naturally 
suggests,  will  gradually  melt  down  the  rugged- 
ness  of  many  unkind  passions,  and  may  generate, 
in  time,  a  permanent  and  productive  benevolence. 

2.  Assemblies  for  the  purpose  of  divine  wor- 
ship, placing  men  under  impressions  by  which 
they  are  taught  to  consider  their  relation  to  the 
Deity,  and  to  contemplate  those  around  them  with 
a  view  to  that  relation,  force  upon  their  thoughts 
the  natural  equality  of  the  human  species,  and 
thereby  promote  humility  and  condescension  in 
the  highest  orders  of  the  community,  and  in- 
spire the  lowest  with  a  sense  of  their  rights.  The 
distinctions  of  civil  life  are  almost  always  insisted 
upon  too  much,  and  urged  too  for.  Whatever, 
therefore,  conduces  to  restore  the  level,  by  quali- 
fying the  dispositions  which  grow  out  of  great 
elevation  or  depression  of  rank,  improves  the  cha- 
racter on  both  sides.  Now  things  are  made  to 
appear  little,  by  being  placed  beside  what  is  great. 
In  which  manner,  superiorities,  that  occupy  the 
whole  field  of  imagination,  will  vanish  or  shrink 
to  their  proper  diminutiveness,  when  compared 
with  the  distance  by  which  even  the  highest  of 
men  are  removed  from  the  Supreme  Being ;  and 
this  comparison  is  naturally  introduced  by  all  acts 
of  joint  worship.  If  ever  the  poor  man  holds  up 
his  head,  it  is  at  church:  if  ever  the  rich  man 
views  him  with  respect,  it  is  there  :  and  both  will 
be  the  better,  and  the  public  profited,  the  oftener 
they  meet  in  a  situation,  in  which  the  conscious- 
ness of  dignity  in  the  one  is  tempered  and  miti- 
gated, and  the  spirit  of  the  other  erected  and  con- 
firmed. We  recommend  nothing  adverse  to  sub- 
ordinations which  are  established  and  necessary : 
but  then  it  should  be  remembered,  that  subordi- 
nntion  itself  is  an  evil,  being  an  evil  to  the  sub- 
ordinate, who  are  the  majority,  and  therefore 
ought  not  to  be  carried  a  tittle  beyond  what  the 
greater  good,  the  peaceable  govermnent  of  the 
community,  requires. 

The  public  worship  of  Christians  is  a  duty  of 
Divine  appointment.  "  Where  two  or  three," 
says  Christ,  "are  gathered  together  in  my  name, 
there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them."*  This  invita- 
tion will  want  nothing  of  the  force  of  a  command 
with  those  who  respect  the  person  and  authority 


*  Matt,  xviii.  20. 


from  which  it  proceeds.  Again,  in  the  Epistle  to 
the  Hebrews;  "  not  forsaking  the  assembling  of 
ourselves  together,  as  the  manner  of  some  is:'* 
which  reproof  seems  as  applicable  to  the  desertion 
of  our  public  worship  at  this  day,  as  to  the  for- 
saking the  religious  assemblies  of  Christians  in 
the  age  of  the  apostle.  Independently  of  tliese 
passages  of  Scripture,  a  disciple  of  Christianity 
will  hardly  think  liiniself  at  liberty  to  dispute  a 
practice  set  on  foot  by  the  inspired  preachers  of 
his  rehgion,  coeval  with  its  institution,  and  re- 
tained by  every  sect  into  which  it  has  been  since 
divided. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Of  Forms  of  Prayer  in  Public  Worship. 

LiTURGiF.s,  or  preconcerted  forms  of  public  de- 
votion, being  neither  enjoined  in  Scrijiturc,  nor 
forbidden,  there  can  be  no  good  reason  for  either 
receiving  or  rejecting  them,  but  that  of  expe- 
diency ;  which  expediency  is  to  be  gathered  from 
a  comparison  of  the  advantages  and  disadvantages 
attending  upon  this  mode  of  worship,  with  those 
which  usually  accompany  extemporary  prayer. 

The  advantages  of  a  liturgy  are  these : 

I.  That  it  prevents  absurd,  extravagant,  or  im- 
pious addresses  to  God,  which,  in  an  order  of 
men  so  numerous  as  the  sacerdotal,  the  folly  and 
enthusiasm  of  many  must  always  be  in  danger  of 
producing,  where  the  conduct  of  the  public  wor- 
ship is  entrusted,  without  restraint  or  assistance, 
to  the  discretion  and  abilities  of  the  officiating 
minister. 

II.  That  it  prevents  the  confusion  of  extem- 
porary prayer,  in  which  the  congregation,  being 
ignorant  of  each  petition  before  they  hear  it,  and 
having  little  or  no  time  to  join  in  it  after  they  have 
heard  it,  are  confounded  between  their  attention 
to  the  minister,  and  to  their  own  devotion.  The 
devotion  of  the  hearer  is  necessarily  suspended, 
until  a  petition  be  concluded  ;  and  before  he  can 
assent  to  it,  or  properly  adopt  it,  that  is,  before  he 
can  address  the  same  request  to  God  for  himself, 
and  from  himself,  his  attention  is  called  ofl'  to  keep 
pace  with  what  succeeds.  Add  to  this,  that  the 
mind  of  the  hearer  is  held  in  continual  expecta- 
tion, and  detained  from  its  proper  business,  by  the 
very  novelty  with  which  it  is  gratified.  A  con- 
gregation may  be  pleased  and  aflected  with  the 
prayers  and  devotion  of  their  minister,  without 
j'oining  in  them  ;  in  like  manner  as  an  audience 
oftentimes  are  with  the  representation  of  devotion 
upon  the  stage,  who,  nevertheless,  come  away 
without  being  conscious  of  having  exercised  any 
act  of  devotion  themselves.  Joint  prayer,  which 
amongst  all  denominations  of  Christians  is  the 
declared  design  of  "  coming  together,"  is  prayer 
in  wliich  all  join  ;  and  not  tliat  wliich  one  alone 
in  the  congregation  conceives  and  delivers,  and  of 
which  the  rest  are  merely  hearers.  This  objection 
seems  fundamental,  and  holds  even  where  the 
minister's  office  is  discharged  with  every  possible 
advantage  and  accomplishment.  The  labouring 
recollection,  and  embarrassed  or  tmnultuous  de- 
livery, of  many  extempore  speakers,  form  an  ad- 
ditional objection  to  this  mode  of  public  worship : 
for  these  imperfections  are  very  general,  and  give 


100 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


great  pain  to  the  serious  part  of  a  congregation,  as 
well  as  afford  a  profane  diversion  to  tlie  levity  of 
the  other  part. 

These  advantages  of  a  liturgy  are  connected 
with  two  principal  inconveniences :  first,  that 
forms  of  prayer  composed  in  one  age  become  unlit 
for  another,  by  the  unavoidable  change  of  lan- 
guage, circumstances,  and  opinions :  secondly,  that 
the  perpetual  repetition  of  the  same  I'orm  of  words 
produces  weariness  and  inattentiveness  in  the 
congregation.  However,  both  these  inconveniences 
are  in  their  nature  vincible.  Occasional  revisions 
of  a  liturgy  may  obviate  the  first,  and  devotion 
will  supply  a  remedy  for  the  second ;  or  they  may 
both  subsist  in  a  considerable  degree,  and  yet  be 
out-weighed  by  the  objections  which  are  insepara- 
ble from  extemporary  prayer. 

The  Lord's  Prayer  is  a  precedent,  as  well  as  a 
pattern,  for  forms  of  prayer.  Our  Lord  appears, 
if  not  to  have  prescribed,  at  least  to  have  au- 
thorized, the  use  of  fixed  forms,  when  he  com- 
plied with  the  request  of  the  disciple,  who  said 
unto  him,  "  Lord,  teach  us  to  pray,  as  John  also 
taught  his  disciples."  Luke  xi.  1. 

The  properties  required  in  a  pubhc  liturgy  are, 
that  it  be  compendious;  that  it  express  just  con- 
ceptions of  the  Divine  Attributes;  that  it  recite 
such  wants  as  a  congregation  are  likely  to  feel, 
and  no  other ;  and  that  it  contain  as  few  contro- 
verted propositions  as  possible. 

I.  That  it  be  compendious. 

It  were  no  difficult  ta»k  to  contract  the  liturgies 
of  most  churches  into  half  their  present  compass, 
and  yet  retain  every  distinct  petition,  as  well  as 
the  substance  of  every  sentiment  which  can  be 
found  in  them.  But  brevity  may  be  studied  too 
much.  The  composer  of  a  liturgy  must  not  sit 
down  to  his  work  witii  the  hope,  that  the  devotion 
of  the  congregation  will  be  uniformly  sustained 
throughout,  or  that  every  part  will  be  attended  to 
by  every  hearer.  If  this  could  be  depended  upon, 
a  very  short  service  would  be  sufficient  for  every 
purpose  that  can  be  answered  or  designed  by  so- 
cial worship:  but  seeing  the  attention  of  most  men 
is  apt  to  wander  and  return  at  intervals,  and  by 
starts,  he  will  admit  a  certain  degree  of  amplifica- 
tion and  repetition,  of  diversity  of  expression  upon 
the  same  subject,  and  variety  of  phrase  and  form 
with  little  addition  to  the  sense,  to  the  end  that 
the  attention,  which  has  been  slumbering  or  ab- 
sent during  one  part  of  the  service,  may  be  ex- 
cited and  recalled  by  another;  and  the  assembly 
kept  together  until  it  may  reasonably  be  presumed, 
that  the  most  heedless  and  inadvertent  have  per- 
formed some  act  of  devotion,  and  the  most  de- 
sultory attention  been  caught  by  some  part  or 
other  of  the  public  service.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  too  great  length  of  church-services  is  more 
unfavourable  to  piety,  than  almost  any  fault  of 
composition  can  be.  It  begets,  in  many,  an  early 
and  unconquerable  dislike  to  the  public  worship 
of  their  country  or  communion.  They  come  to 
church  seldom,  and  enter  the  doors,  when  they 
do  come,  under  the  apprehension  of  a  tedious 
attendance,  which  they  prepare  for  at  first,  or 
soon  after  relieve,  by  composing  themselves  to  a 
drowsy  forgetfulness  of  the  place  and  duty,  or  by 
sending  abroad  their  thoughts  in  search  of  more 
amusing  occupation.  Although  there  may  be 
some  few  of  a  disposition  not  to  be  wearied  with 
religious  exercises ;  yet,  where  a  ritual  is  prolix, 
and  the  celebration  of  divine  service  long,  no  ef- 


fect is  in  general  to  be  looked  for,  but  that  in- 
dolence will  find  in  it  an  excuse,  and  piety  be  dis- 
concerted by  impatience. 

The  length  and  repetitions  complained  of  in 
our  liturgy,  are  not  so  much  the  fault  of  the  com- 
pilers, as  the  efii?ct  of  uniting  into  one  service 
what  was  originally,  but  with  very  little  regard  to. 
the  conveniency  of  the  people,  distributed  into 
three.  Notwithstanding  that  dread  of  innovations 
in  religion,  which  seems  to  have  become  the  pa /a'c 
of  the  age,  few,  I  should  suppose,  would  be  dis- 
pleased with  such  omissions,  abridgements,  or 
change  in  the  arrangemoit,  as  the  combination 
of  separate  services  must  necessarily  require,  even 
supposing  each  to  have  been  faultless  in  itself 
If,  together  with  these  alterations,  the  Epistles 
and  Gospels,  and  Collects  which  precede  them, 
were  composed  and  selected  with  more  regard  to 
unity  of  subject  and  design  ;  and  the  Psalms  and 
Lessons  either  left  to  the  choice  of  the  niinistei, 
or  better  accommodated  to  the  capacity  of  the  au- 
dience, and  the  edification  of  modern  life ;  the 
church  of  England  would  be  ip  possession  of  a 
liturgy,  in  which  those  who  assent  to  her  doctrines 
would  have  little  to  blame,  and  the  most  dis- 
satisfied must  acknowledge  many  beauties.  The 
style  throughout  is  excellent ;  calm,  without  cold- 
ness ;  and,  though  every  where  sedate,  oftentimes 
aifecling.  The  pauses  in  the  service  are  disposed 
at  proper  intervals.  The  transitions  from  one 
office  of  devotion  to  another,  from  confession  to 
prayer,  from  pi-ayer  to  thanksgiving,  from  thanks- 
giving to  ''hearing  of  the  word,"  are  contrived 
like  scenes  in  the  drama,  to  supply  the  mind  with 
a  succession  of  diversified  engagements.  As  much 
variety  is  introduced  also  in  the  form  of  praying, 
as  this  kind  of  composition  seems  capable  of  ad- 
mitting. The  prayer  at  one  time  is  continued ; 
at  another,  broken  by  responses,  or  cast  into  short 
articulate  ejaculations :  and  sometimes  the  con- 
gregation is  called  upon  to  take  its  share  in  the 
service,  by  being  leit  to  complete  a  sentence 
which  the  minister  had  begun.  'I'he  enumeration 
of  human  wants  and  sufferings  in  the  Litany,  is 
almost  complete.  A  Christian  petitioner  can  have 
few  things  to  ask  of  God,  or  to  deprecate,  which 
he  will  not  find  there  expressed,  and  for  the  most 
part  with  inimitable  tenderness  and  simplicity. 

II.  That  it  express  just  conceptions  of  the  Di- 
vine Attributes. 

This  is  an  article  in  which  no  care  can  be  too 
great.  The  popular  notions  of  God  are  formed, 
in  a  great  measure,  from  the  accounts  which  tlie 
people  receive  of  his  nature  and  character  in  tht  ir 
religious  assemblies.  An  error  here  becomes  the 
error  of  multitudes  :  and  as  it  is  a  subject  in  which 
almost  every  opinion  leads  the  way  to  some  prac- 
tical consequence,  the  purity  or  depravation  of 
public  manners  will  be  aflected,  amongst  other 
causes,  by  the  truth  or  corruption  of  the  public 
forms  of  worship. 

III.  That  it  recite  such  wants  as  the  congrega- 
tion are  likely  to  feel,  and  no  other. 

Of  forms  of  prayer  which  oUtjnd  not  egregiously 
against  truth  and  decency,  that  has  the  most 
merit,  which  is  best  calculated  to  keep  alive  the 
devotion  of  the  assembly.  It  were  to  be  wished, 
therefore,  that  every  part  of  a  liturgy  were  per- 
sonally applicable  to  every  individual  in  the  con- 
gregation;  and  that  nothing  were  introduced  to 
interrupt  the  passion,  or  damp  the  flame,  which  it 
is  not  easy  to  rekindle.     Upon  this  principle,  the 


USE  OF  SABBATICAL  INSTITUTIONS. 


101 


state  prayers  in  our  liturgy  should  be  fewer  and 
shorter. — Whatever  may  be  pretended,  the  con- 
gregation do  not  feel  that  concern  in  the  subject 
of  these  prayers,  which  must  be  felt,  ere  ever 
prayers  be  made  to  God  witli  earnestness.  The 
state  style  likewise  seems  unseasonably  introduced 
into  these  prayers,  as  ill  according  with  that 
annihilation  of  human  greatness,  of  which  e^  ery 
act  that  carries  the  mind  to  God,  presents  the  idea. 

IV.  That  it  contain  as  few  controverted  pro- 
positions as  possible. 

We  allow  to  each  church  the  truth  of  its  pe- 
culiar tenets,  and  all  the  importance  which  zeal 
can  ascribe  to  them.  We  dispute  not  here  the 
right  or  the  expediency  of  framing  creeds,  or  of 
imposing  subscriptions.  But  why  should  every 
position  which  a  church  maintains,  be  woven 
with  so  much  industry  into  her  forms  of  public 
worship  ?  Some  are  olfended,  and  some  are  ex- 
cluded; this  is  an  evil  of  itself,  at  least  to  ttiem  : 
and  what  advantage  or  satisfaction  can  be  derived 
to  the  rest,  from  the  separation  of  their  brethren, 
it  is  diffi,;ult  to  imagine  ;  unless  it  were  a  duty  to 
pu'iilish  our  system  of  polemic  divinity,  under  the 
name  of  making  confession  of  our  faith,  every 
time  we  worsliip  God ;  or  a  sin  to  agree  in  re- 
ligious exercises  with  those  from  whom  we  difii'r 
in  some  religious  opinions.  Indeed,  where  one 
man  thinks  it  his  duty  constantly  to  worship  a 
being,  whom  another  cannot,  with  the  assent  of 
his  conscience,  permit  himself  to  worship  at  all, 
there  seems  to  be  no  place  for  comprehension,  or 
any  expedient  left  but  a  quiet  secession.  All  other 
ditierences  may  be  compromised  by  silence.  If 
sects  and  schisms  be  an  evil,  they  are  as  much  to 
be  avoided  by  one  side  as  the  other.  If  sectaries 
are  blamed  for  taking  unnecessary  offence,  es- 
tablished churches  are  no  less  culpable  for  unne- 
cessarily giving  it;  they  are  bound  at  least  to 
produce  a  command,  or  a  reason  of  equivalent 
utility,  for  shutting  out  any  from  their  conununion, 
by  mixing  witli  divine  worship  doctrines,  which, 
whether  true  or  false,  are  unconnected  in  their 
nature  with  devotion. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Of  the  Use  of  Sabbatical  Institutions. 

An  assembly  cannot  be  collected,  unless  the 
time  of  assembhng  be  tixed  and  known  before- 
hand :  and  if  the  design  of  the  assembly  require 
that  it  be  holden  frequently,  it  is  easiest  that  it 
should  return  at  stated  intervals.  This  protluces 
a  necessity  of  appropriating  set  seasons  to  the  so- 
cial offices  of  rehgion.  It  is  also  highly  convenient 
that  the  same  seasons  be  observed  throughout  the 
country,  that  all  may  be  employed,  or  all  at  leisure, 
together;  for  if  the  recess  from  worldly  occupation 
be  not  general,  one  mans  business  will"  perpetually 
interfere  with  another  man's  devotion ;  the  buyer 
will  be  calling  at  the  shop  when  the  seller  is  gone 
to  church.  I'his  part,  therefore,  of  the  reUgious 
distinction  of  seasons,  namely,  a  general  inter- 
mission of  labour  and  business  during  times  pre- 
viously set  apart  for  the  exercise  of  public  wor- 
ship, is  founded  in  the  reasons  which  make  public 
worship  itself  a  duty.  But  the  celebration  of  di- 
vine service  never  occupies  the  whole  dav.  What 
remains,  therefore,  of  Sunday,  beside  the  part  of 
it  employed  at  church,  must  be  considered  as  a 


mere  rest  from  the  ordinary  occupations  of  civil 
life:  and  he  who  would  defend  the  institution,  as 
it  is  required  by  law  to  be  observed  in  Christian 
countries,  unless  he  can  produce  a  command  for 
a  Christian  Sabbath,  must  point  out  the  uses  of 
it  in  that  view. 

First,  then,  that  interval  of  relaxation  which 
Sunday  aflbrds  to  the  laborious  part  of  mankind, 
contributes  greatly  to  the  comfort  and  satisfaction 
of  their  lives,  both  as  it  refreshes  them  for  the 
time,  and  as  it  relieves  their  six  days'  labour  by 
the  prospect  of  a  day  of  rest  always  approaching; 
which  could  not  he  said  of  casual  indulgences  of 
leisure  and  rest,  even  were  they  more  frequent 
than  there  is  reason  to  expect  they  would  be  if 
left  to  the  discretion  or  humanity  of  interested 
task- masters.  To  this  difference  it  may  be  added, 
that  holy-days  which  come  seldom  and  unexpected, 
are  unprovided,  when  the}'  do  come,  with  any 
duty  or  employment :  and  the  manner  of  spending 
them  being  regulated  by  no  public  decency  or  es- 
tablished usage,  they  are  commonly  consumed  in 
rude,  if  not  criminal  pastimes,  in  stupid  sloth,  or 
brutish  intemperance.  Whoever  considers  how 
much  sabbatical  institutions  conduce,  in  this  re- 
spect, to  the  happiness  and  civilization  of  the  la- 
bouring classes  of  mankind,  and  rellects  how  great 
a  majority  of  the  human  species  these  classes  com- 
pose, will  acknowledge  the  utility,  whatever  he 
may  believe  of  the  origin,  of  this  distinction;  and 
will  consequently  perceive  it  to  be  every  mans 
duty  to  ujihold  the  observation  of  Sunday  when 
once  estabhShed,  let  the  establishment  have  pro- 
ceeded from  whom  or  from  what  authority  it  will. 

Nor  is  there  any  thing  lost  to  the  conmmnity 
by  the  intermission  of  public  industry  one  dav  in 
the  week.  For,  in  countries  tolerably  advanced  in 
population  and  the  arts  of  civil  hie,  there  is  al- 
ways enough  of  human  labour,  and  to  spare.  The 
difficulty  is  not  so  much  to  procure,  as  to  employ 
it.  The  addition  of  the  seventh  day's  labour  to 
that  of  the  other  six,  would  have  no  other  effect 
than  to  reduce  the  price.  The  labourer  himself, 
who  deserved  and  suffered  most  by  the  change, 
would  gain  nothing. 

2.  Sunday,  by  suspending  many  public  diver- 
sions, and  the  ordinary  rotation  of  employment, 
leaves  to  men  of  all  ranks  and  professions  suf- 
ficient leisure,  and  not  more  than  what  is  suf- 
ficient, both  for  the  external  offices  of  Christianity, 
and  the  retired,  but  equally  necessary  duties  of 
religious  meditation  and  inquiry.  It  is  true,  that 
many  do  not  convert  their  leisure  to  this  purpose  ; 
but  it  is  of  moment,  and  is  all  which  a  pubUc  con- 
stitution can  effect,  that  to  every  one  be  allowed 
the  opportunity. 

3.  They,  whose  humanity  embraces  the  whole 
sensitive  creation,  will  esteem  it  no  inconsiderable 
recommendation  of  a  weekly  return  of  public  rest, 
that  it  affords  a  respite  to  the  toil  of  brutes.  Nor 
can  we  omit  to  recount  this  among  the  uses  which 
the  Divine  Founder  of  the  Jewish  Sabbath  ex- 
pressly appointed  a  law  of  the  institution. 

We  admit,  that  none  of  these  reasons  show 
why  Sunday  should  be  preferred  to  any  other  day 
in  the  week,  or  one  day  in  seven  to  one  day  in  six, 
or  eight :  but  these  points,  which  in  their  nature 
are  of  arbitrary  determination,  being  established  to 
our  hands,  our  obligation  applies  to  the  subsisting 
establishment,  so  long  as  we  confess  that  some  such 
institution  is  necessary,  and  are  neither  able  nor 
attempt  to  substitute  anv  other  in  its  place. 
9*    " 


mi 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


Of  the  Scripture  Account  of  Sabbatical  Institu- 
tions. 

Thk  subject,  so  far  as  it  makes  any  part  of 
Christian  morality,  is  contained  in  two  questions: 

I.  Whether  the  command,  by  wliich  the  Jew- 
ish Sabbath  was  instituted,  extends  to  Christians  ! 

II.  Whether  any  new  command  was  deUvercd 
by  Christ ;  or  any  other  day  substituted  in  the 
place  of  tile  Jewish  Sabbath  by  the  autiiority  or 
example  of  his  apostles  ] 

In  treating  of  the  hrst  question,  it  will  be  ne- 
cessary to  collect  the  accounts  which  are  pre- 
served of  the  institution,  in  the  Jewish  history : 
for  the  seeing  these  accounts  together,  and  in 
one  point  of  view,  will  be  the  best  preparation  for 
the  discussing  or  judging  of  any  arguments  on 
one  side  or  the  other. 

In  the  second  chapter  of  Genesis,  the  historian, 
having  concluded  his  account  of  the  six  days' 
creation,  proceeds  thus :  "  And  on  the  seventh 
day  God  ended  his  work  which  he  had  made ;  and 
he  rested  on  the  seventh  day  from  all  his  work 
which  he  had  made ;  and  God  blessed  the  seventh 
day  and  sanctified  it,  because  that  in  it  he  had 
rested  from  all  his  work  which  God  created  and 
made."  After  this,  we  hear  no  more  of  the  Sab- 
bath, or  of  the  seventh  day,  as  in  any  manner 
distinguished  from  the  other  six,  until  the  history 
brings  us  down  to  the  sojourning  of  the  Jews  in 
the  wilderness,  when  the  following  remarkable 
passage  occurs.  L  pon  the  complaint  of  the  peo- 
ple for  want  of  food,  God  was  pleased  to  provide 
for  their  relief  by  a  miraculous  supply  of  manna, 
which  was  found  every  morning  upon  the  ground 
about  the  camp:  "and  they  gathered  it  every 
morning,  every  man  according  to  his  eating ;  and 
when  the  sun  waxed  hot,  it  melted :  and  it  came 
to  pass,  that  on  the  sixth  day  they  gathered  twice 
j  as  much  bread,  two  omers  for  one  man ;  and  all 
the  rulers  of  the  congregation  came  and  told 
Moses :  and  he  said  unto  them,  this  is  that  which 
the  Lord  hath  said,  To-morrow  is  the  rest  of  the 
Holy-Sabbath  unto  the  Lord:  bake  that  which 
ye  will  bake  to-day,  and  seethe  that  ye  will  seethe  ; 
and  that  which  remaineth  over,  lay  up  for  you,  to  be 
keyjt  until  the  morning.  And  they  laid  it  up  till  the 
morning,  as  Moses  bade;  and  it  did  not  stink  [as 
it  had  done  before,  when  some  of  them  left  it  till 
the  morning,]  neither  was  there  any  worm  therein. 
And  Moses  said,  Eat  that  to-day  :  for  to-day  is  a 
Sabbath  unto  the  Lord  ;  to-day  ye  shall  not  find 
it  in  the  field.  Six  days  ye  shall  gather  it,  but  on 
the  seventh  day,  which  is  the  Sabbath,  in  it  there 
shall  be  none.  And  it  came  to  pass,  that  there 
went  out  some  of  the  people  on  the  seventh  day 
for  to  gather,  and  they  found  none.  And  the  Lord 
said  unto  Moses,  How  long  refuse  ye  to  keep  my 
commandments  and  my  laws  ?  See,  for  that  the 
Lord  hath  given  you  the  Sabbath,  therefore  he 
giveth  you  on  the  sixth  day  the  bread  of  two  days : 
abide  ye  every  man  in  his  place :  let  no  man  go 
out  of  his  place  on  the  seventh  day.  So  the  peo- 
ple rested  on  the  seventh  day."     Exodus  xvi. 

Not  long  after  this,  the  Sabbath,  as  is  well 
known,  was  established  with  great  solemnity,  in 
the  fourth  commandment. 

Now,  in  my  opinion,  the  transaction  in  the 
wilderness  above  recited,  was  the  first  actual  in- 
stitution of  the  Sabbath.     For  if  the  Sabbath  had 


been  instituted  at  the  time  of  the  creation,  as  the 
words  in  Genesis  may  seem  at  first  siglit  to  im- 
port ;  and  if  it  had  been  observed  all  along  from 
that  time  to  the  departure  of  the  Jews  out  of 
Egypt,  a  period  of  about  two  thousand  live  hun- 
dred years ;  it  appears  unaccountable  that  no  men- 
tion of  it,  no  occasion  of  even  the  obscurest  allu- 
sion to  it,  should  occur,  either  in  the  general 
history  of  the  world  before  the  call  of  Abraham, 
which  contains,  we  admit,  only  a  few  memoirs  of 
its  early  ages,  and  those  extremely  aliridged ;  or, 
which  is  more  to  be  wondered  at,  in  that  of  the 
lives  of  the  first  three  Jewish  patriarchs,  which, 
in  many  parts  of  the  account,  is  sutficiently  cir- 
cumstantial and  domestic.  Nor  is  there,  in  the 
passage  above  quoted  Irom  the  sixteenth  chapter 
of  Exodus,  any  intimation  that  the  Sabbath,  when 
appointed  to  be  observed,  was  only  the  revival  of 
an  ancient  institution,  which  had  been  neglected, 
forgotten,  or  suspended ;  nor  is  any  such  neglect 
imputed  either  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  old  world, 
or  to  any  part  of  the  family  of  Noah;  nor,  lastly, 
is  any  permission  recorded  to  dispen.se  with  the 
institution  during  the  captivity  ot'  the  Jews  in 
Egypt,  or  on  any  other  public  emergency. 

The  passage  in  the  second  chapter  of  Genesis, 
which  creates  the  whole  controversy  upon  the 
subject,  is  not  inconsistent  with  this  opinion :  for 
as  the  seventh  day  was  erected  into  a  Sabbath,  on 
account  of  God's  resting  upon  that  day  from  the 
work  of  the  creation,  it  was  natural  in  the  histo- 
rian, when  he  had  related  the  history  of  the  crea- 
tion, and  of  God's  ceasing  from  it  on  the  seventh 
day,  to  add;  "  And  God  blessed  the  seventh  day, 
and  sanctified  it,  because  that  on  it  he  had  rested 
from  all  his  work  which  God  created  and  made ;" 
although  the  blessing  and  sanctification,  i.  e.  the 
religious  distinction  and  appropriation  of  that  day, 
were  not  actually  made  till  many  ages  afterwards. 
The  words  do  not  assert  that  God  then  "  blessed" 
and  "  sanctified"  the  seventh  day,  but  that  he 
blessed  and  sanctified  it  for  that  reason  ;  and  if 
any  ask,  why  the  Sabbath,  or  sanctification  of  the 
seventh  day,  was  then  mentioned,  if  it  was  not 
then  appointed,  the  answer  is  at  hand :  the  order 
of  connexion,  and  not  of  time,  introduced  the 
mention  of  the  Sabbath,  in  the  history  of  the  sub- 
ject which  it  was  ordained  to  commemorate. 

This  interpretation  is  strongly  supported  by  a 
passage  in  the  prophet  Ezekiel,  where  the  Sab- 
bath is  plainly  spoken  of  as  given,  (and  what 
else  can  that  mean,  but  as  first  instituted  ?)  in 
the  wilderness.  "  Wherefore  I  caused  them  to 
go  forth  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt,  and  brought 
them  into  the  wilderness :  and  I  gave  them  my 
statutes  and  showed  them  my  judgments,  which 
if  a  man  do,  he  shall  even  live  in  them :  moreover 
also  I  gave  them  my  Sabbaths,  to  be  a  sign  between 
me  and  them,  that  they  might  know  that  I  am  the 
Lord  that  sanctify  them."     Ezek.  xx.  10, 11,  12. 

Nehemiah  also  recounts  the  promulgation  of 
the  sabbatical  law  amongst  the  transactions  in  the 
wilderness ;  which  supplies  another  considerable 
argument  in  aid  of  our  opinion : — "  Moreover  thou 
leddest  them  in  the  day  by  a  cloudy  pillar,  and  in 
the  night  by  a  jjillar  of  fire,  to  give  them  light  in 
the  way  wherein  they  should  go.  Thou  camest 
down  also  ujjon  mount  Sinai,  and  spakest  with 
them  from  heaven,  and  gavest  them  right  judg- 
ments and  true  laws,  good  statutes  and  com- 
mandments, and  madest  known  unto  them  thy 
holy  Sabbath,  and  commandedst  them  precepts 


SABBATICAL  INSTITUTIONS. 


103 


statutes,  and  laws,  by  the  hand  of  Aloses  thy  ser- 
vant, and  gavest  them  bread  from  heaven  for  their 
hunger,  and  brouglitest  ibrth  water  for  them  out 
of  the  rock.  "*     Nehem.  ix.  1"2. 

If  it  be  inquired  what  duties  were  appointed 
for  the  Jewish  Sabbath,  and  under  what  penahies 
and  in  wliat  manner  it  was  observed  amongst  tlie 
ancient  Jews  ;  we  find  that,  by  the  fourth  com- 
mandment, a  strict  cessation  from  work  was  en- 
joined, not  only  upon  Jew.s  by  birth,  or  religious 
profession,  but  upon  all  who  resided  within  the 
Imiits  of  the  Jewish  state ;  that  the  same  was  to 
lie  permitted  to  their  slaves  and  their  cattle  ;  that 
this  rest  was  not  to  be  violated,  under  pain  of 
death :  "  Whosoever  doeth  any  work  in  the  Sab- 
bath-day, he  shall  surely  be  put  to  death."  Exod. 
xxxi.  lb.  Beside  which,  the  seventh  day  was  to 
be  solemnized  by  double  sacrifices  in  the  temple : — 
"  And  on  the  Sabliath-day  two  lambs  of  the  first 
year  without  spot,  and  two  tenth-dealsof  fiour  for 
a  meat-ort'ering,  mingled  with  oil,  and  the  drhik- 
olfering  thereof;  this  is  the  burnt-ofit?ring  of  every 
Sabbath,  beside  the  continual  burnt-ollering  and 
his  drink-oriering."  Numb,  xxviii.  9,  10.  Also 
ftolt/  convocations^  which  mean,  we  presume,  as- 
semblies for  the  purpose  of  public  worship  or  re- 
ligious instruction,  were  directed  to  he  holden  on 
the  Sabbath-day  :  "  the  seventh  day  is  a  sabbath 
of  rest,  an  holy  convocation."     Levit.  xxiii.  3. 

And  accordingly  we  read,  that  the  Sabbath  was 
in  fact  observed  amongst  the  Jews  by  a  scrupulous 
abstinence  from  every  thing  which,  by  any  pos- 
sible construction,  could  be  deemed  labour ;  as 
from  dressing  meat,  from  travelling  beyond  a 
Sabbath-day's  journey,  or  about  a  single'  mile.  In 
the  Maccabean  wars,  they  suffered  a  thousand  of 
their  number  to  be  slain,  rather  than  do  any  thing 
in  their  own  defence  on  the  Sabbath-day-  In  the 
final  siege  of  Jerusalem,  after  they  had  so  far 
overcome  their  scruples  as  to  defend  their  persons 
when  attacked,  they  refused  any  operation  on  the 
Sabbath-day,  by  which  they  might  have  inter- 
rupted the  enemy  in  filling  up  the  trench.  After 
the  establishment  of  synagogues,  (of  the  origin  of 
which  we  have  no  account,)  it  was  the  custom  to 
assemble  in  them  on  the  Sabbath-day,  for  the 
purpose  of  hearing  the  law  rehearsed  and  ex- 
plained, and  for  the  exercise,  it  is  probable,  of 
public  devotion:  "For  Moses  of  old  time  hath  in 
every  city  them  that  jireach  him,  being  read  in 
the  synagogues  every  Sabbath-day.''  The  seventh 
day  is  Saturday;  and,  agreeably  to  the  Jewish 
way  of  computing  the  day,  the  Sabbath  held  from 
six  o'clock  on  the  Friday  evening,  to  six  o'clock 
on  Saturday  evening. — These  observations  being 
premised,  we  approach  the  main  question,  Whe- 
ther the  command  by  which  the  Jewish  Sabbath 
was  instituted,  extend  to  us  1 

If  the  Divine  command  was  actually  delivered 
at  the  creation,  it  was  addressed,  no  doubt,  to  the 
whole  human  species  alike,  and  continues,  unless 


*  From  the  mention  of  the  Sabbath  in  so  close  a  con- 
nexion with  the  descent  of  God  upon  mount  Sinai,  and 
the  delivery  of  the  law  from  thence,  one  would  be  in- 
clined to  believe  that  Nehemiah  referred  solely  to  the 
fourth  comiuandnient.  But  the  fourth  commandment 
certainly  did  not  lirst  make  known  the  Sabbath.  And 
it  is  apparent,  that  Nehemiah  observed  not  the  order  of 
events;  for  he  speaks  of  what  passed  upon  mount  Sinai 
before  he  mentions  the  miraculous  supplies  of  bread 
and  water,  though  the  Jews  did  not  arrive  at  mount 
Sinai,  till  some  time  after  both  these  miracles  were 
wrought. 


re{5ealed  by  some  subsequent  revelation,  binding 
upon  all  who  come  to  the  knowledge  of  it.  If  the 
command  was  published  for  the  first  time  in  the 
wilderness,  then  it  was  immediately  directed  to 
the  Jewish  people  alone  ;  and  something  further, 
either  in  the  subject  or  circumstances  ot  the  com- 
mand, will  be  necessary  to  show,  that  it  was  de- 
signed for  any  other.  It  is  on  this  account  that 
the  question  concerning  the  date  of  the  institution 
was  lirst  to  be  considered.  I'he  former  0[)iniGn 
precludes  all  debate  about  the  extent  of  the  ob- 
ligation :  the  latter  admits,  and,  prima  facie  in- 
duces a  belief,  that  the  Sabbath  ought  to  be  con- 
sidered as  part  of  the  peculiar  law  of  the  Jewish 
policy. 

Which  belief  receives  great  conilrmation  from 
the  following  arguments : 

The  Sabbath  is  described  as  a  sign  between 
God  and  the  people  of  Israel : — "  Wherefore  the 
children  of  Israel  shall  keep  the  Sabbath,  to  ob- 
serve the  Sabbath  throughout  their  generations, 
for  a  perpetual  covenant;  it  is  a  sign  betvcen  me 
and  the  children  of  Israel  for  ever."  Exodus 
xxxi.  16,  17.  Again:  "And  I  gave  them  my 
statutes,  and  showed  them  my  judgments,  which 
if  a  man  do  he  shall  even  live  in  them  ;  moreorer 
also  I  gave  them  my  Sabbaths,  to  be  a  sign  be- 
tween mc  and  them.,  that  they  might  know  that  I 
am  the  Lord  that  sanctify  them."  Ezek.xx.  12.Now 
it  does  not  seem  easy  to  understand  how  the  Sab- 
bath could  be  a  sign  between  God  and  the  people 
of  Israel,  unless  the  observance  of  it  was  peculiar 
to  that  people,  and  designed  to  be  so. 

The  distinction  of  the  Sabbath  is,  in  its  nature, 
as  much  a  positive  ceremonial  institution,  as  that 
of  many  other  seasons  which  were  appointed  by 
the  Levitical  law  to  be  kept  holy,  and  to  be  ob- 
served by  a  strict  rest ;  as  the  first  and  seventh 
days  of  unleavened  bread  ;  the  feast  of  Pentecost ; 
the  feast  of  tabernacles :  and  in  the  twenty-thini 
chapter  of  Exodus,  the  Sabbath  and  these  are  re- 
cited together. 

If  the  command  by  wliich  the  Sabbath  was  in- 
stituted be  binding  upon  Christians,  it  must  be 
binding  as  to  the  day,  the  duties,  and  the  penalty ; 
in  none  of  which  it  is  received. 

The  observance  of  the  Sabbath  was  not  one  of 
the  articles  enjoined  by  the  Apostles,  in  the  fif- 
teenth chapter  of  Acts,  upon  them — "  wliich,  Irom 
among  the  Gentiles,  were  turned  unto  God." 

St.  Paul  evidently  appears  to  have  considered 
the  Sabbath  as  part  of  the  Jewish  ritual,  and  not 
obligatory  upon  Christians  as  such: — "Let  no 
man  therefore  judge  you  in  meat  or  in  drink,  or 
in  respect  of  an  holy  day,  or  of  the  new  moon,  or 
of  the  Sabbath  days,  which  are  a  shadow  of 
things  to  come,  but  the  body  is  of  Christ."  Col. 
ii.  16, 17. 

I  am  aware  of  only  two  objections  which  can  be 
opposed  to  the  force  of  these  argmnents ;  one  is, 
that  the  reason  assigned  in  the  fourth  coimnord- 
ment  for  hallowing  the  seventh  day,  namely, 
"  because  God  rested  on  the  seventh  day  from  the 
work  of  the  creation,"  is  a  reason  which  pertains 
to  all  mankind :  the  other,  that  the  command 
which  enjoins  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath  is 
inserted  in  the  Decalogue,  of  which  all  the  other 
precepts  and  prohibitions  are  of  moral  and  univer- 
sal obhgation. 

Upon  the  first  objection  it  may  he  remarked, 
that  although  in  Exodus  the  commandment  is 
foiuided  upon  God's  rest  from  the  creation,  in 


104 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


Deuteronomy  the  commandment  is  repeated  with 
a  reference  to  a  difl'erent  event : — "  Six  days  shalt 
thou  labour,  and  do  all  thy  work  ;  hut  the  seventh 
day  is  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord  thy  God;  in  it 
thou  shalt  not  do  any  work ;  thou,  nor  thy  son, 
nor  thy  daughter,  nor  thy  man-servant,  nor  thy 
maid-servant,  nor  thine  ox,  nor  thine  ass,  nor  any 
of  thy  cattle,  nor  the  stranger  that  is  within  thy 
gates;  that  thy  man-servant  and  thy  maid-servant 
may  rest  as  well  as  thou:  and  remember  that  thou 
wast  a  servant  in  the  land  of  Egypt,  and  that  the 
Lord  thy  God  brought  thee  out  thence,  through  a 
mighty  hand,  and  by  a  strctched-out  arm;  there- 
fore, the  Lord  thy  Grod  commanded  thee  to  keep 
the  Sal)bath-day."  It  is  farther  observable,  that 
God's  rest  from  the  creation  is  proposed  as  the 
reason  of  the  institution,  even  where  the  institu- 
tion itself  is  spoken  of  as  peculiar  to  the  Jews : — 
"  "Wherefore  the  children  of  Israel  shall  keep  the 
Sabliath,  to  observe  the  Sabbath  throughout  their 
generations,  for  a  perpetual  covenant :  it  is  a  sign 
between  me  and  the  children  of  Israel  for  ever : 
for  in  six  days  the  Lord  made  heaven  and  earth, 
and  on  the  seventh  day  he  rested  and  was  re- 
freshed." The  truth  is,  these  different  reasons 
were  assigned,  to  account  for  different  circum- 
stances in  the  command.  If  a  Jew  inquired,  why 
the  seventh  day  was  sanctified  rather  than  the 
sixth  or  eighth,  his  law  told  him,  because  God 
rested  on  the  seventh  day  from  the  creation.  If 
he  asked,  why  was  the  same  rest  indulged  to 
slaves  ?  his  law  bade  him  remember,  that  he  also 
was  a  slave  in  the  land  of  Egypt,  and  "  that  the 
Lord  his  God  brought  him  out  thence."  In  this 
view,  the  two  reasons  are  perfectly  compatible 
with  each  other,  and  with  a  third  end  of  the  in- 
stitution, its  being  a  sign  between  God  and  the 
peojile  of  Israel ;  but  in  this  view  they  determine 
nothing  concerning  the  extent  of  the  obligation. 
If  the  reason  by  its  proper  energy  had  constituted 
a  natural  obligation,  or  if  it  had  been  mentioned 
with  a  view  to  the  extent  of  the  obligation,  we 
should  submit  to  the  conclusion  that  all  were 
comprehended  by  the  command  who  are  concerned 
in  the  reason.  But  the  sabbatic  rest  being  a  duty 
which  results  from  the  ordination  and  authority 
of  a  positive  law,  the  reason  can  be  alleged  no 
farther  than  as  it  explains  the  design  of  the  legis- 
lator :  and  if  it  appear  to  be  recited  with  an  in- 
tentional application  to  one  part  of  the  law,  it  ex- 
plains his  design  upon  no  other ;  if  it  be  mentioned 
merely  to  account  for  the  choice  of  the  day,  it 
docs  not  explain  his  design  as  to  the  extent  of  the 
obligation. 

With  respect  to  the  second  objection,  that  in- 
asmuch as  the  other  nine  commandments  are  con- 
fessedly of  moral  and  universal  obligation,  it  may 
reasonably  be  presumed  that  this  is  of  the  same ; 
we  answer,  that  this  argument  will  have  less 
ivcight,  when  it  is  considered  that  the  distinction 
between  positive  and  natural  duties,  like  other 
distinctions  of  modern  ethics,  was  imknown  to  the 
simplicity  of  ancient  language:  and  that  there  are 
various  passages  in  Scripture,  in  which  duties  of 
a  political,  or  ceremonial,  or  positive  nature,  and 
confessedly  of  partial  obligation,  are  enumerated, 
and  without  any  mark  of  discrimination,  along 
with  others  which  are  natural  and  universal.  Of 
this  the  following  is  an  incontestable  example. 
"But  if  a  man  be  just,  and  do  that  which  is  law- 
Ill  and  right ;  and  hath  not  eaten  upon  the  moun- 
-ains,  nor  hath  lifted  up  his  eyes  to  the  idols  of  the 


house  of  Israel ;  neither  hath  defded  his  noigh 
hour's  wife,  neither  hath  come  near  to  a  mcn- 
struous  woman;  and  hath  not  oppressed  any,  but 
hath  restored  to  the  debtor  his  pledge ;  hath  spoiled 
none  by  violence  ;  hatli  given  his  bread  to  the 
hungry,  and  hath  covered  the  naked  with  a  gar- 
ment ;  he  that  hath  not  given  upon  usury,  nei- 
ther hath  taken  any  increase  ;  that  hath  with- 
drawn his  hand  from  iniquity;  hath  cxicutcJ 
true  judgment  between  man  and  man;  hath  walk- 
ed in  my  statutes,  and  hath  kejit  my  judgniciits, 
to  deal  truly  ;  he  is  just,  he  shall  surely  live,  saith 
the  Lord  God."  Ezckiel  xviii.  5 — 9.  The  same 
thing  may  be  observed  of  the  apostolic  decree  re- 
corded in  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  Acts : — "  It 
seemed  good  to  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  to  us,  to  lay 
upon  you  no  greater  burthen  than  these  necessary 
things,  that  ye  abstain  from  uK'ats  ofli^red  to  idols, 
and  from  blood,  and  from  things  strangled,  and 
from  fornication  :  from  which  if  je  keep  your- 
selves, ye  shall  do  well." 

II.  If  the  law  by  which  the  Sabbath  was  in- 
stituted, was  a  law  only  to  the  Jews,  it  becomes  an 
important  question  with  the  Christian  inquirer, 
whether  the  Founder  of  his  religion  delivered  any 
new  command  uj)on  the  subject ;  or,  if  that  should 
not  appear  to  be  the  case,  whether  any  day  was 
appro})riated  to  tlie  service  of  religion  by  the  au- 
thority or  example  of  his  apostles. 

The  practice  of  holding  religious  assemblies 
upon  the  first  day  of  the  week,  was  so  early  and 
universal  in  the  Christian  Church,  that  it  carries 
with  it  considerable  proof  of  having  originated 
from  some  precept  of  Christ,  or  of  his  apostles, 
though  none  such  he  now  extant.  It  was  upon 
the  first  day  of  the  week  that  the  discij)les  wore 
assi'inbled,  when  Christ  appeared  to  them  for  tlie 
first  time  after  his  resurrection ;  "  then  the  same 
day  at  evening,  being  the  first  day  of  the  week, 
when  the  doors  were  shut  where  the  disciples  were 
assembled,  for  fear  of  the  Jews,  came  Jesus,  and 
stood  in  the  midst  of  them  "  John  xx.  19.  This, 
for  .any  thing  that  apj)ears  in  the  account,  might, 
as  to  the  day,  have  been  accidental ;  but  in  the 
26th  wrse  of  the  same  chapter  we  read,  that 
"  after  eight  days,"  that  is,  on  the  first  day  of  the 
week. following,  "again  the  disciples  were  with- 
in ;"  which  second  meeting  upon  the  same  day  of 
the  week  looks  like  an  appointment  and  design 
to  meet  on  that  particular  day.  In  the  twentieth 
chapter  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  we  find  the 
same  custom  in  a  Christian  church  at  a  great 
distance  from  Jerusalem  : — "  And  we  came  unto 
them  to  Troas  in  five  days,  where  we  abode  seven 
days  ;  and  upo7i  the  first  day  of  the  week,  when 
the  disciples  came  together  to  break  bread,  Paul 
preached  unto  them."  Acts  xx.  6,  7.  The  man- 
ner in  which  the  historian  mentions  the  disci[)les 
coming  together  to  break  bread  on  the  first  day 
of  the  week,  shows,  I  think,  that  the  practice  by 
this  time  was  familiar  and  established.  St.  Paul 
to  the  Corinthians  writes  thus:  "Concerning  the 
collection  for  the  saints,  as  I  have  given  order  to 
the  Churches  of  Galatia,  even  so  do  ye ;  irpon  the 
first  day  of  the  week  let  every  one  of  you  lay  by 
him  in  store  as  God  hath  prospered  him,  that  there 
be  no  gathering  when  I  come."  1  Cor.  xvi.  1,  2. 
Which  direction  aflords  a  probable  proof,  that  the 
first  day  of  the  week  was  already,  amongst  the 
Christians  both  of  Corinth  and  Galatia,  distin- 
guished from  the  rest  by  some  religious  a[)plica- 
tion  or  other.     At  the  time  that  St.  John  wrote 


VIOLATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  SABBATH. 


105 


the  book  of  his  Revelation,  the  first  day  of  the 
week  had  obtained  the.naine  of  the  Lord's  day; — 
"  I  was  in  the  spirit."  says  he,  "  on  the  Lord's 
daij."  Rev.  i.  10.  Which  name,  and  St.  John's 
use  of  it,  suffi'iently  denote  the  appropriation  of 
this  day  to  the  service  of  religion,  and  that  this 
approjjriation  was  perfectly  known  to  the  Churches 
of  Asia.  1  make  no  doubt  that  by  the  Lord's 
day  was  meant  the  Jirs(  day  of  the  week ;  for  we 
find  no  footsteps  of  any  distinction  of  days,  which 
could  entitle  any  other  to  that  appellation.  The 
subsequent  history  of  Christianity  corresponds 
with  the  accounts  delivered  on  tliis  subject  in 
Scripture. 

It  will  be  remembered,  that  we  are  contending, 
by  these  proofs,  for  no  other  duty  upon  tlie  first 
day  of  the  week,  than  that  of  holding  and  fre- 
quenting religious  assemblies.  A  cessation  upon 
tint  day  from  labour,  beyond  the  time  of  attend- 
ance upon  public  worsliip,  is  not  intimated  in  any 
passage  of  the  New  Testament;  nor  did  Christ 
or  his  apostles  deliver,  that  we  knov^'  of,  any  com- 
mand to  their  disciples  for  a  discontinuance,  upon 
that  day,  of  the  common  offices  of  their  profes- 
sions ;  a  reserve  which  none  will  see  reason  to 
wonder  at,  or  to  blame  as  a  defect  in  the  institu- 
tion, who  consider  that,  in  the  primitive  condition 
of  Christianit}',  the  o'lsen'ance  of  a  new  Sabbath 
would  have  been  useless,  or  inconvenient,  or  im- 
practicable. During  Christ's  personal  ministry, 
his  religion  was  preached  to  the  Jews  alone. 
They  already  had  a  Sabbath,  which,  as  citizens 
and  subjects  of  that  economy,  they  were  obliged 
to  keep ;  and  did  keep.  It  was  not  therefore  pro- 
bable that  Christ  would  enjoin  another  day  of  rest 
in  conjunction  with  this.  When  the  new  re 
ligion  came  forth  into  the  Gentile  world,  converts 
to  it  were,  for  the  most  part,  made  from  those 
classes  of  society  who  have  not  their  time  and 
labour  at  their  own  disposal ;  and  it  was  scarcely 
to  be  expected,  that  unbelieving  masters  and 
magistrates,  and  they  who  directed  the  employ- 
ment of  others,  would  permit  their  slaves  and  la- 
bourers to  rest  from  their  work  every  se\enth 
day :  or  that  civil  government,  indeed,  would 
have  suiimitted  to  the  loss  of  a  seventh  part  of 
the  public  industry,  and  that  too  in  addition  to 
the  numerous  festivals  which  the  national  re- 
ligions indulged  to  the  people  ;  at  least,  this  would 
have  been  an  incumbrance,  which  might  have 
greatly  retarded  the  reception  of  Christianity  in 
the  world.  In  reahty,  the  institution  of  a  weekly 
Sabl)ath  is  so  connected  with  the  functions  of 
civil  life,  and  requires  so  much  of  the  concurrence 
of  civil  law,  in  its  regulation  and  support,  that  it 
cannot,  perhaps,  pro]3erly  be  made  the  ordinance 
of  any  religion,  till  that  religion  be  received  as 
the  religion  of  the  state. 

The  opinion,  that  Christ  and  his  apostles 
meant  to  retain  the  duties  of  the  Jewish  Sabbath, 
sliifting  only  the  day  from  the  seventh  to  the  first, 
seems  to  prevail  without  sufficient  proof;  nor  does 
am'  evidence  remain  in  Scripture  (of  what,  how- 
ever, is  not  improhalile,)  that  the  first  day  of  the 
week  was  thus  distinguished  in  commemoration 
of  our  Lord's  resurrection. 

The  conclusion  from  the  whole  inquiry  (for  it 
IS  our  business  to  follow  the  arguments,  to  what- 
ever probability  they  conduct  us,)  is  this :  The 
assembling  upon  the  first  day  of  the  week  for  the 
purpo.se  of  pubJic  worship  and  religious  instruc- 
tion, is  a  law  of  Christianity  of  Divine  appoint- 


ment ;  the  resting  on  that  day  from  our  mijiloy- 
ments  longer  than  we  are  detained  from  them  by 
attendance  upon  these  assemblies,  is  to  ("hristians 
an  ordinance  of  human  institution  ;  binding  never- 
theless upon  the  conscience  of  every  indiMdual  of 
a  country  in  which  a  weekly  Sabliath  is  esta- 
blished, for  the  sake  of  the  beneficial  j)urpc'ses 
which  the  public  and  regular  observance  of  it  pro- 
motes, and  recommended  perhaps  in  some  de- 
gree to  the  Divine  approbation,  by  the  rescm- 
l>lance  it  bears  to  what  God  was  pleased  to  make 
a  solemn  part  of  the  law  which  he  delivered  to  the 
people  of  Israel,  and  by  its  subserviency  to  many 
of  the  same  uses. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

2Jy  what  Acts  and  Omissions  the  Duty  of  the 
Christian  Sabbath  is  violated. 

SixcE  the  obligation  upon  Christians  to  com- 
ply with  the  religious  observance  of  Sunday,  arises 
from  the  public  uses  of  the  institution,  and  the 
authority  of  the  apostolic  practice,  the  manner  of 
observing  it  ought  to  be  that  which  best  fulfils 
these  uses,  and  conforms  the  nearest  to  this  prac- 
tice. 

The  uses  proposed  by  the  institution  are : 

1.  To  facilitate  attendance  upon  public  wor- 
ship. 

2.  To  meliorate  the  condition  of  the  laborious 
classes  of  mankind,  by  regular  and  seasonable 
returns  of  rest. 

3.  By  a  general  suspension  of  business  and 
amusement,  to  invite  and  enable  persons  of  every 
description  to  apply  their  time  and  thoughts  to 
subjects  appertaining  to  their  salvation. 

With  the  primitive  Christians,  the  peculiar, 
and  probaljly  for  sometime  the  only,  distinction  of 
the  first  day  of  the  week,  was  the  holding  of  re- 
ligious assemblies  upon  that  day.  We  learn, 
however,  from  the  testimony  of  a  very  early 
writer  amongst  them,  that  they  also  reser\ed  the 
day  for  r.iigious  meditations  ; — Unusqiiisque  nos- 
trum  (saith  Ircna?us)  sabbafizat  spirititaliter.  vie- 
ditatione  legis gaudens^  opijiciiim  Dei  admirans, 

Whf.rekore  the  duty  of  the  day  is  violated, 

1st,  Bv  all  such  employments  or  engagements 
as  (though  dilferini:  from  our  ordinary  occupation) 
hinder  our  attendance  upon  public  worship,  or 
take  up  so  much  of  our  time  as  not  to  leave  a 
sufRcient  part  of  the  day  at  leisure  for  religious 
reflection ;  as  the  going  of  journeys,  the  payuigor 
receiving  of  visits  which  engage  the  whole  day,  or 
emplopng  the  time  at  home  in  writing  letters,  set- 
tling accounts,  or  in  applying  ourselves  to  studies, 
or  the  reading  of  books,  which  bear  no  relation 
to  the  business  of  rehgion. 

2dly,  By  unnecessary  encroachments  on  the  rest 
and  liberty  which  Sunday  ouuht  to  bring  to  the 
inferior  orders  of  the  community ;  as  by  keeping 
servants  on  that  day  confined  and  busied  in  pre- 
parations for  the  superfluous  elegancies  of  our 
table,  or  dress. 

odly.  By  such  recreations  as  are  customarily 
forborne  out  of  respect  to  the  day ;  as  hunting, 
shooting,  fishing,  public  diversions,  frequenting 
taverns,  plapng  at  cards  or  dice. 

If  it  be  asked,  as  it  often  has  been,  wherein 
consists  the  difference  between  walking  out  with 
yom"  staff  or  with  your  gunl   between  spending 


106 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


the  evening  at  home,  or  in  a  tavern  1  between 
passing  the  Sunday  afternoon  at  a  game  of  cards, 
or  in  conversation  not  more  edifying,  not  always 
so  inolfonsive  ? — to  tlicse,  and  to  the  same  question 
under  a  variety  of  forms,  and  in  a  muUitude  of 
similar  examples,  we  return  the  following  an- 
swer : — That  the  religious  observance  of  Sunday, 
ii'  it  ought  to  be  retained  at  all,  must  be  upholden 
by  some  public  and  visible  distinctions  :  that,  draw 
the  line  of  distinction  where  you  will,  many  ac- 
tions wliich  are  situated  on  the  conlines  of  the 
line,  will  differ  very  little,  and  yet  lie  on  the  op- 
posite sides  of  it : — that  every  trespass  upon  that 
reserve  which  public  decency  has  established, 
bnuiks  down  the  fence  by  which  the  day  is  sepa- 
rated to  the  service  of  rehgion  : — that  it  is  unsafe 
to  trific  with  scruples  and  habits  that  have  a 
bi'neiici  il  tendency,  although  founded  merely  in 
custom : — that  these  liberties,  however  intended, 
will  certainly  be  considered  by  those  who  observe 
them,  not  only  as  disrespectful  to  the  day  and  in- 
stitution, but  as  proceeding  from  a  secret  contempt 
of  the  Christian  faith : — that  consequently,  they 
diminish  a  reverence  for  religion  in  others,  so  far 
as  the  authority  of  our  opinion,  or  the  efficacy  of 
our  example,  reaches  ;  or  rather,  so  far  as  either 
will  serve  for  an  excuse  of  negligence  to  those  who 
are  glad  of  any :  that  as  to  cards  and  dice,  which 
put  in  their  claim  to  be  considered  among  the 
harmless  occupations  of  a  vacant  hour,  it  may  be 
observed  that  few  find  any  difficulty  in  refraining 
from  play  on  Sunday,  except  they  who  sit  down 
to  it  with  the  views  and  eagerness  of  game- 
sters : — that  gaming  is  seldom  innocent : — that 
the  anxiety  and  perturbations,  however,  which 
it  excites,  are  inconsistent  with  the  tranquillity  and 
frame  of  temper  in  which  the  duties  and  thoughts 
of  religion  should  always  both  tind  and  leave  us  : 
and  lastly,  we  shall  remark,  that  the  example  of 
other  countries,  where  the  same  and  greater  li- 
cence is  allowed,  affords  no  apology  for  irregularities 
in  our  own  ;  because  a  practice  which  is  tolerated 
by  public  usage,  neither  receives  the  same  con- 
Btruction,  nor  gives  the  same  offence,  as  where  it 
is  censured  and  proliibited. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Of  Reverencing  the  Deity, 

In  many  persons,  a  seriousness,  and  sense  of 
awe,  overspread  the  imagination,  whenever  the 
idea  of  the  Supreme  Being  is  presented  to  their 
thoughts.  This  effect,  which  forms  a  considera- 
ble security  against  vice,  is  the  consequence  not 
so  much  of  reflection,  as  of  habit ;  which  habit 
being  generated  by  the  external  expressions  of 
r(!verence  which  we  use  ourselves,  or  observe  in 
others,  may  be  destroyed  by  causes  opposite  to 
these,  and  especially  by  that  familiar  levity  with 
which  some  learn  to  speak  of  the  Deity,  of  his 
attributes,  providence,  revelations,  or  worship. 

God  hath  been  pleased  (no  matter  for  what  rea- 
son, although  probably  for  this)  to  forbid  the  vain 
mention  of  his  name  : — "  Thou  shalt  not  take  the 
name  of  the  Lord  thy  God  in  vain."  Now  the 
mention  is  vain,  when  it  is  useless:  and  it  is 
useless,  when  it  is  neither  likely  nor  intended  to 
serve  any  good  purpose ;  as  when  it  flows  from 
the  lips  idle  and  unmeaning,  or  is  applied,  on  oc- 
casions inconsistent  with  any  consideration  of  re- 


ligion and  devotion,  to  express  our  anger,  oui 
earnestness,  our  courage,  or  our  mirth  :  or  indeed 
when  it  is  used  at  all,  except  in  acts  of  religion,  or 
in  serious  and  seasonable  discourse  upon  religious 
subjects. 

The  prohibition  of  the  third  commandment  is 
recognised  by  Clirist,  in  his  sermon  upon  the 
mount;  which  sermon  adverts  to  none  but  the 
moral  parts  of  the  Jewish  law :  "  I  say  unto  you, 
Swearnot  at  all;  but  let  your  communication  be 
Yea,  yea  ;  Nay,  nay  :  for  whatsoever  is  more  than 
these,  Cometh  of  evil."  The  Jews  probably  in- 
terpreted the  prohibition  as  restrained  to  the  name 
Jehovah,  the  name  which  the  Deity  had  appointed 
and  appropriated  to  liimsclf ;  Exod.  vi.  3.  The 
words  of  Christ  extend  the  prohibition  beyond  the 
najne  of  God,  to  every  thing  associated  with  the 
idea : — "  Swear  not,  neither  by  heaven,  for  it  is 
God's  throne  ;  nor  by  the  earth,  for  it  is  his  foot- 
stool ;  neither  by  Jerusalem,  for  it  is  the  city  of 
the  Great  King."     Matt.  v.  35. 

The  offence  of  profane  swearing  is  aggravated 
by  the  consideration,  that  in  it  duty  and  decency 
are  sacrificed  to  the  slenderest  of  temptations. 
Suppose  the  habit,  either  from  affectation,  or  by 
negligence  and  inadvertency,  to  be  already  formed, 
it  must  always  remain  within  the  power  of  the 
most  ordinary  resolution  to  correct  it ;  and  it  can- 
not, one  would  think,  cost  a  great  deal  to  relinquish 
the  pleasure  and  honour  which  it  confers.  A 
concern  for  duty  is  in  fact  never  strong,  when  tlie 
exertion  requisite  to  vanish  a  habit  founded  in  no 
antecedent  propensity,  is  thought  too  much,  or  too 
painful. 

A  contempt  of  positive  duties,  or  rather  cf  those 
duties  for  which  the  reason  is  not  so  plain  as  the 
command,  indicates  a  disposition  upon  which  the 
authority  of  Revelation  has  obtained  little  inllu- 
ence. — This  remark  is  applicable  to  the  offence  of 
profane  swearing,  and  describes,  perhaps,  pretty 
exactly,  the  general  character  of  those  who  are 
most  addicted  to  it. 

Mockery  and  ridicule,  when  exercised  upon  the 
Scriptures,  or  even  upon  the  places,  persons,  and 
forms,  set  apart  for  the  ministration  of  religion, 
fall  within  the  jneaning  of  the  law  which  forbids 
the  profanation  of  God's  name ;  especially  as  that 
law  is  extended  by  Christ's  interpretation.  They 
are.  moreover,  inconsistent  with  a  religious  frame 
of  mind :  for,  as  no  one  ever  feels  himself  disposed 
to  pleasantry,  or  capable  of  being  diverted  with 
the  pleasantry  of  others,  upon  matters  in  which 
he  is  deeply  interested  ;  so  a  mind  intent  upon  the 
acquisition  of  heaven,  rejects  with  indignation 
every  attempt  to  entertain  it  with  jests,  calculated 
to  degrade  or  deride  subjects  which  it  never  recol- 
lects but  with  seriousness  and  anxiety.  Nothing 
but  stupidity,  or  the  most  frivolous  dissipation  of 
thought,  can  make  even  tlie  inconsiderate  forget 
the  supreme  imj)ortance  of  every  thing  which  re- 
lates to  the  expectation  of  a  future  existence. 
Whilst  the  infidel  mocks  at  the  superstitions  of 
the  vulgar,  insults  over  their  credulous  fears,  their 
childish  errors,  or  fantastic  rites,  it  does  not  occur 
to  him  to  observe,  that  the  most  preposterous  de- 
vice by  which  the  weakest  devotee  ever  believed 
he  was  securing  the  ha})piness  of  a  future  life, 
is  more  rational  than  unconcern  about  it.  Upon 
this  suliject,  nothing  is  so  absurd  as  indifference ; 
no  folly  so  contemptible  as  thoughtlessness  and 
levity. 

Finally ;  the  knowledge  of  what  is  due  to  the 


OF  REVERENCING  THE  DEITY. 


107 


solemnity  of  those   interests,  concerning  which 
Revelation  professes  to  inform  and  direct  us,  may 
teach  even  those  who  are  least  inclined  to  respect 
the  prejudicies  of  mankind,  to  observe  a  decoruni 
in  the  style  and  conduct  of  rehgious  disquisitions, 
with  the  neglect  of  which  many  adversaries  of 
Christianity  are  justly  chargeable.     Serious  ar- 
guments are  fair  on  all  sides.     Christianity  is  but 
ill  defended  by  refusing  audience  or  toleration  to 
the   objections   of  unbelievers.      But   whilst   we 
would  have  freedom  of  inquiry  restrained  by  no 
laws  but  those  of  decency,  we  are  entitled  to  de- 
mand, on  behalf  of  a  religion  which  holds  forth 
to  mankind  assurances  of  immortality,   that  its 
credit  be  assailed  by  no  other  weapons  than  those 
of  sober  discussion  and  legitimate  reasoning  : — that 
the  truth  or  falsehood   of  Christianity  be  never 
made  a  topic  of  raillery,  a  theme  for  the  exercise  of 
wit  or  eloquence,  or  a  subject  of  contention  for 
literary  fame  and  victory  : — that  the  cause  be  tried 
upon  its  merits  : — that  all  applications  to  the  fancy, 
passions,  or  prejudices  of  the  reader,  all  attempts 
to  pre-occupy,  ensnare,  or  perplex  his  judgment, 
by  any  art,  influence,  or  impression  whatsoever, 
extrinsic  to  the  proper  grounds  andendence  upon 
which  his  assent  ought  to  proceed,  be  rejected 
from  a  question  which  involves  in  its  determination 
the  hopes,  the  virtue,  and  the  repose,  of  millions  : — 
that  the  controversy  be  managed  on  both  sides 
with  sincerity ;  that  is,  that  nothing  be  produced, 
in  the  writings  of  either,  contrary  to,  or  beyond, 
the  writer's  own  knowledge  and   persuasion: — 
that  objections  and  difficulties  be  proposed,  from 
no  other  motive  than  an  honest  and  serious  desire 
to  obtain  satisfaction,  or  to  communicate  informa- 
tion which  may  promote  the  discovery  and  pro- 
gress of  truth : — that  in  conformity  with  this  de- 
sign, every  thing  be  stated  with  integrity,  with 
method,  precision,  and  simplicity ;  and  above  all, 
that  whatever   is  published  in  opposition  to  re- 
ceived and  confessedly  beneficial  persuasions,  be 
set  forth  under  a  form  wliicli  is  likely  to  invite  in- 
quiry  and  to  meet  examination.     If  with  these 
moderate  and  equitable  conditions  be  compared  the 
manner  in  which   hostilities  have   been   waged 
against  the  Christian  religion,  not  only  the  votaries 
of  the  prevailmg  faith,  but  every  man  who  looks 
forward  with  anxiety  to  the  destination  of  his  being, 
will  see  much  to  blame  and  to  complain  of    Byojie 
unbeliever,  all  the  follies  which  have  adhered,  in  a 
long  course  of  dark  and  superstitious  ages,  to  the 
popular  creed,  are  assumed  as  so  many  doctrines 
of  Christ  and  his  apostles,  for  the  purpose  of  sub- 
verting the  whole  system  by  the  absurdities  which 
it  is  thus  represented  to  contain.    By  another,  the 
ignorance  and  vices  of  the  sacerdotal  order,  their 
mutual  dissensions  and  persecutions,  their  usur- 
l^ations  and  encroachments  upon  the  intellectual 
liberty  and  civil  rights  of  mankind,  have  been  dis- 
played with  no  small  triumph  and  invective ;  not 
so  much  to  guard  the  Christian  laity  against  a 
repetition  of  the  same  injuries,  (which  is  the  only 
proper  use  to  be  made  of  the  most  flagrant  exam- 
ples of  the  past.)  as  to  prepare  the  way  for  an  in- 
sinuation, that  the  religion  itself  is  nothing  but  a 
profitable  fable,  imposed  upon  the  fears  and  cre- 
dulitv  of  the  multitude,  and  upheld  by  the  frauds 
and  influence  of  an  interested  and  crafty  priest- 
hood.    And  yet,  how  remotely  is  the  character  of 
the  clergv  connected  with  the  truth  of  Christiani- 
ty !  What,  after  all,  do  the  most  disgraceful  pages 
of  ecclesiastical  history  prove,  but  that  the  passions 


of  our  common  nature  are  not  altered  or  excluded 
by  distinctions  of  name,  and  that  the  characters  of 
men  are  formed  much  more  by  the  temptations 
than  the  duties  of  their  profession  1  A  third  finds 
delight  in  collecting  and  repeating  accounts  of  wars 
and  massacres,  of  tumults  and  insurrections,  exci- 
ted in  almost  every  age  of  the  Christian  sera  by  reh- 
gious zeal ;  as  though  the  vices  of  Christians  were 
parts  of  Christianity  ;  intolerance  and  extirpation 
precepts  of  the  Gospel;  or  as  if  its  spirit  could  be 
judged  of  from  the  counsels  of  princes,  the  in- 
trigues of  statesmen,  the  pretences  of  malice  and 
ambition,   or   the  unauthorised  cruellies  of  some 
gloomy  and  virulent  superstition.     By  a  fourth, 
the  succession  and  variety  of  popular  religions ; 
the  vicissitudes  with  wliich  sects  and  tenets  have 
flourished  and  decayed ;  the  zeal  with  which  they 
were  once  supported,  the  negligence  with  which 
they  are  now  remembered  ;  the  little  share  which 
reason  and  argument  appear  to  have  had  in  fram- 
ing the  creed,  or  regulating  the  religious  conduct, 
of  the  multitude ;  the  indiflerence  and  submission 
with  which  the  reUgion  of  the  state  is  generally 
received  b)'  the  common  people ;  the  caprice  and 
vehemence  with  which  it  is  sometimes  opposed ; 
the  phrensy  with  which  men  have  been  brought 
to  contend  for  opinions  and  ceremonies,  of  which 
they  knew  neither  the  proof,  the  meaning,  nor  the 
original :  lastly,  the  equal  and  imdoubting  confi- 
dence with  wliich  we  hear  the  doctrines  of  Christ 
or  of  Confucius,  the  law  of  Moses  or  of  Mahomet, 
the  Bible,  the  Koran,  or  the  Shaster,  maintained 
or  anathematized,  taught  or  abjured,  revered  or 
derided,  according  as  we  live  on  this  or  on  that 
side  of  a  river ;  keep  within  or  step  over  the  boun- 
daries of  a  state ;  or  even  in  the  same  country,  and 
by  the  same  people,  so  often  as  the  event  of  Ijattle, 
or  the  issue  of  a  negociation,  delivers  them  to  the 
dominion  of  a  new  master  ; — points,  I  say,  of  this 
sort  are  exhibited  to  the  pubhc  attention,  as  so 
many  arguments  against  the  truth  of  the  Christian 
religion ; — and  with  success.      For  these  topics, 
being  brought  together,  and  set  ofl'  with  some  ag- 
gravation of  circumstances,  and  with  a  \ivacity 
of  style  and  description  familiar  enough  to  the 
writings  and  conversation  of  free-thinkers,  insen- 
sibly lead  the  unagination  into  a  habit  of  classing 
Christianity  with  the  delusions  that  have  taken 
possession,  by  turns,  of  the  pubhc  behef ;  and  of 
regarding  it,  as  what  the  scoffers  of  our  faith  re- 
present   it  to  be,    the  superstition   of  the  day. 
But  is  this  to  deal  honestly  by  the  subject,  or 
with  the  world  1  May  not  the  same  things  be  said, 
may  not  the  same  prejudices  be  excited  by  these 
representations,  whether  Christianity  be  true  or 
false,  or  by  whatever  proofs  its  truth  be  attested  ] 
May  not  truth  as  well  as  falsehood  be  taken  upon 
credit  ]  May  not  a  religion  be  founded  upon  evi- 
dence accessible  and  satisfactory  to  every  mind  com- 
petent to  the  inquiry,  wliich  yet,  by  the  greatest 
part  of  its  professors,  is  received  upon  authorityl 
But  if  the  matter  of  those  objections  be  repre- 
hensible, as  calculated  to  produce  an  eflect  upon 
the  reader  beyond  what  their  real  weight  and  place 
in  the  argument  dcsene,  still  more  shall  we  disco- 
ver of  management  and  disingenuousness  in  the 
form  under  which  they  are  d'spersed  emiong  the 
public.      InfideUty  is  served  up  in  every  shape 
that  is  likely  to  allure,  surprise,  or  beguile  the 
imagination ;  in  a  fable,  a  tale,  a  novel,  a  poem ; 
in  interspersed  and  broken  hints,  remote  and  ob- 
hque  surmises ;  in  books  of  travels,  of  philosophy, 


108 


TVIORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


of  n;itural  history ;  in  a  word,  in  any  form  rather 
than  the  right  one,  that  of  a  professed  and  regular 
dis(iuisition.  And  because  the  coarse  builboiiery, 
and  broad  laugh,  of  the  old  and  rude  adversaries 
of  the  Christian  faith,  would  offend  the  taste, 
perhaps,  rather  than  the  virtue,  of  this  cultivated 
a<^re,  a  o-raver  irony,  a  more  skilful  and  delicate 
lianter,  is  substituted  in  their  place.  An  eloquent 
historian,  beside  his  more  direct,  and  therefore 
fairer  attacks  upon  the  credibility  of  Evangelic 
story,  has  contrived  to  weave  into  his  narration  one 
continued  sneer  upon  the  cause  of  Christianity, 
and  upon  the  writings  and  characters  of  its  ancient 
patrons.  I'he  knowledge  which  this  author  pos- 
sesses of  the  frame  and  conduct  oi'  the  human 
mind,  must  have  led  him  to  observe,  that  such  at- 
tacks do  their  execution  without  inquiry.  Who 
can  refute  a  sneer  ?  Who  can  compute  the  num- 
ber, much  less,  one  by  one,  scrutinize  the  justice, 
of  those  disparaging  insinuations  which  crowd  the 
pages  of  this  elaborate  history  !  What  reader  sus- 
pends his  curiosity,  or  calls  off  his  attention  from 
the  principal  narrative,  to  examine  references,  or 
to  search  into  the  foundation,  or  to  weigh  the 
reason,  propriety,  and  force,  of  every  transient 
sarcasm,  and  sly  allusion,  by  which  the  Christian 
testimony  is  depreciated  and  traduced :  and  by 
which,  nevertheless,  he  may  find  his  persuasion 
afterwards  unsettled  and  perplexed  1 

But  the  enemies  of  Christianity  have  pursued 
her  with  poisoned  arrows.  Obscurity  itself  is 
made  the  vehicle  of  infidelity.  The  awful  doc- 
trines, if  we  be  not  permitted  to  call  them  the  sa- 
cred truths,  of  our  religion,  together  with  all  the 
adjuncts  and  appendages  of  its  worship  and  ex- 
ternal profession,  have  been  sometimes  impudent- 
ly profaned  by  an  unnatural  conjunction  with 
impure  and  lascivious  images.  The  fondness  for 
ridicule  is  almost  universal :  and  ridicule,  to  many 
minds,  is  never  so  irresistible,  as  when  seasoned 
with  obscenity,  and  employed  upon  religion.  But 
in  proportion  as  these  noxious  principles  take  hold 
of  the  imagination,  they  infatuate  the  judgment: 
for  trains  of  ludicrous  and  unchaste  associations 
adhering  to  every  sentiment  and  mention  of  re- 
ligion, render  the  mind  indisposed  to  receive  either 
conviction  from  its  evidence,  or  impressions  from 
its  authority.  And  this  effect  being  exerted  ujjon 
the  sensitive  part  of  our  frame,  is  altogether  inde- 
pendent of  argument,  proof,  or  reason  ;  is  as  for- 
midable to  a  true  religion,  as  to  a  false  one  ;  to  a 
well  grounded  faith,  as  to  a  chimerical  mythology, 
or  fabulous  tradition.  Neither,  let  it  be  observed, 
is  the  crime  or  danger  less,  because  impure  ideas 
are  exhibited  under  a  veil,  in  covert  and  chastised 
language. 

Seriousness  is  not  constraint  of  thought ;  nor 
levity,  freedom.  Every  mind  which  wishes  the 
advancement  of  trutli  and  knowledge,  in  the  most 
important  of  all  human  researches,  must  abhor 
this  licentiousness,  as  violating  no  less  the  laws  of 
reasoning,  than  the  rights  of  decency.  There  is 
but  one  description  of  men,  to  whose  principles  it 
ought  tobe  toleral>le;  I  mean  tliat  class  of  reason- 
ers  who  can  see  little  in  Christianity,  even  sup- 
posing it  to  be  true.  To  such  adversaries  we 
address  this  reflection — Had  Jesus  Christ  deliver- 
ed no  other  declaration  than  the  following—"  Tlie 
hour  is  coining,  in  the  which  all  that  are  in  the 
grave  shall  hear  his  voice,  and  shall  come  forth : 
they  that  have  done  good,  unto  the  resurrection 
cf  life  ;  and  the^  that  have  done  evil,  unto  the  re- 


surrection of  damnation:" — he  had  pronounced  a 
message  of  inestimable  importance,  and  well  wor- 
thy of  that  splendid  apparatus  of  prophecy  and  mira- 
cles with  which  his  mission  was  introduced  and  at- 
t«sted :  a  message  in  which  the  wisest  of  mankind 
would  rejoice  to  find  an  answer  to  their  doubts, 
and  rest  to  their  inquiries.  It  is  idle  to  say,  that 
a  future  state  had  been  discovered  already : — it 
had  been  discovered  as  the  Copcrnican  system 
was, — it  was  one  guess  among  many.  He  alone 
discovers,  who  proves ;  and  no  man  can  prove 
this  point,  but  the  teacher  who  testifies  by  miracles 
that  Ids  doctrine  comes  from  God. 


BOOK  VI. 

ELEMENTS  OF  POLITICAL  KNOWLEDGE. 


CHAPTER  L 

Of  the  Origin  of  Civil  Government. 

Government,  at  first,  was  either  patriarchal  or 
military  :  that  of  a  parent  over  his  family,  or  of  a 
commander  over  his  ft  How -warriors. 

I.  Paternal  authority,  and  the  order  of  domestic 
life,  supplied  the  foundation  of  civil  government. 
Did  mankind  spring  out  of  the  earth  mature  and 
independent,  it  would  be  found  perhaps  impossible 
to  introduce  subjection  and  subordination  among 
them :  but  the  condition  of  human  infancy  pre- 
pares men  for  society,  by  combining  individuals 
into  small  communities,  and  by  placing  them  from 
the  beginning,  under  direction  and  control.  A 
family  contains  the  rudiments  of  an  empire.  The 
authority  of  one  over  many,  and  the  disposition  to 
govern  and  to  be  governed,  are  in  this  way  inci- 
dental to  the  very  nature,  and  coeval  no  doubt  with 
the  existence,  of  the  human  species. 

Moreover,  the  constitution  of  families  not  only 
assists  the  formation  of  ci\il  government,  by  the 
dispositions  which  it  generates,  but  also  furnishes 
the  first  steps  of  the  process  by  which  empires 
have  been  actually  reai'ed.  A  parent  would  retain 
a  considerable  part  of  his  authority  after  his  chil- 
dren were  grown  up,  and  had  formed  families  of 
their  own.  The  obedience  of  which  they  remem- 
bered not  the  beginning,  would  be  considered  as 
natural ;  and  would  scarcely,  during  the  parent's 
life,  be  entirely  or  abruptly  withdrawn.  Here 
then  we  see  the  second  stage  in  the  progress  of 
dominion.  The  first  was,  that  of  a  parent  over 
liis  young  children ;  this,  that  of  an  ancestor  pre- 
siding over  liis  adult  descendants. 

Although  the  original  progenitor  was  the  centre 
of  union  to  his  posterity,  yet  it  is  not  probable 
that  the  association  would  be  immediately  or  alto- 
gether dissolved  by  his  death.  Connected  by  ha- 
bits of  intercourse  and  affection,  and  by  some 
common  rights,  necessities,  and  interests,  they 
would  consider  themselves  as  allied  to  each  other 
in  a  nearer  degree  than  to  the  rest  of  the  species. 
Almost  all  would  be  sensible  of  an  inclination 
to  continue  in  the  society  in  which  they  had  been 
brought  up ;  and  experiencing,  as  they  soon  would 
do,  many  inconveniences  from  the  absence  of  that 
authority  which  their  common  ancestor  exercised, 
especially  in  deciding  their  disputes,  and  directing 
their  operations  in  matters  in  wliich  it  was  ne- 


ORIGIN  OF  CIVIL  GOVERNMENT. 


lOS 


cessary  to  act  in  conjunction,  tliey  might  be  in- 
duced to  supply  his  place  by  a  formal  clioice  of 
a  successor  ;  or  rather  might  willingly,  and  almost 
hnpcrceptibly,  transfer  tiieir  obedience  to  some 
one  of  the  family,  who  by  liis  age  or  services,  or 
by  the  part  he  possessed  in  the  direction  of  their 
ailairs  during  the  lifetime  of  the  parent,  had  al- 
ready taught  them  to  respect  his  advice,  or  to  at- 
tend to  his  commands  ;  or  lastly,  the  prospect  of 
these  inconveniences  might  prompt  the  tirst  an- 
cestor to  appoint  a  successor ;  and  his  posterity, 
from  the  same  motive,  united  with  an  habitual  de- 
ference to  the  ancestor's  authority,  might  receive 
the  appointment  with  submission.  Here  then  we 
'  have  a  tribe  or  clan  incorporated  under  one  chief 
Such  communities  might  be  increased  by  consider- 
able numbers,  and  fuiiil  the  purposes  of  civil 
union  without  any  other  or  more  regular  conven- 
tion, constitution,  or  form  of  government,  than 
what  we  have  described.  Every  branch  which 
was  slipped  off  from  the  primitive  stock,  and  re- 
moved to  a  distance  from  it,  would  in  like  manner 
take  root,  and  grow  into  a  separate  clan.  Tw'o 
or  three  of  these  clans  were  frequently,  we  may 
suppose,  united  into  one.  Marriage,  concjuest, 
mutual  defence,  common  distress,  or  more  acci- 
dental coaUiions,  might  produce  tliis  effect. 

II.  A  second  source  of  personal  authority,  and 
which  might  easily  extend,  or  sometimes  perhaps 
supersede,  the  patriarchal,  is  that  wliich  results 
from  military  arrangement.  In  wars,  either  of 
aggression  or  defence,  manifest  necessity  would 
prompt  those  who  fought  on  the  same  side  to  ar- 
ray themselves  under  one  leader.  And  although 
their  leader  was  advanced  to  this  eiidnence  for 
the  purpose  only,  and  during  the  operations,  of 
a  single  expedition,  yet  liis  authority  would  not 
always  terminate  with  the  reasons  for  wliich  it 
was  conferred.  A  warrior  who  had  led  forth  his 
tribe  against  their  enemies,  with  repeated  success, 
would  procure  to  himself,  even  in  the  delibera- 
tions of  peace,  a  powerful  and  permanent  in- 
fluence. If  this  advantage  were  added  to  the  au- 
thority of  the  patriarchal  chief,  or  favoured  by  any 
previous  distinction  of  ancestry,  it  would  be  no 
difficult  undertaking  for  the  person  who  possessed 
it,  to  obtain  the  almost  absolute  direction  of  the 
alliiirs  of  the  community ;  especially  if  he  was 
carcfid  to  associate  to  himself  proper  auxiliaries, 
and  content  to  practise  the  obvious  art  of  gratify- 
ing or  removing  those  who  opposed  his  preten- 
sions. 

But  although  we  may  be  able  to  comprehend 
how  by  his  personal  abilities  or  fortune  one  man 
may  obtain  the  rule  over  many,  yet  it  seems  more 
difficult  to  explain  how  empire  became  hereditary, 
or  m  what  manner  sovereign  power,  which  is 
never  acquired  without  great  merit  or  manage- 
ment, learns  to  descend  in  a  succession  which  has 
no  depeudance  upcm  any  qualities  cither  of  un- 
derstanding or  activity.  The  causes  which  have 
introduced  hereditary  dominion  into  so  general  a 
reception  in  the  world,  are  principally  the  follow- 
ing:— the  influence  of  association,  which  com- 
municates to  the  son  a  portion  of  the  same  respect 
which  was  wont  to  be  paid  to  the  virtues  or  sta- 
tion of  the  father  ;  the  mutual  jealousy  of  other 
competitors ;  the  greater  envy  with  which  all  be- 
hold the  exaltation  of  an  equal,  than  the  con- 
tinuance of  an  acknowledged  superiority ;  a  reign- 
ing prince  leaving  behind  him  many  adherents, 
who  can  preserve  their  own  importance  only  by  | 


I  supporting  the  succession  of  his  children :  add  to 
these  reasons,  that  elections  to  the  supreme  power 
having,  upon  trial,  produced  destructive  conten- 
tions, many  states  would  take  a  refuge  from  a  re- 
turn of  the  same  calamities  in  a  rule  of  succession ; 
and  no  rule  presents  itself  so  obvious,  certain,  and 
intelligible,  as  consanguinity  of  birth. 

The  ancient  state  of  society  in  most  countries, 
and  the  modern  condition  of  some  uncivilized  parts 
of  the  world,  exliibit  that  appearance  whitili  this 
account  of  the  origin  of  civil  government  would 
lead  us  to  expect.  The  earliest  histories  of  Pa- 
lestine, Greece,  Italy,  Gaul,  Britain,  inform  us, 
that  these  countries  were  occupied  by  many  small 
independent  nations,  not  much  perhaps  unlike 
those  which  are  found  at  present  amongst  the 
savage  inhabitants  of  North  America,  and  upon 
the  coast  of  Africa.  These  nations  I  consider 
as  the  amplifications  of  so  many  single  families ; 
or  as  derived  from  the  junction  of  two  or  three 
families,  whom  society  in  war,  or  the  approach  of 
some  common  danger,  had  united.  Suppose  a 
country  to  have  been  first  peopled  by  shipwreck 
on  its  coasts,  or  by  emigrants  or  exiles  from  a 
neighbouring  country;  the  new  settlers,  having 
no  enemj'  to  provide  against,  and  occupied  with 
the  care  of  their  personal  subsistence,  would  think 
little  of  digesting  a  system  of  laws,  of  contriving 
a  form  of  government,  or  indeed  of  any  political 
union  whatever ;  but  each  settler  would  remain 
at  the  head  of  liis  own  family,  and  each  family 
would  include  all  of  every  age  and  generation 
who  were  descended  from  lum.  So  many  of  these 
families  as  were  lioldcn  together  after  the  death 
of  the  original  ancestor,  by  the  reasons  and  in  the 
method  above  recited,  would  wax,  as  the  indi- 
viduals were  multiplied,  into  tribes,  clans,  hordes, 
or  nations,  similar  to  those  into  which  the  ancient 
inhabitants  of  many  countries  are  known  to  have 
been  divided,  and  wliich  are  still  found  wherever 
the  state  of  society  and  manners  is  immature  and 
uncultivated. 

Nor  need  we  be  surprised  at  the  early  exist- 
ence in  the  world  of  some  vast  empires,  or  at  the 
rapidity  with  which  they  advanced  to  their  great- 
ness, from  comparatively  small  and  obscure  ori- 
ginals. V/hilst  the  inhabitants  of  so  many  coun- 
tries were  broken  into  numerous  communities, 
unconnected,  and  oftentimes  contending  with 
each  other ;  before  experience  had  taught  these 
little  states  to  sife  their  own  danger  in  their  neigh- 
bour's ruin  ;  or  had  instructed  tliera  in  the  neces- 
sity of  resisting  the  aggrandizement  of  an  as- 
piring power,  by  alliances,  and  timely  prepara- 
tions; in  this  condition  of  civil  policy,  a  particular 
tribe,  which  by  any  means  had  gotten  the  start  of 
the  rest  in  strength  or  discipline,  and  happened  to 
fail  under  the  conduct  of  an  ambitious  cliief,  by 
directing  their  first  attempts  to  the  part  where 
success  was  most  secure,  and  by  assuming,  as 
they  went  along,  those  whom  they  conquered  into 
a  share  of  their  future  enterprises,  might  soon  ga- 
ther a  force  which  would  infallibly  overbear  any 
opposition  that  the  scattered  power  and  unpro- 
vided state  of  such  enemies  could  make  to  the 
progress  of  their  victories. 

Lastly,  our  theory  affords  a  presumption,  that 
the  earliest  governments  were  monarchies ;  because 
the  government  of  families,  and  of  armies,  from 
which,  according  to  our  account,  civil  government 
derived  its  institution,  and  probably  its  form,  is 
universally  monarchical. 
10 


no 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Vow  Subjection  to   Civil   Government  is  Main- 
taintd. 

Could  we  view  our  own  species  from  a  dis- 
tance, or  regard  mankind  with  the  same  sort 
of  observation  with  which  we  read  the  natural 
history,  or  remark  the  manners^  of  any  ofher 
animal,  there  is  nothing  in  the  human  character 
which  would  more  surprise  us,  than  the  almost 
universal  subjugation  of  strength  to  weakness; — 
than  to  see  many  millions  of  rohust  men,  in  the 
complete  use  and  exercise  of  their  personal  facul- 
ties, and  without  any  defect  of  courage,  waiting 
upon  the  will  of  a  child,  a  woman,  a  driveller,  or 
a  lunatic.  And  although,  when  we  suppose  avast 
empiri'  in  absolute  subjection  to  one  person,  and 
that  one  depressed  beneath  the  level  of  his  spe- 
cies by  inlirinities,  or  vice,  we  suppose  perhaps  an 
extreme  case;  yet  in  all  cases,  even  the  most 
popular  forms  of  civil  government,  the  physical 
strength  resides  in  the  governed.  In  what  man- 
ner opinion  thus  prevails  over  strength,  or  how 
power,  which  naturally  belongs  to  superior  force, 
is  maintained  in  opposition  to  it ;  in  other  words, 
by  what  motives  the  many  are  induced  to  submit 
to  the  few,  becomes  an  inquiry  whii'h  lies  at  the 
root  of  almost  every  political  speculation.  It  re- 
moves, indeed,  but  does  not  resolve,  the  difficulty, 
to  say,  that  civil  governments  are  now-a-days  al- 
most universally  upholden  by  standing  armies ; 
for,  the  question  still  returns;  How  are  these  ar- 
mies themselves  kept  in  subjection,  or  made  to 
obey  the  commands,  and  carry  on  the  designs,  of 
the  prince  or  state  which  employs  them  ■? 

Now,  although  we  should  look  in  vain  for  any 
single  reason  which  will  account  for  the  general 
submission  of  mankind  to  civil  government;  yet 
it  may  not  lie  difficult  to  assign  for  every  class 
and  character  in  the  community,  considerations 
powerful  enough  to  dissuade  ea<'h  from  any  at- 
tempts to  resist  established  authority.  Every  man 
has  his  motive,  though  not  the  same.  In  this,  as 
in  other  instances,  the  conduct  is  similar,  but  the 
principles  which  produce  it,  extremely  various. 

There  are  three  distinctions  of  character,  into 
which  the  subjects  of  a  state  may  be  divided  :  into 
those  who  obey  from  prejudice;  those  who  obey 
from  reason;  and  those  who  obey  from  self-in- 
terest. 

1.  They  who  obey  from  prejudice,  are  deter- 
mined by  an  opinion  of  right  in  their  governors ; 
which  opinion  is  founded  upon  prescription.  In 
monarchies  and  aristocracies  which  are  hereditary, 
the  yirescription  operates  in  favour  of  particular 
families ;  in  republics  and  elective  offices,  in  fa- 
vour of  particular  forms  of  government,  or  consti- 
tution. Nor  is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  that  mankind 
should  reverence  authority  founded  in  prescrip- 
tion, when  they  observe  that  it  is  prescription 
which  confers  the  title  to  almost  every  thing  else. 
The  whole  course,  and  all  the  habits  of  civil  life, 
favour  this  prejudice.  Upon  what  other  founda- 
tion stands  any  man's  right  to  his  estate  1  The 
right  of  primogeniture,  the  succession  of  kindred, 
the  descent  of  property,  the  inheritance  of  honours, 
the  demand  of  tithes,  tolls,  rents,  or  services, 
from  the  estates  of  others,  the  right  of  way,  the 
powers  of  office  and  magistracy,  the  privileges  of 
nobility,  the  immunities  of  the  clergy,  upon  what 
are  they  all  founded,  in  the  apprehension  at  least 


of  the  multitude,  but  upon  prescription  1  To  wha', 
else,  when  the  claims  are  contested,  is  the  appeal 
made?  it  is  natural  to  transfer  the  same  principle 
to  the  aifairs  of  government,  and  to  regard  those 
exertions  of  power  which  have  been  long  ex- 
ercised and  acquiesced  in,  as  so  nvdwy  rights  m 
the  sovereign ;  and  to  consiiler  obedience  to  his 
commands,  within  certain  accustomed  limits,  as 
enjoined  by  that  rule  of  conscience,  which  re- 
quires us  to  render  to  every  man  his  due. 

in  hereditary  monarchies,  the  prescriptive  title 
is  corroborated,  and  its  influence  considerably 
augmented  by  an  accession  of  religious  senti- 
ments, and  by  that  sacredness  which  men  are 
wont  to  ascribe  to  the  persons  of  princes.  Princes 
themselves  have  not  failed  to  take  advantage  of 
this  disposition,  by  claiming  a  superior  dignity, 
as  it  were,  of  nature,  or  a  ])eculiar  delegation  from 
the  Supreme  Being. — P'or  this  purpose  were  in- 
troduced the  titles  of  Sacred  Majesty,  of  God's 
Anointed,  Representative,  Vicegerent,  together 
with  the  ceremonies  of  investitures  and  corona- 
tions, which  are  calculated  not  so  much  to  recog- 
nize the  authority  of  sovereigns,  as  to  consecrate 
their  persons.  Where  a  fabulous  religion  per- 
mitted it,  the  public  veneration  has  been  chal- 
lenged by  bolder  pretensions.  The  Roman  em- 
peroi-s  usurped  the  titles  and  arrogated  the  wor- 
ship of  gods.  The  mythology  of  tlie  heroic 
ages,  and  of  many  barbarous  nations,  was  easily 
converted  to  this  purpose.  Some  princes,  like  the 
heroes  of  Homer,  and  the  founder  of  the  Roman 
name,  derived  their  birth  from  the  gods;  others, 
with  Numa,  pretended  a  secret  communication 
with  some  divine  being ;  and  others,  again,  like 
the  incas  of  Peru,  and  the  ancient  Saxon  kings, 
extracted  their  descent  from  the  deities  of  their 
countries.  The  Lama  of  Thibet,  at  this  day,  is 
held  forth  to  his  subjects,  not  as  the  ofi'spring  or 
successor  of  a  divine  race  of  princes,  but  as  the 
immortal  God  himself,  the  object  at  once  of  civil 
obedience  and  religious  adoration.  This  instance 
is  singular,  and  may  be  accounted  the  farthest 
point  to  which  the  aliuse  of  human  credulity  has 
ever  been  carried.  But  in  all  these  instances  the 
purpose  was  the  same, — to  engage  the  reverence 
of  mankind,  by  an  application  to  their  religious 
principles. 

The  reader  will  he  careful  to  observe  that,  in 
this  article,  we  denominate  every  opinion,  whe- 
ther true  or  false,  a  prejudice,  which  is  not  found- 
ed upon  argument,  in  the  mind  of  the  person  who 
entertains  it. 

II.  They  who  obey  from  reason,  that  is  to  say, 
from  conscience  as  instructed  by  reasonings  and 
conclusions  of  their  own,  are  determined  by  the 
consideration  of  the  necessity  of  some  government 
or  other;  the  certain  mischief  of  civil  commotions ; 
and  the  danger  of  re-settling  the  government  of 
their  country  better,  or  at  all,  if  once  subverted  or 
disturbed. 

III.  They  who  obey  from  self-interest,  are  kept 
in  order  by  want  of  leisure ;  by  a  succession  of 
private  cares,  pleasures,  and  engagements;  by 
contentment,  or  a  sense  of  the  ease,  plenty,  and 
safety,  which  they  enjoy ;  or  lastly,  and  princi- 
pally, by  fear,  foreseeing  that  they  would  bring 
themselves  by  resistance  into  a  worse  situation 
than  their  present,  inasmuch  as  the  strength  of 
government,  each  discontented  subject  reflects,  is 
greater  than  his  own,  and  he  knows  not  that  others 
would  join  him. 


SUBMISSION  TO  CIVIL  GOVERNMENT  EXPLAINED. 


Ill 


This  last  consideration  has  often  been  called 
opinion  of  power. 

Tliis  account  of  the  principles  by  which  man- 
kind are  retained  in  their  obedience  to  civil  govern- 
ment, may  suggest  the  following  cautions. 

1  Let  ci\il  governors  learn  hence  to  respect 
their  subjects ;  let  them  be  admonished,  that //le 
physical  strength  resides  in  the  governed ;  that 
this  strength  wants  only  to  be  felt  and  roused,  to 
lav  prostrate  the  most  ancient  and  confirmed  do- 
minion ;  that  civil  authority  is  founded  in  opinion ; 
that  general  opinion  therefore  ought  always  to  be 
treated  with  deference,  and  managed  with  delicacy 
and  circumspection. 

2.  Opinion  of  right,  always  following  the  cus- 
tom, being  for  the  most  part  founded  in  nothing 
I'lse,  and  lending  one  principal  support  to  govern- 
ment, every  innovation  in  the  constitution,  or  in 
other  words,  in  the  custom  of  governing,  di- 
minishes ths  stability  of  government  Hence 
some  absurdities  are  to  be  retained,  and  many 
small  inconveniencies  endured  in  every  country, 
rather  than  that  usage  should  be  violated,  or  the 
course  of  public  atiiiirs  diverted  from  their  old  and 
smooth  channel.  Even  7ia?nes  are  not  indifferent. — 
When  the  multitude  are  to  be  dealt  with,  there  is 
a  charm  in  sounds.  It  was  upon  tliis  principle, 
that  several  statesmen  of  those  times  ad\ised 
Cromwell  to  assume  the  title  of  king,  together 
with  the  ancient  style  and  insignia  of  royalty. 
The  minds  of  many,  they  contended,  wovild  be 
brought  to  acquiesce  in  the  authority  of  a  king, 
who  suspected  the  office,  and  were  oiiended  with 
the  administration,  of  a  protector.  Novelty  re- 
mindcil  them  of  usurpation.  The  adversaries  of 
this  dcsisfn  opposed  the  measure,  from  the  same 
persuasion  of  the  efficacy  of  names  and  forms, 
jealous  lest  the  veneration  paid  to  these,  should 
add  ail  influence  to  the  new  settlement  which 
mi'jht  ensnare  the  liberty  of  the  commonwealth. 

3.  Government  may  be  too  secure.  The  great- 
est tyrants  have  been  those,  whose  titles  were  the 
most  unquestioned.  Whenever  therefore  the 
opinion  of  right  becomes  too  predominant  and 
superstitious,  it  is  abated  by  breaking  the  custom. 
Thus  the  Revolution  broke  the  custom  of  suc- 
cea.^icn,  and  thereby  moderated,  both  in  the  prince 
and  in  the  people,  those  lofty  notions  of  hereditary 
right,  which  in  the  one  were  become  a  continual 
imeiitive  to  tyranny,  and  disposed  the  other  to 
invite  servitude,  by  undue  comphances  and  dan- 
gerous concessions. 

4.  As  ignorance  of  union,  and  want  of  com- 
munication, appear  amongst  the  principal  pre- 
servatives of  civil  authority,  it  behoves  every  state 
to  keep  its  sulijects  in  this  want  and  ignorance, 
not  only  by  vigilance  in  guarding  against  actual 
confederacies  and  combinations,  but  bv'  a  timely 
crire  to  prevent  great  collections  of  men  of  any 
separate  party  or  religion,  or  of  like  'ccupation  or 
profession,  or  in  any  way  connectea  by  a  partici- 
pation of  interest  or  passion,  from  being  assem- 
bled in  the  same  ^icinity.  A  protestant  esta- 
blisliment  in  this  country  may  have  little  to  fear 
from  its  popish  subjects,  scattered  as  they  are 
througliout  the  kingdom,  and  intermixed  with 
the  protestant  inhabitants,  which  yet  might  think 
them  a  formidable  body,  if  they  were  gathered  to- 
gether into  one  county.  The  most  frequent  and 
desperate  riots  are  those  which  break  out  amongst 
men  of  the  same  profession,  as  weavers,  miners, 
sailors.     This  circumstance  makes  a  mutiny  of 


soldiers  more  to  be  dreaded  than  any  other  in- 
surrection. Hence  also  one  danger  of  an  over- 
grown metropolis,  and  of  those  great  cities  and 
crowded  districts,  into  which  the  inhabitants  of 
trading  countries  are  commonly  collected.  The 
worst  effect  of  popular  tumults  consists  in  this, 
that  they  discover  to  the  insurgents  the  secret  of 
their  own  strength,  teach  them  to  depend  upon  it 
against  a  future  occasion,  and  both  produce  and 
ditl'use  sentiments  of  confidence  in  one  another, 
and  assurances  of  mutual  support.  Leagues  thus 
formed  and  strengthened,  may  overawe  or  overset 
the  power  of  any  state ;  and  the  danger  is  greater, 
in  proportion  as,  from  the  propinquity  of  habita- 
tion and  intercourse  of  employment,  the  passions 
and  counsels  of  a  party  can  be  circulated  with  case 
and  rapidity.  It  is  by  these  means,  and  in  such 
situations,  that  the  minds  of  men  are  so  afiected 
and  prejjared,  that  the  most  dreadful  uproars  often 
arise  from  the  slightest  provocations. —  When  the 
train  is  laid,  a  spark  will  produce  the  explosion. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Duty  of  Submission  to   Civil  Government 
Explained. 

The  subject  of  this  chapter  is  sufficiently  dis- 
tinguished from  the  subject  of  the  last,  as  the  mo- 
tives which  actually  produce  civil  obedience,  may 
be  and  often  are,  very  dillerent  from  the  reasons 
which  make  that  obedience  a  duty. 

In  order  to  prove  ci\il  obedience  to  be  a  moral 
duty,  and  an  obligation  upon  the  conscience,  it 
hath  been  usual  with  many  political  writers  (at 
the  head  of  whom  we  find  the  venerable  name  of 
Locke,)  to  state  a  compact  between  the  citizen 
and  the  state,  as  the  ground  and  cause  of  the  re- 
lation between  them  :  which  compact,  binding  the 
parties  for  the  same  general  reason  that  private 
contracts  do,  resolves  the  duty  of  submission  to 
civil  government  into  the  universal  obligation  of 
fidelity  in  the  perfonnance  of  promises.  This 
compact  is  twofold : 

First,  an  express  compact  by  the  primitive 
founders  of  the  state,  who  are  supposed  to  have 
convened  for  the  declared  purpose  of  settling  the 
terms  of  their  political  union,  and  a  future  con- 
stitution of  government.  The  whole  body  is  sup- 
posed, in  the  first  place,  to  have  unanimously 
consented  to  be  bound  by  the  resolutions  of  the 
majority ;  that  majority,  in  the  next  place,  to  have 
fixed  certain  fundamental  regulations :  and  then 
to  have  constituted,  either  in  one  person,  or  in  an 
assembly  (the  rule  of  succession,  or  appointment, 
being  at  tlie  same  time  determined.)  a  standing 
legislature,  to  whom,  under  these  pre-established 
restrictions,  the  government  of  the  state  was 
thence  forward  committed,  and  whose  laws  the 
several  members  of  the  convention  were,  by  their 
first  undertaking,  thus  personally  engaged  to 
obey. — Tliis  transaction  is  sometimes  called  the 
social  compact,  and  these  supposed  original  regu- 
lations compose  what  are  meant  by  the  constitu- 
tion, the  fundamental  laics  of  the  constitution  ; 
and  form,  on  one  side,  the  inherent  indefeasible 
prerogative  of  the  crcncn  ;  and,  on  the  other, 
the  unalienable,  imprescriptible  birth-right  of  the 
subject. 

Secondly,  A  tacit  or  implied  compact,  by  all 
succeeding  members  of  the  state,  who  by  accept- 


lU 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


ing  its  protection,  consent  to  be  bound  by  its  laws; 
iu  ILlce  manner,  as  whoever  voluntarily  enters  into 
a  private  society  is  understood,  without  any  other 
or  more  cxph^it  stipulation,  to  promise  a  con- 
formity with  the  rules,  and  obedience  to  the  go- 
vernment of  that  society,  as  the  known  conditions 
upon  which  he  is  admitted  to  a  participation  of  its . 
privileges. 

This  account  of  the  subject,  although  specious, 
and  patronized  by  names  the  most  respectable, 
appears  to  labour  under  the  following  objections : 
that  it  is  founded  upon  a  supposition  false  in  fact, 
and  leading  to  dangerous  conclusions. 

No  social  compact,  similar  to  what  is  here  de- 
scribed, was  ever  made  or  entered  into  iir  reality : 
no  such  original  convention  of  the  people  was 
ever  actually  holden,  or  in  any  country  could  be 
holdcn,  antecedent  to  the  existence  of  civil  govern- 
ment in  that  country.  It  is  to  suppose  it  pos- 
sible to  call  savages  out  of  caves  and  deserts,  to  de- 
liberate and  vote  upon  topics,  which  the  expe- 
rience, and  studies,  and  relinements,  of  civil  life, 
alone  suggest.  Therefore  no  government  in  the 
universe  began  from  this  original.  Some  imita- 
tion of  a  social  compact  may  have  taken  place  at  a 
revolution.  The  present  age  has  been  witness  to 
a  transaction,  which  bears  the  nearest  resemblance 
to  this  political  idea,  of  any  of  which  history  has 
preserved  the  account  or  memory :  I  refer  to  the 
establishment  of  the  United  States  of  North 
America.  We  saw  the  people  assembled  to  elect 
deputies,  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  framing  the 
constitution  of  a  new  empire.  We  saw  this 
deputation  of  the  people  deliberating  and  re- 
solving upon  a  form  of  government,  erecting  a 
pcrmaneut  legislature,  distributing  the  functions 
of  sovereignty,  establishing  and  promulgating  a 
code  of  fundamental  ordinances,  which  were  to 
be  considered  by  succeeding  generations,  not 
merely  as  laws  and  acts  of  the  state,  but  as  the 
very  terms  and  conditions  of  the  confederation ;  as 
binding  not  only  upon  the  subjects  and  magis- 
trates of  the  state,  but  as  limitations  of  power, 
which  were  to  control  and  regulate  the  future 
legislature.  Yet  even  here  much  was  presupposed. 
In  settling  the  constitution,  many  important  parts 
were  presumed  to  be  already  settled.  The  quali- 
fications of  the  constituents  who  were  admitted  to 
vote  in  the  election  of  members  of  congress,  as 
well  as  the  mode  of  electing  the  representatives, 
were  taken  from  the  old  forms  of  government. 
That  was  wanting,  from  which  every  social  union 
should  set  off,  and  which  alone  makes  the  resolu- 
tions of  the  sodety  the  act  of  the  individual, — the 
unconstrained  consent  of  all  to  be  bound  by  the 
decision  of  the  majority ;  and  yet  without  this 
previous  consent,  the  revolt,  and  the  regulations 
which  followed  it,  were  compulsory  upon  dis- 
sentients. 

But  the  original  compact,  we  are  told,  is  not 
proposed  as  a.  fact,  but  as  a  fiction,  which  furnishes 
a  commodious  explication  of  the  nmtual  rights  and 
duties  of  sovereigns  and  subjects.  In  answer  to 
this  representation  of  the  matter,  we  observe,  that 
the  original  compact,  if  it  be  not  a  fact,  is  no- 
thing; can  confer  no  actual  authority  upon  laws 
or  magistrates ;  nor  afford  any  foundation  to  rights 
which  are  supposed  to  be  real  and  existing.  But 
the  truth  is,  that  in  the  books,  and  in  the  appre- 
hension, of  those  who  deduce  our  civil  rights  and 
obligations  a  paclis,  the  original  convention  is  ap- 
pealed to  and  treated  of  as  a  reaUty,     Whenever 


the  disciples  of  this  system  speak  of  the  constitu- 
tion ;  of  the  fundamental  articles  of  the  constitu- 
tion; of  laws  being  constitutional  or  unconsti- 
tutional; of  inherent,  unalienable,  mexlinguishable 
rights,  either  iu  the  prince  or  in  the  people  ;  or  in- 
deed of  any  laws,  usages,  or  civil  rights,  as  trans- 
cending the  authority  of  the  subsisting  legislature, 
or  possessing  a  Ibrce  and  sanction  superior  to  what 
belong  to  tlie  modern  acts  and  edicts  of  the  legisla- 
ture ;  they  secretly  refer  us  to  what  passed  at  the 
original  convention.  They  would  teach  us  to  be- 
lieve, that  certain  rules  and  ordinances  were  esta- 
blished by  the  people,  at  the  same  time  that  they 
settled  the  charter  of  government,  and  the  powers 
as  well  as  the  form  of  the  future  legislature ;  that 
this  legislature  consequently,  deriving  its  conunis- 
sion  and  existence  from  the  consent  and  act  of  the 
primitive  assembly  (of  which  indeed  it  is  only  the 
standing  deputation,)  continues  subject,  in  the  ex- 
ercise ot  its  offices,  and  as  to  the  extent  of  its  power, 
to  the  rules,  reservations,  and  limitations,  which 
the  same  assembly  then  made  and  prescribed  to  it. 

"  As  the  first  members  of  the  state  were  boUnd 
by  express  stipulation  to  obey  the  government 
which  they  had  erected;  so  the  succeeding  in- 
habitants of  the  country  are  understood  to  promise 
allegiance  to  the  constitution  and  government  they 
find  established,  by  accepting  its  protection,  claim- 
ing its  prixilcges,  and  acquiescing  in  its  laws ;  more 
especially,  by  the  purchase  or  inheritance  of  lands 
to  the  possession  of  which,  allegiance  to  the  state 
is  annexed,  as  the  very  service  and  condition  of 
the  tenure."  Smoothly  as  this  train  of  argument 
proceeds,  little  of  it  will  endure  examination.  The 
native  suljects  of  modern  slates  are  not  conscious 
of  any  stipulation  with  the  sovereigns,  of  ever  ex- 
ercising an  election  whether  they  will  be  bound  or 
not  by  tlie  acts  of  the  legislature,  of  any  alterna- 
tive being  proposed  to  their  choice,  of  a  promise 
either  required  or  given  ;  nor  do  they  apprehend 
that  the  validity  or  authority  of  the  law  depends 
at  all  upon  their  recognition  or  consent.  In  all 
stipulations,  whether  they  be  expressed  or  implied, 
private  or  public,  formal  or  constructive,  the  par- 
ties stipulating  must  both  possess  the  liberty 
of  assent  and  refusal,  and  also  be  conscious  of  this 
liberty  ;  which  cannot  with  truth  be  affirmed  of  the 
subjects  of  civil  government  as  government  is  now. 
or  ever  was,  actually  administered.  This  is  a  defect, 
which  no  arguments  can  excuse  or  supply :  all 
presumptions  of  consent,  without  this  conscious- 
ness, or  in  opposition  to  it,  are  vain  and  erroneous. 
Still  less  is  it  possible  to  reconcile  with  any  idea 
of  stipulation,  the  practice,  in  which  all  European 
nations  agree,  of  founding  allegiance  u(>on  the  cir- 
cumstance of  nativity,  that  is,  of  claiming  and 
treating  as  subjects  all  those  who  are  liorn  within 
the  confines  of  their  dominions,  although  removed 
to  another  country  in  their  youth  or  infancy.  In 
this  instance  certainly,  the  state  does  not  presume 
a  compact.  ALso  if  the  subject  be  bound  only  liy 
his  own  consent,  and  if  the  voluntary  aliiding  in 
the  country  be  the  proof  and  intimation  of  that 
consent,  by  what  arguments  should  we  defend  the 
right,  which  sovereigns  universally  assume,  of  |jro- 
hibiting,  when  they  please,  the  departure  of  their 
subjects  out  of  the  realm  1 

Again,  when  it  is  contended  that  the  taking  and 
holding  possession  of  land  amounts  to  an  acknow- 
le<lgment  of  the  sovereign,  and  a  virtual  promise 
of  allegiance  to  his  laws,  it  is  necessary  to  the  va- 
lidity of  the  argument  to  prove,  that  the  inhabitants 


SUBMISSION  TO  CIVIL  GOVERNMENT  EXPLAINED, 


113 


who  first  composed  and  constituted  the  state,  col- 
lectively possessed  a  right  to  the  soil  of  the  coun- 
try ;—  a  right  to  parcel  it  out  to  whom  the\'  pleased, 
and  to  annex  to  the  donation  what  conditions  they 
thought  fit.  How  came  they  by  this  right  ?  An 
agreement  amongst  themselves  would  not  confer 
it ;  that  could  only  adjust  what  already  belonged 
to  them.  A  society  of  men  vote  themselves  to  he 
the  owners  of  a  region  of  the  world;— does  that 
vote,  miaccompanied  especially  vfith  any  culture, 
enclosure,  or  proper  act  of  occupation,  make  it 
theirs  ]  docs  it  entitle  them  to  exclude  others  from 
it,  or  to  dictate  the  conditions  upon  wliich  it  shall 
be  enjoyed  1  Yet  this  original  collective  right  and 
owncrsliip  is  the  fomidation  for  all  the  reasoning 
by  which  the  duty  of  allegiance  is  inferred  from 
the  possession  of  land. 

The  theory  of  government  wliich  aflSrms  the  ex- 
istence and  the  obligation  of  a  social  compact, 
would,  afterall,  merit  httle discussion,  and  however 
groundless  and  unnecessary,  should  receive  no 
opposition  from  us,  did  it  not  appear  to  lead  to  con- 
clusions mifavourable  to  the  improvement,  and  to 
the  peace  of  human  society. 

1st.  Upon  the  supposition  that  government  was 
first  erected  by,  and  that  it  derives  all  its  just  au- 
thority from,  resolutions  entered  into  by  a  conven- 
tion of  the  people,  it  is  capable  of  being  presumed, 
that  many  points  were  settled  by  that  convention, 
anterior  to  the  estabhshment  of  the  subsisting  le- 
gislature, and  wliich  the  legislature,  consequently 
has  no  right  to  alter,  or  interfere  with.  These 
yoints  are  caUed  the  fundarnerUals  of  the  consti- 
tution: and  as  it  is  impossible  to  determine  how 
many,  or  what,  they  are,  the  suggesting  of  any 
such  ser\es  extremely  to  embarrasti  the  dehbera- 
tions  of  the  legislature,  and  ailords  a  dangerous  pre- 
tence for  disputing  the  authority  of  the  laws.  It 
was  this  sort  of  reasoning  (so  far  as  reasoning  of 
any  kind  was  employed  in  the  question)  that  pro- 
duced in  tliis  nation  the  doubt,  wiiicli  so  much 
agitated  the  minds  of  men  ui  the  reign  of  the 
second  Charles,  whether  an  Act  of  Parhament 
could  of  right  alter  or  hniit  the  succession  of  the 
Crown. 

•2dly.  If  it  be  by  virtue  of  a  compact,  that  the 
subject  owes  obedience  to  civil  govenmient,  it  will 
follow  that  he  ought  to  abide  by  the  form  of  govern- 
ment wliich  he  finds  estabUshed,  be  it  ever  so  ab- 
surd or  inconvenient.  He  is  bound  by  his  bargain. 
It  is  not  permitted  to  any  man  to  retreat  from  his 
engagement,  merely  because  he  finds  the  perform- 
ance disadvantageous,  or  because  he  has  an  oppor- 
tunity of  entering  into  a  better.  This  law  of  con- 
tract, is  universal :  and  to  call  the  relation  between 
the  sovereign  and  the  subjects  a  contract ;  yet  not  to 
apply  to  it  the  rules,  or  allow  of  the  elfects  of  a  con- 
tract, is  an  arbitrary  use  of  names,  and  an  un- 
steadiness in  reasoning,  which  can  teach  nothing. 
Resistance  to  the  encroachments  of  the  supreme 
magistrate  may  be  justified  on  this  principle  ;  re- 
course to  arms,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  about  an 
amendment  of  the  constitution,  never  can.  No  form 
of  government  contains  a  provision  for  its  own  chs- 
solution ;  and  few  governors  will  consent  to  the  ex- 
tinction, or  even  to  any  abridgement,  of  their  own 
power.  It  does  not  therefore  appear,  how  despotic 
governments  can  ever,  in  consistency  with  the  obli- 
gation of  the  subject,  be  changed  or  mitigated.  Des- 
potism is  the  constitution  of  many  states:  and 
whilst  a  despotic  prince  exacts  from  his  subjects  the 
most  rigorous  servitude  according  to  this  account,  he 


is  only  holding  them  to  their  agreement.  A  people 
may  vindicate,  by  force,  the  rights  wliich  the  con- 
stitution has  leit  them;  but  every  attempt  to  narrow 
the  prerogati^  e  of  the  crown  by  new  limitations, 
and  in  opposition  to  the  will  of  the  reignmg  prince, 
whatever  opportunities  may  invite,  or  success  follow 
it,  must  be  condemned  as  an  uifraction  of  the  com- 
pact between  the  so\ereign  and  the  subject. 

Sdly.  Every  violation  of  the  compact  on  the  part 
of  the  governor,  releases  the  subject  from  his  alle- 
giance, and  dissolves  the  govermnent.  I  do  not 
perceive  how  we  can  avoid  this  consequence,  if  we 
found  the  duty  of  allegiance  upon  compact,  and 
confess  any  analogy  between  the  social  compact 
and  other  contracts.  In  private  contracts,  the  viola- 
tion and  non-performance  of  the  conditions,  bj'  one 
of  the  parties,  vacates  the  o'jfigation  of  the  other. 
Now  the  terms  and  articles  of  the  social  compact 
bemg  no  where  extant  or  expressed :  the  rights  and 
offices  of  the  administrator  of  an  empire  being  so 
many  and  various ;  the  imaginary  and  controverted 
hue  of  his  prerogative  being  so  liable  to  be  over- 
stepped in  one  part  or  other  of  it;  the  position 
that  every  such  transgression  amounts  to  a  forfeiture 
of  the  government,  and  consequently  authorises 
the  people  to  withdraw  their  obedience,  and  pro- 
vide for  themselves  by  a  new  settlement,  would  en- 
danger the  stability  of  every  pohtical  fabric  in  the 
world,  and  has  in  fact  always  supplied  the  disaf- 
fected with  a  topic  of  seditious  declamation.  If 
occasions  have  arisen,  in  which  this  plea  has  been 
resorted  to  with  justice  and  success,  they  have  been 
occasions  in  wliich  a  revolution  was  defensible  upon 
other  and  plainer  principles.  The  plea  itself  is  at 
all  times  captious  and  unsafe. 


Wherefore,  rejecting  the  intervention  of  a  com- 
pact, as  unfounded  in  its  principle,  and  dangerous 
in  the  application,  we  assign  for  the  only  ground 
of  the  subject's  obligation,  the  will  of  God  as 

COLLECTED  FROM  EXPEDIENCY. 

The  steps  by  which  the  argument  proceeds,  are 
few  and  direct. — "It  is  the  will  of  God  that  the 
happiness  of  human  life  be  promoted :" — this  is  the 
fii-st  step,  and  the  foundation  not  only  of  tliis,  but 
of  every,  moral  conclusion.  "  Ci\  il  societ}'  conduces 
to  that  end :" — this  is  the  second  proposition.  "  Civil 
societies  cannot  be  upholden,  imless,  in  each,  the 
interest  of  the  whole  society  be  binding  upon  every 
part  and  member  of  it :" — this  is  the  third  step,  and 
conducts  us  to  the  conclusion,  namely,  "that  so 
long  as  the  interest  of  the  whole  society  requires 
it,  that  is,  so  long  as  the  established  government 
cannot  be  resisted  or  changed  without  public  incon- 
veniency,  it  is  the  will  of  God  (which  ^f(7Z  univer- 
sally determines  our  duty)  that  the  established  go- 
vernment be  obeyed," — and  no  longer. 

This  principle  bchig  admitted,  the  justice  of 
every  particular  case  of  resistance  is  reduced  to  a 
computation  of  the  quantity  of  the  danger  and 
grievance  on  the  one  side,  and  of  the  probability 
and  expense  of  redressing  it  on  the  other. 

But  who  shall  judge  this  1  We  answer,  "Every 
man  for  himself''  In  contentions  between  the 
sovereign  and  the  subject,  the  parties  acknowledge 
no  common  arbitrator ;  and  it  womd  lie  absurd  to 
refer  the  decision  to  those  whose  conduct  has  pro- 
voked the  question,  and  whose  own  interest,  autho- 
rity, and  fate,  are  unmediately  concerned  in  it.  The 
danger  of  enor  and  abuse  is  no  objection  to  the 
rule  of  expediency,  because  every  other  rule  is  liable 
10* 


IH 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


to  the  same  or  greater :  and  every  rule  that  can  be 
propounded  upon  the  subject  (like  all  rules  indeed 
which  appeal  to,  or  bind  the  conscience)  must  in 
the  application  depend  upon  private  judgment.  It 
may  be  observed,  however,  that  it  ought  equally  to 
he  accounted  the  exercise  of  a  man's  own  private 
judgment,  whether  he  be  determined  by  reason- 
ings and  conclusions  of  his  own,  or  submit  to  be 
directed  by  the  advice  of  others,  provided  he  be  free 
to  choose  his  guide. 

We  proceed  to  point  out  some  easy  but  im- 
portant inferences,  v/hich  result  from  the  sub- 
stitution of  public  expediency  into  the  place  of 
all  implied  compacts,  promises,  or  conventions, 
whatsoever. 

I.  It  may  be  as  much  a  duty,  at  one  time,  to 
resist  government,  as  it  is,  at  another,  to  obey  it ; 
to  wit,  whenever  more  advantage  will,  in  our 
opinion,  accrue  to  the  community  from  resist- 
ance, than  mischief. 

II.  The  lawfulness  of  resistance,  or  the  law- 
fulness of  a  revolt,  does  not  depend  alone  upon 
the  grievance  which  is  sustained  or  feared,  but 
also  upon  the  probable  expense  and  event  of  the 
contest.  They  who  concerted  the  Revolution  in 
England,  were  justifiable  in  their  counsels,  be- 
cause, from  the  apparent  disposition  of  the  nation, 
and  the  strength  and  character  of  the  parties  en- 
gaged, the  measure  was  likely  to  be  brought 
about  with  little  mischief  or  bloodshed ;  whereas 
it  might  have  been  a  question  with  many  friends 
of  their  country,  whether  the  injuries  then  endur- 
ed and  threatened  would  have  authorised  the  re- 
newal of  a  doubtful  civil  war. 

III.  Irregularity  in  the  first  foundation  of  a 
state,  or  subsequent  violence,  fraud,  or  injustice, 
in  getting  possession  of  the  supreme  power,  are 
not  sufficient  reasons  for  resistance,  after  the 
government  is  once  peaceably  settled.  No  sub- 
ject of  the  British  empire  conceives  himself  en- 
gaged to  vindicate  the  justice  of  the  Norman  claim 
or  conquest,  or  apprehends  that  his  duty  in  any 
manner  depends  upon  that  controversy.  So, 
likewise,  if  the  house  of  Lancaster,  or  even  the 
posterity  of  Cromwell,  had  been  at  this  day  seat- 
ed upon  the  throne  of  England,  we  should  have 
been  as  little  concerned  to  inquire  how  the  found- 
er of  the  family  came  there.  No  civil  contests 
are  so  futile,  although  none  have  been  so  furious 
and  sanguinary,  as  those  which  are  excited  by  a 
disputed  succession. 

IV.  Not  every  invasion  of  the  subject's  rights, 
or  liberty,  or  of  the  constitution ;  not  every  breach 
of  promise,  or  of  oath ;  not  every  stretch  of  pre- 
rogative, abuse  of  power,  or  neglect  of  duty  by 
the  chief  magistrate,  or  by  the  whole  or  any 
branch  of  the  legislative  body,  justifies  resistance, 
unless  these  crimes  draw  after  them  public  con- 
sequences of  sufficient  magnitude  to  outweigh  the 
evils  of  civil  disturbance.  Nevertheless,  every 
violation  of  the  constitution  ought  to  be  watched 
with  jealousy,  and  resented  as  sucA,,  beyond 
what  the  quaatity  of  estimable  damage  would  re- 
quire or  warrant;  because  a  known  and  settled 
usage  of  governing  affords  the  only  security 
against  the  enormities  of  uncontrolled  dominion, 
and  because  this  security  is  weakened  by  every 
encroachment  which  is  made  without  opposition, 
or  opposed  without  effect. 

V.  No  usage,  law,  or  authority  whatsoever, 
is  so  binding,  that  it  need  or  ought  to  be  con- 
tinued, when  it  may  be  changed  with  advantage 


to  the  community.  The  family  of  the  prince,  the 
order  of  succession,  the  prerogative  of  the  crown_ 
the  form  and  parts  of  the  legislature,  together 
with  the  respective  powers,  office,  duration,  and 
mutual  dependency,  of  the  several  parts,  are  all 
only  so  many  laws,  mutable  like  other  laws, 
whenever  expediency  requires,  either  bv  the  ordi- 
nary act  of  the  legislature,  or,  if  the  occasion  de- 
serve it,  by  the  interposition  of  the  people. 
These  points  are  wont  to  be  approached  with  a 
kind  of  awe ;  they  are  represented  to  the  niind  as 
principles  of  the  constitution  settled  by  our  ances- 
tors, and,  being  settled,  to  be  no  more  committed 
to  innovation  and  debate ;  as  foundations  never  to 
be  stirred  ;  as  the  terms  and  conditions  of  the  so- 
cial compact,  to  which  every  citizen  of  the  state 
has  engaged  his  fidelity,  by  virtue  of  a  promise 
which  he  cannot  now  recall.  Such  reasons  have 
no  place  in  our  system :  to  us,  if  there  be  any 
good  reason  for  treating  these  with  more  defer- 
ence and  respect  than  other  laws,  it  is  either  the 
advantage  of  the  present  constitution  of  govern- 
ment (which  reason  must  be  of  different  force  in 
different  countries,)  or  because  in  all  countries  it 
is  of  importance  that  the  form  and  usage  of  gov- 
erning be  acknowledged  and  understood,  as  well 
by  the  governors  as  by  the  governed,  and  because, 
the  seldomer  it  is  changed,  the  more  perfectly  it 
will  be  known  by  both  sides. 

VI.  As  all  civil  obligation  is  resolved  into  ex- 
pediency, what,  it  may  be  asked,  is  the  diffijrence 
between  the  obligation  of  an  Englishman  and  a 
Frenchman  %  or  why,  since  the  obligation  of  both 
appears  to  be  founded  in  the  same  reason,  is  a 
Frenchman  bound  in  conscience  to  bear  any 
thing  trom  his  king,  which  an  Englishman  would 
not  be  bound  to  bear  1  Their  conditions  may 
differ,  but  their  rights,  according  to  account, 
should  seem  to  be  equal :  and  yet  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  speak  of  the  rights,  as  well  as  of  the 
happiness  of  a  free  people,  compared  with  what 
belong  to  the  subjects  of  absolute  monarchies ; 
how,  you  will  say,  can  this  comparison  be  ex- 
plained, unless  we  refer  to  a  difference  in  the 
compacts  by  which  they  are  respectively  bound  ] 
— This  is  a  fair  question,  and  the  answer  to  it 
vnll  afford  a  farther  illustration  of  our  principles. 
We  admit  then  that  there  are  many  tilings  wliich 
a  Frenchman  is  bound  in  conscience,  as  well  as 
by  coercion,  to  endure  at  the  hands  of  his  prince, 
to  which  an  Englishman  would  not  be  obliged  to 
submit :  but  we  assert,  that  it  is  for  these  two  rea- 
sons alone :  first,  because  the  same  act  of  the 
prince  is  not  the  same  grievance,  where  it  is 
agreeable  to  the  constitution,  and  where  it  in- 
fringes it;  secondly,  because  redress  in  the  two 
cases  is  not  equally  attainable.  Resistance  cannot 
be  attempted  with  equal  hopes  of  success,  or  with 
the  same  prospect  of  receiving  support  from 
others,  where  the  people  are  reconciled  to  their 
sufferings,  as  where  they  are  alarmed  liy  in- 
novation. In  this  way,  and  no  otherwise,  the 
subjects  of  different  states  possess  different  civil 
rights ;  the  duty  of  obedience  is  defined  by  differ- 
ent boundaries ;  and  the  point  of  justifiable  resist- 
tance  placed  at  different  parts  of  the  scale  of  suf- 
fering ;  all  which  is  sufficiently  intelligible  with- 
out a  social  compact. 

VII.  "  The  interest  of  the  whole  society  is 
binding  upon  every  part  of  it.  No  rule,  short  of 
this,  will  provide  for  the  stability  of  civil  govern- 
ment, or  for  the  peace  and  safety  of  social  life, 


DUTY  OF  CIVIL  OBEDIENCE. 


115 


Wherefore,  as  indi\'iJuaI  members  of  the  state  i 
are  not  pennitted  to  pursue  their  emolument  to  | 
the  prejudice  of  the  community,  so  is  it  equally  i 
a  consequence  of  this  rule,  that  no  particular  co-  I 
lony,  province,  town,  or  district,  can  justly  concert  ! 
measures  for  their  separate  interest,  which  shall 
appear  at  the  same  time  to  diminish  tlie  sum  of 
prosperity.  1  do  not  mean,  that  it  is  necessary  to 
the  justice  of  a  measure,  that  it  profit  each  and 
every  part  of  the  community,  (for,  as  the  happi- 
ness of  the  whole  may  be  increased,  whilst  that  of 
some  parts  is  diminished,  it  is  possible  that  the 
conduct  of  one  part  of  an  empire  may  be  detri- 
mental to  some  other  part,  and  yet  just,  provided 
one  part  gain  more  in  happiness  than  the  other 
part  loses,  so  that  the  common  weal  be  augment- 
ed by  the  change  ;)  but  what  I  affirm  is,  that  those 
counsels  can  never  be  reconciled  with  the  obliga- 
tions resulting  from  civil  union,  which  cause  the 
lekole  happiness  of  the  society  to  be  impaired  for 
the  conveniency  of  a  part.  This  conclusion  is 
applicable  to  the  question  of  right  between  Great 
Britain  and  her  revolted  colonies.  Had  I  been 
an  American,  I  should  not  have  thought  it  enough 
to  have  had  it  even  demonstrated,  that  a  separa- 
tion from  the  parent  state  w^ould  produce  elfects 
beneficial  to  America ;  my  relation  to  that  state 
imposed  upon  me  a  further  inquiry,  namely, 
whether  the  whole  happiness  of  the  empire  was 
likely  to  be  promoted  by  such  a  measure :  not  in- 
deed the  happiness  of  every  part ;  that  was  not 
necessary,  nor  to  be  expected ;  but  whether  what 
Great  Britian  would  lose  by  the  separation,  was 
Hkely  to  be  compensated  to  the  joint  stook  of  hap- 
piness, by  the  advantages  which  America  would 
receive  from  it.  The  contested  claims  of  sove- 
reign states  and  their  remote  dependencies,  may  be 
submitted  to  the  adjudication  of  this  rule  with 
mutual  sifety.  A  pubhc  advantage  is  measured 
by  tlie  advantage  which  each  individual  receives, 
and  by  the  number  of  those  who  receive  it.  A 
public  evil  is  compounded  of  the  same  proportions. 
"Whilst,  therefore,  a  colony  is  small,  or  a  province 
thinly  inhal'ited.  if  a  competition  of  interests  arises 
between  the  original  country  and  their  acquired 
dominions,  the  former  ought  to  be  preferred ; 
because  it  is  fit  that,  if  one  must  necessarily  be 
sacrificed,  the  less  give  place  to  the  greater ;  but 
when,  by  an  increase  of  population,  the  interest 
of  the  provinces  begins  to  bear  a  considerable  pro- 
portion to  the  entire  interest  of  the  community,  it 
is  possible  that  they  may  suffer  so  much  by  their 
subjection,  that  not  only  theirs,  but  the  whole 
happiness  of  the  empire,  may  be  obstructed  by 
their  union.  The  rule  and  principle  of  the  cal- 
culation being  still  the  same,  the  result  is  differ- 
ent :  and  this  difference  begets  a  new  situation, 
which  entitles  the  subordinate  parts  of  the  states 
to  more  equal  terms  of  confederation,  and  if  these 
be  refused,  to  independency. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Tlie  Duty  of  Civil  Obedience,  as  stated  in  the 
Christian  Scriptures. 

We  affirm  that,  as  to  the  extent  of  our  civil 
no'hts  and  obhgations,  Christianity  hath  left  us 
where  she  found  us :  tliat  she  hath  neither  altered 
it  nor  ascertained  it ;  that  the  New  Testament  con- 
tains not  one  passage,  which,  fairly  interpreted, 


affords  either  argument  or  objection  applicable  to 
any  conclusions  upon  the  subject,  that  are  de- 
duced from  the  law  and  religion  of  nature. 

The  only  passages  which  have  been  seriously 
alleged  in  the  controversy,  or  wliich  it  is  neces- 
sary for  us  to  state  and  examine,  are  the  two  fol- 
lowing; the  one  extracted  from  St.  Paul's  Epistle 
to  the  Romans,  the  other  from  the  First  General 
Epistle  of  St.  Peter: — 

Romans  xiii.  1 — 7. 

"  Let  every  soul  be  subject  unto  tlie  higher 
powers :  for  there  is  no  power  but  of  God  :  the 
powers  that  be,  are  ordained  of  God.  Who- 
soever therefore  rcsisteth  the  power,  resisteth  the 
ordinance  of  God  ;  and  they  that  resist,  shall  re- 
ceive to  themselves  damnation.  For  rulers  are 
not  a  terror  to  good  works,  but  to  the  e\"il.  Wilt 
thou  then  not  be  afraid  of  the  power  ]  Do  that 
which  is  good,  and  thou  shalt  have  praise  of  the 
same :  for  he  is  the  minister  of  God  to  thee  lor 
good.  But  if  you  do  that  which  is  e\il,  be  afraid ; 
for  he  bcaretli  not  the  sword  in  vain :  for  he  is  the 
minister  of  God,  a  revenger  to  execute  wrath 
upon  him  that  doeth  evil.  Wherefore  ye  must 
needs  be  subject,  not  only  for  wrath,  but  also 
for  conscience'  sake.  For,  for  this  cause  pay  ye 
tribute  also ;  for  they  are  Gods  ministers,  attending 
continually  upon  tliis  very  thing.  Render  there- 
fore to  all  their  dues ;  tribute  to  whom  tribute  is 
due,  custom  to  whom  custom,  fear  to  whom  fear, 
honour  to  whom  honour." 

1  Peter  ii.  13 — 18. 

"  Submit  yourselves  to  every  ordinance  of  man, 
for  the  Lord's  sake ;  whether  it  be  to  the  king,  as 
supreme;  or  unto  governors,  as  unto  them  that 
are  sent  by  liim  for  the  punishment  of  evil-doers, 
and  for  the  praise  of  them  that  do  well.  For  so 
is  the  will  of  God,  that  with  well-doing  ye  may 
put  to  silence  the  ignorance  of  foolish  men :  as 
free,  and  not  using  your  hberty  for  a  cloak  of  ma- 
liciousness, but  as  the  servants  of  God." 

To  comprehend  the  proper  import  of  these  in- 
structions, let  the  reader  reflect,  that  upon  the 
subject  of  civil  obedience  there  are  two  questions  : 
the  first,  whether  to  obey  government  be  a  moral 
duty  and  obligation  upon  the  conscience  at  all ; 
the  second,  how  far,  and  to  what  cases,  that  obe- 
dience ought  to  extend  ?  that  these  two  questions 
are  so  distinguishable  in  the  imagination,  that  it 
is  possible  to  treat  of  the  one,  without  any  thought 
of  the  other;  and  lastly,  that  if  expressiims  which 
relate  to  one  of  these  questions  be  transferred  and 
applied  to  the  other,  it  is  with  great  danger  of 
giving  them  a  signification  very  different  from  the 
author's  meaning.  This  distinction  is  not  only 
possible,  but  natural.  If  I  met  with  a  person  who 
appeared  to  entertain  doubts,  whether  civil  obe- 
dience were  a  moral  duty  which  ought  to  be  vo- 
luntarily discharged,  or  whether  it  were  not  a 
mere  submission  to  force,  like  that  which  we 
yield  to  a  robber  who  holds  a  pistol  to  our  breast, 
I  should  represent  to  him  the  use  and  offices  of 
civdl  government,  the  end  and  the  necessity  of 
civil  subjection ;  or,  if  I  preferred  a  different  theory, 
I  should  explain  to  him  the  social  compact,  urge 
him  with  the  obligation  and  the  equity  of  liis  im- 
plied promise  and  tacit  consent  to  be  governed  by 
the  laws  of  the  state  from  which  he  received  pro- 
tection ;  or  I  should  argue,  perhaps,  that  Nature 
herself  dictated  the  law  of  subordination,  when 


116 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


she  planted  within  us  an  incUnation  to  associate 
with  our  species,  and  framed  us  with  capacities 
so  various  and  unequal.  From  whatever  prin- 
ciple I  set  out,  I  sliould  labour  to  infer  from  it 
this  conclusion,  "  That  obedience  to  the  state  is 
to  be  numliered  among  the  relative  duties  of  hu- 
man life,  for  the  transgression  of  wliich  we  shall 
be  accountable  at  the  tribunal  of  Divine  justice, 
whether  the  magistrate  be  able  to  punish  us  for 
it  or  not ;"  and  being  arrived  at  tliis  conclusion,  I 
should  stop,  having  delivered  the  conclusion  itself, 
and  throughout  the  whole  argument  expressed  the 
obedience,  which  I  inculcated,  in  the  most  general 
and  unqualiiied  terms;  all  reservations  and  re- 
strictions being  superfluous,  and  foreign  to  the 
doubt  I  was  employed  to  remove. 

If,  in  a  short  time  afterwards,  I  should  be  ac- 
costed by  the  same  person,  with  complaints  of 
public  grievances,  of  exorbitant  taxes,  of  acts  of 
cruelty  and  oppression,  of  tyrannical  encroach- 
ments upon  the  ancient  or  stipulated  rights  of  the 
people,  and  should  be  consulted  whether  it  were 
lawful  to  revolt,  or  justifiable  to  join  in  an  attempt 
to  shake  off  the  yoke  by  open  resistance ;  I  should 
certainly  consider  myself  as  having  a  case  and 
question  before  me  very  ditferent  from  the  former. 
I  should  now  define  and  discriminate.  I  should 
reply,  that  if  public  expediency  be  the  foundation, 
it  is  also  the  measure,  of  civil  obedience:  that  the 
obligation  of  subjects  and  sovereigns  is  recipro- 
cal ;  that  the  duty  of  allegiance,  whether  it  be 
founded  in  utility  or  compact,  is  neither  unlimited 
nor  unconditional ;  that  peace  may  be  purchased 
too  dearly ;  that  patience  becomes  culpable  pusil- 
lanimity, when  it  serves  only  to  encourage  our 
rulers  to  increase  the  weight  of  our  burthen,  or  to 
bind  it  the  faster ;  that  the  submission  which  sur- 
renders the  liberty  of  a  nation,  and  entails  slavery 
upon  future  generations,  is  enjoiued  by  no  law  of 
rational  morality ;  finally,  I  should  instruct  the 
inquirer  to  compare  the  peril  and  expense  of  liis 
enterprise  with  the  effects  it  was  expected  to  pro- 
duce, and  to  make  choice  of  the  alternative  by 
which  not  his  own  present  relief  or  profit,  but  the 
whole  and  permanent  interest  of  the  state,  was 
likely  to  be  best  promoted.  If  any  one  who  had 
been  present  at  both  these  conversations  should 
upbraid  me  with  change  or  inconsistency  of 
opinion,  should  retort  upon  me  the  passive  doc- 
trine which  I  before  taught,  the  large  and  ab- 
solute terms  in  which  I  then  delivered  lessons  of 
obedience  and  submission,  I  should  account  my- 
self unfiiirly  dealt  with.  I  should  reply,  that  the 
only  difference  which  the  language  of  the  two 
conversations  presented  was,  that  I  added  now 
many  exceptions  and  limitations,  which  were 
omitted  or  unthought  of  then :  that  this  difference 
arose  naturally  from  the  two  occasions,  such  ex- 
ceptions being  as  necessary  to  the  subject  of  our 
present  conference,  as  they  would  have  been  su- 
perfluous and  unseasonable  in  the  former. 

Now  the  difference  in  these  two  conversations 
is  precisely  the  distinction  to  be  taken  in  inter- 
jjreting  those  jmssages  of  Scripture,  concerning 
which  we  are  debating.  They  inculcate  the  duty, 
they  do  not  describe  the  extent  of  it.  They  en- 
force the  obligation  by  the  proper  sanctions  of 
Christiimity,  without  intending  either  to  enlarge 
or  contract,  without  considering,  indeed,  the  limits 
by  which  it  is  bounded.  This  is  also  the  method 
iT  which  the  same  apostles  enjoin  the  duty  of  ser- 
tants  to  their  masters,  of  cliildren  to  their  parents, 


of  wives  to  their  husbands :  "  Servants,  be  subject 
to  your  masters." — "  Children,  obey  your  parents 
in  all  tilings." — •'  Wives,  submit  yourselves  unto 
your  owji  luisbands."  The  same  concise  and 
absolute  form  of  expression  occurs  in  all  these 
precepts ;  the  same  silence  as  to  any  exceptions 
or  distinctions :  yet  no  one  doubts  that  the  com- 
mands of  masters,  parents,  and  husbands,  are 
often  so  inimoderate,  unjust,  and  inconsistent 
with  other  obligations,  that  they  both  may  and 
ought  to  be  resisted.  In  letters  or  dissertations 
written  professedly  Upon  separate  articles  of  mo- 
rality, we  might  with  more  reason  have  looked  for 
a  precise  delineation  of  our  dut}',  and  some  degree 
of  modern  accuracy  in  the  rules  which  were  laid 
down  for  our  direction :  but  in  those  short  collec- 
tions of  practical  maxims  which  compose  the  con- 
clusion, or  some  small  portion,  of  a  doctrinal  or 
perhaps  controversial  epistle,  we  cannot  be  sur- 
prised to  find  the  author  more  solicitous  to  impress 
the  duty,  than  curious  to  enmnerate  exceptions. 

The  consideration  of  tliis  distinction  is  alone 
sufficient  to  vindicate  these  passages  of  Scripture 
from  any  explanation  which  may  be  put  upon 
them,  in  favour  of  an  unlimited  passive  obedience. 
But  if  we  be  permitted  to  assume  a  supposition 
wliich  many  commentators  proceed  upon  as  a 
certainty,  that  the  first  Christians  privately  che- 
rished an  opinion,  that  their  conversion  to  Chris- 
tianity entitled  them  to  new  immunities,  to  an 
exemption  as  of  right  (however  they  might  give 
way  to  necessity,)  from  the  authority  of  the  Ro- 
man sovereign;  we  are  furnished  with  a  still 
more  apt  and  satisfactory  interpretation  of  the 
apostles'  words.  The  two  passages  apply  with 
great  propriety  to  the  refutation  of  tliis  error : 
they  teach  the  Christian  convert  to  obey  the  ma- 
gistrate "for  the  Lord's  sake;" — "not  only  for 
wrath,  but  for  conscience' sake;"— "that  there  is  no 
power  but  of  God ;" — "  that  the  powers  that  be," 
even  the  present  rulers  of  the  Roman  empire, 
though  heathens  and  usurpers,  seeing  they  are  in 
possession  of  the  actual  and  necessary  authority 
of  civil  government,  "  are  ordained  of  God ;"  and, 
consequently,  entitled  to  receive  obedience  from 
those  who  profess  themselves  the  peculiar  ser- 
vants of  God,  in  a  greater  (certainly  not  in  a  less) 
degree  than  from  any  others.  They  briefly  de- 
scribe the  office  of  "  civil  governors,  the  punish- 
ment of  evil-doers,  and  the  praise  of  them  that  do 
well;"  from  which  description  of  the  use  of  govern- 
ment, they  justly  infer  the  duty  of  subjection; 
wluch  duty,  being  as  extensive  as  the  reason  upon 
winch  it  is  founded,  belongs  to  Christians,  no  less 
than  to  the  heathen  members  of  the  community. 
If  it  be  admitted,  that  the  two  apostles  wrote  with 
a  view  to  this  particular  question,  it  will  be  con- 
fessed, that  their  words  cannot  be  transferred  to  a 
question  totally  different  from  this,  with  any  cer- 
tainty of  carrying  along  with  us  their  authority 
and  intention.  There  exists  no  resemblance  be- 
tween the  case  of  a  primitive  convert,  who  dis- 
puted the  jurisdiction  of  the  Roman  government 
over  a  disciple  of  Christianity,  and  his  who,  ac- 
knowledging the  general  authority  of  the  state 
over  all  its  subjects,  doubts  whether  that  authority 
be  not,  in  some  important  branch  of  it,  so  ill  con- 
stituted or  abused,  as  to  warrant  the  endeavours 
of  the  people  to  bring  about  a  reformation  by  force. 
Nor  can  we  judge  what  reply  the  apostles  would 
have  made  to  this  second  question  if  it  had  been 
proposed  to  them,  from  any  thing  they  have  de- 


OF  CIVIL  LIBERTY. 


117 


livered  upon  the^ffrst ;  any  more  than,  in  the  two 
consultations  above  described,  it  could  be  known 
beforehand  what  I  would  say  in  the  latter,  from 
the  answer  which  I  gave  the  former. 

The  only  defect  to  this  account  is,  that  neither 
the  Scriptures,  nor  any  subsequent  historv'  of  the 
early  ages  of  the  Church,  furnish  any  direct  at- 
testation of  the  existence  of  such  disaJfected  sen- 
timents amongst  the  primitive  converts.  They 
supply  indeed  some  circumstances  which  render 
probable  the  opinion,  that  extravagant  notions  of 
the  political  rights  of  the  Christian  state  were  at 
that  time  entertained  by  many  proselytes  to  the  re- 
ligion.— From  the  question  proposed  unto  Christ, 
''  Is  it  lawfid  to  give  tribute  to  Cssar  1"  it  may  be 
presumed  that  doubts  had  been  started  in  the 
Jewish  schools  concerning  the  obligation,  or  even 
the  lawfulness,  of  submission  to  the  Roman  yoke. 
The  accounts  delivered  by  Josephus,  of  various 
msurrections  of  the  Jews  of  that  and  the  following 
age,  excited  by  tins  principle,  or  upon  this  pre- 
tence, confinn  the  presumption.  Now,  as  the 
Christians  were  at  first  chiefly  taken  from  the 
Jews,  confounded  with  them  by  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and,  from  the  atSnity  of  the  two  religions, 
apt  to  intermix  the  doctrines  of  both,  it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at,  that  a  tenet,  so  flattering  to  the 
self-importance  of  those  who  embraced  it,  should 
have  been  communicated  to  the  new  institution. 
Again,  the  teachers  of  Christianity,  amongst  the 
privileges  wliich  their  religion  conferred  upon  its 
professors,  were  wont  to  extol  the  "  liberty  into 
which  they  were  called," — "in  which  Christ  had 
made  them  free."  This  liberty,  which  was  in- 
tended of  a  deliverance  from  the  various  servitude, 
in  wliich  they  had  heretofore  lived,  to  the  domina- 
tion of  sinful  passions,  to  the  superstition  of  the 
Gentile  idolatry,  or  the  encumbered  ritual  of  the 
Jewish  dijpensation,  might  by  some  be  interpreted 
to  signify  an  emancipation  from  all  restraint  wliich 
was  imposed  by  an  authority  merely  human.  At 
least,  they  might  be  represented  bj-  their  enemies 
as  maintaining  notions  of  tliis  dangerous  tendency. 
To  some  error  or  calumny  of  this  kind,  the  words 
of  St.  Peter  seem  to  allude  : — "  For  so  is  the  will 
of  God,  that  with  well-doing  ye  may  put  to  silence 
the  ignorance  of  foolish  men :  as  free,  and  not 
using  your  liberty  for  a  cloak  of  maliciousness  {i.  e. 
sedition,)  but  as  the  servants  of  God."  After  all,  if 
any  one  think  this  conjecture  too  feebly  supported 
by  testimony,  to  be  relied  upon  in  the  interpretation 
of  Scripture,  he  will  then  revert  to  the  consider- 
ations alleged  in  the  preceding  part  of  this  chapter. 
After  so  copious  an  account  of  what  we  appre- 
hend to  be  the  g.?neral  design  and  doctrine  of 
these  mu'.'h-agitated  passages,  httle  need  be  added 
an  explanation  of  particular  clauses.  St.  Paul 
has  said,  "  Whosoever  resisteth  the  power,  re- 
sistetii  the  ordinance  of  God."  This  phrase,  "  the 
ordinance  of  God,"  is  by  many  so  interpreted  as 
to  authorise  the  most  exalted  and  superstitious 
ideas  of  the  regal  character.  But  surely,  such 
interpreters  have  sacriliced  truth  to  adulation.  For, 
in  the  first  place,  the  expression,  as  used  by 
St.  Paul,  is  just  as  appUcable  to  one  kind  of 
government,  and  to  one  kind  of  succession,  as  to 
another ; — to  the  elective  magistrates  of  a  pure 
republic,  sis  to  an  absolute  hereditary  monarch.  In 
the  next  place,  it  is  not  affirmed  of  the  supreme 
magistrate  exclusively,  that  he  is  the  ordinance  of 
God;  the  title,  wliatever  it  imports,  belongs  to 
eveiy  interior  officer  of  the  state  as  much  as  to  the 


highest.  The  divine  right  of  kings  is,  like  the 
divine  riglit  of  other  magistrates, — the  law  of  the 
land,  or  even  actual  and  quiet  possession  of  their 
office  ; — a  right  ratified,  we  humbly  presume,  by 
the  divine  approbation,  so  long  as  obedience  to 
their  authority  appears  to  be  necessary  or  condu- 
cive to  the  common  welfare.  Princes  are  ordain- 
ed of  God  by  virtue  only  of  that  general  decree 
by  which  he  assents,  and  adds  the  sanction  of  his 
will,  to  every  law  of  society  which  promotes  Ins 
own  purpose,  the  conmiunication  of  human  hap- 
piness; according  to  which  idea  of  their  origin 
and  constitution  (and  without  any  repugnancy  to 
the  words  of  St.  Paul,)  they  are  by  St.  Peter  de- 
nominated the  ordinance  of  man. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Of  Civil  Ldberty. 

Civil  Liberty  is  the  not  being  restrained  by 
any  law,  but  what  conduces  in  a  greater  degree 
to  the  public  welfare. 

To  do  what  we  will,  is  natural  libert}^ :  to  do 
what  we  will,  consistently  with  the  interest  of  the 
community  to  which  we  belong,  is  civil  liberty ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  only  liberty  to  be  desired  in  a 
state  of  civil  society. 

I  should  wish,  no  doubt,  to  be  allowed  to  act  in 
every  instance  as  I  pleased,  but  I  reflect  that  the 
rest  also  of  mankind  would  then  do  the  same  ;  in 
which  state  of  universal  independence  and  self- 
direction,  I  should  meet  with  so  many  checks  and 
obstacles  to  my  own  will,  from  the  interference  and 
opposition  of  other  men's,  that  not  only  my  hap- 
piness, but  my  liberty,  would  be  less,  than  whilst 
the  whole  community  were  subject  to  the  domi- 
nion of  equal  laws. 

The  boasted  liberty  of  a  state  of  nature  exists 
only  in  a  state  of  solitude.  In  every  kind  and  de- 
gree of  union  and  intercourse  with  his  species,  it 
is  possible  that  the  liberty  of  the  individual  may 
be  augmented  by  the  very  laws  which  restrain  it ; 
because  he  may  gain  more  from  the  limitation  of 
other  men's  freedom  than  he  sufiers  by  the  dimi- 
nution of  his  own.  Natural  liberty  is  the  right 
of  common  upon  a  waste  ;  civil  Uberty  is  the  safe, 
exclusive,  munolested  enjoyment  of  a  cultivated 
enclosure. 

The  definition  of  civil  liberty  above  laid  down,  im- 
ports that  the  laws  of  a  free  people  impose  no  re- 
straints upon  the  private  will  of  the  subject,  which 
do  not  conduce  in  a  greater  degree  to  the  public 
happiness  ;  by  which  it  is  intimated,  1st,  that  re- 
straint itself  is  an  evil ;  2dly,  that  this  evil  ought  to 
be  overbalanced  by  some  public  advantage  ;  3dly, 
that  the  proof  of  this  advantage  lies  upon  the  le- 
gislature ;  4tlily,  that  a  law  being  found  to  pro- 
duce no  sensible  good  effects,  is  a  sufficient  reason 
for  repealmg  it,  as  adverse  and  injurious  to  the 
rights  of  a  free  citizen,  without  demanding  spe- 
cific evidence  of  its  bad  effects.  This  maxim 
might  be  remembered  with  advantage  in  a  revision 
of  many  laws  of  this  country ;  especially  of  the 
game-laws ;  of  the  poor-laws,  so  far  as  they  lay 
restrictions  upon  the  poor  themselves ;  of  the  laws 
against  Papists  and  Dissenters :  and,  amongst 
people  enamoured  to  excess  and  jealous  of  their 
liberty,  it  seems  a  matter  of  surprise  that  this 
principle  has  been  so  imperfectly  attended  to. 

The  degree  of  actual  liberty  always  bearing, 


118 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


according  to  this  account  of  it,  a  reversed  propor- 
tion to  the  number  and  severity  of  the  restrictions 
which  are  either  useless,  or  the  utiUty  of  which 
does  not  outweigh  the  evil  of  the  restraint,  it  fol- 
lows, that  every  nation  possesses  some,  no  nation 
perfect,  liberty :  that  this  liberty  may  be  enjoyed 
under  every  form  of  government :  that  it  may  be 
impaired  indeed,  or  increased,  but  that  it  is  neither 
gained,  nor  lost,  nor  recovered,  by  any  single  re- 
gulation, change,  or  event  whatever  :  that  conse- 
quently, those  popular  phrases  which  speak  of  a 
free  people ;  of  a  nation  of  slaves  ;  which  call  one 
revolution  the  {era  of  liberty,  or  another  the  loss 
of  it ;  with  many  expressions  of  a  like  absolute 
form  ;  are  intelligible  only  in  a  comparative  sense. 

Hence  also  we  are  enabled  to  apprehend  the 
distinction  between  personal  and  civil  liberty. 
A  citizen  of  the  freest  republic  in  the  world  may 
be  imprisoned  for  his  crimes  ;  and  though  his  per- 
sonal freedom  be  restrained  by  bolts  and  letters,  so 
long  as  his  confinement  is  the  elfect  of  a  benefi- 
cial public  law,  his  civil  liberty  is  not  invaded.  If 
this  instance  appear  dubious,  the  following  will  be 
plainer.  A  passenger  from  the  Levant,  who,  upon 
his  return  to  England,  should  be  conveyed  to  a 
lazaretto  by  an  order  of  quarantine,  with  what- 
ever impatience  he  might  desire  his  enlargement, 
and  though  he  saw  a  guard  placed  at  the  door  to 
oppose  his  escape,  or  even  ready  to  destroy  his 
life  if  he  attempted  it,  would  hardly  accuse  govern- 
ment of  encroaching  upon  his  civil  freedom ;  nay, 
might,  perhaps,  be  all  the  while  congratulating 
himself  that  he  had  at  length  set  his  foot  again  in 
a  land  of  liberty.  The  manifest  expediency  of 
the  measure  not  only  justifies  it,  but  reconciles  the 
most  odious  confinement  with  the  perfect  pos- 
session, and  the  loftiest  notions,  of  civil  liberty. 
And  if  this  be  true  of  the  coercion  of  a  prison, 
that  it  is  compatible  with  a  state  of  civil  freedom, 
it  cannot  with  reason  be  disputed  of  those  more  mo- 
derate constraints  which  the  ordinary  operation  of 
government  imposes  upon  the  will  of  the  individual. 
It  is  not  the  rigour,  but  the  inexpediency  of  laws 
and  acts  of  authority,  which  makes  them  tyrannical. 

There  is  another  idea  of  civil  liberty,  which, 
though  neither  so  simple  nor  so  accurate  as  the 
former,  agrees  better  with  the  signification,  which 
the  usage  of  common  discourse,  as  well  as  the  ex- 
ample of  many  respectable  writers  upon  the  sub- 
ject, has  affixed  to  the  term.  This  idea  places 
liberty  in  security;  making  it  to  consist  not  merely 
in  an  actual  exemption  from  the  constraint  of 
useless  and  noxious  laws  and  acts  of  dominion, 
but  in  being  free  from  the  danger  of  having  such 
hereafter  imposed  or  exercised.  Thus,  speaking 
of  the  political  state  of  modern  Europe,  we  are 
accustomed  to  say  of  Sweden,  that  she  hath  lost 
her  liberty  by  the  revolution  which  lately  took 
place  in  that  country  ;  and  yet  we  are  assured  that 
the  people  continue  to  be  governed  by  the  same 
laws  as  before,  or  by  others  which  are  wiser, 
milder,  and  more  equitable.  What  then  have 
they  lost  ?  They  have  lost  the  power  and  func- 
tions of  their  diet;  the  constitution  of  their  states 
and  orders,  whose  deliberations  and  concurrence 
were  required  in  the  formation  and  establishment 
of  every  public  law ;  and  thereliy  have  parted 
with  the  security  which  they  jwssessed  against 
any  attempts  of  the  crown  to  harass  its  subjects, 
by  oppressive  and  useless  exertions  of  prerogative. 
The  loss  of  this  security  we  denomin-ite  tlie  loss  of 
liberty.      They  have  changed,  not  their  laws,  but 


their  legislature;  not  their  enjoyment,  but  thei: 
safety  ;  not  their  present  burthens,  but  their  pros- 
pects of  future  grievances  ;  and  this  we  pronounce 
a  change  from  the  condition  of  iVeemen  to  that 
of  slaves.  In  like  manner,  in  our  own  country,  the 
act  of  parliament,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the 
Eighth,  which  gave  to  the  king's  proclamation 
the  force  of  law,  has  properly  been  called  a  com- 
plete and  formal  surrender  of  the  liberty  of  the 
nation;  and  would  have  been  so,  although  no 
proclamation  were  issued  in  pursuance  of  these 
new  powers,  or  none  but  what  was  recommended 
by  the  highest  wisdom  and  utility.  The  security 
was  gone.  Were  it  i)robable  that  the  welfare 
and  accommodation  of  the  people  would  be  as  stu- 
diously, and  as  providently,  consulted  in  the  edicts 
of  a  despotic  prince,  as  by  the  resolutions  of  a 
popular  assembly,  then  would  an  absolute  form  of 
government  be  no  less  free  than  the  purest  demo- 
cracy. The  difierent  degree  of  care  and  know- 
ledge of  the  public  interest,  wiiich  may  reasonably 
be  expected  from  the  difierent  form  and  com]X)si- 
tion  of  the  legislature,  constitutes  the  distinction, 
in  respect  of  liberty,  as  well  between  these  two 
extremes,  as  between  all  the  intermediate  modiii- 
cations  of  ci%il  government. 

The  definitions  which  have  been  framed  of  civil 
liberty,  and  which  have  become  the  subject  of 
much  unnecessary  altercation,  are  most  of  them 
adapted  to  this  idea.  Thus  one  political  writer 
makes  the  very  essence  of  the  subject's  liberty  to 
consist  in  his  being  governed  by  no  laws  but  those 
to  which  he  hath  actually  consented ;  another  is 
satisfied  with  an  indirect  and  virtual  consent;  an- 
other, again,  places  civil  liberty  in  the  separation 
of  tlie  legislative  and  executive  offices  of  govern- 
ment ;  another,  in  the  being  governed  by  law ; 
that  is,  by  known,  preconstituted,  inflexible  rules 
of  action  and  adjudication;  a  fitth,  in  the  exclu- 
sive right  of  the  people  to  tax  themselves  by  their 
own  representatives  ;  a  sixth,  in  the  freedom  and 
purity  of  elections  of  representatives ;  a  seventh, 
in  the  control  which  the  democratic  party  of  the 
constitution  possesses  over  the  military  establish- 
ment. Concerning  which,  and  some  other  simi- 
lar accounts  of  civil  liberty,  it  may  be  observed, 
that  they  all  labour  under  one  inaccuracy,  viz. 
that  they  describe  not  so  much  liberty  itself,  as  the 
safeguards  and  preservatives  of  li'oerty :  for  exam- 
ple, a  man's  being  governed  by  no  laws  but  those 
to  which  he  has  given  his  consent,  were  it  practi- 
cable, is  no  otherwise  necessiiry  to  the  enjoyment 
of  civil  liberty,  than  as  it  affords  a  probable  secu- 
rity against  the  dictation  of  laws  imposing  super- 
fluous restrictions  upon  his  private  will.  This 
remark  is  applicable  to  the  rest.  The  diversity 
of  these  definitions  will  not  surprise  us,  when  we 
consider  that  there  is  no  contrariety  or  opposition 
amongst  them  whatever :  for,  by  how  many  dif- 
ferent provisions  and  precautions  civil  liberty  is 
fenced  and  protected,  so  many  different  accounts  of 
liberty  itself,  all  sufficiently  consistent  with  truth 
and  with  each  other,  may,  according  to  this  mode 
of  exjjlaining  the  term,  be  framed  and  adopted. 

Truth  cannot  be  offended  liy  a  definition,  but 
pro[;riety  may.  In  which  view,  those  definitions 
of  liberty  ought  to  be  rejected,  which,  by  making 
that  essential  to  civil  freedom  which  is  unattain- 
able in  experience,  infiame  expectations  that  can 
never  be  gratified,  and  disturb  the  public  content 
with  coinphiiiits,  whichno  wisdom  or  benevolence 
of  go\ernuient  can  remove. 


OF  DIFFERENT  FORMS  OF  GOVERNMENT. 


119 


It  win  not  be  thought  extraordinary,  that  an 
idea,  which  occurs  so  much  oftener  as  the  subject 
of  panegyric  and  careless  declamation,  than  of  just 
reasoning  or  correct  knowledge,  should  be  attend- 
ed with  uncertainty  and  confusion ;  or  that  it 
should  be  found  impassible  to  contrive  a  definition, 
wliich  may  include  the  numerous,  unsettled,  and 
ever- varying  signirications,  which  the  term  is  made 
to  stand  for,  and  at  the  same  tune  accord  with  the 
condition  and  experience  of  social  hfe. 

Of  the  two  ideas  that  have  been  stated  of  civil 
liberty,  whichever  we  assume,  and  whatever  rea- 
soning we  found  upon  them,  concerning  its  extent, 
nature,  value,  and  preservation,  this  is  the  conclu- 
sion ; — that  that  peo])le,  government,  and  consti- 
tution, is  i\\e  freest,  which  makes  the  best  provi- 
sion for  the  enacting  of  expedient  and  salutary 
laws. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
Of  different  Forms  of  Gorernment. 

As  a  series  of  appeals  must  be  finite,  there  ne- 
cessarily exists  in  every  government  a  power  from 
which  the  constitution  has  provided  no  appeal  ;  and 
which  power,  for  that  reason,  may  be  termed  ab- 
solute, omnipotent,  uncontrollable,  arbitrary,  des- 
potic ;  and  is  alike  so  in  all  countries. 

The  person,  or  assembly,  in  whom  this  power 
resides,  is  called  the  sovereign,  or  the  supreme 
power  of  the  state. 

Since  to  the  same  power  universally  appertains 
the  office  of  establishing  public  laws,  it  is  called 
also  the  legislature  of  the  state. 

A  government  receives  its  denomination  from 
the  form  of  the  legislature  ;  which  form  is  likewise 
whtit  we  commonly  mean  by  the  constitution  of  a 
country. 

Politicil  writers  enumerate  three  principal 
forms  of  government,  which,  however,  are  to  be 
regarded  rather  as  the  simple  forms,  by  some  com- 
binilion  and  intermixture  of  which  all  actual  go- 
vern;nents  are  composed,  than  as  any  where  ex- 
isting in  a  pure  and  elementary  state.  These  forms 
are, 

I.  Despotism,  or  absolute  moxarchy,  where  the 
legir^lature  is  in  a  single  person. 

II.  An  ARisTOCR.ACY,  whcre  the  legislature  is 
in  a  select  assembly,  the  members  of  which  cither 
fill  up  by  election  the  vacancies  in  their  own  body, 
or  succeed  to  their  places  in  it  by  inheritance,  pro- 
perty, tenure  of  certain  lands,  or  in  respect  of  some 
personal  right,  or  qualification. 

HI.  A  UKprBLic,  or  democracy,  where  the  peo- 
ple at  1:1  rue,  either  collectively  or  by  representation, 
constitute  the  legislature. 

The  separate  advantages  of  moxarchy,  are, 
unity  of  counsel,  activity,  decision,  secrecy,  de- 
spatch; the  military  strength  and  energy  which 
result  from  these  qualities  of  government ;  the  ex- 
clusion of  popular  and  aristrocralical  contentions; 
the  preventing,  by  a  known  rule  of  succession,  of 
all  competition  for  the  supreme  power ;  and  there- 
by repressing  the  hopes,  intrigues,  and  dangerous 
ar.iliition  of  aspiring  citizens. 

Tiie  iniscliiefs,  or  rather  the  dangers,  of  mo- 
xarchy are,  tyranny,  expense,  exaction,  military 
donv'nation ;  unnecessary  wars,  waged  to  gratify 
the-  passions  of  an  individual;  risk  of  the  charac- 
ter of  the  reigning  prince ;  ignorance,  in  the  go- 


vernors, of  the  interests  and  accommodation  of  the 
people,  and  a  consequent  deficiency  of  salutary 
regulations ;  want  of  constancy  and  uniformity  in 
the  rules  of  government,  and,  proceeding  from 
thence,  insecurit\-  of  person  and  property. 

The  separate  advantiige  of  an  aristocracy 
consists  in  the  wisdom  which  may  be  expected  Irom 
experience  and  education  : — a  permanrnt  council 
naturally  possesses  experience;  and  the  members 
who  succeed  to  their  pkices  in  it  by  inheritance, 
will,  probably,  be  trained  and  educated  with  a  ^iew 
to  the  stations  which  they  are  destined  by  their 
birth  to  occupy. 

The  mischiefs  of  an  aristocracy  are,  disson 
sions  in  the  ruling  orders  of  the  state,  which,  from 
the  want  of  a  common  superior,  are  liable  to  proceed 
to  the  most  desperate  extremities:  oppression  of  the 
lower  orders  by  the  privileges  of  the  higher,  and  by 
laws  partial  to  the  separate  interest  of  the  law- 
makers. 

The  advantages  of  a  republic  are,  liberty,  or 
exemption  from  needless  restrictions;  equal  laws; 
regulations  adapted  to  the  wants  and  circumstances 
of  the  people;  public  spirit,  frugality,  aversencss 
to  war;  the  opportunities  which  democratic  as- 
semblies afibrd  to  men  of  every  description,  of  pro- 
ducing their  abilities  and  counsels  to  public  obser- 
vation, and  the  exciting  thereby,  and  calling  forth 
to  the  service  of  the  commonwealth,  the  liiculties 
of  its  best  citizens. 

The  evils  of  a  republic  are,  dissension,  tumults, 
faction ;  the  attempts  of  powerful  citizens  to  pos- 
sess themselves  of  the  empire ;  the  confusion,  rage, 
and  clamour,  which  are  the  inevitable  consequences 
of  assembling  multitudes,  and  of  propounding  ques- 
tions of  state  to  the  discussion  of  the  people;  the 
delay  and  disclosure  of  public  counsels  and  designs; 
and  the  imbecility  of  measures  retarded  by  the  ne- 
cesshy  of  obtaining  the  consent  of  numbers  :  lastly, 
the  oppression  of  the  provinces  which  are  not  ad- 
mitted to  a  participation  in  the  legislative  power. 

A  mixed  government  is  composed  by  the  com- 
bination of  two  or  more  of  the  simple  forms  of  go- 
vernment above  described : — and  in  whatever  pro- 
portion each  form  enters  into  the  constitution  of  a 
government,  in  the  same  jiropertion  may  both  the 
advantages  and  evils,  which  we  have  attributed  to 
that  form,  be  expected :  that  is.  those  are  the  uses 
to  be  maintained  and  cultivated  in  each  part  of  the 
constitution,  and  these  are  the  dangers  to  be  pro- 
vided against  in  each.  Thus,  if  secrecy  and  de- 
spatch be  tmly  enumerated  amongst  the  separate 
excellencies  of  regal  government,  then  a  mixed  go- 
vernment, which  retains  monarchy  in  one  part  of 
its  constitution,  should  be  careful  that  the  other 
estates  of  the  empire  do  not,  by  an  officious  and 
inquisitive  interference  with  the  executive  func- 
tions, which  are,  or  ought  to  be.  reserved  to  the 
administration  of  the  piince,  interpose  delays,  or 
divulge  what  it  is  expedient  to  conceal.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  profusion,  exaction,  military  domi- 
nation, and  needless  wars,  be  justly  accounted  natu- 
ral properties  of  monarchy,  in  its  simple  unqualified 
form ;  then  are  these  the  objects  to  which,  in  a 
mixed  government,  the  aristrocratic  and  popular 
part  of  the  constitution  ought  to  direct  their  vigi- 
lance; the  dangers  against  which  they  should  raise 
and  fortify  their  harriers ;  these  are  departments  of 
sovereignty,  over  which  a  power  of  inspection 
and  control  ought  to  be  deposited  with  the  people. 

The  same  ob.servation  may  be  repeated  of  all  the 
other  advantages  and  inconveniences  which  have 


120 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


been  ascribed  to  the  several  simple  forms  of  gov- 
ernment; and  affords  a  rule  whereby  to  direct  the 
construction,  improvements,  and  administration, 
of  mixed  governments — subjected  however  to  this 
remark,  that  a  quality  sometimes  results  from  the 
conjunction  of  two  simple  forms  of  government, 
which  belongs  not  to  the  separate  existence  of 
either:  thu^  coiTuption,  which  has  no  place  in  an 
absolute  monarchy,  and  little  in  a  pure  republic, 
is  sure  to  gain  admission  into  a  constitution  which 
divides  the  supreme  power  between  an  executive 
magistrate  and  a  popular  council. 

An  hereditary  moxarchy  is  universally  to  be 
preferred  to  an  elective  monarchy.  The  confes- 
sion of  every  writer  on  the  subject  of  civil  govern- 
ment, the  experience  of  ages,  the  example  of  Po- 
land, and  of  the  papal  dominions,  seem  to  place 
this  amongst  the  few  indubitable  maxims  which 
the  science  of  politics  admits  of  A  crown  is  too 
splendid  a  prize  to  be  conferred  upon  merit :  the 
passions  or  interests  of  the  electors  exclude  all 
consideration  of  the  qualities  of  the!  competitors. 
The  same  observation  holds  concerning  the  ap- 
pointments to  any  office  wliich  is  attended  with  a 
great  share  of  power  or  emolument.  Nothing  is 
gained  by  a  popular  choice,  worth  the  dissensions, 
tumults,  and  interruption  of  regular  industry,  with 
which  it  is  inseparably  attended.  Add  to  this, 
that  a  king,  who  owes  his  elevation  to  the  event 
of  a  contest,  or  to  any  other  cause  than  a  fixed 
rule  of  succession,  will  be  apt  to  regard  one  part 
of  his  subjects  as  the  associates  of  his  fortune,  and 
the  other  as  conquered  foes.  Nor  should  it  be 
forgotten,  amongst  the  advantages  of  an  heredi- 
tary monarchy,  that,  as  plans  of  national  im- 
provement and  reform  are  seldom  brought  to  ma- 
turity by  the  exertions  of  a  single  reign,  a  nation 
cannot  attain  to  the  degree  of  happiness  and  pros- 
perity to  which  it  is  capable  of  being  carried, 
unless  an  uniformity  of  counsels,  a  consistency 
of  public  measures  and  designs,  be  continued 
through  a  succession  of  ages.  This  benefit  may 
be  expected  with  greater  probability  where  the 
supreme  power  descends  in  the  same  race,  and 
where  each  prince  succeeds,  in  some  sort,  to  the 
aim,  pursuits,  and  disposition  of  his  ancestor,  than 
if  the  crown,  at  every  change,  devolve  upon  a 
stranger,  whose  first  care  will  comnwnly  be  to 
pull  down  what  his  predecessor  had  built  up; 
and  to  substitute  systems  of  administration,  which 
nmst,  in  their  turn,  give  way  to  the  more  favour- 
ite novelties  of  the  next  successor. 

ARISTOCRACIES  are  of  two  kinds. — First,  where 
the  power  of  the  nobility  belongs  to  them  in  their 
collective  capacity  alone  ;  that  is,  where,  although 
the  government  reside  in  an  assembly  of  the  or- 
der, yet  the  members  of  that  assembly  separately 
and  indvidually  possess  no  authority  or  privilege 
beyond  the  rest  of  the  community  ; — this  describes 
the  constitution  of  Venice.  Secondly,  where  the 
nobles  are  severally  invested  with  great  personal 
power  and  immunities,  and  where  the  power  of 
the  senate  is  little  more  than  the  aggregated 
power  of  the  individuals  who  compose  it : — this  is 
the  constitution  of  Poland.  Of  these  two  forms 
of  government,  the  first  is  more  tolerable  than 
the  last ;  for,  although  the  members  of  a  senate 
should  many,  or  even  all  of  them,  be  profligate 
enough  to  abuse  the  authority  of  their  stations  in 
the  prosecution  of  private  designs,  yet,  not  being 
all  under  a  temptation  to  the  same  injustice,  not 
having  all  the  same  end  to  gain,   it  would  still  be 


difficult  to  obtain  the  consent  of  a  m.ijority  to  any 
specific  act  of  oppression  which  the  iniquity  of  an 
individual  might  prompt  him  to  propose :  or  if  the 
will  were  the  same,  the  power  is  more  confined  j 
one  tyrant,  whether  the  tyranny  reside  in  u  single 
person,  or  a  senate,  cannot  exercise  oppression  at 
so  many  places,  at  the  same  time,  as  it  may  be 
carried  on  by  the  dominion  of  a  numerous  nobility 
over  their  respective  vassals  and  dependants.  L>f 
all  species  of  domination,  this  is  the  most  odious  : 
the  freedom  and  satisfaction  of  private  life  are 
more  constrained  and  harassed  by  it  than  by  the 
most  vexatious  law,  or  even  by  the  lawless  will 
of  an  arbitrary  monarch,  from  whose  knowledge, 
and  from  whose  injustice,  the  greatest  part  of  his 
subjects  are  removed  by  their  distance,  or  con- 
cealed by  their  obscurity. 

Europe  exhibits  more  than  one  modern  example, 
where  the  people,  aggrieved  by  the  exactions,  or 
provoked  by  the  enormities,  of  their  immediate 
superiors,  have  joined  with  the  reigning  prince  in 
the  overthrow  of  the  aristocracy,  deliberately  ex- 
changing their  condition  for  the  miseries  of  despot- 
ism. About  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  the 
commons  of  Denmark,  weary  of  the  oppressions 
which  they  had  long  suffered  from  the  nobles, 
and  exasperated  by  some  recent  insults,  presented 
themselves  at  the  foot  of  the  throne  with  a  formal 
ofler  of  their  consent  to  establish  unlimited  do- 
minion in  the  king.  The  revolution  in  fciweden, 
still  more  lately  brought  about  with  the  acqui- 
escence, not  to  say  the  assistance,  of  the  people, 
owed  its  success  to  the  same  cause,  namely,  to  the 
prospect  of  deliverance  that  it  afforded  from  the 
tyranny  which  their  nobles  exercised  under  the 
old  constitution.  In  England,  the  people  beheld 
tlie  depression  of  the  barons,  under  the  house  of 
Tudor,  with  satisfaction,  although  they  saw  the 
crown  acquiring  thereby  a  power  which  no  limi- 
tations that  the  constitution  had  then  provided 
wore  likely  to  confine.  The  lesson  to  be  drawn 
from  sucli  events,  is  this :  that  a  mixed  govern- 
ment, which  admits  a  patrician  order  into  its  con- 
stitution, ought  to  circumscribe  the  personal  pri- 
vileges of  the  nobility,  especially  claims  of  here- 
ditary jurisdiction  and  local  authority,  with  a 
jealousy  equal  to  the  solicitude  with  which  it 
wishes  its  own  preservation  :  for  nothing  so 
alienates  the  minds  of  the  people  from  the  govern- 
ment under  wliich  they  live,  by  a  perpetual  sense 
of  annoyance  and  inconveniency,  or  so  prepares 
them  for  the  practices  of  an  enterprising  prince  or 
a  factious  demagogue,  as  the  abuse  which  almost 
always  accompanies  the  existence  of  separate 
immunities. 

Amongst  the  inferior,  but  by  no  means  incon- 
siderable advantages  of  a  democratic  constitu- 
tion, or  of  a  constitution  in  which  the  people  par- 
take of  the  power  of  legislation,  the  following 
should  not  be  neglected  : 

I.  The  direction  which  it  gives  to  the  educa- 
tion, studies,  and  pursuits,  of  the  superior  orders 
of  the  coirjnunity.  The  share  which  this  has  in 
forming  the  public  manners  and  national  charac- 
ter, is  very  important.  In  countries,  in  which 
the  gentry  are  excluded  from  all  concern  in  the 
government,  scarcely  any  thing  is  left  which 
leads  to  advancement,  but  the  profession  of  arms. 
They  who  do  not  addict  themselves  to  tliis  pro- 
fession (and  miserable  must  that  country  be, 
which  constantly  employs  the  military  service  ol 
a  great  proportion  of  any  order  of  its  subjects  !)  are 


OF  DIFFERENT  FORMS  OF  GOVERNMENT. 


121 


commonly  lost  by  the  mere  want  of  ohjcct  and  des- 
tination :  that  is,  they  either  fall,  without  reserve, 
into  the  more  sottish  habits  of  animal  gratification, 
or  entirely  devote  themselves  to  the  attainment  of 
those  futile  arts  and  decorations  which  compose 
the  business  and  recommendations  of  a  court :  on 
the  other  hand,  where  the  whole,  or  any  eflcctive 
portion,  of  civil  power  is  possessed  by  a  popular  as- 
sembly, more  serious  pursuits  will  be  encouraged ; 
purer  morals,  and  in  a  more  intellectual  character, 
will  engage  the  public  esteem;  those  i'aculties 
which  qualify  men  for  deliberation  and  debate, 
and  which  ari  i,ne  fruit  of  sober  habits,  of  early 
and  long-continued  application,  will  be  roused 
and  animated  by  the  reward  which,  of  all  others, 
most  readily  awakens  the  ambition  of  the  human 
mind — political  dignity  and  importance. 

II.  Popular  elections  procure  to  the  common 
people  courtesy  from  their  superiors.  That  con- 
temptuous and  overbearing  insolence,  with  which 
the  lower  orders  of  the  community  are  wont  to  be 
treated  by  the  higher,  is  greatly  mitigated  where 
the  people  have  something  to  give.  The  assi- 
duity with  which  their  favour  is  sought  upon 
these  occasions,  serves  to  generate  settled  habits 
of  condescension  and  respect ;  and  as  human  life 
is  more  embittered  by  affronts  than  injuries,  what- 
ever contributes  to  procure  mildness  and  civi- 
lity of  manners  towards  those  who  are  most  liable 
to  sutler  from  a  contrary  behaviour,  corrects,  with 
the  pride,  in  a  great  measure,  the  evil  of  ine- 
quality, and  deserves  to  be  accounted  among  the 
most  generous  institutions  of  social  life. 

III.  The  satisfactions  which  the  people  in  free 
governments  derive  from  the  knowledge  and 
agitation  of  political  subjects ;  such  as  the  proceed- 
ings and  debates  of  the  senate  ;  the  conduct  and 
characters  of  ministers  ;  the  revolutions,  intrigues, 
and  contentions  of  parties;  and,  in  general,  from 
the  discussion  of  public  measures,  questions,  and 
occurrences.  Subjects  of  this  sort  excite  just 
enough  of  interest  and  emotion  to  afford  a  mode- 
rate engagement  to  the  thoughts,  without  rising 
to  any  painful  degree  of  anxiety,  or  ever  leaving 
a  fixed  operation  upon  the  spirits  ;^and  what  is 
this,  Isut  the  end  and  aim  of  all  those  amusements 
which  compose  so  much  of  the  business  of  life 
and  of  the  value  of  riches  1  For  my  part  (and  I 
believe  it  to  be  the  case  with  most  men  who  are 
arrived  at  the  middle  age,  and  occupy  the  middle 
classes  of  life,)  had  I  all  the  money  which  I  pay 
in  taxes  to  government,  at  liberty  to  lay  out  upon 
amusement  and  diversion,  I  know  not  whether  I 
could  make  choice  of  any  in  which  I  could  find 
greater  pleasure  than  what  I  receive  from  expect- 
ing, hearing,  and  relating  public  news ;  reading 
parliamentary  debates  and  proceedings  ;  canvass- 
ing the  political  arguments,  projects,  predictions, 
and  intelligence,  which  are  convej-ed  by  various 
channels,  to  every  corner  of  the  kingdom.  These 
topics,  exciting  universal  curiosity,  and  being- 
such  as  almost  every  man  is  ready  to  form  and 
prepared  to  deliver  his  opinion  about,  greatly  pro- 
mote, and,  I  thinli,  improve  conversation.  They 
render  it  more  rational  and  more  innocent ;  they 
supply  a  substitute  for  drinking,  gaming,  scandal, 
and  obscenity.  Now  the  secrecy,  the  jealousy, 
the  solitude,  and  precipitation,  of  despotic  govern- 
ments, exclude  all  this.  But  the  loss,  j-ou  say,  is 
trifling.  I  know  that  it  is  possible  to  render  even 
the  mention  of  it  ridiculous  by  representing  it  as 
the  idle  employment   of  the   most  insignificant 


part  of  the  nation,  the  folly  of  village-statesmen  and 
coffee-house  politicians:  but  1  allow  nothing  to  be 
a  trifle  wliich  ministers  to  the  harmless  gratifica- 
tion of  multitudes ;  nor  any  order  of  men  to  be  in- 
significant, whose  number  bears  a  respectable 
proportion  to  the  sum  of  the  whole  community. 

We  have  been  accustomed  to  an  opinion,  that 
a  REPUBLICAN  form  of  government  suits  only  with 
the  affairs  of  a  small  state  :  which  opinion  is  found- 
ed in  the  consideration,  that  unless  the  people, 
in  every  district  of  the  em{)ire,  be  admitted  to  a 
share  in  the  national  representation,  the  govern- 
ment is  not,  as  to  them,  a  republic ;  that  elections, 
where  the  constituents  are  numerous,  and  dis- 
persed through  a  wide  extent  of  country,  are  con- 
ducted with  difficulty,  or  rather,  indeed,  managed 
Iiy  the  intrigues  and  combinations  of  a  few,  who 
are  situated  near  the  place  of  election  each  voter 
considering  liis  single  suffrage  as  too  minute  a 
portion  of  the  general  interest  to  deserve  his  care 
or  attendance,  much  less  to  be  worth  any  opposi- 
tion to  influence  and  application  ;  that  whilst  we 
contract  the  representation  witliin  a  compass 
small  enough  to  admit  of  orderly  debate,  the  in- 
terest of  the  constituent  becomes  too  small,  of  the 
representative  too  great.  It  is  difficult  also  to 
maintain  any  connexion  between  thetn.  He 
who  represents  two  hundred  thousand,  is  neces- 
sarily a  stranger  to  the  greatest  part  of  those  who 
elect  him :  and  when  his  interest  amongst  them 
ceases  to  depend  upon  an  acquaintance  with 
their  persons  and  character,  or  a  care  or  know- 
ledge of  their  affairs  ;  when  such  a  rei)rcscntative 
finds  the  treasures  and  honours  of  a  great  empire 
at  the  disposal  of  a  few,  and  himself  one  of  the 
few,  there  is  little  reason  to  hope  that  he  will 
not  prefer  to  his  public  duty  those  temptations  of 
personal  aggrandisement  which  his  situation  of- 
fers, and  which  the  price  of  his  vote  will  always 
purchase.  All  appeal  to  the  people  Is  precluded 
by  the  impossibility  of  "ollccting  a  sufficient  pro- 
portion of  their  force  and  numbers.  The  factions 
and  the  unanimity  of  the  senate  are  equally  danger- 
ous. Add  to  these  considerations,  that  in  a  de- 
mocratic constitution  the  mechanism  is  too  compli- 
cated, and  the  motions  too  slow,  for  the  operations 
of  a  great  empire ;  whose  defence  and  govern- 
ment require  execution  and  despatch,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  magnitude,  extent,  and  variet}^,  of  its 
concerns.  There  is  weight,  no  doubt,  in  these 
reasons ;  but  much  of  the  objection  seems  to  be 
done  away  by  the  contrivance  oi'  a.  federal  republic, 
which,  distributing  the  country  into  districts  of  a 
conunodious  extent,  and  leaving  to  each  district 
its  internal  legislation,  reserves  to  a  convention  of 
the  states  the  adjustment  of  their  relative  claims  ; 
the  levying,  direction,  and  government,  of  the 
common  force  of  the  confederacy;  the  requisition 
of  subsidies  for  the  supjiort  of  this  force  ;  the  mak- 
ing of  peace  and  war  ;  the  entering  into  treaties  ; 
the  regulation  of  foreign  commerce  ;  the  e(iuali- 
zation  of  duties  upon  imports,  so  as  to  prevent 
the  defrauding  the  revenue  of  one  province  by 
smuggling  articles  of  taxation  from  the  borders  oi 
another ;  and  likewise  so  as  to  guard  against  un- 
due partialities  in  the  encouragement  of  trade. 
To  what  limits  such  a  repulili;-  might,  without 
inconveniency,  enlarge  its  dominions,  by  assuming 
neighbouring  provinces  into  the  confederation ;  or 
how  far  it  is  capable  of  uniting  the  liberty  of  a 
small  commonwealth  with  the  safety  of  a  power 
ful  empire ;  or  whether,  amongst  co-ordinate 
11 


;       122 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


powers,  dissensions  and  jealousies  would  not  be 
likely  to  anise,  which,  for  want  of  a  common  su- 
perior, might  proceed  to  fatal  extremities ;  are 
questions  upon  wliich  the  records  of  mankind  do 
not  authorise  us  to  decide  with  tolerable  certainty. 
1'he  experiment  is  about  to  be  tried  in  America 
upon  a  large  scale. 


CHAPTER   VII. 
Of  the  British  Constitution. 

By  the  constitution  of  a  country,  is  meant 
so  much  of  its  law,  as  relates  to  the  designation 
and  form  of  the  legislature  ;  the  rights  and  func- 
tions of  the  several  parts  of  the  legislative  body  ; 
the  construction,  office,  and  jurisdiction,  of  courts 
of  justice.  The  constitution  is  one  principal  di- 
vision, section,  or  title,  of  the  code  of  public  laws; 
distinguished  from  the  rest  only  by  the  superior 
importance  of  the  subject  of  which  it  treats. 
Therefore  the  terms  constitutional  and  unconsti- 
tutional, mean  legal  and  illegal.  The  distinclion 
and  the  ideas  which  these  terms  denote,  are  found- 
ed in  the  same  autliority  with  the  law  of  the 
land  upon  any  other  subject;  and  to  be  ascer- 
tained by  the  same  inquiries.  In  England,  the  sys- 
tem of  public  jurisprudence  is  made  up  of  acts  of 
parliament,  of  decisions  oi'  courts  of  law,  and  of  im- 
memorial usages ;  consequently,  these  are  the 
principles  of  which  the  English  constitution  itself 
consists,  the  sources  from  which  all  our  know- 
ledge of  its  nature  and  Imiitations  is  to  be  deduced, 
and  the  authorities  to  which  all  appeal  ought  to 
be  made,  and  by  which  every  constitutional  doubt 
and  question  can  alone  be  decided.  This  plain 
and  intelligible  definition  is  the  more  necessar}^  to 
be  {)rescrved  in  our  thoughts,  as  some  writers 
upon  the  subject  absurdly  confound  what  is  con- 
stitutional with  what  is  expedient ;  pronouncing 
forthwitli  a  measure  to  be  unconstitutional,  which 
tliey  adjudge  in  any  respect  to  be  detrimental  or 
dangerous  :  whilst  others,  again,  ascribe  a  kind  of 
transcendant  authority,  or  mysterious  sanctity,  to 
the  constitution,  as  if  it  were  founded  in  some 
higher  original  than  that  which  gives  force  and 
obligation  to  the  ordinary  laws  and  statutes  of  the 
realm,  or  were  inviolable  on  any  other  account 
than  its  intrinsic  utility.  An  act  of  parliament 
in  England  can  never  be  unconstitutional,  in  the 
strict  and  proper  acceptation  of  the  term;  in  a 
lower  sense  it  may,  viz.  when  it  militates  with  the 
spirit,  contradicts  the  analogy,  or  defeats  the  pro- 
vision, of  other  laws,  made  to  regulate  tlie  i'orm  of 
government.  Even  that  flagitious  abuse  of  tlieir 
trust,  by  which  a  parliament  of  Henry  the  Eighth 
conferred  U])on  the  king's  proclamation  the  au- 
thority of  law,  was  unconstitutional  only  in  this 
latter  sense. 

Most  of  those  who  treat  of  the  British  consti- 
tution, consider  it  as  a  scheme  of  government 
formally  planned  and  contrived  by  our  ancestors, 
in  some  certain  era  of  our  national  history,  and  as 
set  up  in  pursuance  of  such  regular  plan  and  de- 
sign. Something  of  this  sort  is  secretly  sup- 
posed, or  referred  to,  in  the  expressions  of  those 
who  speak  of  the  "  principles  of  the  con.stitution," 
of  bringing  back  the  constitution  to  its  "  first 
principles,"  of  restoring  it  to  its  "  original  pu- 
rity," or  "  primitive  model."  Now  this  appears 
to  me  an   erroneous  conception  of  the  subject. 


No  such  plan  was  ever  formed,  consequently  no 
such  first  principles,  original  model,  or  standard, 
exist :  I  mean,  there  never  was  a  date  or  point  of 
time  in  our  history,  when  the  goveninicnt  of 
England  was  to  be  set  up  anew,  and  when  it  was 
referred  to  any  single  person,  or  assembly,  oi 
committee,  to  frame  a  charter  ibr  the  future  go- 
vernment of  tJie  country  ;  or  when  a  constitution 
so  prepared  and  digested,  was  by  common  consent 
received  and  established  In  the  time  of  the  ci\  LI 
wars,  or  rather  between  the  death  of  Charles  the 
First  and  the  restoration  of  his  son,  many  such 
projects  were  published,  but  none  were  carried 
into  execution.  The  Great  Charter,  and  the 
Bill  of  Rights,  were  wise  and  strenuous  elJijrts  to 
obtain  security  against  certain  abuses  of  regal 
power,  by  which  the  subject  had  been  formerly 
aggrieved ;  but  these  were,  either  of  them,  much 
too  partial  modifications  of  the  constitution,  to 
give  it  a  new  original.  The  constitution  of  Eng- 
land, hke  that  of  most  countries  of  Europe,  hath 
grown  out  of  occasion  and  emergency ;  from  the 
fluctuating  policy  of  diflerent  ages ;  from  the  con- 
tentions, successes,  interests,  and  opportunitic  s,  of 
different  orders  and  parties  of  men  in  the  com- 
munity. It  resembles  one  of  those  old  mansions, 
which,  instead  of  being  built  all  at  once,  after 
a  regular  plan,  and  according  to  the  rules  of 
architecture  at  present  established,  has  been 
reared  in  different  ages  of  the  art,  has  been  altered 
from  time  to  time,  and  has  been  continually  re- 
ceiving additions  and  repairs  suited  to  the  taste, 
fortune,  or  conveniency,  of  its  successive  pro- 
prietors. In  such  a  building,  we  look  in  vain  foi 
the  elegance  and  proportion,  for  the  just  order 
and  correspondence  of  parts,  which  we  expect  in 
a  modern  edifice  ;  and  which  external  symmetry, 
after  all,  contributes  much  more  perhaps  to  the 
amusement  of  tlie  beholder,  than  the  accommoda- 
tion of  the  inhabitant. 

In  the  British,  and  possibly  in  all  other  consti- 
tutions, there  exists  a  wide  difference  between  the 
actual  state  of  the  government  and  the  theory. 
The  one  results  from  the  other :  but  still  they  ai'e 
different.  When  v/e  contemplate  the  theory  of 
the  British  government,  we  see  tlie  king  invested 
witli  the  most  absolute  personal  impunity ;  with 
a  power  of  rejecting  laws,  which  have  been  re- 
solved upon  by  both  houses  of  parliament ;  of  con- 
ferring by  his  charter,  upon  any  set  or  succession 
of  men  he  pleases,  the  privilege  of  sending  re- 
presentatives into  one  house  of  parliament,  as  by 
his  immediate  appointment  lie  can  place  whom 
he  will  in  the  other.  What  is  this,  a  foreigiicr 
might  ask,  but  a  more  circuitous  despotism '?  Yet. 
when  we  turn  our  attention  from  the  legal  extent, 
to  the  actual  exercise  of  royal  authority  in  Eng- 
land, we  see  these  formidable  prerogatives  dwin- 
dled into  mere  ceremonies  ;  and,  in  their  stead,  a 
sure  and  commanding  influence,  of  which  the 
constitution,  it  seems,  is  totally  ignorant,  grow- 
ing out  of  that  enormous  patronage  whicli  the 
increased  territory  and  opulence  of  the  empire 
have  placed  in  the  disposal  of  the  executive  ma- 
gistrate. 

Upon  questions  of  reform,  the  habit  of  reflec- 
tion to  be  encouraged,  is  a  sober  comparison  of 
the  constitution  under  which  we  live, — not  with 
models  of  speculative  perfection,  but  with  the  ac- 
tual chance  of  obtaining  a  better.  This  tuin 
of  thouglit  will  generate  a  political  disposition, 
equally  removed  from  that  puerile  admiration  of 


OF  THE  BRITISH  CONSTITUTION. 


123 


present  establishments,  which  sees  no  foult,  and 
can  endure  no  change;  and  that  distempered 
sensibility,  which  is  alive  only  to  perceptions  of 
inconveniency,  and  is  too  impatient  to  be  deliver- 
ed from  the  uneasiness  which  it  feels,  to  compute 
either  the  peril  or  expense  of  the  remedy.  Po- 
litical innovations  commonly  produce  many  effects 
beside  those  that  are  intended.  The  direct  con- 
sequence is  often  the  least  important.  Incidental, 
remote,  and  unthought-of  evil  or  advantages,  fre- 
quently e.xceed  the  good  that  is  designed,  or  the 
mischief  that  is  foreseen.  It  is  from  the  silent 
and  unobserved  operation,  from  the  obscure  pro- 
gress of  causes  set  at  work  for  diflerent  purposes, 
that  the  greatest  revolutions  take  their  rise.  When 
Elizabeth,  and  her  immediate  successor,  applied 
themselves  to  the  encouragement  and  regulation  of 
trade  by  many  wise  laws,  they  knew  not,  that,  to- 
gether with  wealth  and  industry,  they  were  dif- 
liising  a  consciousness  of  strength  an(l  independ- 
ency, which  would  not  long  endure,  -under  the 
forjns  of  a  mixed  government,  the  dominion  of 
arbitrary  princes.  When  it  was  debated  whether 
the  mutiny  act,  the  law  by  which  the  army  is 
governed  and  maintained,  should  be  temporary  or 
perpetual,  little  else  probably  occurred  to  the  ad- 
vocates of  an  annual  bill,  than  the  expediency  of 
retaining  a  control  over  the  most  dangerous  pre- 
rogative of  the  crown, — the  direction  and  com- 
mand of  a  standing  army ;  whereas,  in  its  effect, 
this  single  reservation  has  altered  the  whole  frame 
and  quahtyof  the  British  constitution.  For  since, 
in  consequence  of  the  military  system  which  pre- 
vails in  neighboui'ing  and  rival  nations,  as  well  as 
on  account  of  the  internal  exigencies  of  govern- 
ment, a  standing  army  has  become  essential  to 
the  safety  and  administration  of  the  empire,  it 
enables  parliament,  by  discontinuing  this  neces- 
sary provision,  so  to  enforce  its  resolutions  upon 
any  other  subject,  as  to  render  the  king's  dissent 
to  a  law  which  has  received  the  approbation  of 
both  houses,  too  dangerous  an  experiment  any 
longer  to  be  advised.  A  contest  between  the  king 
and  parliament,  cannot  now  be  persevered  in  with- 
out a  dissolution  of  the  government.  Lastly,  when 
the  constitution  conferred  upon  the  crown  the 
nomination  to  all  employinents  in  the  public  ser- 
vice, the  authors  of  this  arrangement  were  led  to 
it,  by  the  obvious  projjriety  of  leaving  to  a  master 
the  choice  of  his  servants;  and  by  the  manifest 
inconveniency  of  engaging  the  national  council, 
upon  every  vacancy,  in  those  personal  contests 
which  attend  elections  to  places  of  honour  and 
emolument.  Our  ancestors  did  not  observe  that 
this  disposition  added  an  influence  to  the  regal 
ofTice,  which,  as  the  number  and  value  of  public 
employments  increased,  would  supersede  in  a 
great  measure  the  forms,  and  change  the  charac- 
ter, of  the  ancient  constitution.  They  knew  not, 
what  the  experience  and  reflection  of  modern  ages 
have  discovered,  that  patronage,  universally,  is 
power ;  that  he  who  possesses  in  a  suthcient  dt^gree 
the  means  of  gratifying  the  desires  of  manEind 
after  wealth  and  distinction,  by  whatever  checks 
and  forms  his  authority  may  be  limited  or  dis- 
guised, will  direct  the  management  of  public  af- 
fairs. Whatever  be  the  mechanism  of  the  political 
engine,  he  will  guide  the  motion.  These  instances 
are  adduced  in  order  to  illustrate  the  proposition 
which  we  laid  down,  that,  in  politics,  the  most 
important  and  permanent  effects  have,  for  the 
most  part,  been  incidental  and  unforeseen,  and 


this  proposition  we  inculcate,  for  the  sake  of  the 
caution  which  teaches  that  changes  ought  not  to 
be  adventured  upon  without  a  comprehensive  dis- 
cernment of  the  consequences, — without  a  know- 
ledge as  well  of  the  remote  tendency,  as  of  the 
immediate  design.  The  courage  of  a  statesman 
should  resemble  that  of  a  commander,  who,  how- 
ever regardless  of  personal  danger,  never  forgets, 
that,  with  his  own,  he  conmiits  the  lives  and  Ibr- 
tunes  of  a  multitude ;  and  who  docs  not  consider 
it  as  any  proof  of  zeal  or  valour,  to  stake  the  safety 
of  other  men  upon  the  success  of  a  perilous  or  des- 
perate enterprise. 

There  is  one  end  of  civil  government  peculiar 
to  a  good  constitution,  namely,  the  happiness  of 
its  subjects  ;  there  is  another  end  essential  to  a 
good  government,  but  common  to  it  with  many 
bad  ones, — its  own  preservation.  Observing  that 
the  best  form  of  government  would  be  defective, 
which  did  not  provide  for  its  own  permanency,  in 
our  pohtical  reasonings  we  consider  all  such  pro- 
visions as  expedient ;  and  are  content  to  accept  as 
a  sufficient  ground  for  a  measure,  or  law,  that  it 
is  necessary  or  conducive  to  the  preservation  of 
the  constitution.  Yet,  in  truth,  such  provisions 
are  absolutely  expedient,  and  such  an  excuse  final, 
only  whilst  the  constitution  is  worth  preserving ; 
that  is,  until  it  can  be  exchanged  for  a  better.  I 
premise  this  distinction,  because  many  things  in 
the  English,  as  in  every  constitution,  are  to  be 
vindicated  and  accounted  for  solely  from  their 
tendency  to  maintain  the  government  in  its  pre- 
sent state,  and  the  several  parts  of  it  in  possession 
of  the  powers  which  the  constitution  has  assigned 
to  them ;  and  because  I  would  wish  it  to  be  re- 
marked, that  such  a  consideration  is  always  sub- 
ordinate to  another, — the  value  and  usefulness  ol 
the  constitution  itself 

The  Government  of  England,  which  has  been 
sometimes  called  a  mixed  government,  sometimes 
a  limited  monarchy,  is  formed  by  a  combination 
of  the  three  regular  species  of  government :  the 
monarchy  residing  in  the  King ;  the  aristocracy, 
in  the  House  of  Lords ;  and  the  republic,  being 
represented  by  the  House  of  Commons.  The 
perfection  intended  by  such  a  scheme  of  govern- 
ment is,  to  unite  the  advantages  of  the  several 
simple  forms,  and  to  exclude  the  inconveniencies. 
To  what  degree  this  purpose  is  attained  or  attain- 
able in  the  British  constitution ;  wherein  it  is  lost 
sight  of  or  neglected  ;  and  by  what  means  it  may 
in  any  part  be  promoted  with  better  success,  the 
reader  will  be  enabled  to  judge,  by  a  separate 
recollection  of  these  advantages  and  inconve- 
niencies, as  enumerated  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
and  a  distinct  application  of  each  to  the  political 
condition  of  this  country.  We  will  present  our 
remarks  upon  the  subject  in  a  brief  account  of 
the  expedients  by  which  the  British  conslitution 
provides, 

1st,  For  the  interest  of  its  subjects. 

2dly,  For  its  own  preservation. 

The  contrivances  for  the  first  of  their  purposes, 
are  the  following : 

In  order  to  promote  the  establishment  of  salu- 
tary public  laws,  every  citizen  of  the  state  is  ca- 
pable of  becoming  a  member  of  the  senate  :  and 
every  senator  possesses  the  right  of  propounding 
to  the  deliberation  of  the  legislature  whatever  law 
he  pleases. 

Every  district  of  the  empire  enjoys  the  privilege 
of  choosing  representatives,  informed  of  the  in- 


134 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


terests,  aivl  circumstances,  and  desires  of  their 
constituents,  and  entitled  by  their  situation  to 
couununincate  that  information  to  the  national 
council.  The  meanest  suliject  has  some  one 
whom  he  can  call  upon  to  bring  forward  his  com- 
plaints and  requests  to  public  attention. 

By  annexing  the  right  of  voting  for  members  of 
the  House  of  Commons  to  diilereut  qualifications 
ui  diiferent  places,  each  order  and  profession  of 
men  in  the  community  become  virtually  repre- 
sented ;  that  is,  men  of  all  orders  and  professions, 
statesmen,  courtiers,  country-gentlemen,  lawyers, 
merchants,  manufacturers,  soldiers,  sailors,  in- 
terested in  the  prosperity,  and  experienced  in  the 
occupation,  of  their  respective  professions,  obtain 
seats  in  parliament. 

The  elections,  at  the  same  time,  are  so  con- 
nected with  the  influence  of  landed  property,  as 
to  afford  a  certainty  that  a  considerable  number 
of  men  of  great  estates  will  be  returned  to  par- 
liament ;  and  are  also  so  modified,  that  men  the 
most  eminent  and  successful  in  their  respective 
professions,  are  the  most  likely,  by  their  riches,  or 
the  weight  of  their  stations,  to  prevail  in  these 
competitions. 

The  number,  fortune,  and  quality,  of  the  mem- 
bers ;  the  variety  of  interests  and  characters 
amongst  them;  above  all,  the  temporary  dura- 
tion of  their  power,  and  the  change  of  men  which 
every  new  election  produces ;  are  so  many  secu- 
rities to  the  public,  as  well  against  the  sulijection 
of  their  judgments  to  any  external  dictation,  as 
against  the  formation  of  a  junto  in  their  own 
body,  sufficiently  powerful  to  govern  their  de- 
cisions. 

The  representatives  are  so  intermixed  with  the 
constituents,  and  the  constituents  with  the  rest 
of  the  people,  that  they  cannot,  without  a  par- 
tiality too  flagrant  to  "be  endured,  impose  any 
burthen  upon  the  subject,  in  which  they  do 
not  share  themselves;  nor  scarcely  can  they 
adopt  an  advantageous  regulation,  in  which 
their  own  interests  will  not  participate  of  the 
advantage. 

The  proceedings  and  debates  of  parliament,  and 
the  parliamentary  conduct  of  each  representative, 
are  known  by  the  people  at  large. 

The  representative  is  so  far  dependent  upon 
the  constituent,  and  political  importance  upon 
public  favour,  that  a  member  of  parliament  cannot 
more  effectually  recommend  himself  to  eminence 
and  advancement  in  the  state,  than  by  contriving 
and  patronizing  laws  of  public  utility. 

When  intelligence  of  the  condition,  wants,  and 
occasions,  of  the  people,  is  thus  collected  from 
every  quarter;  when  such  a  variety  of  invention, 
and  so  many  understandings,  are  set  at  work  upon 
the  subject ;  it  may  be  presumed,  that  the  most 
eligible  expedient,  remedy,  or  improvement,  will 
occur  to  some  one  or  other :  and  when  a  wise 
counsel,  or  beneficial  regulation,  is  once  suggested, 
it  may  be  expected,  from  the  disposition  of  an 
assembly  so  constituted  as  the  British  House  of 
Commons  is,  that  it  cannot  fail  of  receiving  the 
approbation  of  a  majority. 

To  prevent  those  destructive  contentions  for 
the  supreme  power,  which  are  sure  to  take  place 
where  the  members  of  the  state  do  not  live  under 
an  acknowledged  head,  and  a  known  rule  of  suc- 
cession ;  to  preserve  the  people  in  tranquillity  at 
home,  by  a  speedy  and  vigorous  execution  of  the 
laws ;  to  protect  their  interest  abioad,  by  strength 


and  energy  in  military  operations,  by  those  advar^ 
tages  of  decision,  secrecy,  and  despatch,  which 
belong  to  the  resolutions  of  monarchical  coun- 
cils;— for  these  purjxises,  the  constitution  has 
committed  the  executive  government  to  the  ad-« 
ministration  and  limited  authority  of  an  hereditary 
king. 

In  the  defence  of  the  empire;  in  the  main- 
tenance of  its  power,  dignity,  and  privileges  with 
foreign  nations ;  in  the  advancement  of  its  trade 
by  treaties  and  conventions ;  and  in  the  providing 
for  the  general  administration  of  municipal  jus- 
tice, by  a  proper  choice  and  appointment  of  ma- 
gistrates ;  the  inchnation  of  the  king  and  of  the 
people  usually  coincides ;  in  this  part,  therefore, 
of  the  regal  oflice,  the  constitution  entrusts  the 
prerogative  with  ample  powers. 

The  dangers  principally  to  be  apprehended 
from  regal  government,  relate  to  the  two  articles 
taxation  and  j->unishmcnt.  In  every  form  of  go- 
vernment, from  which  the  people  are  excluded,  it 
is  the  interest  of  the  governors  to  get  as  much, 
and  of  the  governed  to  give  as  little,  as  they  can  : 
the  power  also  of  punishment,  in  the  hands  of  an 
arbitrary  prince,  oftentimes  becomes  an  engine  of 
extortion,  jealousy,  and  revenge.  Wisely,  there- 
fore, hath  the  British  constitution  guarded  the 
safety  of  the  people,  in  these  two  points,  by  the 
most  studious  precautions. 

Upon  that  of  taxation,  every  law  which, 
by  the  remotest  construction,  may  be  deemed 
to  levy  money  upon  the  property  of  the  sub- 
ject, must  originate,  that  is,  must  first  be  pro- 
posed and  assented  to,  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons :  by  which  regulation,  accompanying  the 
weight  which  that  assembly  possesses  in  all 
its  functions,  the  levying  of  taxes  is  almost  ex- 
clusivelj'  reserved  to  the  pojjular  part  of  the  con- 
stitution, who,  it  is  presumed,  will  not  tax  them- 
selves, nor  their  fellow-subjects,  without  being 
first  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  the  aids  wlrieh 
they  grant. 

The  application  also  of  the  public  supplies,  is 
watched  with  the  same  circumspection  as  the  as- 
sessment. Many  taxes  are  annual ;  the  produce 
of  others  is  mortgaged,  or  appropriated  to  specific 
services :  the  expenditure  of  all  of  them  is  ac- 
counted for  in  the  House  of  Commons ;  as  com- 
putations of  the  charge  of  the  purpose  for  which 
they  are  wanted,  are  jjreviously  submitted  to  the 
same  tribunal. 

In  the  infliction  of  ■punishment,  the  power  of 
the  crown,  and  of  the  magistrate  appointed  by  the 
crown,  is  confined  by  the  most  precise  limitations  : 
the  guilt  of  the  offender  must  be  pronounced  by 
twelve  men  of  his  own  order,  indifi'erently  chosen 
out  of  the  county  where  the  oflence  was  com- 
mitted :  the  punishment,  or  the  limits  to  which 
the  punishment  maybe  extended,  are  ascertained, 
and  affixed  to  the  crime,  by  laws  which  know  not 
the  person  of  the  criminal. 

And  whereas  arbitrary  or  clandestine  confine- 
ment is  the  injury  most  to  be  dreaded  from  the 
strong  hand  of  the  executive  government,  because 
it  deprives  the  prisoner  at  once  of  protection  and 
defence,  and  delivers  him  into  the  power,  and  to 
the  malicious  or  interested  designs,  of  his  enemies ; 
the  constitution  has  provided  against  this  danger 
with  double  solicitude.  The  ancient  writ  of  ha- 
beas corpus,  the  last  habeas-corpus  act  of  Charles 
the  Second,  and  the  practice  and  determinations 
of  our  sovereign  courts  of  justice  founded  uj)on 


OF  THE  BRITISH  CONSTITUTION. 


125 


these  laws,  afford  a  complete  remedy  for  every 
conceivable  case  of  illegal  imprisonment.* 

Treason  being  that  charge,  under  colour  of 
which  the  destruction  of  an  obnoxious  indi\idual 
is  often  sought ;  and  government  being  at  all 
times  more  immediately  a  party  in  the  prosecu- 
tion ;  the  law,  beside  the  general  care  with  wliich 
it  watches  over  the  safety  of  the  accused,  in  this 
case,  sensible  of  the  unequal  contest  in  which  the 
subject  is  engaged,  has  assisted  liis  defence  with 
extraordinary  indulgences.  By  two  statutes, 
enacted  since  the  Revolution,  every  person  in- 
dicted for  high  treason  shall  have  a  copy  of  liis 
indictment,  a  list  of  the  witnesses  to  be  produced, 
and  of  the  jury  impannelled,  delivered  to  him  ten 
days  before  the  trial ;  he  is  also  permitted  to  make 
his  defence  by  counsel : — privileges  which  are  not 
allowed  to  the  prisoner,  in  a  trial  for  any  other 
crime :  and,  what  is  of  more  importance  to  the 
party  than  all  the  rest,  the  testimony  of  two  wit- 
nesses, at  the  least,  is  required  to  convict  a  person 
of  treason  ;  whereas,  one  positive  witness  is  suf- 
ficient in  almost  every  other  species  of  accusation. 

W  e  proceed,  in  the  second  place,  to  inquire  in 
what  manner  the  constitution  has  provided  for  its 
own  preservation  ;  that  is,  in  what  manner  each 
part  of  the  legislature  is  secured  in  the  exercise 
of  the  powers  assigned  to  it,  from  the  encroach- 
ment? of  the  other  parts.  This  security  is  some- 
times called  the  balance  of  the  constitution :  and 
the  political  equilibrium,  which  this  phrase  de- 
notes, consists  in  two  contrivances ; — a  balance  of 
power,  and  a  balance  of  interest.  By  a  balance  of 
power  is  meant,  that  there  is  no  power  possessed 
by  one  part  of  the  legislature,  the  abuse  or  excess 
of  which  is  not  checked  by  some  antagonist  power, 
residing  in  another  part.  Thus  the  power  of  the 
two  houses  of  parliament  to  frame  laws,  is  checked 
by  the  king's  negative :  that,  if  laws  subversive  of 
regal  government  should  obtain  the  consent  of 
parliament,  the  reigning  prince,  by  interposing  his 
prerogative,  may  save  the  necessary  rights  and 
authority  of  his  station.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
arbitrary  apphcation  of  this  negative  is  checked 
by  the  privilege  which  parliament  possesses,  of  re- 
fusing supplies  of  money  to  the  exigencies  of  the 
king's  administration.  The  constitutional  maxim, 
"tliat  the  king  can  do  no  wrong,"  is  balanced  by 


*  tlpon  complaint  in  writing  by,  or  on  behalf  of,  any 
person  in  confinement,  to  any  of  the  four  courts  of 
Westrainster-Hall,  in  term-time,  or  to  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, or  one  of  the  Judges,  in  the  vacation  ;  and  upon 
a  probable  reason  being  suggested  to  question  the  le- 
gality of  the  detention  ;  a  writ  is  issued  to  the  person 
in  whose  custody  the  complainant  is  alleged  to  be, 
commanding  him,  within  a  certain  limited  "and  short 
time,  to  produce  the  body  of  the  prisoner,  and  the  au- 
thority under  which  he  is  detained.  Upon  the  return  of 
the  writ,  strict  and  instantaneous  obedience  to  which  is 
enforced  by  very  severe  penalties,  if  no  lawful  cause  of 
imprisonment  appear,  the  court  or  judge,  before  whom 
the  prisoner  is  brought,  is  authorized  and  bound  to 
discharge  him ;  even  though  he  may  have  been  com- 
mitted by  a  secretary,  or  other  high  officer  of  state,  by 
the  privy-council,  or  by  the  king  in  person  :  so  that  no 
subject  of  this  realm  can  be  held  in  confinement  by  any 
power,  or  under  any  pretence  whatever,  provided  he  can 
tind  means  to  convey  his  complaint  to  one  of  the  four 
courts  of  Westminiter-Hall,  or,  during  their  recess,  to 
any  of  the  Judges  of  the  same,  unless  all  these  several 
tribunals  agree  in  determining  his  imprisonment  to  be 
legal.  He  may  make  application  to  them  in  succession  ; 
and  if  one  out  of  the  number  be  found,  who  thinks  the 
prisoner  entitled  to  his  liberty,  that  one  possesses  au- 
thority to  restore  it  to  him. 


another  maxim,  not  less  constitutional,  ''  that  the 
illegal  conmiands  of  the  king  do  not  justify  those 
who  assist,  or  concur,  in  carrying  them  into  exe- 
cution;" and  b}^  a  secojid  rule,  subsidiary  to  this, 
"  that  the  acts  of  the  crown  acquire  not  a  legal 
force,  until  authenticated  by  the  subscription  of 
some  of  its  great  officers.'"  The  wisdom  of  this 
contrivance  is  worthy  of  observation.  As  tlie 
king  could  not  be  punished,  without  a  civil  war, 
the  constitution  exempts  his  person  from  trial  or 
account ;  but,  lest  this  impunity  should  encourage 
a  licentious  exercise  of  dominion,  various  obsta- 
cles are  opposed  to  the  private  will  of  the  so^■e- 
reign,  when  directed  to  illegal  objects.  The 
pleasure  of  the  crown  must  be  announced  with 
certain  solemnities,  and  attested  by  certain  officers 
of  state.  In  some  cases,  the  royal  order  must  be 
signified  by  a  secretary  of  state ;  in  others  it  must 
pass  mider  the  privy  seal :  and,  in  many,  under 
the  great  seal.  And  when  the  king's  command 
is  regularly  published,  no  mischief  can  be  achieved 
by  it,  without  the  ministry  and  compliance  of 
those  to  whom  it  is  directed.  Now  all  who  either 
concur  in  an  illegal  order  by  authenticating  its 
publication  with  their  seal  or  subsciiption,  or  who 
in  any  manner  assist  in  carrying  it  into  execution, 
subject  themselves  to  prosecution  and  punishment, 
for  the  part  they  have  taken ;  and  are  not  per- 
mitted to  plead  or  produce  the  command  of  the 
king  in  justification  of  their  obedience.*  But 
farther:  the  power  of  the  crown  to  direct  tlie 
military  force  of  the  kingdom,  is  balanced  by  the 
annual  necessity  of  resorting  to  parliament  for  the 
maintenance  and  government  of  that  force.  The 
power  of  the  king  to  declare  war,  is  checked  by 
the  privilege  of  the  House  of  Commons,  to  grant 
or  withhold  the  supplies  by  which  tht.  war  must 
be  carried  on.  The  king's  choice  of  his  ministers 
is  controlled  by  the  obligation  he  is  under  of  ap- 
pointing those  men  to  offices  in  the  state,  who  are 
found  capable  of  managing  the  affairs  of  his  go- 
verninent,  with  the  two  houses  of  parliament. 
Wliich  consideration  imposes  such  a  necessity 
upon  the  crown,  as  hath  in  a  great  measure  sub- 
dued the  influence  of  favouritism ;  insomuch  that 
it  is  become  no  uncommon  spectacle  in  this  coun- 
try, to  see  men  promoted  by  the  king  to  the  high- 
est offices  and  richest  preferments  which  he  has 
in  his  power  to  bestow,  who  have  been  distin- 
guished by  their  opposition  to  his  personal  in- 
clinations. 

By  the  balance  of  interest,  which  accompanies 
and  gives  efficacy  to  the  balance  of  ■power,  is 
meant  this ; — that  the  respective  uiterests  of  the 
three  estates  of  the  empire  are  so  disposed  and 
adjusted,  that  whichever  of  the  three  shall  attempt 
any  encroachment,  the  other  two  will  unite  in  re- 
sistinjT  it.  If  the  kins  should  endeavour  to  extend 


*  Amongst  the  checks  which  Parliament  holds  over 
the  administration  of  public  affairs,  I  forbear  to  men- 
tion the  practice  of  addressing  the  king,  to  know  by 
whose  advice  he  resolved  upon  a  particular  measure  : 
and  of  punishing  the  authors  of  that  advice,  for  the 
counsel  they  had  given.  Not  because  I  think  this  me- 
thod either  unconstitutional  or  improper  ;  but  for  this 
reason, — that  it  does  not  so  much  subject  the  king  to 
the  control  of  Parliameiu,  as  it  supposes  him  to  be 
already  in  subjection.  For  if  the  king  were  so  far  out 
of  the  reach  of  the  resentment  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, as  to  be  able  with  safety  to  refuse  the  informa- 
tion requested,  or  to  take  upon  himself  the  respon- 
sibility inquired  after,  there  must  be  an  end  of  all  pro- 
ceedings founded  in  this  mode  of  application. 
11* 


126 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


his  authority,  by  contracting  the  power  and  pri- 
vileges of  the  Commons,  the  House  of  Lords 
would  see  their  own  dignity  endangered  by  every 
advance  wliieli  the  crown  made  to  independency 
upon  the  resolutions  of  parliament.  The  admis- 
sion of  arbitrary  power  is  no  less  formidable  to  the 
grandeur  of  the  aristocracy,  than  it  is  fatal  to  the 
hberty  of  the  republic ;  that  is,  it  would  reduce  the 
nobility  from  the  hereditary  share  they  possess  in 
the  national  councils,  in  which  their  real  great- 
ness consists,  to  the  being  made  a  part  of  the 
empty  pageantry  of  a  despotic  court.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  the  House  of  Commons  should  in- 
trench upon  the  distinct  province,  or  usurp  the 
established  prerogative  of  the  crown,  the  House 
of  Loi'ds  would  receive  an  instant  alarm  from 
every  new  stretch  of  popular  povv'er.  In  every 
contest  in  which  the  king  may  be  engaged  with 
the  representative  body,  in  defence  of  his  esta- 
blished share  of  authority,  he  will  find  a  sure  ally 
in  the  collective  power  of'  the  nobility.  An  attach- 
ment to  the  monarchy,  from  which  they  derive 
their  own  distinction ;  the  allurements  of  a  court, 
in  the  habits  and  with  the  sentiments  of  which 
they  have  been  brought  up;  their  hatred  of  equa- 
lity and  of  all  levelling  pretensions,  which  may 
ultimately  aflect  the  i^rivileges,  or  even  the  ex- 
istence, of  their  order ;  in  short,  every  principle 
and  every  prejudice  which  are  wont  to  actuate 
human  conduct,  will  determine  their  choice  to  the 
side  and  support  of  the  crown.  Lastly,  if  the 
nobles  themselves  should  attempt  to  revive  the 
superiorities  which  their  ancestors  exercised  under 
the  feudal  constitution,  the  king  and  the  people 
would  alike  remember,  how  the  one  had  been  in- 
sulted, and  the  other  enslaved,  by  that  barbarous 
tyranny.  They  would  forget  the  natural  opposi- 
tion of  their  views  and  inclinations,  when  they 
saw  themselves  threatened  with  the  return  of  a 
domination  which  was  odious  and  intolerable  to 
both. 


The  reader  will  have  observed,  that  in  describing 
the  British  constitution,  little  notice  has  been  taken 
of  the  House  of  Lords.  The  proper  use  and  de- 
sign of  this  part  of  the  constitution,  are  the  follow- 
ing :  First,  to  enable  the  king,  by  his  right  of  be- 
stowing the  peerage,  to  reward  the  servants  of  the 
public,  in  a  manner  most  grateful  to  them,  at  a 
small  expense  to  the  nation :  secondly,  to  fortify 
the  power  and  to  secure  the  stability  of  regal  go- 
vernment, by  an  order  of  men  naturally  allied  to 
its  interests:  and,  thirdly,  to  answer  a  purpose, 
which,  though  of  superior  importance  to  the  other 
two,  does  not  occur  so  readily  to  our  observation ; 
namely,  to  stem  the  progress  of  popular  fury. 
Large  bodies  of  men  are  subject  to  sudden  phren- 
sies.  Opinions  are  sometimes  circulated  amongst 
a  multitude  without  proof  or  examination,  ac- 
quiring confidence  and  reputation  merely  by  be- 
ing repeated  from  one  to  another ;  and  passions 
founded  upon  these  opinions,  diffusing  themselves 
with  a  rapidity  which  can  neither  be  accounted 
for  nor  resisted,  may  agitate  a  country  witli  the 
most  violent  commotions.  Now  the  only  waj'  to 
stop  the  fermentation,  is  to  divide  the  mass;  that 
is,  to  erect  dlfterent  orders  in  the  community,  with 
separate  prejudices  and  interests.  And  this  may 
occasionally  become  the  use  of  an  hereditary  no- 
bility, invested  with  a  share  of  legislation.  Averse 
to  those  prejudices  which  actuate  the  minds  of 


the  vulgar;  accustomed  to  condemn  the  clamour 
of  the  populace ;  disdaining  to  receive  laws  and 
opinions  from  their  inferiors  in  rank;  they  will 
oppose  resolutions  which  are  founded  in  the  lolly 
and  violence  of  the  lower  part  of  the  conununity. 
Were  the  voice  of  the  people  always  dictated  by 
rellection ;  did  every  man,  or  even  one  man,  in  a 
hundred,  think  for  liimsclf,  or  actually  consider 
the  measure  he  was  about  to  approve  or  censure ; 
or  even  were  the  common  people  tolerably  stead- 
fast in  the  judgment  which  they  formed,  I  should 
hold  the  interferences  of  a  superior  order  not  only 
superfluous,  but  wrong :  for  when  every  thing 
is  allowed  to  difference  of  rank  and  education, 
which  the  actual  state  of  these  advantages  de- 
serves, that,  aiter  all,  is  most  likely  to  be  right  and 
expedient,  which  a})pears  to  be  so  to  the  separate 
judgment  and  decision  of  a  great  majority  of  the 
nation ;  at  least,  that,  in  general,  is  right ybr  them, 
which  is  agreeable  to  their  fixed  oi)inions  and  de- 
sires. But  when  we  observe  what  is  urged  as  the 
public  opinion,  to  be,  in  truth,  the  opinion  only, 
or  perhaps  the  feigned  profession,  of  a  few  crafty 
leaders ;  that  the  numbers  who  join  in  the  cry, 
serve  only  to  swell  and  multiply  the  sound,  with- 
out any  accession  of  judgment,  or  exercise  of  un- 
derstanding ;  and  that  oftentimes  the  wisest  coun- 
sels have  been  thus  overborne  by  tumult  and 
uproar ; — we  may  conceive  occasions  to  arise,  in 
which  the  commonwealth  may  be  saved  by  the 
reluctance  of  the  nobility  to  adopt  the  caprices,  or 
to  yield  to  the  vehemence,  of  the  common  people. 
In  expecting  this  advantage  from  an  order  of  no- 
bles, we  do  not  suppose  the  nobility  to  be  more 
unprejudiced  than  others ;  we  only  suppose  that 
their  prejudices  will  be  different  from,  and  may 
occasionally  counteract,  those  of  others. 

If  the  personal  privileges  of  the  peerage,  which 
are  usually  so  many  injuries  to  the  rest  of  the 
community,  be  restrained,  I  see  little  inconve- 
niency  in  the  increase  of  its  number ;  for  it  is  only 
dividing  the  same  quantity  of  power  amongst 
more  hands,  which  is  rather  favourable  to  public 
freedom  than  otherwise. 

The  admission  of  a  small  number  of  ecclesias- 
tics into  the  House  of  Lords,  is  but  an  equitable 
compensation  to  the  clergy  for  the  exclusion  of 
their  order  from  the  House  of  Commons.  I'hey 
are  a  set  of  men  considerable  by  their  number  and 
property,  as  well  as  by  their  influence,  and  the 
duties  of  their  station ;  yet,  whilst  every  other  pro- 
fession has  those  amongst  the  national  represen- 
tatives, who,  being  conversant  in  the  same  occu- 
pation, are  able  to  state,  and  naturally  disposed  to 
support,  the  rights  and  interests  of  the  class  and 
calling  to  which  they  belong,  the  clergy  alone  are 
deprived  of  this  advantage:  which  hardship  is 
made  up  to  them  by  introducing  the  prelacy  into 
parliament ;  and  if  bishops,  from  gratitude  or  ex- 
pectation, be  more  obsequious  to  the  will  of  the 
crown  than  those  who  possess  great  temporal  in- 
heritances, they  are  properly  inserted  into  that 
part  of  tlie  constitution,  from  which  much  or  fre- 
quent resistance  to  the  measures  of  government  is 
not  expected. 

I  acknowledge,  that  I  perceive  no  sufficient 
reason  for  exempting  the  persons  of  members  of 
either  house  of  parliament  from  arrest  for  debt. 
The  counsels  or  suffrage  of  a  single  senator, 
especially  of  one  who  in  the  management  of  his 
own  affairs  may  justly  be  suspected  of  a  want  of 
prudence  or  honesty,  can  seldom  be  so  necessary 


OF  THE  BRITISH  CONSTITUTION. 


127 


to  those  of  the  public,  as  to  justify  a  departure 
from  that  wholesome  policy,  by  which  the  laws  of 
a  commercial  state  punish  and  stigmatize  insol- 
vency. But,  whatever  reason  may  be  pleaded  for 
tlieir  persoml  immunity,  when  this  privilege  of 
parliament  is  extended  to  domestics  and  retainers, 
or  when  it  is  permitted  to  impede  or  delay  the 
course  of  judicial  proceedings,  it  becomes  an  ab- 
surd sacrilice  of  equal  justice  to  imaginary  dignity. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  British  constitution  so 
remarkable,  as  the  irregularity  of  the  popular  re- 
presentation. The  House  of  Commons  consists 
of  tive  hundred  and  tifty-eight  members,  of  whom 
two  hundred  are  elected  by  seven  thousand  con- 
stituents; so  that  a  majority  of  these  seven  thou- 
sand, without  any  reasonable  title  to  superior 
Wi'ight  or  influence  in  the  state,  may,  under  cer- 
tain circumstances,  decide  a  question  against  the 
ojiinion  of  as  many  millions.  Or,  to  place  the 
same  object  in  another  point  of  view:  If  my  estate 
be  situated  in  one  county  of  the  kingdom,  I  pos- 
sess the  ten-thousandth  part  of  a  single  represen- 
tative; if  in  another,  the  thousandth ;  ifin  a  par- 
ticular district,  I  maybe  one  in  twenty  who  choose 
tw'i  representatives;  if  in  a  still  more  favoured 
spot,  I  may  enjoy  the  right  of  ajjpointing  two 
myself  If  I  have  been  born,  or  dwell,  or  have 
served  an  apprenticesliip,  in  one  town,  I  am  re- 
presented in  the  national  assembly  by  two  depu- 
ties, in  the  choice  of  whom  I  exercise  an  actual 
and  sensible  share  of  power;  if  accident  has 
thrown  my  birth,  or  habitation,  or  service,  into 
another  town,  I  have  no  representative  at  all,  nor 
more  power  or  concern  m  the  election  of  those 
who  make  the  laws  by  wliich  I  am  governed,  than 
if  I  was  a  subject  of  the  Grand  Signior  :  and  this 
partiality  subsists  without  any  pretence  whatever 
of  merit  or  of  propriety,  to  justify  the  preference 
of  one  place  to  another.  Or,  thirdly,  to  describe 
the  state  of  national  representation  as  it  exists  in 
reality,  it  may  be  atRrmed,  I  believe,  with  truth, 
that  about  one  half  of  the  House  of  Commons 
obtain  their  seats  in  that  assembly  by  the  election 
of  the  people,  the  other  half  by  purchase,  or  by  the 
nomination  of  single  proprietors  of  great  estates. 

This  is  a  flagrant  incongruity  in  the  constitu- 
tion ;  but  it  is  one  of  those  objections  which  strike 
most  forcibly  at  first  sight.  The  elfect  of  all  rea- 
soning upon  the  subject  is,  to  diminish  the  first 
impression;  on  which  account  it  deserves  the 
more  attentive  examination,  that  we  may  be  as- 
sured, before  we  adventure  upon  a  reformation, 
that  the  magnitude  of  the  evil  justifies  the  danger 
of  the  experiment.  In  a  few  remarks  that  follow, 
we  would  be  understood,  in  the  first  place,  to 
decline  all  conference  with  those  who  wish  to  al- 
ter the  form  of  government  of  these  kingdoms. 
The  reformers  with  whom  we  have  to  do,  are 
they  who.  whilst  they  change  this  part  of  the  sys- 
tem, would  retain  the  rest.  If  any  Englishman 
expect  more  happiness  to  his  country  under  a  re- 
public, he  may  very  consistently  recommend  a 
new-modelling  of  elections  to  parliament;  because, 
if  the  King  and  House  of  Lords  were  laid  aside, 
the  present  disproportionate  representation  would 
produce  nothing  but  a  confused  and  ill-digested 
oligarchy.  In  like  manner  we  have  a  controversy 
with  those  writers  who  insist  upon  representation 
as  a  natural  right  ;*  we  consider  it  so  far  only  as 


*  If  this  rijht  be  natural,  no  doubt  it  must  be  equal  ; 
and  the  right,  we  may  add,  of  one  sex,  as  well  as  of  the 


a  right  at  all,  as  it  conduces  to  public  utility;  that 
is,  as  it  contributes  to  the  establishment  of  good 
laws,  or  <as  it  secures  to  the  people  the  just  ad- 
ministration of  these  laws.  These  effects  depend 
upon  the  disposition  and  abilities  of  tlie  national 
counsellors.  Wherefore,  if  men  the  most  likely 
by  their  qualifications  to  know  and  to  promote  the 
public  interest,  be  actually  returned  to  parliament, 
it  signifies  Httle  who  return  them.  If  the  proper- 
est  persons  be  elected,  what  matters  it  by  whom 
the}-  are  elected  ?  At  least,  no  prudent  statesman 
would  subvert  long-established  or  even  settled 
rules  of  representation,  without  a  prospect  of  pro- 
curing wiser  or  better  representatives.  This  then 
being  well  observed,  let  us,  before  we  seek  to  ob- 
tain any  thing  more,  consider  duly  what  we  al- 
ready have.  We  have  a  House  of  Commons 
composed  of  five  hundred  and  fifty-eight  mem- 
bers, in  which  number  are  found  the  most 
considerable  landholders  and  merchants  of  the 
kingdom ;  the  heads  of  the  army,  the  navy,  and 
the  law ;  the  occupiers  of  great  offices  in  the  state ; 
together  with  many  private  individuals,  eminent 
by  their  knowledge,  eloquence,  or  activity.  Now 
if  the  country  be  not  safe  in  such  hands,  in  whose 
may  it  confide  its  interests  ?  if  such  a  number  of 
such  men  be  liable  to  the  influence  of  corrupt  mo- 
tives, what  assembly  of  men  will  be  secure  from 
the  same  danger  ?  Does  any  new  scheme  of  re- 
presentation promise  to  collect  together  more 
wisdom,  or  to  produce  firmer  integrity  ?  In  this 
view  of  the  subject,  and  attending  not  to  ideas  of 
order  and  proportion  (of  which  many  minds  are 
much  enamoured,)  but  to  efl'ects  alone,  we  may 
discover  just  excuses  for  those  parts  of  the  present 
representation  which  appear  to  a  hasty  observer 
most  exceptionable  and  absurd.  It  should  be  re- 
membered, as  a  maxim  extremely  apphcable  to 
this  subject,  that  no  order  or  assembly  of  men 
whatever  can  long  maintain  their  place  and  au- 
thority in  a  mixed  government,  of  which  the  mem- 
bers do  not  individually  possess  a  respectable  share 
of  personal  importance.  Now  whatever  may  be 
the  defects  of  the  present  arrangement,  it  infalli- 
bly secures  a  great  weight  of  property  to  the 
House  of  Commons,  by  rendering  many  seats  in 
that  house  accessible  to  men  of  large  fortunes,  and 
to  such  men  alone.  By  which  means  those  cha- 
racters are  engaged  in  the  defence  of  the  separate 
rights  and  interests  of  tliis  branch  of  the  legisla- 
ture, that  are  best  able  to  support  its  claims.  The 
constitution  of  most  of  the  small  boroughs,  espe- 
cially the  burgage  tenure,  contributes,  though  un- 
designedly, to  the  same  eflect :  for  the  appoint- 
ment of  the  representatives  we  find  commonly 
annexed  to  certain  great  inheritances.  Elections 
purely  popular  are  in  tliis  respect  uncertain :  in 
times  of  tranquillity,  the  natural  ascendancy  of 
wealth  will  prevail;  hut  when  the  minds  of  men 
are  inflamed  by  pohtical  dissensions,  this  in- 
fluence often  yields  to  more  impetuous  motives. — 
The  variety  of  tenures  and  qualifications,  upon 
which  the  right  of  voting  is  founded,  appears  to 
me  a  recommendation  of  the  mode  which  now 
subsists,  as  it  tends  to  introduce  mto  parliament  a 


other.  Whereas  every  plan  of  representation  that  we 
have  heard  of,  begins  by  excluding  the  votes  of  women  , 
thus  cutting  off,  at  a  single  stroke,  one  half  of  the  pub- 
lic from  a  right  which  is  asserted  to  be  inherent  in  all ; 
a  riffht  too,  as  some  represent  it,  not  only  universal,  but 
unalienable,  and  indefeasible,  and  imprescriptible. 


128 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


corresponding  mixture  of  characters  and  profes- 
sions. It  has  been  long  observed  that  conspicuous 
abilities  are  most  frequently  found  with  the  re- 
presentatives of  small  boroiigiis.  And  this  is  no- 
thing more  than  what  the  laws  of  human  conduct 
might  teach  us  to  expect :  when  such  boroughs 
are  set  to  sale,  those  men  are  likely  to  become  pur- 
chasers, who  are  enabled  by  their  talents  to  make 
the  best  of  their  bargain :  when  a  seat  is  not  sold,  but 
given  by  the  opulent  proprietorof  a  burgage  tenure, 
the  patron  finds  his  own  interest  consulted,  by 
the  reputation  and  abilities  of  the  member  whom 
he  nominates.  If  certain  of  the  nobility  hold  the 
appointment  of  some  part  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, it  serves  to  maintain  that  alliance  between 
the  two  branches  of  the  legislature  which  no  good 
citizen  would  wish  to  see  dissevered :  it  helps  to 
keep  the  government  of  the  country  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  in  which  it  would  not  perhaps  long 
continue  to  reside,  if  so  powerful  and  wealthy  a 
part  of  the  nation  as  the  peerage  compose,  were 
excluded  from  all  share  and  interest  in  its  con- 
stitution. If  there  be  a  few  boroughs  so  circum- 
stanced as  to  lie  at  the  disposal  of  the  crown, 
whilst  the  number  of  such  is  known  and  small, 
they  may  be  tolerated  with  little  danger.  For 
where  would  be  the  impropriety  or  the  inconve- 
niency,  if  the  king  at  once  should  nominate  a 
limited  number  of  his  servants  to  seats  in  parlia- 
ment ;  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  if  seats  in  par- 
liament were  annexed  to  the  possession  of  certain 
of  the  most  efficient  and  responsible  offices  in  the 
state  1  The  present  representation,  after  all  these 
deductions,  and  under  the  confusion  in  which  it 
confessedly  lies,  is  still  in  such  a  degree  popular, 
or  rather  the  representatives  are  so  connected 
with  the  mass  of  the  community  by  a  society  of 
interests  and  passions,  that  the  will  of  the  people, 
when  it  is  determined,  permanent  and  general, 
almost  always  at  length  prevails. 

Upon  the  whole,  in  the  several  plans  which 
have  been  suggested,  of  an  equal  or  a  reformed 
representation,  it  will  be  difficult  to  discover  any 
proposal  that  has  a  tendency  to  throw  more  of  the 
business  of  the  nation  into  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, or  to  collect  a  set  of  men  more  fit  to  trans- 
act that  business,  or  in  general  more  interested  in 
the  national  happiness  and  prosperity.  One  con- 
sequence, however,  may  be  expected  from  these 
projects,  namely,  "  less  flexibility  to  the  influ- 
ence of  the  crown."  And  since  the  diminution 
of  this  influence  is  the  declared  and  perhaps  the 
sole  design  of  the  various  schemes  that  have  been 
produced,  whether  for  regulating  the  elections, 
contracting  the  duration,  or  for  purifying  the 
constitution  of  parliament  by  the  exclusion  of 
placemen  and  pensioners  ;  it  is  obvious  to  remark, 
that  the  more  apt  and  natural,  as  well  as  the  more 
safe  and  quiet  way  of  attaining  the  same  end, 
would  be  by  a  direct  reduction  of  the  patronage  of 
the  crown,  which  might  be  effected  to  a  certain 
extent  without  hazarding  further  consequences. 
Superfluous  and  exorbitant  emoluments  of  office 
may  not  only  be  suppressed  for  the  present ;  but 
provisions  of  law  be  devised,  which  should  for  the 
future  restrain  within  certain  lunits  the  number 
and  value  of  the  offices  in  the  donation  of  the  king. 

But  whilst  we  dispute  concerning  diflerent 
schemes  of  reformation,  all  directed  to  the  same 
end,  a  previous  doubt  occurs  in  the  debate,  whe- 
ther the  end  itself  be  good  or  safe  :  whether  the 
influence  so  loudly  complained  of,  can  be  destroy- 


ed, or  even  much  diminished,  without  danger  to 
the  state.  Whilst  the  zeal  of  some  men  beholds 
this  influence  with  a  jealousy  wliich  nothing  but 
its  entire  abolition  can  appease,  many  wise  and 
virtuous  politicians  deem  a  considerable  portion  0/ 
it  to  be  as  necessary  a  part  of  the  British  consti- 
tution, as  any  other  ingredient  in  the  composition ; 
to  be  that,  indeed,  which  gives  cohesion  and  so- 
lidity to  the  whole.  Were  the  measures  of  go- 
vernment, say  they,  opposed  from  nothing  but 
principle,  government  ought  to  have  nothing  but 
the  rectitude  of  its  measures  to  support  them: 
but  since  opposition  springs  from  other  motives, 
government  must  possess  an  influence  to  counter- 
act these  motives ;  to  produce,  not  a  bias  of  the 
passions,  but  a  neutraiit}' ; — it  must  have  some 
weight  to  cast  into  the  scale,  to  set  the  balance 
even.  It  is  the  nature  of  power,  always  to  press 
upon  the  boundaries  which  confine  it.  Licen- 
tiousness, faction,  envy,  impatience  of  control  or 
inferiorit)' ;  the  secret  pleasure  of  mortifying  the 
great,  or  the  hope  of  dispossessing  them,  a  con- 
stant willingness  to  question  and  thwart  whatever 
is  dictated  or  even  proposed  by  another ;  a  disiw- 
sition  conmion  to  all  bodies  of  men,  to  extend  tlie 
claims  and  authority  of  their  orders  ;  above  all, 
that  love  of  power,  and  of  showing  it,  which 
resides  more  or  less  in  every  human  breast,  and 
which,  in  popular  assemblies,  is  inflamed,  like 
every  other  passion,  by  commu^nication  and  en- 
couragement :  these  motives,  added  to  private 
designs  and  resentments,  cherished  also  by  popu- 
lar acclamation,  and  operating  upon  the  great 
share  of  power  already  possessed  by  the  House  ol 
Commons,  might  induce  a  majority,  or,  at  least  a 
large  party  of  men  in  that  assembly,  to  unite  in 
endeavouring  to  draw  to  themselves  the  whole  go- 
vernment of  the  state :  or,  at  least,  so  to  obstruct 
the  conduct  of  public  aflairs,  by  a  wanton  and 
perverse  opposition,  as  to  render  it  impossible  for 
the  wisest  statesman  to  carry  forwards  the  business 
of  the  nation  with  success  or  satisfaction. 

Some  passages  of  our  national  history  afibrd 
grounds  for  these  apprehensions. — Before  the  ac- 
cession of  James  the  First,  or,  at  least,  during  the 
reigns  of  his  three  immediate  predecessors,  the 
government  of  England  was  a  government  by 
force ;  that  is,  the  king  carried  his  measures  in 
parliament  by  intimidation.  A  sense  of  personal 
danger  kept  the  members  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons in  subjection.  A  conjunction  of  fortunate 
causes  delivered,  at  last,  the  parliament  and  nation 
from  slavery.  That  overbearing  system  which 
had  declined  in  the  hands  of  James,  expired  early 
in  the  reign  of  his  son.  After  the  Ptestoration, 
there  succeeded  in  its  place,  and,  since  the  Revo- 
lution, has  been  methodically  pursued,  the  more 
successful  expedient  of  influence.  Now  we  re- 
member what  passed  between  the  loss  of  terror, 
and  the  establishment  of  influence.  The  trans- 
actions of  that  interval,  whatever  we  may  think  of 
their  occasion  or  effect,  no  friend  of  regal  govern- 
ment would  wish  to  see  revived. — But  the  afiliirs 
of  this  kingdom  afford  a  more  recent  attestation 
to  the  same  doctrme.  In  the  British  colonies  ol 
North  America,  the  late  assemblies  possessed 
much  of  the  power  and  constitution  of  our  Hou.se 
of  Commons.  The  king  and  government  of 
Great  Britain  held  no  patronage  in  the  country, 
which  could  create  attachment  and  influence  suf- 
ficient to  counteract  that  restless  arrogating  spirit, 
which,  in  popular  assemblies,  when  left  to  itself, 


OF  THE  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 


129 


will  never  brook  an  authority  that  cliecks  and  in- 
terferes with  its  own.  'l"o  this  cause,  excited  per- 
haps by  some  unseasonable  provocations,  we  may 
attribute,  as  to  their  true  and  proper  original,  (we 
will  not  say  the  misfortunes,  but)  the  changes  that 
have  taken  place  in  the  British  empire.  The  ad- 
monition which  such  examples  suggest,  will  have 
its  weight  with  those  who  are  content  with  the 
general  frame  of  the  English  constitution;  and 
who  consider  stability  amongst  the  first  perfections 
of  any  government. 

We  protest,  however,  against  any  construction 
by  whicli  what  is  here  said  shall  be  attejuptcd  to 
be  applied  to  the  justification  of  bribery,  or  of  any 
clandc^ine  reward  or  solicitation  whatever.  The 
very  secrecy  of  such  negotiations  confesses  or  be- 
gets a  consciousness  of  guilt ;  whicli  when  the 
mind  is  once  taught  to  endure  without  uneasiness, 
the  character  is  prepared  for  every  compliance : 
and  there  is  the  greater  danger  in  these  corrupt 
practices,  as  the  extent  of  their  operation  is  un- 
limited and  unknown.  Our  apology  relates  solely 
to  that  influence  which  results  from  the  accept- 
ance or  expectation  of  public  preferments.  Nor 
does  the  iniiucnce,  which  we  defend,  require  any 
sacrifice  of  personal  probity.  In  political,  above 
all  other  subjects,  the  arguments  or  rather  the 
conjectures  on  each  side  of  the  question,  are 
often  so  equally  poised,  that  the  wisest  judgments 
may  be  held  in  suspense :  these  I  call  subjects  of 
indifference.  But  again;  when  the  subject  is 
not  buhffcrcnt  in  itself,  it  will  appear  such  to  a 
great  part  of  those  to  whom  it  is  proposed,  for  want 
of  information,  or  reflection,  or  experience,  or  of 
capacity  to  collect  and  weigh  the  reasons  by  which 
either  side  is  supported.  These  are  subjects  of 
apparent  indffcrence.  This  indificrence  occurs 
still  more  frequently  in  personal  contests ;  in 
which  we  do  not  often  discover  any  reason  of  pubUc 
utihty  for  the  preference  of  one  competitor  to 
another.  These  cases  compose  the  province  of 
influence  :  that  is,  the  decision  in  these  cases  will 
inevitably  be  determined  by  influence  of  some  sort 
or  other.  The  only  doubt  is,  what  infiuei\ce  shall 
be  admitted.  If  you  remove  the  influence  of  the 
crown,  it  is  only  to  make  way  for  influence  from 
a  different  quarter.  If  motives  of  expectation  and 
gratitude  be  withdrawn,  other  motives  will  suc- 
ceed in  their  place,  acting  probably  in  an  opposite 
direction,  but  equally  irrelative  and  external  to 
the  proper  merits  of  the  question.  There  exist, 
as  we  have  seen,  passions  in  the  human  heart, 
which  will  always  make  a  strong  party  against 
the  executive  power  of  a  mixed  government.  Ac- 
cording as  the  disposition  of  parliament  is  friendly 
or  adverse  to  the  recommendation  of  the  crown  in 
matters  which  are  really  or  apparently  indiflferent, 
as  indifiereiice  hath  been  now  explained,  the  bu- 
siness of  the  empire  will  be  transacted  with  ease 
and  convenience,  or  embarrassed  with  endless 
contention  and  difficulty.  Nor  is  it  a  conclusion 
founded  in  justice,  or  warranted  by  experience, 
that  because  men  are  induced  by  views  of  interest 
to  yield  their  consent  to  measures  concerning 
which  their  judgment  decides  nothing,  they  may 
be  brought  by  the  same  influence  to  act  in  deli- 
berate opposition  to  knowledge  and  duty.  Who- 
ever reviews  the  operations  of  government  in  this 
country  since  the  Revolution,  will  find  few  even 
of  the  most  questionable  measures  of  administra- 
tion, about  which  the  best-instructed  judgment 
might  not  have  doubted  at  the  time ;  but  of  which 


we  may  affirm  with  certainty,  they  were  indiffer- 
ent to  the  greatest  part  of  those  who  concurred 
ill  them.  From  the  success,  or  the  facility,  with 
which  they  who  dealt  out  the  patronage  of  the 
crown  carried  measures  like  these,  ought  we  to 
conclude,  that  a  similar  application  of  honours 
and  emoluments  would  procure  the  consent  of 
parhaments  to  counsels  evidently  detrimental  to 
tlie  conunon  welliire  ?  Is  there  not,  on  the  con- 
trar}',  more  reason  to  fear,  that  the  prerogative,  if 
deprived  of  influence,  would  not  be  long  able  to  sup- 
port itself]  For  when  we  reflect  upon  the  power 
of  the  House  of  Commons  to  extort  a  compliance 
with  its  resolution  from  the  other  parts  of  the  le- 
gislature ;  or  to  put  to  death  the  constitution  by  a 
refusal  of  the  annual  grants  of  money  to  the  sup- 
port of  the  necessary  functions  of  government ; — 
when  we  reflect  also  what  moti\es  there  are, 
which,  in  the  vicissitudes  of  political  interests  and 
passions,  may  one  day  arm  and  point  tliis  power 
against  the  executive  magistrate  ;  when  we  attend 
to  these  considerations,  we  shall  be  led  perhaps  to 
acknowledge,  that  there  is  not  more  of  paradox 
than  of  truth  in  that  important,  but  much  decried 
apothegm,  "that  an  independent  parliament  is 
incompatible  with  the  existence  of  the  monarchy." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Of  the  Administration  of  Justice. 

The  first  maxim  of  a  free  state  is,  that  the  laws 
be  made  by  one  set  of  men,  and  administered  by 
another;  in  other  words,  that  the  legislative  and 
judicial  characters  be  kept  separate.  AVhen  these 
offices  are  united  in  the  same  person  or  assembly, 
particular  laws  are  made  for  particular  cases, 
springing  oftentimes  from  partial  motives,  and  di- 
rected to  private  ends  :  whilst  they  are  kept  sepa- 
rate, general  laws  are  made  by  one  body  of  men, 
without  foreseeing  whom  they  may  affect ;  and, 
when  made,  must  be  applied  by  the  other,  let  them 
affect  whom  they  will. 

For  the  sake  of  illustration,  let  it  be  supposed, 
in  this  country,  either  that,  parliaments  being  laid 
aside,  the  courts  of  Westminster-Hall  made  their 
own  laws;  or  that  the  two  houses  of  parliament, 
with  the  King  at  their  head,  tried  and  decided 
causes  at  their  bar :  it  is  evident,  in  the  first  place, 
that  the  decisions  of  such  a  judicature  would  be  so 
many  laws ;  and  in  the  second  place,  that,  when 
the  parties  and  the  interests  to  be  all'ccted  by  the 
law  were  known,  the  inclinations  of  the  law-ma- 
kers would  inevitably  attach  to  one  side  or  tlie 
other ;  and  that  where  there  were  neither  any  fix- 
ed rules  to  regulate  their  determinations,  nor  any 
superior  power  to  control  their  proceedings,  these 
inclinations  would  interfere  with  the  integrity  of 
public  justice.  The  consequence  of  which  must 
be,  that  the  subjects  of  such  a  constitution  would 
live  either  without  any  constant  laws,  that  is,  with- 
out any  known  pre-established  rules  of  adjudica- 
tion whatever ;  or  under  laws  made  for  particular 
persons,  and  partaking  of  the  contradictions  and 
iniquity  of  the  motives  to  which  they  owed  their 
origin. 

Which  dangers,  by  the  division  of  the  legisla- 
tive and  judicial  functiorbs,  are  in  this  country  ef- 
fectually provided  against.  Parhament  knows  not 
the  individuals  upon  whom  its  acts  will  operate; 
it  has  no  cases  or  parties  before  it ;  no  private  de- 


130 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


signs  to  serve ;  consequently,  its  resolutions  will 
be  suggested  by  the  consideration  of  universal  ef- 
fects and  tendencies,  which  always  produces  ini- 
I'artial,  and  commonly  advantageous  regulations. 
When  laws  ai-e  made,  courts  of  justice,  whatever 
be  the  disposition  of  the  judges,  must  abide  by 
them :  for  the  legislative  being  necessarily  the  su- 
j)reme  power  of  the  state,  the  judicial  and  every 
other  power  is  accountable  to  that ;  and  it  cannot 
be  doubted  that  the  persons  who  possess  the  sove- 
reign authority  of  government,  will  be  tenacious 
of  the  laws  which  they  themselves  prescrilie,  and 
suffii'iemtly  jealous  of  the  assumption  of  dispensing 
and  legislative  power  by  any  others. 

Tliis  fundamental  rule  of  civil  jurisprudence  is 
violated  in  the  case  of  acts  of  attainder  or  confis- 
cation, in  bills  of  pains  and  penalties,  and  in  all 
ex  post  facto  laws  whatever,  in  which  parliament 
exercises  the  double  office  of  legislature  and  judge. 
And  whoever  either  understands  the  value  of  the 
rule  itself,  or  collects  the  history  of  those  instances 
in  which  it  has  been  invaded,  will  be  induced,  I 
believe,  to  acknowledge,  that  it  had  been  wiser  and 
safer  never  to  have  departed  from  it.  He  will  con- 
fess, at  least,  that  nothing  but  the  most  manifest 
and  immediate  peril  of  the  commonwealth  will 
justify  a  repetition  of  these  dangerous  examples. 
If  the  laws  in  being  do  not  punish  an  offender,  let 
him  go  unpunished;  let  the  legislature,  admonish- 
ed of  the  defect  of  the  laws,  provide  against  the 
commission  of  future  crimes  of  the  same  sort.  The 
escape  of  one  delinquent  can  never  produce  so 
much  harm  to  the  community  as  may  arise  from 
the  infraction  of  a  rule  upon  which  the  purity  of 
public  justice,  and  the  existence  of  civil  liberty, 
essentially  depend. 

The  next  security  for  the  impartial  administra- 
tion of  justice,  especially  in  decisions  to  which  go- 
vernment is  a  party,  is  the  independency  of  the 
judges.  As  protection  against  every  illegal  attack 
upon  the  rights  of  the  sul)ject  by  the  servants  of 
the  crown  is  to  be  sought  for  from  these  tribunals, 
the  judges  of  the  land  become  not  unfrequently 
the  arbitrators  between  the  king  and  the  people, 
on  wliich  account  they  ought  to  be  independent 
of  either ;  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  equally  de- 
pendent upon  both ;  that  is,  if  they  be  appointed 
by  the  one,  they  should  be  removeable  only  by  the 
other.  This  was  the  policy  which  dictated  that 
memorable  improvement  in  our  constitution,  by 
which  the  judges,  who  before  the  Revolution  held 
their  offices  during  the  pleasure  of  the  king,  can 
now  be  deprived  of  them  only  by  an  address  from 
both  houses  of  parliament ;  as  the  most  regular, 
solemn,  and  authentic  way,  by  which  the  dissatis- 
faction of  the  people  can  be  expressed.  To  make 
this  independency  of  the  judges  complete,  the 
public  salaries  of  their  office  ought  not  only  to  be 
fcrtain  both  in  amount  and  continuance,  but  so 
liberal  as  to  secure  their  integrity  fronuhe  tempta- 
tion of  secret  bribes  ;  which  liberality  will  answer 
also  the  further  purpose  of  preserving  their  juris- 
diction from  contempt,  and  their  characters  from 
suspicion ;  as  well  as  of  rendering  the  office  worthy 
of  the  ambition  of  men  of  eminence  in  their  pro- 
fc'ssion. 

A  third  precaution  to  be  observed  in  the  forma- 
tion of  courts  of  justice  is,  that  the  number  of  the 
judges  be  small.  For,  beside  that  the  violence  and 
tumult  inseparable  from  large  assemblies  are  in- 
consistent with  the  patience,  method,  and  atten- 
tion requisite  in  judicial  investigations;  beside  that  J 


all  passions  and  prejudices  act  with  augmented 
force  upon  a  collected  multitude;  beside  these  ol> 
jcctions,  judges,  when  they  are  numerous,  divide 
the  shame  ot  an  unjust  determination  ;  they  shel- 
ter themselves  under  one  another's  example  ;  each 
man  thinks  his  own  character  hid  in  the  crowd . 
for  which  reason,  the  judges  ought  always  to  be 
so  few,  as  that  the  conduct  of  each  may  be  con- 
spicuous to  public  observation ;  that  each  may  be 
responsible  in  his  separate  and  particular  reputa- 
tion for  the  decisions  in  which  he  concurs.  I'he 
truth  of  the  above  remark  has  been  exemplified  in 
this  cou!itry,  in  the  ellects  of  that  wise  regulation 
which  transferred  the  trial  of  parliamentary  elec- 
tions from  the  House  of  Commons  at  large  to  a 
select  conmiittee  of  that  House,  composed  of  thir- 
teen members.  This  alteration,  simply  by  re- 
ducing the  number  of  the  judges,  and,  in  conse- 
quence of  that  reduction,  exposing  tlie  judicial 
conduct  of  each  to  public  animadversion,  has  given 
to  a  judicature,  which  had  been  long  swayed  by 
interest  and  solicitation,  the  solemnity  and  virtue 
of  the  most  upright  tribunals. — I  should  prefer  an 
even  to  an  odd  immber  of  judges,  and  four  to  al- 
most any  other  number :  for  in  this  number,  beside 
that  it  sufficiently  consults  the  idea  of  separate  re- 
sponsibility, nothing  can  be  decided  but  by  a  ma- 
jority of  three  to  one:  and  when  we  consider  that 
every  decision  establishes  a  perpetual  precedent, 
we  shall  allow  that  it  ought  to  proceed  IVom  an  au- 
thority, not  less  than  this.  It  the  court  be  equally 
divided,  nothing  is  done ;  things  remain  as  they 
were ;  with  some  inconveniency,  indeed,  to  the  par- 
ties, but  without  the  danger  to  the  public  of  a  hasty 
precedent. 

A  fourth  requisite  in  the  constitution  of  a  court 
of  justice,  and  equivalent  to  many  checks  upon  the 
discretion  of  judges,  is,  that  its  proceedings  be  car- 
ried on  in  public,  apertis  foribus  ;  not  only  before 
a  promiscuous  concourse  of  by-standers,  but  in  the 
audience  of  the  whole  profession  of  the  law.  The 
oj)inion  of  the  bar  concerning  what  pas.ses,  will  be 
impartial ;  and  will  commonly  guide  that  of  the 
public;  The  most  corrupt  judge  will  fear  to  in- 
dulge his  dishonest  wishes  in  the  presence  of  such 
an  assembly :  he  must  encounter,  what  lew  can 
support,  the  censure  of  his  equals  and  companions, 
together  with  the  indignation  and  reproaches  of 
his  country. 

Something  is  also  gained  to  the  public  by  ap- 
pointing two  or  three  courts  of  concurrent  jurisdic- 
tion, that  it  may  remain  in  the  option  of  the  suitor 
to  which  he  will  resort.  By  this  means  a  tribu- 
nal which  may  happen  to  be  occupied  by  ignorant 
or  suspected  judges,  will  be  deserted  for  other? 
that  possess  more  of  the  confidence  of  the  nation. 

But,  lastly,  if  several  courts  co-ordinate  to  and 
independent  of  each  other,  subsist  together  in  the 
country,  it  seems  necessary  that  the  appeals  from 
all  of  them  should  meet  and  terminate  in  the  same 
judicature ;  in  order  that  one  supreme  tribunal,  by 
whose  final  sentence  all  others  are  bound  and 
concluded,  may  superintend  and  preside  over  the 
rest.  This  constitution  is  necessary  for  two  pur- 
poses : — to  preserve  an  uniformity  in  the  decisions 
of  inferior  courts,  and  to  maintain  to  each  the 
proper  limits  of  its  jurisdiction.  Without  a  common 
superior,  different  courts  might  establish  contra- 
dictory rules  of  adjudication,  and  the  contradiction 
be  final  and  without  remedy ;  the  same  question 
might  receive  opposite  determinations,  according 
as  it  was  brought  before  one  court  or  another,  and 


OF  THE  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 


131 


the  determination  in  each  be  ultimate  and  irreversi- 
ble. A  common  appellant  jurisdiction,  prevents 
or  puts  an  end  to  this  confusion.  For  when  the 
judgments  upon  appeals  are  consistent  (which 
may  be  expected,  whilst  it  is  the  same  court 
which  is  at  last  resorted  to,)  the  different  courts, 
from  which  the  appeals  are  brought,  will  be  re- 
duced to  a  Uke  consistency  with  one  another. — 
Moreover,  if  questions  arise  between  courts  inde- 
pendent of  each  other,  concerning  the  extent  and 
boundaries  of  their  respective  jurisdiction,  as  each 
will  be  desirous  of  enlarging  its  own,  an  authority 
which  both  acknowledge  can  alone  adjust  the 
controversy.  Such  a  power,  therefore,  must  re- 
side somewhere,  lest  the  rights  and  repose  of  the 
country  be  distracted  liy  the  endless  opposition 
and  mutual  encroachments  of  its  courts  of  jus- 
tice. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  ju;licature;  the  one 
where  the  office  of  the  judge  is  permanent  in  the 
same  person,  and  coTi.sequently  where  the  judge 
is  appointed  and  known  long  before  the  trial ; 
the  other,  where  the  judge  is  determined  by  lot  at 
the  time  of  the  trial,  and  for  that  turn  only.  The 
one  may  be  called  -a.  fixed,  the  other  a  casual  judica- 
ture. From  the  former  may  be  expected  those 
qualifications  which  are  preferred  and  sought  for 
in  the  choice  of  judges,  and  that  knowledge  and 
readiness  which  result  from  experience  in  the  of- 
fice. But  then,  as  the  judge  is  known  beforehand, 
he  is  accessible  to  the  parties  ;  there  exists  a  pos- 
sibility of  secret  managejnent  and  undue  practices  ; 
or,  in  contests  between  the  crown  and  the  subject, 
the  judge  appointed  by  the  crown  may  tie  sus- 
pected of  partiality  to  his  patron,  or  of  entertaining 
inclinations  favourable  to  the  authority  from  which 
he  derives  his  own.  The  advantage  attending 
the  second  kind  of  judicature,  is  indifferency ;  the 
defect,  the  want  of  that  legal  science  which  pro- 
duces uniformity  and  justice  in  legal  decisions. 
The  construction  of  English  courts  of  law,  in 
which  causes  are  tried  by  a  jury,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  a  judge,  combines  the  two  species  with 
j)eculiar  success.  This  admirable  contrivance 
unites  the  wisdom  of  a  fixed  with  the  integrity  of 
a  casual  judicature ;  and  avoids,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, the  inconveniences  of  both.  The  judge 
imparts  to  the  jury  the  benefit  of  his  erudition  and 
experience;  the  jury,  by  their  disinterestedness, 
check  any  corrupt  partialities  which  previous  ap- 
plication may  have  produced  in  the  judge.  If  the 
determination  were  left  to  the  judge,  the  party 
might  suffer  under  the  superior  interest  of  his  ad- 
versary :  if  it  were  left  to  an  uninstructed  jury,  his 
rights  would  be  in  still  greater  danger,  from  the 
iirnorance  of  those  who  were  to  decide  upon  them. 
The  present  wise  admixture  of  chance  and  choice 
in  the  constitution  of  the  court  in  which  his  cause 
is  tried,  guards  him  equally  against  the  fear  of  in- 
jury from  either  of  these  causes. 

In  proportion  to  the  acknowledged  excellency 
of  this  mode  of  trial,  every  deviation  from  it  ought 
to  be  watched  with  vigilance,  and  admitted  by  the 
legislature  with  caution  and  reluctance.  Sum- 
mary couNictions  before  justices  of  the  peace,  es- 
pe ciall^v  for  oflenccs  against  the  game  laws  ;  courts 
of  conscience ;  extending  the  jurisdiction  of  courts 
of  equity;  urging  too  far  the  distinction  between 
questions  of  law  and  matters  of  fact ; — are  all  so 
many  infringements  upon  this  great  charter  of 
public  safety. 

Nevertheless,  the   trial  by  jury  is  sometimes 


found  inadequate  to  the  administration  of  equal 
justice.  This  imperfection  takes  place  chiefiy  in 
disputes  in  which  some  popular  passion  or  preju- 
dice intervenes ;  as  where  a  particular  order  of 
men  advance  claims  upon  the  rest  of  the  commu- 
nity, which  is  the  case  of  the  clergy  contending 
for  tithes  ;  or  where  an  order  of  men  are  obnox- 
ious by  their  professions,  as  are  olficcrs  of  the 
revenue,  bailifis,  baliffs'  followers,  and  other  low 
ministers  of  the  law ;  or  where  one  of  the  parties 
has  an  interest  in  common  with  the  general 
interest  of  the  jurors,  and  that  of  the  other  is 
opposed  to  it,  as  in  contests  between  landlords 
and  tenants,  between  lords  of  manors  and  the 
holders  of  estates  under  them ;  or,  lastly,  where 
the  minds  of  men  are  inflamed  by  political  dis- 
sensions or  religious  hatred.  These  prejudices 
act  most  powerfully  upon  the  common  people ; 
of  which  order  juries  are  made  up.  The  force 
and  danger  of  them  are  also  increased  by  the  very 
circumstance  of  taking  juries  out  of  the  county 
in  which  the  subject  of  dispute  arises.  In  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  parties,  the  cause  is  often 
prejudged  :  and  these  secret  decisions  of  the  mind 
proceed  commonly  more  upon  sentiments  of  fa- 
vour or  hatred,-upon  some  opinion  concerning  the 
sect,  family,  profession,  character,  connexions,  or 
circumstances  of  the  parties, — than  upon  any 
knowledge  or  discussion  of  the  proper  merits  oif 
the  question.  More  exact  justice  would,  in  many 
instances,  be  rendered  to  the  suitors,  if  the  deter- 
mination were  left  entirely  to  the  judges;  provided 
we  could  depend  upon  the  same  purity  of  conduct, 
when  the  power  of  these  magistrates  was  enlarged, 
which  they  have  long  manifested  in  the  exercise  of 
a  mixed  and  restrained  authority.  But  this  is  an 
experiment  too  big  with  public  danger  to  be  haz- 
arded. The  effects,  however,  of  some  local  preju- 
dices, might  be  safely  obviated  by  a  law  empow- 
ering the  court  in  which  the  action  is  brought,  to 
send  the  cause  to  trial  in  a  distant  county ;  the  ex- 
penses attending  the  change  of  place  always  fall- 
ing upon  the  party  who  applied  for  it. 

There  is  a  second  division  of  courts  of  justice, 
which  presents  a  new  alternative  of  difficulties. 
Either  one,  two,  or  a  few  sovereign  courts  ma}^  be 
erected  in  the  metropolis,  for  tlie  whole  kingdom 
to  resort  to;  or  courts  of  local  jurisdiction  may  be 
fixed  in  various  provinces  and  districts  of  the 
empire.  Great,  though  opposite,  incon\eniences 
attend  each  arrangement.  If  the  court  be  remote 
and  solemn,  it  becomes,  by  these  very  qualities, 
expensive  and  dilatory :  the  expense  is  unavoid- 
ably increased  when  witnesses,  parties,  and  agents, 
must  be  brought  to  attend  from  distant  parts  of 
the  country;  and,  where  the  whole  judicial  busi- 
ness of  a  large  nation  is  collect  ed  into  a  few  supe- 
rior tribunals,  it  will  be  found  impossible,  even  if 
the  prolixity  of  forms  which  retards  the  progress 
of  causes  were  removed,  to  gi^'e  a  prompt  hearing 
to  every  complaint,  or  an  immediate  answer  to 
any.  On  the  other  hand,  if,  to  remedy  these  evils, 
and  to  render  the  administration  of  justice  cheap 
and  speedy,  domestic  and  summary  tribunals  be 
erected  in  each  neighbourhood,  the  advantage  of 
such  courts  will  be  accompanied  with  all  the  dan- 
gers of  ignorance  and  partiality,  and  with  the 
certain  mischief  of  confusion  and  contrariety  in 
their  decisions.  The  law  of  England,  by  its  cir- 
cuit, or  itinerarj^  courts,  contains  a  provision  for 
the  distribution  of  private  justice,  in  a  great 
measure  relieved  from  both  these  objections.     As 


132 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


the  presiding  magistrate  comes  into  the  country  a 
stranger  to  its  prejudices,  rivalsliips,  and  connex- 
ions, he  brings  with  him  none  of  those  attacli- 
ments  and  regards  vvliich  are  so  apt  to  pervert  the 
course  of  justice  when  the  parties  and  the  judges 
inhabit  the  same  neighbourhood.  Again ;  as  this 
magistrate  is  usually  one  of  the  judges  of  the  su- 

Ereme  tribunals  of  the  kingdom,  and  has  passed 
is  hfe  in  the  study  and  administration  of  the 
laws,  he  possesses,  it  may  be  presumed,  those  pro- 
fessional qualifications  which  belit  the  dignity  and 
importance  of  his  station.  Lastly,  as  both  he,  and 
the  advocates  who  accompany  him  in  his  circuit, 
are  employed  in  the  business  of  those  superior 
courts  (to  which  also  their  proceedings  are  amena- 
ble,) they  will  naturally  conduct  themselves  by  the 
rules  of  adjudication  which  they  have  applied  or 
learned  there  ;  and  by  this  means  maintain,  what 
constitutes  a  principal  perfection  of  civil  govern- 
ment, one  law  of  the  land  in  every  part  and  dis- 
trict of  the  empire. 

Next  to  the  constitution  of  courts  of  justice,  we 
are  naturally  led  to  consider  the  maxiuis  wliich 
ought  to  guide  their  proceedings;  and,  upon  this 
subject,  the  chief  inquiry  will  be,  how  far,  and 
for  what  reasons,  it  is  expedient  to  adhere  to  for- 
mer determinations ;  or  whether  it  be  necessary 
for  judges  to  attend  to  any  other  consideration 
than  the  apparent  and  particular  equity  of  the 
case  before  them.  Now,  although  to  assert  that 
precedents  established  by  one  set  of  judges  ought 
to  be  incontrovertible  by  their  successors  in  the 
same  jurisdiction,  or  by  those  who  exercise  a  high- 
er, would  be  to  attribute  to  the  sentence  of  those 
judges  all  the  authority  we  ascribe  to  the  most 
solemn  acts  of  the  legislature :  yet  tlie  general  se- 
curity of  private  rights,  and  of  civil  lile,  requires 
that  such  precedents,  especially  if  they  have  been 
confirmed  by  repeated  adjudications,  should  not 
be  overthrown,  without  a  detection  of  manifest 
error,  or  without  some  imputation  of  dishonesty 
upon  the  court  by  whose  judgment  the  question 
was  first  decided.  And  this  deference  to  prior 
decisions  is  founded  upon  two  reasons:  first,  that 
the  discretion  of  j  udges  may  be  bound  down  by 
positive  rules  ;  and  secondly,  that  the  subject,  up- 
on every  occasion  in  which  his  legal  interest  is 
concerned,  may  know  beforehand  how  to  act,  and 
what  to  expect.  To  set  judges  free  from  any  ol)li- 
gation  to  conform  themselves  to  the  decisions  of 
their  predecessors,  would  be  to  lay  open  a  latitude 
of  judging  with  which  no  description  of  men  can 
safely  be  intrusted ;  it  would  be  to  allow  space  for 
the  exercise  of  those  concealed  partialities,  which, 
since  they  cannot  by  any  human  policy  be  exclud- 
ed, ought  to  be  confined  by  boundaries  and  land- 
marks. It  is  in  vain  to  allege,  that  the  superin- 
tendency  of  parliament  is  always  at  hand  to  con- 
trol and  punish  abuses  of  judicial  discretion.  By 
what  rules  can  parliament  proceed '!  How  shall 
they  pronounce  a  decision  to  be  wrong,  where 
there  exists  no  acknowledged  measure  or  stan- 
dard of  what  is  right;  which,  in  a  multitude  of  in- 
stances, would  be  the  case,  if  prior  determinations 
were  no  longer  to  be  appealed  to  1 

Diminishing  the  danger  of  partiality,  is  one 
thing  gained  by  adhering  to  precedents ;  but  not 
the  principal  thing.  The  subject  of  every  system 
of  laws  must  expect  that  decision  in  his  own  case, 
wliich  he  knows  that  others  have  received  in 
cases  similar  to  his.  If  he  expect  not  this,  he 
ean  expect  nothing.     There  exists  no  other  rule  or 


principle  of  reasoning,  by  which  he  can  foretell,  o/ 
even  conjecture,  the  event  of  a  judicial  contest. 
To  remove  therefore  the  grounds  of  this  expecta- 
tion, by  rejecting  the  force  and  authority  of  pre- 
cedents, is  to  entail  upon  the  subject  the  worst 
property  of  slavery, — to  have  no  assurance  of  liis 
rights,  or  knowledge  of  his  duty.  The  quiet  also 
of  the  country,  as  well  as  the  confidence  and  satis- 
faction of  each  man's  mind,  requires  uniformity 
in  judicial  proceedings.  Nothing  quells  a  spirit  of 
litigation,  like  despair  of  success:  therefore  nothing 
so  completely  puts  an  end  to  law-suits,  as  a  rigid 
adherence  to  known  rules  of  adjudication.  Whilst 
the  event  is  uncertain,  which  it  ever  must  be 
whilst  it  is  uncertain  whether  former  determina- 
tions upon  the  same  subject  will  be  followed  or 
not,  law-suits  will  be  endless  and  innumerable: 
men  will  commonly  engage  in  them,  either  from 
the  hope  of  prevailing  in  their  claims,  which  the 
smallest  chance  is  sufficient  to  encourage  ;  or  with 
the  design  of  intimidating  their  adversary  by  the 
terror  of  a  dubious  litigation.  When  justice  is 
rendered  to  the  parties,  only  half  the  business  of  a 
court  of  justice  is  done  :  the  more  important  part 
of  its  office  remains ; — to  put  an  end,  for  the  future, 
to  every  fear,  and  quarrel,  and  expense,  upon  the 
same  point;  and  so  to  regulate  its  proceedings, 
that  not  only  a  doubt  once  decided  may  be  stirred 
no  more,  but  that  the  whole  train  of  law-suits, 
which  issue  from  one  uncertainty,  may  die  with 
the  parent-question.  Now  this  advantage  can  be 
attained  only  by  considering  each  decision  as  a  di- 
rection to  succeeding  judges.  And  it  should  be 
observed,  that  every  departure  from  former  deter- 
minations, especially  if  they  have  been  often  re- 
peated or  long  submitted  to,  shakes  the  stability 
of  all  legal  title.  It  is  not  fixing  a  point  anew  , 
it  is  leaving  every  thing  unfixed.  For  by  the 
same  stretch  of  power  by  which  the  present  race 
of  judges  take  upon  them  to  contradict  the  judg- 
ment of  their  predecessors,  those  who  try  the 
question  next  may  set  aside  theirs. 

From  an  adherence  however  to  precedents,  by 
which  so  much  is  gained  to  the  public,  two  con- 
."equcnces  arise  which  are  often  lamented ;  the 
hardship  of  particular  determinations,  and  the  in- 
tricacy of  the  law  as  a  science.  To  the  first  of 
these  complaints,  we  nmst  apply  this  reflection  : — 
■'  That  uniformity  is  of  more  importance  than 
equity,  in  proportion  as  a  general  uncertainty 
would  be  a  greater  evil  than  particular  injustice.' 
The  second  is  attended  with  no  greater  inconve- 
niency  than  that  of  erecting  the  practice  of  the 
law  into  a  separate  profession  ;  which  tliis  reason, 
we  allow,  makes  necessary  :  for  if  we  attribute  so 
nmch  authority  to  precedents,  it  is  expedient  that 
they  be  known,  in  every  cause,  both  to  the  advo- 
cates and  to  the  judge :  this  knowledge  cannot  be 
general,  since  it  is  tlie  fruit  oftentimes  of  laborious 
research,  or  demands  a  memory  stored  with  long- 
collected  erudition. 


To  a  mind  revolving  u})on  tlie  suliject  of  hu- 
man jurisprudence,  there  frequently  occurs  this 
question: — Why,  since  the  maxims  of  natural 
justice  are  few  and  evident,  do  there  arise  so  many 
doubts  and  controversies  in  their  application  1  Or, 
in  other  words,  how  comes  it  to  pass,  that  althougli 
the  principles  of  the  law  of  nature  be  simple,  and 
for  the  most  part  sufficiently  obvious,  there  should 


OF  THE  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 


133 


2xist,  nevertheless,  in  every  system  of  municipal 
laws,  and  in  the  actual  administration  of  relative 
justice,  numerous  uncertainties  and  acknowledged 
difficulty  1  Whence,  it  may  be  asked,  so  much 
room  for  litigation,  and  so  many  subsisting  dis- 
putes, if  the  rules  of  human  duty  be  neither  ob- 
scure nor  dubious  ?  If  a  system  of  morality  con- 
taining both  the  precepts  of  revelation  and  the  | 
deductions  of  reason,  may  be  comprised  within 
the  compass  of  one  motlerate  volume ;  and  the 
moralist  be  able,  as  he  pretends,  to  describe  the 
rights  and  obligations  of  mankind,  in  all  the  dif- 
ferent relations  they  may  hold  to  one  another ; 
what  need  of  those  codes  of  positive  and  particu- 
lar institutions,  of  those  tomes  of  statutes  and  re- 
ports, which  require  the  employment  of  a  long 
life  even  to  peruse  ?  And  this  question  is  immedi- 
ately connected  with  the  argument  which  has 
been  discussed  in  the  preceding  paragraph:  for, 
unless  there  be  found  some  greater  uncertainty  in 
the  law  of  nature,  or  what  may  be  called  natural 
equity,  when  it  conies  to  be  applied  to  real  cases 
and  to  actual  adjudication,  than  what  appears  in 
the  rules  and  principles  of  the  science,  as  delivered 
in  the  writings  of  those  who  treat  of  the  subject, 
it  were  better  that  the  determination  of  every  cause 
should  be  left  to  the  conscience  of  the  judge, 
unfettered  by  precedents  and  authorities ;  since 
the  very  purpose  for  which  these  are  introduced, 
is  to  give  a  certainty  to  judicial  proceedings, 
which  such  proceedings  would  want  without 
them. 

Now  to  account  for  the  existence  of  so  many 
sources  of  litigation,  notwithstanding  the  clearness 
and  perfection  of  natural  justice,  it  should  be  ob- 
served, in  the  first  place,  that  treatises  of  moraUty 
always  suppose  facts  to  be  ascertained ;  and  not 
only  so,  but  the  intention  likewise  of  the  parties 
to  be  known  and  laid  bare.  For  example :  when 
we  pronounce  that  promises  ought  to  be  fulfilled 
in  that  sense  in  which  the  promiser  apprehended, 
at  the  time  of  making  the  promise,  the  other  party 
received  and  understood  it  :  the  apprehension  of 
one  side,  and  the  expectation  of  the  other,  must 
be  discovered,  before  this  rule  can  be  reduced  to 
practice,  or  applied  to  the  determination  of  any 
actual  dispute.  Wherefore  the  discussion  of  facts 
which  the  moralist  sup)50ses  to  be  settled,  the 
discovery  of  intentions  which  he  presumes  to  be 
known,  still  remain  to  exercise  the  inquiry  of 
courts  of  justice.  And  as  these  facts  and  inten- 
tions are  often  to  be  inferred,  orratherconjectured, 
from  obscure  indications,  from  suspicious  testimo- 
ny, or  from  a  comparison  of  opposite  and  contend- 
ing probabilities,  they  afiTord  a  never-failing  supply 
of  doubt  and  litigation.  For  which  reason,  as  hath 
been  observed  in  a  ibrmer  part  of  this  work,  the 
science  of  morality  is  to  be  considered  rather  as  a 
direction  to  the  parties,  who  are  conscious  of  their 
own  thoughts  and  motives,  and  designs,  to  wliich 
consciousness  the  teacher  of  morality  constantly 
appeals;  than  as  a  guide  to  the  judge,  or  to  any 
tliird  person,  whose  arbitration  must  proceed  upon 
rules  of  e\idence,  and  maxuns  of  credibihty,  with 
which  the  moraUst  has  no  concern. 

Secondly ;  there  exists  a  multitude  of  cases,  in 
whioh  the  law  of  nature,  that  is,  the  law  of  public 
expediency,  prescri.)es  notliing,  except  that  some 
certain  rule  be  adhered  to,  and  that  the  rule  ac- 
tually established,  be  preserved;  it  either  being 
indilibrent  what  rule  obtains,  or,  out  of  many 
rules,  no  one  beins  so  much  more  advantageous 


than  the  rest,  as  to  recompense  the  inconvenience 
of  an  alteration.  In  all  such  cases,  the  law  of 
nature  sends  us  to  the  law  of  the  land.  She  di- 
rects that  either  some  fixed  rule  be  introduced  by 
an  act  of  the  legislature,  or  that  the  rule  which 
accident,  or  custom,  or  common  consent,  hath  al- 
ready established,  be  steadily  maintained.  Thus, 
in  the  descent  of  lands,  or  the  inheritance  of  per- 
sonals from  intestate  proprietors,  whether  the 
kindred  of  the  grandmother,  or  of  the  great-grand- 
mother, shall  be  preferred  in  the  succession; 
whether  the  degrees  of  consanguinity  shall  be  com- 
puted through  the  common  ancestor,  or  from  him ; 
whether  the  widow  shall  take  a  third  or  a  moiety 
of  her  husband's  fortune ;  whether  sons  shall  be 
preferred  to  daughters,  or  the  elder  to  the  younger ; 
whether  the  distinction  of  age  shall  be  regarded 
amongst  sisters,  as  well  as  between  brothers ;  in 
these,  and  in  a  great  variety  of  questions  which 
the  same  subject  supplies,  the  law  of  nature  deter- 
mines nothing.  The  only  answer  she  returns  to 
our  inquiries  is,  that  some  certain  and  gene- 
ral rule  be  laid  down  by  public  authority  ;  be 
obeyed  when  laid  down ;  and  that  the  quiet  of  the 
country  be  not  disturbed,  nor  the  expectation  of 
heirs  frustrated,  by  capricious  innovations.  This 
silence  or  neutrality  of  the  law  of  nature,  which  we 
have  exemplified  in  the  case  of  intestacy,  holdscon- 
cemincra  oreat  part  of  the  questions  that  relate  to 
the  right  or  acquisition  of  property.  Recourse  then 
must  necessarily  be  had  to  statutes,  or  precedents, 
or  usage,  to  fix  What  the  law  of  nature  has  left 
loose.  The  interpretation  of  these  statutes,  the 
search  af\er  precedents,  the  investigation  of  cus- 
toms, compose  therefore  an  unavoidable,  and  at 
the  same  time  a  large  and  intricate,  portion  of  fo- 
rensic business.  Positive  constitutions  or  judicial 
authorities  are,  in  like  manner,  wanted  to  give 
precision  to  many  things  which  are  in  their  nature 
indeterminafe.  The  age  of  legal  discretion;  at 
what  time  of  life  a  person  shall  be  deemed  com- 
petent to  the  performance  of  any  act  which  may- 
bind  his  property ;  whether  at  twenty,  or  twenty- 
one,  or  earlier  or  later,  or  at  some  point  of  time 
between  these  years :  can  only  be  ascertained  by  a 
positive  rule  of  the  society  to  which  the  party  he- 
lono-s.  The  line  has  not  been  drawn  by  nature ; 
the  human  understanding  advancing  to  maturity 
by  insensible  degrees,  and  its  progress  var3"ing  in 
diflferent  individuals.  Yet  it  is  necessary,  for  the 
sake  of  mutual  security,  that  a  precise  age  be  fixed, 
and  that  what  is  fixed  be  known  to  all.  It  is  on 
these  occasions  that  the  intervention  of  law  sup- 
plies the  inconstancy  of  nature.  Again,  there 
are  other  things  which  are  perfectly  arbitrary, 
and  capable  of  no  certainty  but  what  is  given  to 
them  bv  positive  regulation.  It  is  fit  that  a  limited 
time  should  be  assigned  to  defendants,  to  plead  to 
the  complaints  alleged  against  them ;  and  also 
that  the  default  of  pleading  within  a  certain  time 
should  be  taken  for  a  confession  of  the  charge  : 
but  to  how  many  days  or  months  that  term  should 
be  extended,  though  necessary  to  be  known  with 
certainty,  cannot  lie  known  at  all  by  any  informa- 
tion which  the  law  of  nature  afTords.  And  the 
same  remark  seems  applicable  to  almost  all  those 
rules  of  proceeding,  which  constitute  what  is  call- 
ed the  practice  of  the  court :  as  they  cannot  be 
traced  out  by  reasoning,  they  must  be  settled  by 
authority. 

Thirdly ;  in  contracts,  whether  ex[iress  or  im- 
plied, which  involve  a  great  nmiiber  of  conditions- 
1^ 


^34 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


rfS  in  those  which  are  entered  into  between  mas- 
ters and  servants,  principals  and  agents ;  many 
also  of  merchandise,  or  for  works  of  art ;  in  some 
likewise  which  relate  to  the  negotiation  of  money 
or  bills,  or  to  the  acceptance  of  credit  or  security : 
the  original  design  and  expectati(5n  of  the  parties 
was,  that  both  sides  should  be  guided  by  the  course 
and  custom  of  the  country  in  transactions  of  the 
same  sort.  Consequently,  when  these  contracts 
come  to  be  disputed,  natural  justice  can  only  refer 
to  that  custom.  But  as  such  customs  are  not  al- 
ways sufficiently  uniform  or  notorious,  but  often 
to  be  collected  from  the  production  and  compa- 
rison of  instances  and  accounts  repugnant  to  one 
another ;  and  each  custom  being  only  that,  after 
all,  which  amongst  a  variety  of  usages  seems  to 
predominate ;  we  have  here  also  ample  room  for 
doubt  and  contest. 

Fourthly ;  as  the  law  of  nature,  founded  in  the 
very  construction  of  human  society,  which  is  form- 
ed to  endure  through  a  series  of  perishing  gene- 
rations, requires  that  the  just  engagements  a  man 
enters  into  should  continue  in  force  beyond  his 
own  life  ;  it  follows,  that  the  private  rights  of  per- 
sons frequently  depend  upon  what  has  been  trans- 
acted, in  times  remote  from  the  present,  by  their 
ancestors  or  predecessors,  by  those  under  whom 
they  claim,  or  to  whose  obligations  they  have  suc- 
ceeded. Thus  the  questions  which  usually  arise 
between  lords  of  manors  and  their  tenants,  be- 
tween the  king  and  those  who  claim  royal  fran- 
chises, or  between  them  and  the  persons  afi'ectcd 
by  these  franchises,  depend  upon  the  terms  of  the 
original  grant.  In  like  manner,  every  dispute 
concerning  tithes,  in  which  an  exemption  or  com- 
position is  pleaded,  depends  upon  the  agreement 
which  took  place  between  the  predecessor  of  the 
claimant  and  the  ancient  owner  of  the  land.  The 
appeal  to  these  grants  and  agreements  is  dictated 
by  natural  equity,  as  well  as  by  tlie  municipal 
law  ;  but  concerning  the  existence,  or  the  condi- 
tions, of  such  old  covenants,  doubts  will  perpetu- 
ally occur,  to  which  the  law  of  nature  afibrds  no 
solution.  The  loss  or  decay  of  records,  the  pe- 
rishableness  of  living  memory,  the  corruption  and 
carelessness  of  tradition,  all  conspire  to  multiply 
uncertainties  upon  this  head;  what  cannot  be 
produced  or  proved,  must  be  left  to  loose  and  fal- 
lible presumption.  Under  the  same  head  may 
be  included  another  topic  of  altercation ; — the 
tracing  out  of  boundaries,  which  time,  or  neglect, 
orunity  of  possession,  or  mixture  of  occupation,  has 
confounded  or  obliterated.  To  which  should  be 
added,  a  difficulty  which  often  presents  itself  in 
disputes  concerning  rights  of  way,  both  public 
and  private,  and  of  those  easements  which  one 
man  claims  in  another  man's  property,  namely, 
that  of  distinguishing,  after  a  lapse  of  years, 
the  use  of  an  indulgence  from  the  exercise  of  a 
right. 

Fifthly;  the  quantity  or  extent  of  an  injury, 
even  when  the  cause  and  author  of  it  are  known, 
is  often  dubious  and  undefined.  If  the  injury, 
consists  in  the  loss  of  some  specific  right,  the  va- 
lue of  the  right  measures  the  amount  of  the  in- 
jury :  but  what  a  man  may  have  sufTered  in 
his  person,  from  an  assault ;  in  his  reputation,  by 
slander;  or  in  the  comfort  of  his  life,  by  the 
seduction  of  a  wife  or  daughter ;  or  what  sum  of 
money  shall  be  deemed  a  reparation  for  damages 
such  as  these ;  cannot  be  ascertained  by  any  rules 
which  the  law  of  nature  supplies.     The  law  of 


nature  commands,  that  reparation  be  made ;  and 
adds  to  her  command,  that,  when  the  aggressoi 
and  the  sufferer  disagree,  the  damage  be  assessed 
by  authorised  and  indifferent  arbitrators.  Here 
then  recourse  must  be  had  to  courts  of  law,  not 
only  with  the  permission,  but  in  some  measure  by 
the  direction,  of  natural  justice. 

Sixthly;  when  controversies  arise  in  the  inter- 
pretation of  written  laws,  they  for  the  most  part 
arise  upon  some  contingency  which  the  composer 
of  the  law  did  not  foresee  or  think  of  In  the  ad- 
judication of  such  cases,  this  dilennna  presents 
itself;  if  the  laws  be  permitted  to  operate  only 
upon  the  cases  which  actually  were  contemplated 
by  the  law-makers,  they  will  always  be  found  de- 
fective :  if"  they  be  extended  to  every  case  to  which 
the  reasoning,  and  spirit,  and  expediency,  of  the 
provision  seem  to  belong,  without  any  farther  evi- 
dence of  the  intention  of  the  legislature,  we  shall 
allow  to  the  judges  a  liberty  of  applying  the  law, 
which  will  liiU  very  little  short  of  the  power  of 
making  it.  If  a  literal  construction  be  adhered  to, 
the  law  will  often  fail  of  its  end ;  if  a  loose  and 
vague  exposition  be  admitted,  the  law  might  as 
well  have  never  been  enacted ;  for  this  license 
will  bring  back  into  the  subject  all  the  discretion 
and  uncertainty  which  it  was  the  design  of  the  le- 
gislature to  take  away.  Courts  of  justice  are,  and 
always  iniust  be,  embarrassed  by  these  opposite 
difficulties ;  and,  as  it  never  can  be  known  before- 
hand, in  what  degree  either  consideration  may 
prevail  in  the  mind  of  the  judge,  there  remains  an 
unavoidable  cause  of  doubt,  and  a  place  for  con- 
tention. 

Seventhly;  the  deliberations  of  courts  of  jus- 
tice upon  every  ne%c  question,  are  encumbered 
with  additional  difficulties,  in  consequence  of  the 
authority  which  the  judgment  of  the  court  pos- 
sesses, as  a  precedent  to  future  j  udicatures ;  which 
authority  appertains  not  only  to  the  conclusions  the 
court  delivers,  but  to  the  principles  and  arguments 
upon  which  they  are  built.  1  he  view  of  this  ef- 
fect makes  it  necessary  for  a  judge  to  look  beyond 
the  case  before  him  ;  and,  beside  the  attention  he 
owes  to  the  truth  and  justice  of  the  cause  between 
the  parties,  to  reflect  whether  the  principles,  and 
maxims,  and  reasoning,  which  he  adopts  and  au- 
thorises, can  be  applied  with  safety  to  all  cases 
which  admit  of  a  comparison  with  thepresent.  The 
decision  of  the  cause,  were  the  effects  of  the  de- 
cision to  stop  there,  might  be  easy :  but  the  con- 
sequence of  establishing  the  principle  which 
such  a  decision  assumes,  may  be  difficult,  though 
of  the  utmost  importance,  to  be  foreseen  and  regu- 
lated. 

Finally ;  after  all  the  certainty  and  rest  that  can 
be  given  to  points  of  law,  either  by  the  interposi 
tion  of  the  legislature  or  the  authority  of  prece- 
dents, one  principal  source  of  disputation,  and  into 
which  indeed  the  greater  part  of  legal  controversies 
may  be  resolved,  will  remain  still,  namely,  "  the 
competition  of  o])posite  analogies."  When  a 
point  of  law  has  been  once  a(Jjudged,  neither  that 
question,  nor  any  which  completely,  and  in  all  its 
circumstances,  corresponds  with  that,  can  be 
brought  a  second  time  into  dispute :  but  questions 
arise  which  resemble  tins  only  indirectly  and  in 
part,  in  certain  views  and  circumstances,  and  which 
may  seem  to  bear  an  equal  or  a  greater  affinity  to 
other  adjudged  cases;  questions  which  can  be 
brought  within  any  fixed  rule  only  by  analogy, 
and  which  hold  a  relation  by  analogy  to  d'iil'ereuf 


OF  THE  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 


135 


rules.  It  is  by  the  urging  of  the  different  analo- 
gies that  the  contention  of  the  bar  is  carried  on : 
and  it  is  in  the  comparison,  adjustment,  and  re- 
conciliation of  them  with  one  another;  in  the 
discerning  of  such  distinctions  ;  and  in  the  fram- 
ing of  such  a  determination,  as  may  either  save 
the  various  rules  alleged  in  the  cause,  or  if  that 
be  impossible,  may  give  up  the  weaker  analogy  to 


rule  are  not  so  detrimental,  as  the  rule  itself  is  un- 
reasonable ; — in  criminal  prosecutions,  it  operates 
considerably  in  favour  of  the  prisoner:  for  il  a 
juror  find  it  necessary  to  surrender  to  the  obsti- 
nacy of  others,  he  will  much  more  readily  resign 
his  opinion  on  the  side  of  mercy  than  of  condem- 
nation :  in  civil  suits,  it  adds  weight  to  the  direc- 
tion of  the  judge;  for  when  a  conference  with 


the  stronger;  that  the  sagacity  and  wisdom  of  the    one  another  does  not  seem  likely  to  produce,  in 


court  are  seen  and  exercised.     Amongst  a  thou 
sand  instances  of  this,  we  may  cite  one  of  general 
notoriety,  in  the  contest  that  has  lately  been  agi- 
tated concerning  literary  property. — The  personal 
industry  which  an  author  expends  upon  the  com- 
position of  his  work,  bears  so  near  a  resemblance 
to  tiiat  by  which  every  other  kind  of  property  is 
earned,  or  deserved,  or  acquired ;  or  rather  there 
exists   such  a  correspondency   between  what  is 
created  by  the  study  of  man's  mind,  and  the  pro- 
duction of  his  labour  in  any  other  way  of  applying 
it,  that  he  seems  entitled  to  the  same  exclusive, 
assignable,  and  perpetual,  right  in  both  ;  and  that 
right  to  the  same  protection  of  law.     This  was 
the  analogy  contended  for  on  one  side.     On  the 
other  hand,  a  book,  as  to  the  authors  right  in  it, 
appears  similar  to  an  invention  of  art,  as  a  ma- 
chine, an  engine,  a  medicine :  and  since  the  law 
permits  these  to  be  copied,  or  imitated,   except 
where  an  exclusive  use  or  sale  is  reserved  to  the 
inventor  by  patent,  the  same  liberty  should  be  al- 
lowed in  the  publication  and  sale  of  books.    This 
was  the  analogy  maintained  bvthe  advocates  of  an 
open  trade.     And  the  competition  of  these  oppo- 
site analogies  constituted  the  difficulty  of  the  case, 
as  far  as  the  same  was  argued,  or  adjudged,  upon 
principles  of  common  law. — One  example  may 
serve  to  illustrate  our  meaning:  but  whoever  takes 
up  a  volu:ne  of  Reports,  will  find  most  of  the  ar- 
guments it  contains,  capable  of  the  same  analysis: 
although  the  analogies,  it  must  be  confessed,  are 
sometimes  so  entangled  as  not  to  be  easily  unra- 
velled, or  even  perceived. 

Doubtful  anil  obscure  points  of  law  are  not 
however  nearly  so  numerous  as  they  are  appre- 
hended to  be.  Out  of  the  multitude  of  causes 
which,  in  the  course  of  each  year,  are  brought  to 
trial  in  the  metropolis,  or  upon  the  circuits,  there 
are  few  in  wliich  any  point  is  reserved  for  the 
judgment  of  superior  courts.  Yet  these  few  con- 
tain all  the  doubts  with  which  the  law  is  charge- 
able :  for  as  to  the  rest,  the  uncertainty,  as  hath 
been  shown  above,  is  not  in  the  law,  but  in  the 
means  of  human  information. 


There  are  two  peculiarities  in  the  judicial  con- 
stitution of  this  country,  which  do  not  carry  with 
them  that  evidence  of  their  propriety  wliich  recom- 
'mends  almost  every  other  part  of  the  system.  The 
first  of  these  is  the  rule  which  requires  that  juries 
be  unanimous  in  their  verdicts.  To  expect  that 
twelve  men.  taken  by  lot  out  of  a  promiscuous 
multitude,  should  agree  in  their  opinion  upon 
points  confessedly  dubious,  and  upon  which  of- 
tentimes the  wisest  judgments  might  be  holden 


in  suspense;    or  to'  suppose  that  any  real  tin^      ,  _     ,.._  

rAmiti/  or  change  of  opinion,  in  the  dissenting    ference!|'  which  the  uninformed  part  of  the  house 


the  jury,  the  agreement  that  is  nece.ssary,  they 
will  naturally  close  their  disputes  by  a  common 
submission  to  the  opinion  delivered  from  the 
bench.  However,  there  seems  to  be  less  of  the 
concurrence  of  separate  judgments  in  the  same 
conclusion,  consequently  less  assurance  that  the 
conclusion  is  founded  in  reasons  of  apparent  truth 
and  justice,  than  if  the  decision  were  lelt  to  a 
plurality,  or  to  some  certain  majority  of  voices. 

The  second  circumstance  in  our  constitution 
wTiich,  however  it  may  succeed  in  practice,  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  suggested  by  any  intelli- 
gible fitness  in  the  nature  of  the  tiling,  is  the 
choice  that  is  made  of  the  Hou^c  of  Lurch  as  a 
court  of  appeal  from  every  civil  court  of  judicature 
in  the  kingdom  ;  and  the  last  also  and  highest  ap- 
peal to  which  the  subject  can  resort.     There  ap- 
pears to  be  nothing  in  the  constitution  of  that 
assembly  ;  in  the  education,  habits,  character,  or 
professions,  of  the  members  who  compose  it ;  in 
the  mode  of  their  appointment,  or  the  right  by 
which  they  succeed  to  their  places  in  it;    that 
should  qualify  them  for  tliis  arduous  office ;  ex- 
cept perhaps,  that  the  elevation  of  their  rank  and 
fortune  affords  a  security  against  tlie  otier  and 
influence  of  small  bribes.     Officers  of  the  army 
and   navy,   courtiers,  ecclesiastics ;    young   men 
who  have  just  att;iined  the  age  of  twenty-one 
and  who  have  passed  their  youth  in  the  dissipation 
and   pursuits  which   commonly   accompany    the 
possession  or  inheritance  of  great  fortunes  ;  coun- 
try-gentlemen, occupied  in  the  management  of 
their  estates,  or  in  the  care  of  their  domestic  con- 
cerns and  family  interests  ;  the  greater  part  of  the 
assembly  born  to  their  station,  that  is,  placed  in  it 
by  chance  ;  most  of  the  rest  advanced  to  the  peer- 
age for  services,  and  from  motives,  utterly  uncon- 
nected with  legal  erudition  : — these  men  compose 
the   tribunal,  to  which  the  constitution  enl  rusts 
the  interpretation  of  her  laws,  and  the  ultimate  _ 
decision  of  every  dispute  between  her  subjects. 
These  are  the  men  assigned  to  review  judgments 
of  law,  pronounced  by  sages  of  the  proft»ssion, 
who  have  spent  their  lives  in  the  study  and  prac- 
tice of  the  jurisprudence  of  their  country.     Such 
is  the  order  which  our  ancestors  have  established. 
The  effect  only  proves  the  truth  of  tliis  maxim ; — 
"  That  when  a  single  institution  is  extremely  dis- 
sonant from  other  parts  of  the  system  to  which  it 
belongs,  it  will  always  find  some  wa}'  of  rccon- 
cihng  itself  to  the  analogy  which  governs  and  per- 
vades the   rest."     By  constantly   placing  in  the 
House  of  Lords  some  of  the  most  eminent  and 
experienced  lawyers  in  the  kingdom;  bycalhng  to 
their  aid  the  advice  of  the  judges,  when  any  al>- 
stract   question   of  law  awaits   their  determina- 
tion ;  by  the  almost  implicit  and  undisputed  de- 


jurors,  could  be  procured  by  confining  them  until 
they  all  consented  to  the  same  verdict,  bespeaks 
more  of  the  conceit  of  a  barbarous  age,  than  of  the 
policy  which  could  dictate  such  an  institution  as 


find  it  necessary  to  pay  to  the  learning  of  their 
colleagues ;  the  appeal  to  the  House  of  Lords  be- 
comes in  fact  an  appeal  to  the  collected  wisdom 
of  our  supreme  courts  of  justice  ;  receiving  indeed 


that  of  juries.     Nevertheless,  the  effects  of  this  1  solemnity,   but  little  perhaps   of  direction,  from 


136 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


the  presence  of  the  assembly  in  which  it  is  heard 
and  determined. 

These,  however,  even  if  real,  are  minute  imper- 
fections. A  poHtician  vi'ho  should  sit  down  to 
dehneate  a  plan  for  the  dispensation  of  public  jus- 
tice, guarded  against  all  access  to  influence  and 
corruption,  and  bringing  together  the  separate  ad- 
vantacres  of  knowledge  and  impartiality,  would 
find,  when  he  had  done,  that  he  had  been  trans- 
cribing the  judicial  constitution  of  England.  And 
it  may  teach  the  most  discontented  amongst  us 
to  acquiesce  in  the  government  of  his  country, 
to  reflect,  that  the  pure,  and  wise,  and  equal  ad- 
ministration of  the  laws,  forms  the  first  end  and 
blessing  of  social  union ;  and  that  this  b!e.s.sing  is 
enjoyed  by  him  in  a  perfection,  which  he  will  seek 
in  vain  in  any  other  nation  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Of  Crimes  and  Punishments. 

The  proper  end  of  human  punishment  is  not 
the  satisfaction  of  justice,  but  the  prevention  of 
crimes.  By  the  satisfaction  of  justice,  I  mean  the 
retribution  of  so  much  pain  for  so  much  guilt ; 
which  is  tlie  dispensation  we  expect  at  the  hand 
of  God,  and  which  we  are  accustomed  to  consider 
as  l!ie  order  of  things  that  perfect  justice  dictates 
and  requires.  In  what  sense,  or  whether  with  truth 
in  any  sense,  justice  may  be  said  to  demand  the 
punishment  of  ofTenders,  I  do  not  now  inquire : 
but  I  assert,  that  this  demand  is  not  the  motive  or 
occasion  of  human  punishment.  What  would  it 
be  to  the  magistrate,  that  oflfcnces  went  altogether 
unpunished,  if  the  impunity  of  the  ofTeiiders  were 
followed  by  no  danger  or  prejudice  to  the  common- 
wealth'? The  tear  lest  the  escape  of  the  criminal 
should  encourage  him,  or  others  by  his  example, 
to  repeat  the  same  crime,  or  to  commit  different 
crimes,  is  the  sole  consideration  which  authorises 
the  infliction  of  punishment  by  human  laws.  Now 
that,  whatever  it  be,  which  is  the  cause  and  end 
of  the  punishment,  ought  undoubtedly  to  regulate 
the  measure  of  its  severity.  But  this  cause  ap- 
pears to  be  founded,  not  in  the  guilt  of  the  offender, 
but  in  the  necessity  of  preventing  the  repetition 
of  tlie  oflience :  and  hence  results  the  reason,  that 
crimes  are  not  by  any  government  punished  in  pro- 
portion to  their  guilt,  nor  in  all  cases  ought  to  be 
so,  but  in  proportion  to  the  difliculty  and  the  ne- 
cessity of  preventing  them.  Thus  the  stealing  of 
goods  privately  out  of  a  shop  may  not,  in  its  moral 
quality,  be  more  criminal  than  the  stealing  of  them 
out  of  a  house ;  yet  being  equally  necessary  and 
more  difficult  to  be  prevented,  the  law,  in  certain 
circumstances,  denounces  again.st  it  a  severer  pun- 
ishment. The  crime  must  be  prevented  by  some 
means  or  other;  and  consequently,  whatever 
means  appear  necessary  to  this  end,  whether  they 
be  proportionable  to  the  guilt  of  the  criminal  or  not, 
are  adopted  rightly,  because  they  are  adopted  upon 
the  principle  which  alone  justiiies  the  infliction  of 
punishment  at  all.  From  the  same  consideration  it 
also  follows,  that  punishment  ought  not  to  be  eui- 
ployed,  much  less  rendered  severe,  when  the  crime 
can  be  prevented  by  any  other  means.  Punishment 
is  an  evil  to  which  the  magistrate  resorts  only  from 
its  being  necessary  to  the  prevention  of  a  greater. 
This  necessity  does  not  exist,  when  the  end  may 
e  attained,  that  is,  when  the  public  may  be  de- 


fended from  the  effects  of  the  crime,  by  any  other 
expedient.  The  sanguinary  laws  whicii  ha\  e  been 
made  against  counterJeiting  or  diaunishing  the 
gold  coin  of  the  kingdom  might  be  just  until  the 
method  of  detecting  the  fraud,  by  weigliiug  the 
money,  was  introduced  into  general  usage.  Since 
that  precaution  was  practised,  these  laws  have 
slept ;  and  an  execution  under  them  at  this  day 
would  be  deemed  a  measure  of  unjustifiable  se< 
verity.  The  same  principle  accounts  ibr  a  circum- 
stance which  has  been  oiten  censured  as  an  ab- 
surdity in  the  penal  laws  of  this,  and  of  most 
modern  nations,  namely,  that  breaches  of  trust  ara 
either  not  punished  at  all,  or  punished  with  les» 
rigour  than  other  frauds. — Wherelbre  is  it,  some 
have  asked,  that  a  violation  of  confidence,  which 
increases  the  guilt,  should  nutigate  the  penalty  ? — 
This  lenity,  or  rather  forbearance,  of  the  laws,  is 
founded  in  the  most  reasonable  distinction.  A 
due  circumspection  in  the  choice  of  the  persons 
^^  hom  they  trust ;  caution  in  limiting  the  extent 
of  that  trust ;  or  the  requiring  of  sutiicicnt  secu- 
rity for  the  faithful  discharge  of  it,  will  commonly 
guard  men  from  injuries  of  tliis  description  ;  and 
the  law  will  not  interpose  its  sanctions  to  protect 
negligence  and  credulity,  or  to  supply  the  place  Oj 
domestic  care  and  prudence.  To  be  convinced 
that  the  law  proceeds  entirely  upon  this  considera- 
tion, we  have  only  to  observe,  that  where  the  con- 
fidence is  unavoidable, — where  no  practicable  vigi- 
lance could  watch  the  otiender,  as  in  the  case  of 
theft  conuniUed  by  a  servant  in  the  shop  or  dwell- 
ing liouse  of  his  master,  or  upon  property  to  which 
he  must  necessarily  have  access, — the  sentence  of 
tlie  law  is  not  less  severe,  and  its  execution  con» 
monly  more  certain  and  rigorous,  than  if  no  trust 
at  all  had  intervened. 

It  is  in  pursuance  of  the  same  principle,  which 
pervades  indeed  the  whole  system  of  penal  juris- 
prudence, that  the  facility  with  which  any  species 
of  crimes  is  perpetrated,  has  been  generally  deem- 
ed a  reason  for  aggravating  the  punishment.  Thus, 
sheep-stealing,  horse-stealing,  the  stealing  of  cloth 
from  tenters  or  bleaching  grounds,  by  our  laws, 
subject  the  offenders  to  sentence  of  death  :  not  that 
these  crimes  are  in  their  nature  more  heinous  than 
many  simple  felonies  which  are  punished  by  im- 
prisonment or  transportation,  but  because  the  pro- 
perty, being  more  exposed,  requires  the  terror  of 
capital  punishment  to  protect  it.  This  severity 
would  be  absurd  and  unjust,  if  the  guilt  of  the  of- 
fender were  the  immediate  cause  and  measure  of 
the  punishment ;  but  is  a  consistent  and  regular 
consequence  of  the  supposition,  that  the  right  of 
punishment  results  from  the  necessity  of  prevent- 
ing the  crime ;  for  if  this  be  the  end  proposed,  the 
severity  of  the  punishment  must  be  increased  in 
proportion  to  the  expediency  and  the  difficulty  ol 
attaining  this  end  ;  that  is,  in  a  proportion  com- 
poundetfof  the  mischief  of  the  crime,  and  of  the 
ease  with  which  it  is  executed. — The  difilcult}-  of 
discovery  is  a  circumstance  to  be  included  in  the 
same  consideration.  It  constitutes  indeed,  with 
respect  to  the  crime,  the  facility  of  which  ws 
speak.  By  how  much  therefore  the  detection  of 
an  offender  is  more  rare  and  uncertain,  by  so  much 
the  more  severe  must  be  the  punishment  when  he 
is  detected.  Thus  the  writing  of  incendiary  letters, 
though  in  itself  a  pernicious  and  alarming  injury, 
calls  for  a  more  condign  and  exemplary  punish- 
ment, by  the  very  obscuritv  with  which  the  crime 
is  committed. 


OF  CRIMES  AiND  PUJN'ISHMENTS. 


137 


From  the  justice  of  God,  we  are  taught  to  look 
for  a  gradation  of  punishment  exactly  proportioned 
to  the  guilt  of  the  olTender:  when  therefore,  in  as- 
signing the  degrees  of  human  punishment,  we  in- 
troduce considerations  distinct  from  that  guilt,  and 
a  proportion  so  varied  by  external  circumstances, 
that  equal  crimes  frequently  undergo  unequal 
punishments,  or  the  less  crime  the  greater:  it  is 
natural  to  demand  the  reason  why  a  different  mea- 
sure of  punishment  should  be  expected  from  God, 
and  observed  by  man  ;  why  that  rule,  which  belits 
the  absolute  and  perfect  justice  of  the  Deity,  should 
not  be  the  rule  which  ought  to  be  pursued  and  imi- 
tated b}'  human  laws. — The  solution  of  tliis  diffi- 
culty must  be  sought  for  in  those  peculiar  attri- 
butes of  the  Divine  nature,  which  distinguish  the 
dispensations  of  Supreme  Wisdom  from  the  pro- 
ceedings of  human  judicature.  A  being  whose 
knowledge  penetrates  ever)' concealment,  from  the 
operation  of  whose  will  no  art  or  tlight  can  escape, 
and  in  whose  hands  punishment  is  sure;  such 
a  Being  may  conduct  the  moral  government  of 
his  creation,  in  the  best  and  wisest  manner,  by 
pronouncing  a  law  that  every  crime  shall  finally 
receive  a  punishment  pro]30rtioncd  to  the  guilt 
which  it  contains,  abstracted  from  any  foreign  con- 
sideration whatever :  and  may  testify  his  veracit}' 
to  the  spectator?  of  his  judgments,  b)'^  carrpng 
this  law  into  strict  execution.  But  when  the  care 
of  the  public  safety  is  intrusted  to  men,  whose  au- 
thority over  their  fellow-creatures  is  limited  by  de- 
fects of  power  and  knowledge ;  from  whose  utmost 
vigilance  and  sagacity  the  greatest  offenders  often 
lie  hid  ;  whose  wisest  precautions  and  speediest 
pursuit  may  be  eluded  by  artifice  or  concealment ; 
a  different  necessity,  a  new  rule  of  proceeding,  re- 
sults from  the  ver}'  imperfection  of  their  faculties. 
In  their  hands,  the  unccrtaint)^  of  punishment 
must  be  compensated  by  the  severity.  The  ease 
with  wliich  crimes  are  committed  or  concealed, 
must  be  counteracted  by  additional  penalties  and 
increased  terrors.  The  very  end  for  which  human 
government  is  established,  requires  that  its  regu- 
lations be  adapted  to  the  suppression  of  crimes.  Tliis 
end,  whatever  it  may  do  in  the  plans  of  Infinite 
Wisdom,  does  not,  in  the  designation  of  temporal 
penalties,  always  coincide  with  the  proportionate 
punishment  of  guilt. 

There  are  two  methods  of  administering  penal 
justice. 

The  first  method  assigns  capital  punishment  to 
few  offences,  and  inflicts  it  invariably. 

The  second  method  assigns  capital  punishment 
to  many  kinds  of  offences,  but  inflicts  it  only  upon 
a  few  examples  of  each  kind. 

The  latter  of  which  two  methods  has  been  long 
adopted  in  this  country,  where,  of  those  who  re- 
ceive sentence  of  death,  scarcely  one  in  ten  is  exe- 
cuted. And  the  preference  of  this  to  the  foniier 
method  seems  to  be  founded  in  the  consideration, 
that  the  selection  of  proper  objects  for  capital  pun- 
ishment principally  depends  upon  circumstances, 
which,  however  easy  to  perceive  in  each  particular 
case  after  the  crime  is  committed,  it  is  impossible 
to  enumerate  or  define  beforehand;  or  toa.scertain 
however  with  that  exactness  which  is  requisite  in 
legal  descriptions.  Hence,  although  it  be  necessarv 
to  fix  by  precise  rules  of  law  the  boundary  on  one 
side,  that  is,  the  limit  to  which  the  punishment 
may  be  extended ;  and  also  that  nothing  less  than 
the  authority  of  the  whole  legislature  be  suffered 
to  determine  that  boundary,  and  assign  these  rules; 


yet  the  mitigation  of  punishment,  the  exercise  of 
lenity,  may  without  danger  be  intrusted  to  the  exe- 
cutive magistrate,  whose  discretion  will  operate 
upon  those  numerous,  unforeseen,  mutable,  and 
indefinite  circumstances,  both  of  the  crime  and 
the  criminal,  which  constitute  or  qualify  the  ma- 
lignity of  eachofience.  Without  the  power  of  re- 
laxation lodged  in  a  living  authority,  either  some 
offenders  would  escape  capital  punishment,  whom 
the  public  safety  required  to  suffer  ;  or  some  would 
undergo  tliis  punishment,  where  it  was  neither  de- 
served nor  necessary-.  For  if  judgment  of  death 
were  reserved  for  one  or  two  species  of  crimes  only 
(which  would  probably  be  the  ca.se  if  that  judg- 
ment was  intended  to  be  executed  without  excep- 
tion.) crimes  might  occur  of  the  most  dangerous 
example,  and  accompanied  with  circumstances  of 
heinous  aggravation,  which  did  not  fall  within  any 
description  of  offences  that  the  laws  had  made 
capital,  and  which  consequently  could  not  receive 
the  punishment  their  own  malignity  and  the  pub- 
lic safety  required. — AVhat  is  worse,  it  would  be 
known  before-hand,  that  such  crimes  might  be 
committed  without  danger  to  the  oflender's  life. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  to  reach  these  possible  ca.ses, 
the  whole  class  of  ofl'ences  to  which  they  belong 
be  subjected  to  pains  of  death,  and  no  power  of 
remitting  this  severity  remain  any  where,  the  ex- 
ecution of  the  laws  will  become  more  sanguinary 
than  the  public  compassion  would  endure,  or  than 
is  necessary  to  the  general  security. 

The  law  of  England  is  constructed  upon  a 
diflerent  and  a  better  policy.  By  the  number  of 
statutes  creating  capital  offences,  it  .sweeps  into 
the  net  every  crime  which,  under  any  possilile 
circumstances,  may  merit  the  punishment  of  death : 
but  when  the  execution  of  this  sentence  comes  to 
be  deliberated  upon,  a  small  proj'ortion  of  each 
class  are  singled  out,  the  general  character,  or  the 
peculiar  aggravations  of  whose  crimes,  render 
them  fit  examples  of  public  justice.  By  this  ex- 
pedient, few  actually  suffer  death,  whilst  the  dread 
and  danger  of  it  hang  over  the  crimes  of  many. 
The  tenderness  of  the  law  cannot  be  taken  ad- 
vantage of.  The  life  of  the  subject  is  spared  as 
far  as  the  necessity  of  restraint  and  intimidation 
permits ;  yet  no  one  will  adventure  upon  the  com- 
mission of  any  enormous  crime,  from  a  know- 
ledge that  the  laws  have  not  provided  for  its 
punishment.  The  wisdom  and  humanity  of  this 
design  furnish  a  just  excuse  for  the  multiplicity 
of  capital  offences,  which  the  laws  of  England  are 
accused  of  creating  beyond  those  of  other  coun- 
tries. The  charge  of  cruelty  is  answered  by  ob^ 
serving,  that  these  laws  were  never  meant  to  be 
carried  into  indiscriminate  execution ;  that  the 
legislature,  when  it  estabhshes  its  last  and  highest 
sanctions,  trusts  to  the  benignity  of  the  crown  to 
relax  their  severity  as  often  as  circumstances 
appear  to  palliate  the  offence,  or  even  as  often  as 
those  circumstances  of  aggravation  are  wanting 
which  rendered  this  rigorous  interposition  neces- 
sary. Upon  this  plan,  it  is  enough  to  vindicate 
the  lenitv  of  the  laws,  that  some  instances  are  to 
be  found  in  each  class  of  capital  crimes,  which  re- 
quire the  restraint  of  capital  punishment,  and  that 
this  restraint  could  not  be  applicil  without  subject- 
ing the  whole  class  to  the  same  condemnation. 

There  is  however  one  species  of  crimes,  the 

making  of  wliich  capital,  can  hardly,  I  think,  be 

defended  even  upon  the  comprehensive  principle 

just  now  stated : — I  mean  that  of  privately  steal- 

12* 


138 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


inj;  from  tlit"  person.  As  every  degree  of  force  is 
excluded  by  the  description  of  the  crime,  it  will 
be  ditncult  to  assign  an  example,  wJiere  either  the 
amount  or  circumstances  of  the  theft  place  it  upon 
a  level  with  those  dangerous  attempts  to  which 
the  punishment  of  death  should  be  confined.  It 
will  be  still  more  difficult  to  show,  that,  without 
gross  and  culpable  negligence  on  the  part  of  the 
sulferer,  such  examples  can  ever  become  so  fre- 
quent, as  to  make  it  necessary  to  constitute  a  class 
ol'  capital  offences,  of  very  wide  and  large  extent. 

The  prerogative  of  pardon  is  properly  reserved 
to  the  chief  magistrate.  The  power  of  suspend- 
ing the  laws  is  a  privilege  of  too  high  a  nature  to 
be  committed  to  many  hands,  or  to  those  of  any 
inferior  officer  in  the  state.  The  king  also  can 
best  collect  the  advice  by  which  liis  resolutions 
should  be  governed :  and  is  at  the  same  time  re- 
moved at  the  greatest  distance  from  the  influence 
of  private  motives.  But  let  this  power  be  de- 
posited where  it  will,  the  exercise  of  it  ought  to 
be  regarded,  not  as  a  favour  to  be  yielded  to  so- 
licitation, granted  to  friendship,  or,  least  of  all,  to 
be  made  subservient  to  the  conciliating  or  gratify- 
ing of  ))ohtical  attachments,  but  as  a  judicial  act; 
as  a  deliberation  to  be  conducted  with  the  same 
chara.-tcr  of  impartiality,  with  the  same  exact  and 
diligent  attention  to  the  proper  merits  and  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  as  that  which  the  judge 
upon  the  bench  was  expected  to  maintain  and 
show  in  the  trial  of  the  prisoner's  guilt.  The 
questions,  whether  the  prisoner  be  guilty,  and 
whether,  being  guilty,  he  ought  to  be  executed, 
are  equally  questions  of  public  justice.  The 
adjudication  of  the  latter  question  is  as  much  a 
fund  ion  of  magistracy,  as  the  trial  of  the  former. 
The  public  welfare  is  interested  in  both.  The 
conviction  of  an  offender  should  depend  upon 
nothing  but  the  proof  of  his  guilt ;  nor  the  execu- 
tion of  the  sentence  upon  any  thing  beside  the 
quality  and  circumstances  of  his  crime.  It  is 
necessary  to  the  good  order  of  society,  and  to  the 
reputation  and  authority  of  government,  that  this 
be  known  and  believed  to  be  the  case  in  each  part 
of  the  proceeding.  Which  reflections  show,  that 
the  ad  mission  of  extrinsic  or  oblique  considerations, 
in  dispensing  the  power  of  pardon,  is  a  crime,  in 
the  authors  and  advisers  of  such  unmerited  par- 
tiality, of  the  same  nature  with  that  of  corruption 
in  a  judge. 

Aggravations,  which  ought  to  guide  the  ma- 
gistrate in  the  selection  of  objects  of  condign 
punishment,  are  principally  these  three, — repeti- 
tion, cruelty,  combination.  The  first  two,  it  is 
manifest,  add  to  every  reason  upon  which  the 
justice  or  the  necessity  of  rigorous  measures  can 
be  founded ;  and  with  respect  to  the  last  circum- 
stance, it  may  be  observed,  that  when  thieves  and 
robbers  are  once  collected  into  gangs,  their  violence 
becomes  more  formidable,  the  confederates  more 
desr)erate,  and  the  difficulty  of  defending  the  pub- 
lic against  their  depredations  much  greater,  than 
in  the  case  of  solitary  adventurers.  Which  se- 
veral considerations  compose  a  distinction  that  is 
properly  adverted  to,  in  deciding  upon  the  fate  of 
convicted  nialeliictors. 

In  crimes,  however,  wliich  are  perpetrated  by  a 
jnullitude,  or  by  a  gang,  it  is  proper  to  scjjarate, 
in  the  punishment,  the  ringleader  from  his  fol- 
lowers, the  principal  from  his  accomplices,  and 
even  the  person  who  struck  the  blow,  broke  the 
jck,  or  first  entered  the  house,  from  those  who 


joined  him  in  the  felony ;  not  so  much  on  account 
of  any  distinction  in  the  guilt  of  the  oHenders,  as 
tor  the  sake  of  casting  an  obstac:le  in  the  way  of 
such  confederacies,  by  rendering  it  difficult  for  the 
confederates  to  settle  who  shall  begin  the  attack, 
or  to  find  a  man  amongst  their  number  williuo-  to 
expose  himself  to  greater  danger  than  his  as- 
sociates. This  is  another  instance  in  which  the 
punishment  which  expediency  directs,  does  not 
pursue  the  exact  proportion  of  the  crime. 

Injuries  eflected  by  terror  and  violence,  are  those 
which  it  is  the  first  and  chief  concern  of  legal  <ro- 
vernment  to  repress;  because  their  extent  is  un- 
limited ;  because  no  private  precaution  can  protect 
the  subject  against  them;  because  they  endanger 
life  and  safety,  as  well  as  property  ;  and  lastly,  be- 
cause they  render  the  condition  of  society  wretched, 
by  a  sense  of  personal  insecurity.  These  reasons 
do  not  apply  to  frauds  which  circumspection  may 
prevent ;  which  mu.st  wait  for  opportunity  ;  which 
can  proceed  only  to  certain  limits;  and  by  the 
apprehension  of  which,  although  the  business  of 
life  be  incommoded,  lile  itself  is  not  made  misera- 
ble. The  appearance  of  this  distinction  has  led 
some  humane  writers  to  express  a  wish,  that 
capital  punishments  might  be  confined  to  crunes 
of  violence. 

In  estimating  the  comparative  malignancy  of 
crimes  of  violence,  regard  is  to  be  had,  not  only  to 
the  proper  and  intendedmischief  of  the  crime,  but 
to  the  fright  occasioned  by  the  attack,  to  the  general 
alarm  excited  by  it  in  others,  and  to  the  conse- 
quences which  may  attend  future  attempts  of  the 
same  kind.  Thus,  in  afiixing  the  punishment  of 
burglary,  or  of  breaking  into  dwelling-houses  by 
night,  we  are  to  consider  not  only  the  peril  to 
which  the  most  valuable  property  is  exposed  by 
this  crime,  and  which  may  be  called  the  direct 
mischief  of  it,  but, the  danger  also  of  murder  in 
case  of  resistance,  or  for  the  sake  of  preventing 
discovery ;  and  the  universal  dread  with  which  the 
silent  and  defenceless  hours  of  rest  and  sleep  must 
be  disturbed,  were  attempts  of  this  sort  to  become 
frequent ;  and  which  dread  alone,  even  without 
the  mischief  which  is  the  object  of  it,  is  not  only 
a  public  evil,  but  almost  of  all  evils  the  most  in- 
supportable. These  circumstances  place  a  dif- 
ference between  the  breaking  into  a  dwelling- 
house  by  day,  and  by  night ;  which  difference 
obtains  in  the  punishment  of  the  offence  by  the 
law  of  Moses,  and  is  probably  to  be  found  in  the 
judicial  codes  of  most  countries,  from  the  earliest 
ages  to  the  present. 

Of  frauds,  or  of  injuries  which  are  eflected 
without  force,  the  most  noxious  kinds  are, — 
forgeries,  counterfeiting  or  diminishing  of  the 
coin,  and  the  stealing  oi"  letters  in  the  course  of 
their  conveyance;  inasmuch  as  these  practices 
tend  to  deprive  the  public  of  accommodations, 
which  not  only  improve  the  conveniencies  of  so- 
cial life,  but  are  essential  to  the  prosperity,  and 
even  the  existence,  of  commerce.  Of  these  crimes 
it  may  be  said,  that  although  they  seem  to  affect 
property  alone,  the  mischief  of  their  operation 
does  not  terminate  there.  For  let  it  be  supposed, 
that  the  remissness  or  lenity  of  the  laws  should, 
in  any  country,  sutler  ollences  of  this  sort  to  grow 
into  such  a  frequency,  as  to  render  the  use  of 
money,  the  circulation  of  bills,  or  the  public  con- 
veyance of  letters,  no  longer  safe  or  practicable ; 
what  would  follow,  but  that  every  species  of  trade 
and   oi"  activity   must   decline  under   these  dis 


J 


OF  CRIMES  AND  PUNISHMENTS. 


139 


couragements ;  the  sources  of  subsistence  fail,  by 
which  the  inhabitants  of  the  country  are  sup- 
ported ;  the  country  itself,  where  the  intercourse 
of  ci\il  life  was  so  endangered  and  defective,  be 
deserted  ;  and  that,  beside  the  distress  and  poverty 
which  the  loss  of  employment  would  produce  to 
the  industrious  and  valuable  part  of  the  existing 
community,  a  rapid  depopulation  must  take  place, 
each  generation  becommg  less  numerous  than  the 
last ;  till  solitude  and  barrenness  overspread  the 
land ;  until  a  desolation  similar  to  what  obtains 
m  many  countries  of  Asia,  which  were  once  the 
most  ci^■ilized  and  frequented  parts  of  the  world, 
succeed  in  the  place  of  crowded  cities,  of  cultivated 
fields,  of  happy  and  well  peopled  regions  ? — When 
therefore  we  carry  forwards  our  views  to  the  more 
distant,  but  not  less  certain  consequences  of  these 
crimes,  we  perceive  that,  though  no  living  crea- 
ture be  destroyed  by  them,  yet  human  Ufe  is  di- 
minished :  that  an  offence,  the  particular  conse- 
quence of  which  deprives  only  an  individual  of  a 
small  portion  of  his  property,  and  which  even  in 
its  general  tendency  seems  to  do  nothing  more 
than  obstruct  the  enjoyment  of  certain  public 
conveniencies,  may  nevertheless,  by  its  ultimate 
effects,  conclude  in  the  laying  waste  of  human 
existence.  This  observation  will  enable  those 
who  regard  the  divine  rule  of  "  life  for  life,  and 
blood  for  blood,"  as  the  only  authorized  and  jus- 
tifiable measure  of  capital  punishment,  to  perceive, 
with  respect  to  the  effects  and  quality  of  the  ac- 
tions, a  greater  resemblance  than  they  suppose  to 
e^iist  between  certain  atrocious  frauds,  and  those 
crimes  which  attack  personal  safety. 

In  the  case  of  forgeries,  there  appears  a  sub- 
stantial diiference  between  the  forging  of  bills  of 
exchange,  or  of  securities  which  are  circulated, 
and  of  which  the  circulation  and  currency  are 
found  to  serve  and  facihtate  valuable  purposes  of 
connnerce;  and  the  forging  of  bonds,  leases, 
mortgages,  or  of  instruments  which  are  not  com- 
monly transferred  from  one  hand  to  another ;  be- 
cause in  the  former  case,  credit  is  necessarily 
given  to  the  signature;  and  without  that  credit  the 
negotiation  of  such  property  could  not  be  carried 
on,  nor  the  public  utility,  sought  from  it,  be  at- 
tained :  in  the  other  case,  all  possibility  of  deceit 
might  be  precluded,  by  a  direct  communication 
between  the  parties,  or  by  due  care  in  the  choice 
of  their  agents,  with  little  interruption  to  busi- 
ness, and  without  destroying,  or  much  encumber- 
ing, the  uses  for  which  these  instruments  are  cal- 
culated. This  distinction  I  apprehend  to  be  not 
only  real,  but  precise  enough  to  afford  a  line  of 
division  between  forgeries,  wliich  as  the  law  now 
stands,  are  almost  universally  capital,  and  pmrished 
with  undistinguishing  severity. 

Perjury  is  another  crime,  of  the  same  class  and 
magnitude.  And,  when  we  consider  what  re- 
liiiice  is  necessarily  placed  upon  oaths;  that  all 
judicial  decisions  proceed  upon  testimony ;  that 
consequently  there  is  not  a  right  that  a  man  pos- 
sesses, of  wliich  false  witnesses  may  not  deprive 
him;  that  reputation,  property,  and  life  itself,  lie 
open  to  the  attempts  of  perjury ;  that  it  may  often 
be  committed  without  a  possibility  of  contradic- 
tion pr  disc^overy ;  that  the  success  and  prevalency 
of  this  vice  tend  to  introduce  the  most  grievous 
and  fatal  injustice  into  the  administration  of  hu- 
man atlairs,  or  such  a  distrust  of  testimony  as 
must  create  universal  embarrassment  and  con- 
fusion:— when  we  reflect  upon  these  mischiefs, 


we  shall  be  brought,  probably,  to  agree  with  the 
opinion  of  those  who  contend  that  perjury,  in  its 
punishment,  especially  that  which  is  attempted  in 
solemn  evidence,  and  in  the  face  of  a  court  of  jus- 
tice, should  be  placed  upon  a  level  with  the  most 
flagitious  frauds. 

The  obtaining  of  money  by  secret  threats, 
whether  we  regard  the  ditliculty  with  which  the 
crime  is  traced  out,  the  odious  imputations  to 
wliich  it  may  lead,  or  the  profligate  conspiracies 
that  are  sometimes  formed  to  carry  it  into  execu- 
tion, deserves  to  be  reckoned  amongst  the  worst 
species  of  robbery. 

The  frequenc}'  of  capital  executions  in  this 
country  owes  it  necessity  to  three  causes; — much 
hberty,  great  cities,  and  the  want  of  a  punishment 
short  of  death,  possessing  a  sufficient  degree  of 
terror.  And  if  the  taking  away  of  the  Ufe  of  male- 
factors be  more  rare  in  other  countries  than  in 
ours,  the  reason  will  be  found  in  some  difference 
in  these  articles.  The  liberties  of  a  free  people, 
and  still  more  the  jealousy  with  which  these  hber- 
ties  are  watched,  and  by  which  they  are  preserved, 
permit  not  those  precautions  and  restraints,  that 
inspection,  scrutiny,  and  control,  which  are  ex- 
ercised with  success  in  arbitrary  governments. 
For  example,  neither  the  spirit  of  the  laws,  nor 
of  the  people,  will  sutler  the  detention  or  confine- 
ment of  suspected  persons,  without  proofs  of  their 
guilt,  which  it  is  often  impossible  to  obtain ;  nor  will 
they  allow  that  masters  of  families  be  obliged  to 
record  and  render  up  a  description  of  the  strangers 
or  inmates  whom  they  entertain;  nor  that  an  ac- 
count be  demanded,  at  the  pleasure  of  the  magis- 
trate, of  each  man's  time,  employment,  and  means 
of  subsistence ;  nor  securities  to  be  required  when 
these  accounts  appear  unsatisfactory  or  dubious ; 
nor  men  to  be  apprehended  upon  the  mere  sug- 
gestion of  idleness  or  vagrancy;  nor  to  be  con- 
fined to  certain  districts ;  nor  the  inhabitants  of 
each  district  to  be  made  responsible  for  one 
another's  behaviour ;  nor  passports  to  be  exacted 
from  all  persons  entering  or  leaving  the  kingdom: 
least  of  all  will  they  tolerate  the  appearance  of  an 
armed  force,  or  of  military  law ;  or  sutler  the  streets 
and  public  roads  to  be  guarded  and  patrolled  by 
soldiers ;  or  lastly,  intrust  the  police  with  such  dis- 
cretionary powers,  as  may  make  sure  of  the  guilty, 
however  they  involve  the  innocent.  These  ex- 
pedients, although  arbitrary  and  rigorous,  are 
many  of  them  effectual :  and  in  proportion  as  they 
render  the  commission  or  concealment  of  crimes 
more  difficult,  they  subtract  from  the  necessity  of 
severe  punishment. —  Great  cities  multi})l\' crimes, 
by  presenting  easier  opportunities,  and  more  in- 
centives to  hbertinism,  which  in  low  life  is  com- 
monly the  introductory  stage  to  other  enormities ; 
by  collecting  thieves  and  robbers  into  the  same 
neighbourhood,  which  enables  them  to  form  com- 
munications and  confederacies,  that  increase  their 
art  and  courage,  as  well  as  strength  and  wicked- 
ness ;  but  principally  by  the  refuge  they  aiibrd  to 
villany,  in  the  means  of  concealment,  and  of  sub- 
sisting in  secrecy,  which  crowded  towns  supply  to 
men  of  every  description.  These  temptations  and 
facilities  can  only  be  counteracted  by  adding  to 
the  number  of  capital  punishments. — But  a  third 
cause,  which  increases  the  frequency  of  capital 
executions,  in  England,  is,  a  defect  of  the  laws,  in 
not  being  provided  with  any  other  punishment 
than  that  of  death,  sufficiently  terrible  to  keep 
offenders  in  awe.     Transportation,  wliich  is  tho 


140 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


sentence  second  in  the  order  of  severity,  appears 
to  ine  to  answer  the  purpose  of  example  very  im- 
perfectly :  not  only  because  exile  is  in  reality  a 
sli;;lit  punishment  to  those  who  have  neither 
property,  nor  friends,  nor  reputation,  nor  regular 
means  of  subsistence,  at  home ;  and  because  their 
situation  becomes  little  worse  by  their  crime,  than 
it  was  before  they  committed  it ;  but  because  the 
punishment,  whatever  it  be,  is  unobserved  and 
unknown.  A  transported  convict  may  suffer 
under  his  sentence,  but  his  sufferings  are  re- 
moved from  the  view  of  his  countrymen:  his 
misery  is  unseen ;  his  condition  strikes  no  terror 
into  the  minds  of  those  for  whose  warning  and 
admonition  it  was  intended.  This  chasm  in  the 
scale  of  punishment  produces  also  two  farther 
imperfections  in  the  ailministration  of  penal  jus- 
ti,-e; — the  first  is,  that  the  same  punishment  is 
extended  to  crimes  of  very  diiicrent  character 
and  malignancy:  the  second,  that  punishments 
separated  by  a  great  interval,  are  assigned  to 
crimes  hardly  distinguishable  in  their  guilt  and 
mischief 

The  end  of  punishment  is  two-fold; — amend- 
ment, and  example.  In  the  first  of  these,  the  re- 
furmatiun  of  criminals,  little  has  ever  been  ef- 
fected, and  little,  I  fear,  is  practicable.  From  every 
species  of  punishment  that  has  hitherto  been  de- 
vised, from  imprisonment  and  exile,  from  pain  and 
infamy,  malefactors  return  more  hardened  in  their 
crimes,  and  more  instructed.  If  there  be  any  thing 
that  shakes  the  soul  of  a  confirmed  villain,  it  is  the 
expectation  of  approaching  death.  The  horrors 
of  this  situation  may  cause  such  a  wrench  in  the 
mental  organs,  as  to  give  them  a  holding  turn : 
and  I  think  it  probable,  that  many  of  those  who 
are  executed,  would,  if  they  were  delivered  at  the 
point  of  death,  retain  such  a  remembrance  of  their 
sensations,  as  might  preserve  them,  unless  urged 
by  extreme  want,  from  relapsing  into  their  former 
crimes.  But  this  is  an  experiment  that,  from  its 
nature,  cannot  be  repeated  often. 

Of  the  reforming  punishments  which  have  not 
yet  been  tried,  none  promises  so  much  success  as 
that  of  solitary  imprisonment,  or  the  confinement 
of  criminals  in  separate  apartments.  This  im- 
provement augments  the  terror  of  the  punish- 
ment;  secludes  the  criminal  from  the  society  of 
his  fellow-prisoners,  in  which  society  the  worse 
are  sure  to  corrupt  the  better ;  weans  him  from 
the  knowledge  of  his  companions,  and  from  the 
love  of  that  turbulent,  precarious  life  in  which  his 
vices  had  engaged  him:  is  calculated  to  raise  up 
in  him  reflections  on  the  folly  of  his  choice,  and 
to  dispose  his  mind  to  such  hitter  and  continued 
penitence,  as  may  produce  a  lasting  alteration  in 
the  principles  of  his  conduct. 

As  aversion  to  labour  is  the  cause  from  which 
half  of  the  vices  of  low  life  deduce  their  origin  and 
continuance,  punishments  ought  to  be  contrived 
with  a  view  to  the  conquering  of  this  disposition. 
Two  opposite  expedients  have  been  recommended 
for  this  purpose;  the  one,  solitary  confinement 
with  hard  labour;  the  other,  solitary  confinement 
with  nothing  to  do.  Botb  expedients  seek  the 
same  end ; — to  reconcile  the  idle  to  a  life  of  in- 
dustry. The  former  hopes  to  effect  this  by  making 
labour  habitual ;  the  latter,  by  making  idleness  in- 
supportable :  and  the  preference  of  one  method  to 
the  other  depends  upon  the  question,  whether  a 
man  is  more  likely  to  betake  himself,  of  his  own 
accord,  to  work,  who  has  been  accustomed  to  em- 


ployment, or  who  has  been  distressed  by  the  want 
of  it.  AVhen  jails  are  once  provided  for  the  sepa- 
rate confinement  of  prisoners,  which  both  propo- 
sals require,  the  choice  between  them  may  soon 
be  determined  by  experience.  If  labour  be  exacted, 
I  would  leave  the  whole,  or  a  portion,  of  the  earn- 
ings to  the  prisoner's  use,  and  I  would  debar  hini 
from  any  other  provision  or  supply ;  that  his  sub- 
sistence, however  coarse  and  penurious,  may  he 
proportioned  to  his  diligence,  and  that  he  may 
taste  the  advantage  of  industry  together  with  the 
toil.  I  would  go  further ;  I  would  measure  the 
confinement,  not  by  the  duration  of  time,  but  by 
quantity  of  work,  in  order  both  to  excite  industry, 
and  to  render  it  more  voluntary.  But  the  prin- 
cipal difficulty  remains  still ;  namely,  how  to  dis- 
pose of  criminals  after  their  enlargement.  By  a 
rule  of  life,  which  is  perhaps  too  invariably  and 
indiscriminately  adhered  to,  no  one  will  receive  a 
man  or  woman  out  of  a  jail,  into  any  service  or 
employment  whatever.  This  is  the  common 
misfortune  of  public  punishment,  that  they  pre- 
clude the  offender  from  all  honest  means  of  future 
support.*  It  seems  incumbent  upon  the  state  to 
secure  a  maintenance  to  those  who  are  willing  to 
work  for  it ;  and  yet  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
divide  criminals  as  far  asunder  from  one  another 
as  possible.  Whether  male  prisoners  might  not, 
after  the  term  of  their  confinement  was  expired, 
be  distributed  in  the  country,  detained  within 
certain  limits,  and  employed  upon  the  public 
roads;  and  females  be  remitted  to  the  overseers 
of  country  parishes,  to  be  there  furnished  with 
dwellings,  and  with  the  materials  and  implements 
of  occupation; — whether  by  these,  or  by  what 
other  methods,  it  may  be  possible  to  effect  the 
two  purposes  of  employment  and  dispersion^ 
well  merits  the  attention  of  all  who  are  anxious 
to  perfect  the  internal  regulation  of  their  country. 

Torture  is  applied  either  to  obtain  confessions 
of  guilt,  or  to  exasperate  or  prolong  the  pains  of 
death.  No  bodily  punishment,  however  excru- 
ciating or  long-continued,  receives  the  name  of 
torture,  unless  it  be  designed  to  kill  the  criminal 
by  a  more  lingering  death  ;  or  to  extort  from  him 
the  discovery  of  some  secret,  which  is  supposed  to 
lie  concealed  in  his  breast.  The  question  by  tor- 
ture appears  to  be  equivocal  in  its  effects :  for 
since  extremity  of  pain,  and  not  any  conscious- 
ness of  remorse  in  the  mind,  produces  those  ef- 
fects: an  innocent  man  may  sink  under  the  tor- 
ment, as  well  as  he  who  is  guilty.  The  latter  has 
as  much  to  fear  from  yielding,  as  the  former.  The 
instant  and  almost  irresistible  desire  of  relief  may 
draw  from  one  sufferer  false  accusations  of  him- 
self or  others,  as  it  may  sometimes  extract  the 
truth  out  of  another.  This  ambiguity  renders  the 
use  of  torture,  as  a  means  of  procuring  information 
in  criminal  proceedings,  liable  to  the  risk  of  griev- 
ous and  irreparable  injustice.  For  which  reason, 
though  recommended  by  ancient  and  general 
example,  it  has  been  properly  exploded  from  (he 
mild  ami  cautious  system  of  penal  jurisprudence 
established  in  this  country. 

Barbarous  spectacles  of  human  agony  are  justly 
found  fault  with,  as  tending  to  harden  and  deprave 
the  public  feelings,  and  to  destroy  that  sympathy 


*  Unt  il  tliis  inconvenience  be  remedied,  small  offences 
i  had  perhaps  better  go  unpunished  :  I  do  not  mean  that 
j  the  law  should  exempt  them  from  punishment,  but  tliiil 
1  private  persons  should  be  tender  in  prosecuting  them 


OF  CRIMES  AND  PUNISHMENTS. 


Ill 


with  which  the  suflerings  of  our  fellow-creatures 
ought  always  to  be  seen:  or,  if  no  cfTect  of  this 
kind  follow  from  them,  they  counteract  in  some 
measure  their  own  design,  by  sinking  men's  ab- 
horrence of  the  crime  in  their  commiseration  of 
the  criminal.  But  if  a  mode  of  execution  could  be 
devised,  which  would  augment  the  horror  of  the 
punishment,  without  oflcnding  or  impairing  the 
public  sensibility  by  cruel  or  unseemly  exhibitions 
of  death,  it  might  add  something  to  the  efficacy 
of  the  example :  and,  by  being  reserved  for  a  few 
atrocious  crimes,  might  also  enlarge  the  scale  of 
punishment ;  an  addition  to  which  seems  want- 
ing; for,  as  the  matter  remains  at  present,  jou 
hang  a  malefactor  for  a  simple  robbery,  and  can 
do  no  more  to  the  villain  who  has  poisoned  his 
father.  Somewhat  of  the  sort  we  have  been 
describing,  was  the  proposal,  not  long  since  sug- 
gested, of  casting  murderers  into  a  den  of  wild 
beasts,  where  they  would  perish  in  a  manner 
dreadful  to  the  imagination,  yet  concealed  from 
the  view. 

Infamous  punishments  are  mismanaged  in 
this  country,  with  respect  both  to  the  crimes  and 
the  criminals.  In  the  first  place,  they  ought  to 
be  confined  to  offences  which  are  holden  in  un- 
disputed and  universal  detestation.  To  condemn 
to  the  pillory  the  author  or  editor  of  a  libel  against 
the  state,  who  has  rendered  himself  the  favourite 
of  a  party,  if  not  of  the  people,  by  the  very  act  for 
which  he  stands  there,  is  to  gratify  the  ofiender, 
and  to  expose  the  law  to  mockery  and  insult.  In 
the  second  place;  the  delinquents  who  receive 
this  sentence,  are  for  the  most  part  such  as  have 
long  ceased  either  to  value  reputation,  or  to  fear 
shame;  of  whose  happiness,  and  of  whose  en- 
joyments, character  makes  no  part.  Thus  the 
low  ministers  of  libertinism,  the  keepers  of  bawdy 
or  disorderly  houses,  are  threatened  in  ^'ain  with 
a  punishment  that  affects  a  sense  which  they  have 
not ;  that  applies  solely  to  the  imagination,  to  the 
virtue  and  the  pride  of  human  nature.  The  pil- 
lory, or  zny  other  infamous  distinction,  might  be 
employed  rightly,  and  with  effect,  in  the  punish- 
ment of  some  offences  of  higher  life ;  as  of  frauds 
and  peculation  in  office;  of  collusions  and  con- 
nivances, by  which  the  public  treasury  is  de- 
frauded ;  of  breaches  of  trust ;  of  perjury,  and 
subornation  of  perjury ;  of  the  clandestine  and 
forbidden  sale  of  places ;  of  flagrant  abuses  of 
authority,  or  neglect  of  duty ;  and  lastly,  of  cor- 
ruption in  the  exercise  of  confidential  or  judicial 
offices.  In  all  which,  the  more  elevated  was  the 
station  of  the  criminal,  the  more  signal  and  con- 
spicuous vv'ould  be  the  triumph  of  justice. 

The  certainty  of  punishment  is  of  more  con- 
sequence than  the  severity.  Criminals  do  not  so 
much  flatter  themselves  with  the  lenity  of  the 
sentence,  as  with  the  hope  of  escaping.  They 
are  not  so  apt  to  compare  what  they  gain  by  the 
crime  with  what  they  may  suffer  from  the  punish- 
ment, as  to  encourage  themselves  with  the  chance 
of  concealment  or  flight.  For  which  reason,  a 
vigilant  magistracy,  an  accurate  police,  a  proper 
distribution  of  force  and  intelligence,  together  with 
due  rewards  for  the  discovery  and  apprehension 
of  malefactors,  and  an  undeviating  impartiality  in 
carrying  the  laws  into  execution,  contribute  more 
to  the  restraint  and  suppression  of  crimes  than 
any  violent  exacerbations  of  punishment.  And, 
for  the  same  reason,  of  all  contrivances  directed 
to  this  end,  those  perhaps  are  most  effectual  which 


facilitate  the  conviction  of  criminals.  The  oflince 
of  counterfeiting  the  coin  could  not  be  checked 
b}-  all  the  terrors  and  the  utmost  severity  of  law, 
whilst  the  act  of  coining  was  necessary  to  be  es- 
tablished by  specific  proof  The  statute  which 
made  possession  of  the  implements  of  coining 
capital,  that  is,  which  constituted  that  possession 
complete  evidence  of  the  o(ii?nder's  guilt,  was  the 
first  thing  that  gave  force  and  efficacy  to  the  de- 
nunciations of  law  upon  this  subject.  The  statute 
of  James  the  First,  relative  to  the  murder  of  bas- 
tard children,  which  ordains  that  the  concealment 
of  the  birth  should  be  deemed  incontestable  proof 
of  the  charge,  though  a  harsh  law,  was,  in  like 
manner  with  the  former,  well  calculated  to  put  a 
stop  to  the  crime. 

It  is  upon  the  principle  of  this  observation,  that 
I  apprehend  much  harm  to  have  been  done  to  the 
communit}',  by  the  over-strained  scrupulousness, 
or  weak  timidity,  of  juries,  which  demands  often 
such  proof  of  a  prisoner's  guilt,  as  the  nature  and 
secrecy  of  his  crime  scarce  possibl}-  admit  of;  and 
which  holds  it  the  part  of  a  safe  conscience  not 
to  condenm  any  man,  whilst  there  exists  the 
minutest  possibility  of  his  innocence.  Any  story 
the)'  may  happen  to  have  heard  or  read,  whether 
real  or  feigned,  in  which  courts  of  justice  have 
been  misled  by  presumptions  of  guilt,  is  enough, 
in  their  minds,  to  found  an  acquittal  upon,  where 
positive  proof  is  wanting.  I  do  not  mean  that 
juries  should  indulge  conjectures,  should  magnify 
suspicions  into  proofs,  or  even  that  they  should 
weigh  probabilities  in  gold  scales:  but  when  the 
preponderation  of  evidence  is  so  manifest  as  to 
persuade  every  private  understanding  of  the  prison- 
er's guilt ;  when  it  furnishes  the  degree  of  credi- 
bility upon  which  men  dec'de  and  act  in  all  other 
doubts,  and  which  experience  hath  shown  that 
they  may  decide  and  act  upon  with  sufficient 
safety ;  to  reject  such  proof,  from  an  insinuation  of 
uncertainty  that  belongs  to  all  human  afiairs,  and 
from  a  general  dread  lest  the  charge  of  innocent 
blood  should  lie  at  their  doors,  is  a  conduct,  which, 
however  natural  to  a  mind  studious  of  its  own 
quiet,  is  authorised  by  no  considerations  of  recti- 
tude or  utility.  It  counteracts  the  care  and  damps 
the  activity  of  government ;  it  holds  out  public 
encouragement  to  villany,  by  confessing  the  im- 
possibility of  bringing  villains  to  justice;  and  that 
species  of  encouragement  which,  as  hath  been  just 
now  observed,  the  minds  of  such  men  are  most 
apt  to  entertain  and  dwell  upon. 

There  are  two  popular  maxims,  which  seem  to 
have  a  considerable  influence  in  producing  the 
injudicious  acquittals  of  which  we  complain.  One 
is  : — "  That  circumstantial  evidence  falls  short  of 
positive  proof"  This  assertion,  in  the  unquahfied 
sense  in  which  it  is  applied,  is  not  true.  A  con- 
currence of  well-authenticated  circumstances  com- 
pose a  stronger  ground  of  assurance  than  positive 
testimony,  unconfirmed  by  circumstances,  usually 
affords.  Circumstances  cannot  He.  The  conclu- 
sion also  which  results  from  them,  though  deduced 
by  only  probable  inference,  is  commonly  more  to 
be  relied  upon  than  the  veracity  of  an  unsupported 
solitary  witness.  The  danger  of  being  deceived 
is  less,  the  actual  instances  of  deception  are  fewer, 
in  the  one  case  than  the  other.  What  is  called 
positive  proof  in  criminal  matters,  as  where  a  man 
swears  to  the  person  of  the  prisoner,  and  that  he 
actually  saw  him  commit  the  crime  with  which  he 
is  charged,  may  be  founded  in  the  mistake  or  per- 


142 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


jury  of  a  single  witness. — Such  mistakes,  and 
such  perjuries,  are  not  without  many  exam]>les. 
Whereas,  to  impose  upon  a  court  of  justice  a 
chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  in  support  of  a 
fabricated  accusation,  requires  such  a  numlier  of 
false  witnesses  as  seldom  meet  together ;  an  union 
also  of  skill  and  wickedness  which  is  still  more 
rare;  and,  after  all,  this  species  of  proof  lies  much 
more  open  to  discussion,  and  is  more  likely,  if 
false,  to  be  contradicted,  or  to  betray  itself  by  some 
unforeseen  inconsistency,  tlian  that  direct  proof, 
which,  being  conlined  within  the  knowledge  of  a 
sint'le  person,  which,  appeahng  to,  or  standing 
connected  with,  no  external  or  collateral  circum- 
stances, is  incapable,  by  its  very  simplicity,  of 
being  confronted  with  opposite  probabilities. 

The  other  maxim,  which  deserves  a  similar 
examination,  is  this : — "  That  it  is  better  that  ten 
guilty  persons  escape,  than  that  one  innocent 
man  should  suffer."  If  by  saying  it  is  better,  be 
meant  that  it  is  more  for  the  public  advantage,  the 
proposition,  I  think,  cannot  be  maintained.  The 
security  of  civil  life,  which  is  essential  to  the  value 
and  the  enjoyment  of  every  blessing  it  contains, 
and  the  interruption  of  which  is  followed  by  uni- 
versal misery  and  confusion,  is  protected  chiefly 
by  the  dread  of  punishment.  The  misfortune  of 
an  individual  (for  such  may  the  suflerings,  or  even 
the  death,  of  an  innocent  person  be  called  when 
they  are  occasioned  by  no  evil  intention,)  cannot 
be  placed  in  competition  with  this  object.  I  do  not 
contend  that  the  life  or  safety  of  the  meanest  sub- 
ject ought,  in  any  case,  to  be  knowingly  sacrificed : 
no  principle  of  judicature,  no  end  of  punishment, 
can  ever  require  that. 

But  when  certain  rules  of  adjudication  must 
be  pursued,  when  certain  degrees  of  credibility 
must  be  accepted,  in  order  to  reach  the  crimes 
with  which  the  public  are  infested;  courts  of  jus- 
tice should  not  be  deterred  from  the  ajjplication 
of  these  rules  by  every  suspicion  of  danger,  or  by 
the  mere  possibility  of  confounding  the  innocent 
with  the  guilty. — They  ought  rather  to  reflect, 
that  he  who  falls  by  a  mistaken  sentence,  may  be 
considered  as  falling  for  his  country ;  whilst  he 
suffers  under  the  operation  of  those  rules,  by  the 
general  effect  and  tendency  of  which  the  welfare 
of  the  community  is  maintained  and  upholden. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Of  Religious  Establishments  and  of  Toleration. 

"  A  RELIGIOUS  establishment  is  no  part  of 
Christianity :  it  is  only  the  means  of  inculcating 
it."  Amongst  the  Jews,  the  rights  and  offices,  the 
order,  family,  and  succession  of  the  priesthood, 
were  marked  out  by  the  authority  which  declaretl 
the  law  itself.  These,  therefore,  were  parts  of 
the  Jewish  religion,  as  well  as  the  means  of  trans- 
mitting it.  Not  so  with  the  new  institution.  It 
cannot  be  proved  that  any  form  of  church-govern- 
ment was  laid  down  in  the  Christian,  as  it  had 
been  in  the  Jewish  Scriptures,  with  a  view  of 
fixing  a  constitution  for  succeeding  ages;  and 
which  constitution,  consequently,  the  disciples  of 
Christianity  would  every  where,  and  at  all  times, 
by  the  very  law  of  their  religion,  be  obliged  to 
adopt.  Certainly,  no  command  for  this  purpose 
was  delivered  by  Christ  himself;  and  if  it  be 
snown  that  the   apostles   ordained   bishops   and 


presbyters  amongst  their  first  converts,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  deacons  also  and  deaconesses 
were  appointed  by  them,  with  functions  very 
dissimilar  to  any  which  obtain  in  the  church  at 
present.  The  truth  seems  to  have  been,  that 
such  offices  were  at  first  erected  in  the  Chris- 
tian church,  as  the  good  order,  the  instruction, 
and  the  exigencies  of  the  society  at  that  time  re- 
quired, without  any  intention,  at  least  without 
any  declared  design,  of  regulating  the  apjjoint- 
ment,  authorit}',  or  the  distinction,  of  Chrisiian 
ministers  under  future  circumstances.  I'his  re- 
serve, if  we  may  so  call  it,  in  the  Christian  Legis- 
lator, is  sufficiently  accounted  for  by  two  consider- 
ations : — First,  that  no  precise  constitution  could 
be  framed,  which  would  suit  with  the  condition  of 
(Christianity  in  its  primitive  state,  and  with  that 
which  it  was  to  assume  when  it  should  be  advanced 
into  a  national  religion :  Secondly,  that  a  par- 
ticular designation  of  office  or  authority  amongst 
the  ministers  of  the  new  religion,  might  have  so 
interfi?red  with  the  arrangements  of  civil  policj',  as 
to  have  formed,  in  some  countries,  a  considerable 
obstacle  to  the  progress  and  reception  of  the  reli- 
gion itself 

The  authority  therefore  of  a  church-establish- 
ment is  founded  in  its  utility :  and  whenever, 
upon  this  principle,  we  deliberate  concerning  the 
form,  propriety,  or  comparative  excellency  <?  dif- 
erent  establishments,  the  single  view  under  which 
we  ought  to  consider  any  of  them  is,  that  of  "a 
scheme  of  instruction;"  the  single  end  we  ought 
to  propose  by  them  is,  "  the  preservation  and 
communication  of  religious  knowledge."  Every 
other  ide'3,  and  every  other  end,  that  have  been 
mixed  with  this,  as  the  making  of  the  church  an 
engine,  or  even  an  ally,  of  the  state ;  converting 
it  into  the  means  of  strengthening  or  difi'using  in- 
fluence ;  or  regarding  it  as  a  support  of  regal,  in 
opposition  to  popular  forms  of  government ;  have 
served  only  to  debase  the  institution,  and  to  intro- 
duce into  it  numerous  corruptions  and  abuses. 

The  notion  of  a  religious  establishment  com- 
prehends three  things  : — a  clergy,  or  an  order  of 
men  secluded  from  other  professions  to  attend 
upon  the  offices  of  reUgion  ;  a  legal  provision  for 
the  maintenance  of  the  clergy ;  and  the  confining 
of  that  provision  to  the  teachers  of  a  particular 
sect  of  Chri.stianity.  If  any  one  of  these  three 
things  be  wanting,  if  there  be  no  clergy  as  amongst 
the  (iuakers  ;  or  if  the  clergy  have  no  other  pro- 
vision than  what  they  derive  from  the  voluntary 
contribution  of  their  hearers ;  or  if  the  provision 
which  the  laws  assign  to  the  support  of  religion 
be  extended  to  various  sects  and  denominations  of 
Christians ;  there  exists  no  national  religion  or 
established  church,  according  to  the  sense  which 
these  terms  are  usually  made  to  convey.  He,  there- 
fore, who  would  defend  ecclesiastical  establish- 
ments, must  show  the  separate  utility  of  these 
three  essential  parts  of  their  constitution  : — 

1.  The  question  first  in  order  upon  the  subject, 
as  well  as  the  most  fundamental  in  its  importance, 
is,  whether  the  knowledge  and  profession  of  Chris- 
tianity can  be  maintained  in  a  country  without  a 
class  of  men  set  apart  by  public  authority  to  the 
study  and  teaching  of  religion,  and  to  the  conduct- 
ing of  public  worship  ;  and  for  these  purposes  se- 
cluded from  other  employments.  I  add  this  last 
circumstance,  because  in  it  consists,  as  I  take  it, 
the  substance  of  the  controversy.  Now  it  must 
be  remembered,  that  Christianity  is  an  historical 


OF  RELIGIOUS  ESTABLISHMENTS,  AND  OF  TOLERATION. 


143 


reli^inn,  founded  in  facts  which  are  related  to  have 
passed,  upon  discourses  which  were  hoklen,  and 
letters  which  were  written,  in  a  remote  age,  and 
distant  country  of  the  world,  as  well  as  under  a 
state  of  life  and  manners,  and  during  the  preva- 
lency  of  opinions,  customs,  and  institutions,  very 
unlike  any  which  are  found  amongst  mankind  at 
present.     Moreover,   this   religion,   having   been 
first  published  in  the  country  of  .Tudea,  and  being 
built  upon  the  more  ancient  religion  of  the  Jews, 
is  necessarily  and  intimately  connected  with  the 
sacred  writings,  with   the   history  and  polity  of 
that   singular  peojjle :   to  which  must  be  added, 
that  the  records  of  both  revelations  are  preserved 
in  languages  which  have  long  ceased  to  l)e  spo- 
ken in  any  part  of  the  world.     Books  which  come 
down  to  us  from  times  so  remote,  and  under  so 
many  causes  of  unavoidable  obscurity,  cannot,  it  is 
evident,  be  understood  without  study  and  prepa- 
ration.    The  languages  must   be  learned.     The 
various  writings  which   these   volumes    contain, 
must  be  carefully  compared  with  one  another,  and 
with  themselves.  What  remains  of  contemporary 
authors,  or  of  authors  connected  with  the  age,  the 
country,  or  the  subject  of  our  scriptures,  must  be 
perused  and  consulted,  in  order  to  interpret  doubt- 
fill  forms  of  speech,  and  to  explain  allusions  which 
refer  to  objects  or  usages  that  no  longer  exist. 
Above  all,  the  modes  of  expression,  the  habits  of 
reasoning  and  argumentation,  which  were  then 
in  use,  and  to  which  the  discourses  even  of  in- 
spired teachers  were  necessarily  adapted,  must  be 
suiliciently  known,  and   can  only  be  known  at 
all  by  a   due  acquaintance   with   ancient   litera- 
ture.   And  lastly,  to  establish  the  genuineness  and 
integrity  of  the  canonical  scriptures  themselves,  a 
series  of  testimony,  recognising  the  notoriety  and 
reception  of  these  books,  must  be  deduced  from 
times  near  to  those  of  their  first  publication,  down 
the  succession  of  ages  through  which  they  have 
been  transmitted  to  us.     The   qualifications  ne- 
cessary for  such  researches  demand,  it  is  confessed, 
a  degree  of  leisure,  and  a  kind  of  education,  in- 
consistent with  the  exercise  of  any  other  profes- 
sion.— But  how  few  are  there  amongst  the  clergy, 
from  whom  any  thing  of  this  sort  can  be  expected  ! 
how  small   a  proportion   of  their  number,  who 
seem  likely  either  to  augment  the  fund  of  sacred 
literature,  or  even  to  collect  what  is  already  known! 
— To  this   objection  it  may  be  replied,  that  we 
sow  many  seeds  to  raise  one  flower.     In  order  to 
produce  a  feic  capable  of  improving  and  continu- 
ing the  stock  of  Christian  erudition,  leisure  and 
opportunity  must  be  aflbrded  to  great  numbers. 
Original   knowledge  of  this  kind  can  never  be 
universal ;  but  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  and 
it  is  enough   that  there   be,  at  all  times,  found 
some  qualified  for  such  inquiries,  and  in  whose 
concurring   and   independent    conclusions   upon 
each  subject,  the  rest  of  the  Christian  community 
ma}'  safely  confide:  whereas,  without  an  order  of 
clergy  educated  for  the  purpose,  and  led  to  the 
prosecution   of  these   studies  by  the   habits,  the 
leisure,  and  the  object,  of  their  vocation,  it  may 
■well   be   questioned   whether  the   learning  itself 
would  not  have  been  lost,  by  which  the  records 
of  our  faith  are  interpreted  and  defended.     We 
contend,  therefore,  that  an  order  of  clergy  is  ne- 
cessary to  perpetuate  the  evidences  of  Revelation, 
and  to  interpret  the   obscurity  of  those   ancient 
writings,  in  which  the  religion  is  contained.     But 
besides  this,  which  forms,  no  doubt,  one  design  of 


their  institution,  the  more  ordinary  offices  of  pub- 
lic teaching,  and  of  conducting  public  worship, 
call  for  qualifications  not  usually  to  be  met  with 
aiiudst  the  enijiloymcnts  of  civil  life.  It  has  been 
acknowledged  by  some,  who  cannot  be  suspected 
of  making  unnecessary  concessions  in  favour  of 
estabUshments,  "to  be  barely  possible,  that  a 
jK-rson  who  was  never  educated  for  the  office 
should  acquit  liimself  with  deccncj-  as  a  public 
teacher  of  religion."  And  that  surely  must  be 
a  very  defective  policy  which  trusts  to  possibilities 
for  success,  when  provision  is  to  be  made  for  regu- 
lar and  general  instruction.  Little  objection  to 
this  argument  can  be  drawn  from  the  example  of 
the  Gluakers,  who,  it  may  be  said,  furnish  an  ex- 
perimental ])roof  that  the  worship  and  profession 
of  Christianity  may  be  upholden  without  a  sepa- 
rate clergy.  These  sectaries  every  where  subsist 
in  conjunction  with  a  regular  establishment.  They 
have  access  to  the  writings,  they  profit  by  the 
labours,  of  the  clergy,  in  connnon  with  other  Chris- 
tians. They  participate  in  that  general  diflusion 
of  religious  knowledge,  which  the  constant  teach- 
ing of  a  more  regular  ministry  keeps  up  in  the 
country  :  with  such  aids,  and  under  such  circum- 
stances, the  defects  of  a  plan  ihay  not  be  much 
felt,  although  the  plan  itself  be  altogether  unfit  for 
general  imitation. 

2.  If  then  an  order  of  clergy  be  necessary,  if  it 
be  necessary  also  to  seclude  them  from  the  em- 
ployments and  profits  of  other  professions,  it  is 
evident  they  ought  to  be  enabled  to  derive  a  main- 
tenance from  their  own.  Now  this  maintenance 
must  either  depend  upon  the  voluntary  contribu- 
tions of  their  hearers,  or  arise  from  revenues  as- 
signed by  authority  of  law.  To  the  scheme  of 
voluntary  contribution  there  exists  this  insur- 
mountable objection,  that  few  would  ultimately 
contribute  any  thing  at  all.  However  the  zeal  of 
a  sect,  or  the  novelty  of  a  change,  might  support 
such  an  experiment  for  a  while,  no  reliance  could 
lie  placed  upon  it  as  a  general  and  permanent  pro- 
vision. It  is  at  all  times  a  bad  constitution,  wiiich 
presents  temptations  of  interest  in  opposition  to 
the  duties  of  religion ;  or  which  makes  the  offices 
of  religion  expensive  to  those  who  attend  upon 
them ;  or  which  allows  pretences  of  conscience  to 
be  an  excuse  for  not  sharing  in  a  public  burthen. 
If,  by  declining  to  frequent  religious  assemblies, 
men  could  save  their  money,  at  the  same  time  that 
they  indulged  their  indolence,  and  their  disinclina- 
tion to  exercises  of  seriousness  and  reflection ;  or, 
if  by  dissenting  from  the  national  religion,  they 
could  be  excused  from  contributing  to  the  support 
of  the  ministers  of  religion ;  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
many  would  take  advantage  of  the  option  which 
was  thus  imprudently  left  open  to  them,  and  that 
this  liberty  might  finally  operate  to  the  decay  of 
virtue,  and  an  irrecoverable  forgetfulness  of  all  re- 
ligion in  the  country.  Is  there  not  too  much 
reason  to  fear,  that,  if  it  were  referred  to  the  dis- 
cretion of  each  neighbourhood,  whether  they  would 
maintain  amongst  them  a  teacher  of  religion  or 
not,  many  districts  would  remain  unprovided  with 
any ;  that,  with  the  difficulties  which  encumber 
every  measure  requiring  the  co-operation  of  num- 
bers, and  where  each  individual  of  the  number  hay 
an  interest  secretly  pleading  against  the  success  of 
the  measure  itself,  associations  for  the  support  of 
Christian  worship  and  instruction  would  neither 
be  nuinerous  nor  long  continued^  The  devout 
and  pious  might  lament  in  vain  the  want  or  the 


144 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


distance  of  a  religious  assembly ;  they  could  not 
form  or  maintain  one,  without  the  concurrence 
of  neighbours  who  felt  neither  their  zeal  nor  their 
liberality. 

From  the  difficulty  with  which  congregations 
would  be  established  and  upheld  upon  the  volun- 
tary plan,  let  us  carry  our  thoughts  to  the  condi- 
tion of  those  who  are  to  officiate  in  them.  Preacli- 
inor,  in  time,  would  become  a  mode  of  begging. 
With  what  sincerity,  or  with  what  dignity,  can  a 
preacher  dispense  the  truths  of  Christianity,  whose 
thoughts  are  perpetually  solicited  to  the  reflection 
how  he  may  increase  his  subscription"?  His  elo- 
quence, if  he  possesses  any,  resembles  rather  the 
exhibition  of  a  player  who  is  computing  the  profits 
of  his  theatre,  than  the  simi^licity  of  a  man  who, 
feeling  himself  the  awful  expectations  of  religion, 
is  seeking  to  bring  others  to  such  a  sense  and  un- 
derstanding of  their  duty  as  may  save  their  souls. 
Moreover,  a  little  experience  of  the  disposition 
of  the  connnon  people  will  in  every  country  inform 
us,  that  it  is  one  thing  to  edify  them  in  Christian 
knowledge,  and  anotlier  to  gratify  their  taste  for 
vehement,  im{)assioncd  oratory ;  that  he,  not  only 
whose  success,  but  whose  subsistence,  depends 
upon  collecting  and  pleasing  a  crowd,  must  resort 
to  other  arts  than  the  acquirement  and  conununi- 
cation  of  sober  and  profitable  instruction.  For  a 
preacher  to  be  thus  at  the  mercy  of  his  audience  ; 
to  be  obliged  to  adapt  his  doctrines  to  the  pleasure 
of  a  capricious  multitude ;  to  be  continually  afFect- 
ing  a  style  and  manner  neither  natural  to  him, 
nor  agreeable  to  his  judgment ;  to  live  in  constant 
bondage  to  tyrannical  and  insolent  directors ;  are 
circumstances  so  mortifying,  not  only  to  the  pride 
of  the  human  heart,  but  to  the  virtuous  love  of  in- 
dependency, that  they  are  rarely  submitted  to 
without  a  sacrifice  of  principle,  and  a  deprivation 
of  character  ; — at  least  it  may  be  pronounced,  that 
a  ministry  so  degraded  would  fall  into  the  lowest 
hands :  for  it  would  be  found  impossible  to  engage 
men  of  worth  and  ability  in  so  precarious  and 
humiliating  a  profession. 

If,  in  deference  then  to  these  reasons,  it  be 
admitted,  that  a  legal  provision  for  the  clergy,  com- 
pulsory upon  those  who  contribute  to  it,  is  expe- 
dient ;  the  next  question  will  be,  whether  this  pro- 
vision should  be  confined  to  one  sect  of  Christianity, 
or  extended  indiflcrently  to  all1  Now  it  should  be 
observed,  that  this  question  never  can  ofler  itself 
where  the  people  are  agreed  in  their  rehgious 
opinions  ;  and  that  it  never  ought  to  arise,  where 
a  system  may  be  framed  of  doctrines  and  worship 
wide  enough  to  comprehend  their  disagreement ; 
and  which  znight  satisfy  all,  by  uniting  all  in  the 
articles  of  their  common  faith,  and  in  a  mode  of 
divine  worship  that  omits  every  subject  of  contro- 
versy or  offence.  Where  such  a  comprehension 
is  practicable,  the  comprehending  religion  ought 
to  be  made  that  of  the  state.  But  if  this  be  de- 
spaired of ;  if  religious  opinions  exist,  not  only  so 
various,  but  so  contradictory,  as  to  render  it  im- 
possible to  reconcile  them  to  each  other,  or  to  any 
one  confession  of  faith,  rule  of  discipline,  or  form 
of  worship;  if,  consequently,  separate  congrega- 
tions and  different  sects  must  unavoidably  con- 
tinue in  the  country  :  under  such  circumstances, 
whether  the  laws  ought  to  establish  one  sect  in 
preference  to  the  rest,  that  is,  whether  they  ought 
to  confer  the  provision  assigned  to  the  mainte- 
nance of  religion  upon  the  teachers  of  one  system 
of  doctrines  alone,  becomes  a  question  of  neces- 


sary discussion  and  of  great  importance.  AnJ 
whatever  we  may  determine  concerning  specula- 
tive rights  and  abstract  proprieties,  when  we  set 
about  the  framing  of  an  ecclesiastical  constitution 
adapted  to  real  lite,  and  to  the  actual  state  of  reli- 
gion in  the  country,  we  shall  find  this  question 
very  nearly  related  to  and  principally  indeed  de- 
pendent upon  another ;  namely,  "In  what  Way,  or 
by  whom,  ought  the  ministers  of  religion  to  be 
appo  inlcd?"  If  the  species  of  patronage  be  retain  - 
eii  to  which  we  are  accustomed  in  this  country, 
and  which  allows  private  individuals  to  nominate 
tcacliers  of  religion  for  districts  and  congregations 
to  which  they  are  absolute  strangers;  without 
some  test  proposed  to  the  persons  nominated,  the 
utmost  discordancy  of  religious  opinions  might 
arise  between  the  several  teachers  and  their  re- 
spective congregations.  A  popish  patron  might 
appoint  a  priest  to  say  mass  to  a  congregation  of 
protestants  ;  an  episcopal  clergyman  be  sent  to  of- 
ficiate in  a  parish  of  presbyterians ;  or  a  presby te- 
rian  divine  to  inveigh  against  the  errors  of  popery 
before  an  audience  of  papists.  The  requisition 
then  of  subscription,  or  any  other  test  by  which 
the  national  religion  is  guarded,  may  be  consider- 
ed merely  as  a  restriction  upon  the  exercise  of 
private  patronage.  The  laws  speak  to  the  private 
patron  thus : — "Of  those  whom  we  have  previously 
pronounced  to  be  fitly  qualified  to  teach  religion, 
we  allow  you  to  select  one ;  but  we  do  not  allow 
you  to  decide  what  religion  shall  be  established 
in  a  particular  district  of  the  country;  for  which 
decision  you  are  no  wise  fitted  by  any  quali- 
fications which,  as  a  private  patron,  you  may 
happen  to  possess.  If  it  be  necessary  that  the 
point  be  determined  for  the  inhabitants  by  any 
other  will  than  their  own,  it  is  surely  better  that 
it  should  be  determined  by  a  dehberate  resolu- 
tion of  the  legislature,  than  by  the  casual  inclina- 
tion of  an  individual,  by  whom  the  right  is  pur- 
chased, or  to  whom  it  devolves  as  a  mere  secular 
inheritance."  Wheresoever,  therefore,  this  consti- 
tution of  patrouiige  is  adopted,  a  national  religion, 
or  the  legal  preference  of  one  particular  religion 
to  all  others,  must  almost  necessarily  accompany  it. 
But,  secondly,  let  it  be  supposed  that  the  appoint- 
ment of  the  minister  of  religion  was  in  every  parish 
left  to  the  choice  of  the  parishioners  ;  might  not 
this  choice,  we  ask,  be  safely  exercised  without 
its  being  limited  to  the  teachers  of  any  particular 
secf?  The  eflect  of  such  a  liberty  must  be,  that  a 
papist,  or  a  presbyterian,  a  methodist,  a  Moravian, 
or  an  anabaptist,  would  successively  gain  posses- 
sion of  the  pulpit,  according  as  a  majority  of  the 
party  happened  at  each  election  to  prevail. — Now, 
with  what  violence  the  conflict  would  upon  every 
vacancy  be  renewed ;  what  bitter  animosities  would 
be  revived,  or  rather  be  constantly  fed  and  kept 
alive,  in  the  neighliourhood  ;  with  what  uncon- 
querable aversion  the  teacher  and  his  religion 
would  be  received  by  the  defeated  party,  may  be 
foreseen  by  those  who  reflect  with  how  much  pas- 
sion every  dispute  is  carried  on,  in  which  the 
name  of  religion  can  be  made  to  mix  itself;  much 
more  where  the  cause  itself  is  concerned  so  imme- 
diately as  it  would  be  in  this.  Or,  thirdly,  if  the 
state  appoint  the  ministers  of  religion,  this  consti- 
tution will  dilTer  little  from  the  estabhshment  of  a 
national  religion  ;  for  the  state  will,  undoubtedly, 
appoint  those,  and  those  alone,  whose  religious 
opinions,  or  rather  whose  religious  denominations, 
agree  with  its  own ;  unless  it  be  thought  that  any 


OF  RELIGIOUS  ESTABLISHMENTS,  AND  OF  TOLERATION. 


145 


thing  would  be  gained  to  religious  liberty  by  trans- 
ferring the  choice  of  the  national  religion  from  the 
legislature  of  the  country,  to  the  magistrate  who 
adiriinisters  the  executive  goverrnnent. — Tlie  only 
plan  which  seems  to  render  the  legal  maintenance 
of  a  clergy  practicable,  without  the  legal  prefer- 
ence of  one  sect  of  Christians  to  others,  is  that  of 
an  experiment  which  is  said  to  be  attempted  or 
designed  in  some  of  the  new  states  of  North 
America.  The  nature  of  the  plan  is  thus  describ- 
ed : — A  tax  is  levied  upon  the  inhabitants  for 
the  general  support  of  religion ;  the  collector  of 
the  taxes  goes  round  with  a  register  in  his  hand, 
in  which  are  inserted,  at  the  head  of  so  many  dis- 
tinct columns,  the  nam.es  of  the  several  religious 
sects  that  are  professed  in  the  country.  The  per- 
son who  is  called  upon  for  the  assessment,  as  soon 
as  he  has  paid  his  quota,  subscribes  his  name  and 
the  sum  in  which  of  the  columns  he  pleases ;  and 
the  amount  of  what  is  collected  in  each  column  is 

faid  over  to  the  minister  of  that  denomination. 
n  tills  scheme  it  is  not  left  to  the  option  of  the 
subjc't,  whether  he  will  contribute,  or  how  much 
he  shall  contribute,  to  the  maintenance  of  a  chris- 
tian ministry ;  it  is  only  referred  to  his  choice  to 
determine  by  what  sect  liis  contribution  shall 
be  received.  The  above  arrangement  is  undoubt- 
edly the  best  that  has  been  proposed  upon  this 
principle;  it  bears  the  appearance  of  liberality 
and  justice;  it  may  contain  some  solid  advan- 
tages; nevertheless,  it  labours  under  inconveni- 
ences which  will  be  found,  1  think,  upon  trial,  to 
overbalance  all  its  recommendations.  It  is  scarcely 
compatible  with  that  which  is  the  first  requisite  in 
an  ecclesiastical  establishment, — the  division  of 
the  country  into  parishes  of  a  commodious  extent. 
If  the  parishes  be  small,  and  ministers  of  every  de- 
nomination be  stationed  in  each,  (whicli  the  plan 
seems  to  suppose,)  the  expense  of  their  mainte- 
nance will  become  too  burthensome  a  charge  for 
the  country  to  support.  If,  to  reduce  the  exjjensc, 
the  districts  be  enlarged,  the  place  of  assembling 
will  oftentimes  be  too  far  removed  from  the  resi- 
dence of  the  persons  who  ought  to  resort  to  it. 
Again :  the  making  the  yiecuniary  success  of  the 
diiierent  teachers  of  religion  to  dejiend  on  the 
number  and  wealth  of  their  respective  followers, 
would  naturally  generate  strifes  and  indecent 
jealousies  amongst  them ;  as  well  as  produce  a 
polemical  and  proselyting  spirit,  founded  in  or 
mixed  with  Adews  of  private  gain,  which  would 
both  deprave  the  principles  of  the  clergy,  and 
distract  the  country  with  endless  contentions. 

The  argument,  then,  by  which  ecclesiastical 
establishments  are  defended,  proceeds  by  these 
steps  : — Tlie  knowledge  and  profession  of  Chris- 
tianity, cannot  be  upholden  without  a  clergy  :  a 
clergy  cannot  be  supported  without  a  legal  provi- 
sion ;  a  legal  provision  for  the  clergy,  cannot  be 
constituted  without  the  preference  of  one  sect  of 
Christians  to  the  rest :  and  the  conclusion  will  be 
conveniently  satisfactory  in  the  degree  in  which  the 
truth  of  these  several  propositions  can  be  made  out. 

If  it  be  deemed  expedient  to  establish  a  national 
religion,  that  is  to  say,  one  sect  in  preference  to  all 
others ;  some  test,  by  which  the  teachers  of  that 
sect  may  be  distinguished  from  the  teachers  of  dif- 
ferent sects,  appears  to  be  an  indispensable  conse- 
quence. The  existence  of  such  an  establishment 
supposes  it :  the  very  notion  of  a  national  religion 
includes  that  of  a  test.  I 

But  this  necessity,  which  is  real,  hath,  according  ! 


to  the  fashion  of  human  affairs,  furnished  to  almost 
every  church  a  pretence  for  extending,  multi{)lying, 
and  continuing,  such  tests  beyond  what  the  occa- 
sion justified.  For  though  some  purposes  of  order 
and  tranquillity  maybe  answered  by  theestabUsh- 
ment  of  creeds  and  confessions,  yet  they  are  at  all 
times  attended  with  serious  inconveniencies :  they 
check  inquiry ;  they  violate  liberty  ;  they  ensnare 
the  consciences  of  the  clergy,  by  holding  out  temp- 
tations to  prevarication  ;  however  they  may  express 
the  persuasion,  or  be  accommodated  to  the  contro- 
versies or  to  the  fears  of  the  age  in  which  they  are 
composed,  in  process  of  time,  and  by  reason  of  the 
changes  which  are  wont  to  take  place  in  the  judg- 
ment of  mankind  upon  religious  subjects,  they 
come  at  length  to  contradict  the  actual  opinions  of 
the  church,  whose  doctrines  they  profess  to  con- 
tain ;  and  they  often  perpetuate  the  proscription  of 
sects,  and  tenets,  from  which  any  danger  has  long 
ceased  to  be  apprehended. 

It  may  not  follow  from  these  objections,  that  tests 
and  subscriptions  ought  to  be  aboF'shed  :  but  it  fol- 
lows, that  they  ought  to  be  made  as  simple  and 
easy  as  possible ;  that  they  should  be  adapted,  from 
time  to  time,  to  the  varying  sentiments  and  cir- 
cumstances of  the  church  in  which  they  are  re- 
ceived ;  and  that  they  should  at  no  time  advance 
one  step  farther  than' some  subsisting  necessity  re- 
quires. If,  for  instance,  promises  of  conformity  to 
the  rites,  liturgy,  and  offices  of  the  church,  be  suf- 
ficient to  prevent  confusion  and  disorder  in  the 
celebration  of  divine  worship,  then  such  promises 
cught  to  be  accepted  in  the  place  of  stricter  sub- 
scriptions. If  articles  of  peace,  as  they  are  called, 
that  is,  engagements  not  to  preach  certain  doctrines, 
nor  to  revive  certain  controversies,  would  exclude 
indecent  altercations  amongst  the  national  clergy, 
as  well  as  secure  to  the  pubhc  teaching  of  religion, 
as  much  of  uniformity  and  quiet  as  is  necessary 
to  edification ;  then  confessions  of  faith  ought  to 
be  converted  info  articles  of  peace.  In  a  word,  it 
ought  to  be  holden  a  sufficient  reason  for  relaxing 
the  terms  of  subscription,  or  for  dropping  any  or 
all  of  the  articles  to  he  subscribed,  that  no  -present 
necessity  requires  the  strictness  which  is  com- 
plained of,  or  that  it  should  be  extended  to  so  many 
points  of  doctrine. 

The  division  of  the  country  into  districts,  and 
the  stationing  in  each  district  a  teacher  of  religion, 
forms  the  substantial  part  of  every  church  estab- 
lishment. The  varieties  that  have  been  introduced 
into  the  government  and  discipline  of  different 
churches,  are  of  inferior  importance  when  com- 
pared with  this,  in  which  they  all  agree.  Of  these 
economical  questions,  none  seems  more  material 
than  that  which  has  been  long  agitated  in  the  re- 
formed churches  of  Christendom,  whether  a  parity 
amongst  the  clergy,  or  a  distinction  of  orders  in 
the  ministry,  be  more  conducive  to  the  general 
ends  of  the  institution.  In  favour  of  that  system 
which  the  laws  of  this  country  have  preferred,  we 
may  allege  the  following  reasons  : — that  it  secures 
tranquillity  and  subordination  amongst  the  clergy 
themselves ;  that  it  correspontis  with  the  gradations 
of  rank  in  civil  life,  and  provides  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  each  rank,  by  stationing  in  each  an  order 
of  clergy  of  their  own  class  and  quality ;  and,  lastly, 
that  the  same  fund  produces  more  effect,  both  ;u5 
an  allurement  to  men  of  talents  to  enter  into  the 
church,  and  as  a  stimulus  to  the  industry  of  those 
who  are  already  in  it,  when  distributed  into  prizes  of 
different  value,  than  when  divided  into  equal  shares. 
13 


146 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


After  the  state  has  once  estabhshcd  a  particular 
system  of  faith  as  a  national  religion,  a  question 
will  soon  occur,  concerning  the  treatment  and 
toleration  of  those  who  disseiit  from  it.  This 
question  is  properly  preceded  by  another,  concern- 
ing the  right  wiiich  the  civil  magistrate  possesses 
to  interfere  in  matters  of  religion  at  all :  for,  al- 
though this  right  be  acknowledged  whilst  he  is 
employed  solely  in  providing  means  of  public  in- 
struction, it  will  probably  be  disputed,  (indeed  it 
ever  ha.s  been,)  when  he  proceeds  to  intlict  penal- 
tics,  to  impose  restraints  or  incapacities,  on  the  ac- 
count of  religious  distinctions.  They  who  admit 
no  other  just  original  of  civil  goveriiment,  than 
what  is  founded  in  some  stipulation  witli  its  sub- 
jects, are  at  liberty  to  contend  that  the  concerns 
of  religion  were  excepted  out  of  the  social  com- 
pact; that,  in  an  affair  which  can  only  be  trans- 
acted between  God  and  a  man's  own  conscience, 
no  commission  or  authority  was  ever  delegated  to 
the  civil  magistrate,  or  could  indeed  be  transferred 
from  the  person  himself  to  any  other.  We,  how- 
ever, who  have  rejected  this  theory,  because  we 
cannot  discover  any  actual  contract  between  the 
state  and  the  people,  and  because  we  cannot  allow 
any  arbitrary  fiction  to  be  made  the  foundation  of 
real  rights  and  of  real  obligations,  find  ourselves 
precluded  from  this  distinction.  The  reasoning 
which  deduces  the  authority  of  civil  government 
from  the  will  of  God,  and  which  collects  that  will 
from  public  expediency  alone,  binds  us  to  the  un- 
reserved conclusion,  that  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
magistrate  is  limited  by  no  consideration  but  that 
of  general  utility :  in  plainer  terms,  that  whatever 
be  the  subject  to  be  regulated,  it  is  lawful  for  him 
to  interfere  whenever  his  inteference,  in  its  gene- 
ral tendency,  appears  to  be  conducive  to  the  com- 
mon interest.  There  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of 
religion,  as  such,  which  exempts  it  from  the  au- 
thority of  the  legislator,  when  the  safety  or  welfare 
of  the  community  requires  his  interposition.  It 
has  been  said,  indeed,  that  religion,  pertaining  to 
the  interests  of  a  life  to  come,  hes  beyond  the  pro- 
vince of  civil  government,  the  office  of  which  is 
confined  to  the  affairs  of  this  life.  But  in  reply 
to  this  objection,  it  may  be  observed,  that  when 
the  laws  interfere  even  in  religion,  they  interfere 
only  with  temporals;  their  eH(?cts  terminate,  their 
power  operates  only  upon  those  rights  and  in- 
terests, which  confessedly  belong  to  their  disposal. 
The  acts  of  the  legislature,  the  edicts  of  the  prince, 
the  sentence  of  the  judge,  cannot  affect  my  sal- 
vation: nor  do  they,  without  the  most  absurd 
arrogance,  pretend  to  any  such  power  :  but  they 
may  deprive  me  of  liberty,  of  proijerty,  and  even 
of  life  itself,  on  account  of  my  religion ;  and  how- 
ever I  may  complain  of  the  injustice  of  the  sen- 
tence by  which  I  am  condemned,  I  cannot  allege, 
that  tlie  magistrate  has  transgressed  the  boundaries 
of  his  jurisdiction;  because  the  property,  the  lib- 
erty, and  the  life  of  the  subject,  7/iay  be  taken 
away  by  the  authority  of  the  laws,  for  any  reason 
which,  in  the  judgment  of  the  legislature,  renders 
such  a  measure  necessary  to  the  common  welfare. 
Moreover,  as  the  precepts  of  religion  may  regulate 
all  the  offices  of  life,  or  may  be  so  construed  as  to 
extend  to  all,  the  exemption  of  religion  from  the 
control  of  human  laws  might  afliird  a  plea,  which 
would  exclude  civil  government  from  every  autho- 
rity over  the  conduct  of  its  subjects.  Religious 
liberty  is,  like  civil  liberty,  not  an  immunity  from 
restraint,  but  the  Iwing  restrained  by  no  law.  but 


what  in  a  greater  degree  conduces  to  the  publi 
welfare . 

Still  it  is  right  "  to  obey  God  rather  than  man.' 
Nothing  that  we  have  said  encroaches  upon  the 
truth  of  this  sacred  and  undisputed  maxim :  the 
right  of  the  magistrate  to  ordain,  and  the  obliga- 
tion of  the  subject  to  obey,  in  matters  of  religion, 
may  be  very  different;  and  will  be  so,  as  often  as 
they  flow  from  op|>osite  apprehensions  of  the  Di- 
vine will.  In  afiinrs  that  are  properly  of  a  civil  na- 
ture, in  "  the  things  that  are  Ctesar's,"  this  differ- 
ence seldom  happens.  The  law  authori;;es  the 
act  which  it  enjoins ;  Revelation  being  either  silent 
upon  the  subject,  or  referring  to  the  laws  of'  the 
country,  or  requiring  only  that  men  act  by  some 
ffxed  rule,  and  that  this  rule  be  established  by 
competent  authority.  But  when  human  laws  in- 
terpose their  direction  in  matters  of  religion,  by 
dictating,  for  example,  the  object  or  the  mode  of 
divine  worship ;  by  prohibiting  the  profession  of 
some  articles  of  faith,  and  by  exacting  that  of  others, 
they  are  liable  to  clasli  with  what  private  persons 
believe  to  be  already  settled  by  prece])ts  of  Reve- 
lation ;  or  to  contradict  what  God  himself,  they 
think,  hath  declared  to  be  true.  In  this  case,  on 
whichever  side  the  mistake  lies,  or  whatever  plea 
the  state  may  allege  to  justify  its  edict,  the  sub- 
ject can  have  none  to  excuse  his  compliance.  The 
same  consideration  also  points  out  the  distinction, 
as  to  the  authority  of  the  state,  between  temporals 
and  spirituals.  The  magistrate  is  not  to  be  obeyed 
in  temporals  more  than  spirituals,  where  a  repug- 
nancy is  perceived  between  his  connnands  and 
any  credited  manifestations  of  the  Divine  will ; 
but  such  repugnancies  are  umch  less  likely  to  arise 
in  one  case  than  the  other. 

When  we  grant  that  it  is  lawful  for  the  ma- 
gistrate to  interfere  in  religion  as  often  as  his  in- 
terference appears  to  him  to  conduce,  in  its  general 
tendency,  to  the  public  hajjpiness ;  it  may  be  argued, 
from  tins  concession,  that  since  salvation  is  the 
highest  interest  of  mankind,  and  since,  consequent- 
ly, to  advance  that,  is  to  promote  the  public  hap- 
piness in  the  best  way,  and  in  the  greatest  degree, 
in  which  it  can  be  promoted,  it  follows,  that  it  is 
not  only  the  right,  but  the  duty,  of  every  magis- 
trate invested  with  supreme  power,  to  enforce  uj>on 
his  subjects  the  reception  of  that  religion  which  he 
deems  most  acceptable  to  God ;  and  to  enforce  it 
by  such  methods  as  may  appear  most  effectual  for 
the  end  proposed.  A  popish  king,  for  example, 
who  should  believe  that  salvation  is  not  attainable 
out  of  the  precincts  of  the  Romish  church,  would 
derive  a  right  from  our  principles  (not  to  say  that 
he  would  be  bound  by  them)  to  employ  the  [lOwer 
with  which  the  constitution  intrusted  him,  and 
which  power,  in  absolute  monarehies,  commands 
thelivesandfbrtunesof  every  subject  of  the  cmjiire, 
in  reducing  his  people  within  that  communion.  We 
confess  that  this  consequence  is  inferred  from  the 
principles  we  have  laid  down  concerning  the  foun- 
dation of  civil  authority,  not  without  the  resem- 
blance of  a  regular  deduction  :  we  confess  also  that 
it  is  a  conclusion  which  it  behoves  us  to  dispose  of; 
because,  if  it  really  follow  from  our  theory  of  go- 
vernment, the  theory  itself  ought  to  be  given  up. 
Now  it  will  be  remembered,  that  the  terms  of  our 
proposition  are  these ; — "  That  it  is  lawful  for  the 
magistrate  to  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  religion, 
whenever  his  interference  appears  to  him  to  con- 
duce, by  its  general  tendency,  to  the  public  hap- 
piness."    The  clause  of"  general  tendency,"  when 


OF  RELIGIOUS  ESTABLISHMENTS,  AND  OF  TOLERATION. 


147 


this  rule  comes  to  be  applied,  will  be  found  a  very 
signilieant  part  of  the  direction.  It  obliges  the  ma- 
gistrate to  reflect,  not  only  whether  the  religion 
which  he  wishes  to  propagate  amongst  his  sub- 
jects, be  that  which  will  best  secure  their  eternal 
welfare ;  not  only,  whether  the  methods  he  employs 
lie  likely  to  effectuate  the  establishment  ol'  that 
religion ;  but  also  ujjon  this  farther  question : 
Whether  the  kind  of  interference  which  he  is 
about  to  exercise,  if  it  were  adopted  as  a  common 
maxim  amongst  states  and  princes,  or  received  as 
a  general  rule  for  the  conduct  of  government  in 
matters  of  relitrion,  would,  upon  the  whole,  and  in 
the  mass  of  instances  in  which  his  example  might 
be  imitated,  conduce  to  the  furtherance  of  human 
salvation.  If  the  magistrate,  for  example,  should 
think  that,  although  the  application  of  his  power 
might,  in  the  instance  concerning  which  lie  de- 
liberates, advance  the  true  religion,  and  together 
with  it,  the  happiness  of  his  people,  yet  that  the 
same  engine,  in  other  hands,  who  might  assume 
the  right  to  use  it  with  the  like  pretensions  of  rea- 
son and  authority  that  he  himself  alleges,  would 
more  frequently  shut  out  truth,  and  olistruct  the 
means  of  salvation ;  he  would  be  bound  by  this 
opinion,  still  admitting  public  utility  to  be  the  su- 
preme rule  of  his  conduct,  to  refrain  from  expe- 
dients, which,  whatever  particular  effects  he  may 
expect  from  them,  are,  in  their  general  operation, 
dangerous  or  hurtful.  If  there  be  any  difficulty 
in  the  subject,  it  arises  from  that  which  is  the 
cause  of  every  difficulty  in  morals; — the  competi- 
tion of  particular  and  general  consequences ;  or, 
what  is  the  same  thing,  the  sulimission  of  one  ge- 
neral rule  to  another  rule  which  is  still  more 
general. 

Bearing  then  in  mind,  that  it  is  the  general 
tendency  of  the  measure,  or,  in  other  words,  the 
effects  which  would  arise  from  the  measure  be- 
ing generalhj  adoyjted,  that  fixes  upon  it  the  cha- 


By  a  man  who  acts  with  a  view  to  a  future  judg- 
ment, the  authority  of  a  religion  is  the  first  thing 
inquired  after  ;  a  religion  which  wants  authority, 
with  him  wants  every  thing.  Since  then  this  au- 
thority appertains,  not  to  the  religion  which  is 
most  commodious, — to  the  religion  which  is  most 
sul)lime  and  efficacious.— to  the  religion  which  soils 
best  with  the  iiirm,  or  seems  most  calculated  to 
uphold  the  power  and  stability,  of  civil  govern- 
ment,— but  only  to  that  religion  which  comes  from 
God;  we  are  justified  in  pronouncing  ihetrue 
religion,  by  its  very  truth,  and  independently  of 
all  considerations  of  tendencies,  aptness,  or  any 
other  internal  qualities  whatever,  to  be  universal!}- 
the  best. 

From  the  first  proposition  follows  this  inference, 
that  when  the  state  enables  its  subjects  to  learn 
some  form  of  Christianity,  by  distributing  teach- 
ers of  a  religious  system  throughout  the  country, 
and  by  providing  for  the  maintenance  of  these 
teachers  at  the  public  expense  ;  that  is,  in  fewer 
terms,  when  the  laws  es<a6/(vs/i  a  national  religion, 
they  exercise  a  power  and  an  interference,  wl;ich 
are  likely,  in  their  general  tendency,  to  promote 
the  interest  of  mankind  ;  for,  even  supposing  tlie 
species  of  Christianity  which  the  laws  patronise 
to  be  erroneous  and  corrupt,  yet  when  the  option 
lies  between  tliis  religion  and  no  religion  at  all, 
(which  would  be  the  consequence  of  leaving  the 
people  without  any  public  means  of  instruction, 
or  any  regular  celebration  of  the  offices  of  Chris- 
tianity.) our  proposition  teaches  us  that  the  former 
alternative  is  constantly  to  be  preferred. 

But  after  the  right  of  the  magistrate  to  establish 
a  particular  relision  has  been,  upon  this  principal, 
admitted;  a  doubt  sometimes  presents  itself  whe- 
ther the  religion  which  he  ought  to  esUiblish,  be 
that  which  he  himself  professes,  or  that  which  he 
observes  to  jirevail  amongst  the  majority  of  the 
people.     Now  when  we  consider  this  question 


racter  of  rectitude  or  injustice;    we   proceed  to    with  a  view  to  the  formation  of  a  general  rule 


inquire  what  is  the  degree  and  the  sort  of  inter- 
ference of  secular  laws  in  matters  of  religion, 
which  are  likely  to  be  beneficial  to  the  public 
happiness.  There  are  two  maxims  which  will 
in  a  great  measure  regulate  our  conclusions  upon 
this  head.  The  first  is,  that  any  form  of  Chris- 
tianity is  better  than  no  religion  at  all :  the  second, 
that,  of  diierent  systems  of  faith,  that  is  the  best 
which  is  the  truest.  The  first  of  these  positions 
will  hardly  be  disputed,  when  we  reflect  that 
everv  sect  and  modification  of  Christianity  holds 
out  the  happiness  and  misery  of  another  life,  as 
depending  chiefly  upon  the  practice  of  virtue  or 
of  vice  in  this  ;  and  that  the  distinctions  of  virtue 
and  vice  are  nearly  the  same  in  all.  A  person 
who  acts  under  the  impression  of  these  hopes  and 
fears,  though  combined  with  many  errors  and  su- 
perstitions, is  more  likely  to  advance  both  the 
public  happiness  and  his  own,  than  one  who  is 
destitute  of  all  expectation  of  future  account. 
The  latter  proposition  is  founded  in  the  consider- 
ation, that  the  principal  importance  of  religion 
consists  in  its  influence  upon  the  fete  and  condi- 
tion of  a  future  existence.  This  influence  be- 
longs only  to  that  religion  which  comes  from  God. 
A  political  religion  may  be  framed,  which  shall 
embrace  the  purposes,  and  describe  the  duties  of 
political  society  perfectly  well;  but  if  it  be  not  de- 
livered by  God,  what  assurance  does  it  afford, 
that  the  decisions  of  the  Divine  judgment  will 
have  any  regard  to  the  rules  which  it  contains  % 


upon  the  sulject,  (which  view  aloilc  can  furnish  a 
just  solution  of  the  doubt,)  it  must  be  assumed  to 
he  an  equal  chance  whether  of  the  two  religions 
contain  more  of  truth, — that  of  the  magistrate,  or 
that  of  the  people.  The  chance  then  that  is  left 
to  truth  being  equal  upon  both  suppositions,  the 
remaining  consideration  will  be,  from  which  ar- 
rangement more  efficacy  can  be  expected  ; — from 
an  order  of  men  appointed  to  teach  the  people  tin  ir 
own  religion,  or  to  convert  them  to  another  ]  In 
my  opinion,  the  advantage  lies  on  the  side  of  the 
former  scheme  ;  and  this  opinion,  if  it  be  assented 
to,  makes  it  the  duty  of  the  magistrate,  in  the 
choice  of  the  religion  which  he  establishes,  to 
consult  the  faith  of  the  nation,  rather  than  his  own. 
The  case  also  of  dissenters  must  be  deteriiiincd 
by  the  principles  just  now  stated.  Toleration  is 
of  two  kinds  ; — the  allowing  to  dissenters  the  un- 
molested profession  and  exercise  of  their  religion, 
but  with  an  exclusion  from  offices  of  trust  and 
emolument  in  the  state;  which  is  a  partial  tole- 
ration :  and  the  admitting  them,  without  distinc- 
tion, to  all  the  civil  privileges  and  capacities  of 
other  citizens ;  which  is  a  complete  toleration. 
The  expediencv  of  toleration,  and  consequently  the 
right  of  every  citi/.en  to  demand  it,  as  feras  relates 
to  liberty  of  conscience,  and  the  claim  of  being  pro- 
tected in  the  free  and  safe  profession  of  his  reli- 
gion, is  deducible  from  the  second  of  those  proposi- 
tions which  we  have  delivered  as  the  grounds  ot 
our  conclusions  upon  the  subject.     Tliat  proposi- 


148 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


tion  asserts  truth,  and  truth  in  the  abstract  to  be 
the  supreme  perfection  of  e^ery  religion.  The 
advancement,  consequently,  and  discovery  of  truth, 
is  that  end  to  which  all  regulations  concerning  re- 
ligion ought  principally  to  be  adapted.  Now,  every 
species  of  intolerance  which  enjoins  suj)pression 
and  silence,  and  every  species  of  persecution  which 
enforces  such  injunctions,  is  adverse  to  the  progress 
of  truth ;  forasnmch  as  it  causes  that  to  be  fixed  by 
one  set  of  men,  at  one  time,  which  is  much  better 
and  with  much  more  probability  of  success,  left  to 
the  independent  and  progressive  inquiry  of  sepa- 
rate individuals.  Truth  results  from  discussion 
and  controversy,  and  is  investigated  by  the  labours 
and  researches  of  private  persons.  Whatever, 
therefore,  prohibits  those,  obstructs  that  industry 
and  that  liberty,  which  it  is  the  common  intei-est 
of  mankind  to  promote.  In  religion,  as  in  other 
subjects,  truth,  if  left  to  itself,  will  almo.st  always 
obtain  the  ascendency.  If  different  religions  be 
professed  in  the  same  country,  and  the  minds  of 
men  remain  unfettered  and  unawod  by  intimida- 
tions of  law,  that  religion  which  is  founded  in 
maxims  of  reason  and  crediljility,  will  gradually 
gain  over  the  other  to  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  men 
will  formally  renounce  their  ancient  religion,  hut 
that  they  will  adopt  into  it  the  more  rational  doc- 
trines, the  improvements  and  discoveries  of  the 
neighbouring  sect;  by  which  means  the  worse 
religion,  without  the  ceremony  of  a  reformation, 
will  insensibly  assimilate  itself  to  the  better.  If 
poper}'^,  for  instance,  and  protestantisjn,  were  per- 
mitted to  dwell  quietly  together,  papists  might  not 
become  protestants  (for  the  name  is  commonly  the 
last  thing  that  is  changed,*)  but  they  would  be- 
come more  enlightened  and  informed ;  they  would 
by  little  and  little  incorporate  into  their  creed  many 
of  the  tenets  of  protestantism,  as  well  as  imbibe  a 
portion  of  its  spirit  and  moderation. 

The  justice  and  expetliency  of  toleration  we 
found  primarily  in  its  conduciveness  to  truth,  and 
in  the  superior  value  of  truth  to  that  of  any  other 
quality  which  a  religion  can  possess:  this  is  the 
principal  argument ;  but  there  are  some  auxiliary 
considerations,  too  important  to  be  omitted.  The 
confining  of  the  subject  to  the  religion  of  the  state, 
is  a  needless  violation  of  natural  liberty,  and  is  an 
instance  in  which  constraint  is  always  grievous. 
Persecution  produces  no  sincere  conviction,  nor 
any  real  change  of  opiuion ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
vitiates  the  public  morals,  by  driving  men  to  pre- 
varication ;  and  commonly  ends  in  a  general  though 
secret  infidelity,  by  imposing,  under  the  name  of 
revealed  religion,  systems  of  doctrine  which  men 
cannot  believe,  and  dare  not  examine :  finally,  it 
disgraces  the  character,  and  wounds  the  reputa- 
tion of  Christianity  itself,  by  making  it  the  author 
of  oppression,  cruelty,  and  liloodshcd. 

Under  the  idea  of  religious  toleration,  I  in- 
cfude  the  toleration  of  all  books  of  serious  ar- 
gumenbition :  but  I  deem  it  no  infringement  of 
religious  liberty,  to  restrain  the  circulation  of  ridi- 
cule, invective,  and  mockery,  upon  religious  sub- 
jects; because  this  species  of  writing  applies 
solely  to  the  passions,  weakens  the  judgment,  and 
contaminates  the  imagination,  of  its  readers ;  has 
no  tendency  whatever  to  assist  either  the  investi- 


*  Would  we  let  the  name  stand,  we  niisht  often  at- 
tract men,  witlioul  their  perceiving  it,  much  nearer  to 
ourselves,  than,  if  ihey  did  perceive  it,  they  would  be 
willing  to  come. 


gation  or  the  impression  of  truth  :  on  the  contrary, 
whilst  it  stays  not  to  distinguish  between  the  au- 
thority of  different  religions,  it  destroys  alike  the 
influence  of  all. 

Concerning  the  admission  of  dissenters  from 
the  established  religion  to  offices  and  employments 
in  the  public  service,  (which  is  necessary,  to  ren 
der  toleration  complete,')  doubts  have  been  enter- 
tained, with  some  appearance  of  reason.  It  is 
possible  that  such  religious  opinions  ma}^  be  hold- 
en,  as  are  utterly  incompatible  with  the  necessary 
functions  of  civil  government ;  and  which  opinions 
consequently  disqualify  those  who  maintain  them 
from  exercising  any  share  in  its  administration. 
There  have  been  enthusiasts  who  held  that  Chris- 
tianity has  abolished  all  distinction  of  property, 
and  that  she  enjoins  upon  her  followers  a  com- 
munity of  goods.  With  what  tolerable  propriety 
could  one  of  this  sect  be  appointed  a  judge  or  a 
magistrate,  whose  office  it  is  to  decide  upon  ques- 
tions of  private  right,  and  to  protect  men  in  the 
exclusive  enjoyment  of  their  property  ]  It  would 
be  equally  absurd  to  intrust  a  military  command 
to  a  Gluaker,  who  believes  it  to  be  contrary  to  the 
Gospel  to  take  up  arms.  This  is  possible ;  there- 
fore it  cannot  be  laid  down  as  an  universal  truth, 
that  religion  is  not,  in  its  nature,  a  cause  which 
will  justify  exclusion  from  public  employments. 
When  we  examine,  however,  the  sects  of  Chris- 
tianity which  actually  prevail  in  the  world,  we 
must  confess  that,  with  the  single  exception 
of  refusing  to  bear  arms,  we  find  no  tenet  in  any 
of  tliem  which  incapacitates  men  for  the  service 
of  the  state.  It  has  indeed  been  asserted,  that 
discordancy  of  religions,  even  supposing  each 
religion  to  be  free  from  any  errors  that  affect  the 
safety  or  the  conduct  of  government,  is  enough  to 
render  men  unfit  to  act  together,  in  public  stations. 
But  upon  what  argument,  or  upon  what  expe- 
rience, is  this  assertion  founded  %  I  perceive  no 
reason  why  men  of  difTerent  religious  persuasions 
may  not  sit  upon  the  same  bench,  dehberate  in 
the  same  council,  or  fight  in  the  sime  ranks,  as 
well  as  men  of  \  arious  or  opposite  opinions  upon 
any  controverted  topic  of  natural  pliilosophy,  his- 
tory, or  ethics. 

There  are  two  cases  in  which  test-laws  are 
wont  to  be  applied,  and  in  which,  if  in  any,  they 
may  be  defended.  One  is,  where  two*or  more  re- 
ligions are  contending  for  establishment;  and 
where  there  appears  no  way  of  putting  an  end  to 
the  contest,  but  by  giving  to  one  religion  such  a 
decided  superiority  in  the  legislature  and  govern- 
ment of  the  country,  as  to  secure  it  against  dan- 
ger from  any  other.  I  own  that  J  should  assent 
to  this  precaution  with  many  scruples.  If  the  dis- 
senters from  the  estalilishment  become  a  majority 
of  the  people;  the  establishment  itself  ought  to  be 
altered  or  qualified.  ]f  there  exists  amongst  tJie 
different  sects  of  the  country  such  a  parity  of 
numbers,  interest,  and  power,  as  to  render  the 
preference  of  one  sect  to  the  rest,  and  the  choice 
of  that  sect,  a  matter  of  hazardous  success,  and  of 
doubtful  election,  some  plan  similar  to  that  which 
is  meditated  in  North  America,  and  which  we 
have  described  in  a  preceding  part  of  the  present 
chapter,  though  encumbered  with  great  difficulties, 
may  perha])s  suit  better  with  this  divided  state  of 
public  opinion,  than  any  constitution  of  a  national 
church  whatever.  In  all  other  situations,  the  es- 
tablishment will  be  strong  enough  to  maintain  it- 
self   However,  if  a  test  be  applicable  with  justice 


OF  POPULATION  AND  PROVISION. 


149 


upon  this  principle  at  all.  it  ought  to  be  applied 
in  regal  governments,  to  the  chief  magistrate  him- 
self, whose  power  might  otherwise  overthrow  or 
change  tlie  established  religion  of  the  country,  in 
opposition  to  the  will  and  sentiments  of  the  people. 

The  second  case  of  exlcusion.  and  in  which,  I 
think,  the  measure  is  more  easily  vindicated,  is 
that  of  a  country  in  which  some  disaffection  to  the 
subsisting  government  happens  to  be  connected 
with  certain  religious  distinctions.  The  state  un- 
doubtedly has  a  right  to  refuse  its  power  and  its 
confidence  to  those  who  seek  its  destruction. 
^Vhercfore,  if  the  generality  of  any  religious  sect 
entertain  dispositions  hostile  to  the  constitution, 
and  if  government  have  no  other  way  of  knowing 
its  enemies  than  by  the  religion  which  they  pro- 
fess, the  professors  of  that  religion  may  justl}'  be 
excluded  from  ofh-'es  of  trust  and  authority.  But 
even  here  it  should  be  observed,  that  it  is  not 
against  the  religion  that  government  shuts  its 
doors,  but  against  those  political  principles,  which, 
however  independent  they  may  be  of  any  article 
of  religious  faith,  the  members  of  that  communion 
are  found  in  fact  to  hold.  Nor  would  the  legisla- 
tor make  religious  tenets  the  test  of  men's  mcli- 
nitions  towards  the  state,  if  he  could  discover  any 
other  that  was  equally  certain  and  notorious. 
Thus,  if  the  members  of  the  Romish  church,  for 
the  most  part  adhere  to  the  interests,  or  maintain 
the  right,  of  a  foreign  pretender  to  the  crown  of 
these  kingdoms  ;  and  if  there  be  no  way  of  dis- 
tinguishing those  who  do  from  those  who  do  not 
retain  such  dangerous  prejudices;  government  is 
well  warranted  in  fencing  out  the  whole  sect  from 
situations  of  trust  and  power.  But  even  in  this 
example,  it  is  not  to  popery  that  the  laws  object, 
but  to  popery  as  the  markof  jacobitism ;  an  equivo- 
cal indeed  and  tallacious  mark,  but  the  best  and  per- 
haps the  only  one,  that  can  be  devised.  But  then 
it  should  be  remembered,  that  as  the  connexion 
between  popery  and  jacobitism,  which  is  the  sole 
cause  of  suspicion  and  the  sole  ju.stification  of 
those  severe  and  jealous  laws  which  have  been 
enacted  against  tlie  professors  of  that  religion, 
was  accidental  in  its  origin,  so  probably  it  will  be 
temporary  in  its  duration;  and  that  these  restric- 
tions ought  not  to  continue  one  day  longer  than 
some  ^■isible  danger  renders  them  necessary  to  the 
pre.'^ervation  of  public  tranquillity. 

After  all,  it  may  be  asked ;  Why  should  not 
the  legislator  direct  his  test  against  the  political 
principles  themselves  which  he  wishes  to  exclude, 
rather  than  encounter  them  through  the  medium 
of  religious  tenets,  the  only  crime  and  the  only 
danger  of  which  consist  in  their  presumed  al- 
liance with  the  former "?  Why,  for  example, 
should  a  man  be  required  to  renounce  transub- 
stantiation,  before  he  be  admitted  to  an  otfiee  in 
the  state,  when  it  might  seem  to  be  sufficient 
that  he  abjure  the  pretender  1  There  are  but  two 
answers  that  can  be  given  to  the  objection  which 
this  question  contains :  first,  that  it  is  not  opinions 
which  the  laws  fear,  so  much  as  incHnations  ;  and. 
that  political  inclinations  are  not  so  easily  detected 
by  the  atlirmation  or  denial  of  any  abstract  pro- 
position in  politics,  as  by  the  discovery  of  the 
religious  creed  with  which  they  are  wont  to  be 
united : — secondly,  that  when  men  renounce  their 
religion,  they  commonly  quit  all  connexion  with 
the  members  of  the  church  which  they  have  left ; 
that  church  no  longer  expecting  assistance  or 
friendship  from  them:  whereas  particular  persons 


might  insinuate  themselves  into  offices  of  trust 
and  authority,  by  subscribing  political  assertions, 
and  yet  retain  their  predilection  for  the  interests 
of  the  religious  sect  to  which  they  continued  to 
belong.  B}-  which  means,  government  would 
sometimes  find,  though  it  could  not  accuse  the 
individual,  whom  it  had  received  into  its  service, 
of  disaffection  to  the  civil  estabhshment,  yet  that, 
through  him,  it  had  communicated  the  aid  and 
influence  of  a  powerful  .station  to  a  party  who 
were  hostile  to  the  constitution.  These  answers, 
however,  we  propose  rather  than  defend.  The 
measure  certainly  cannot  be  defended  at  all,  ex- 
cept where  the  suspected  union  between  certain 
obnoxious  principles  in  politics,  and  certain  tenets 
in  religion,  is  nearly  universal;  in  which  case,  it 
makes  little  difference  to  the  subscriber,  whether 
the  test  be  religious  or  political;  and  the  state 
is  somewhat  better  secured  by  the  one  than  the 
other. 

The  result  of  our  examination  of  those  general 
tendencies,  b}'  which  every  interference  of  civU 
government  in  matters  of  religion  ought  to  be  tried, 
is  this :  "  That  a  comprehensive  national  religion, 
guarded  by  a  few  articles  of  peace  and  conformity, 
together  with  a  legal  provision  for  the  clergy  of 
that  religion;  and  with  a  comp/e/e  toleration  of  all 
dissenters  from  the  established  church,  without 
any  other  limitation  or  exception,  than  what  arises 
from  the  conjunction  of  dangerous  political  dispo- 
sitions with  certain  rehgious  tenets  ;  appears  to  be, 
not  only  the  most  just  and  liberal,  but  the  wisest 
and  safest  system,  which  a  state  can  adopt :  in- 
asmuch as  it  unites  the  several  perfections  which 
a  religious  constitution  ought  to  aim  at : — liberty 
of  conscience,  with  means  of  instruction ;  the 
progress  of  truth,  with  the  peace  of  society ;  the 
right  of  private  judgment,  with  the  care  of  the 
pubhc  safety." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Of  Pcrpxdation  and  Provision  ;  and  of  Agricul- 
ture and  Commerce,  as  subservient  thereto. 

The  final  view  of  all  rational  politics  is,  to  pro- 
duce the  greatest  quantity  of  happiness  in  a  given 
tract  of  country.  The  riches,  strength,  and  glory 
of  nations ;  the  topics  which  history  celebrates, 
and  which  alone  almost  engage  the  praises  and 
possess  the  admiration  of  mankind  ;  have  no  value 
farther  than  as  they  contribute  to  this  end.  When 
they  interfere  with  it,  they  are  evils,  and  not  the 
less  real  for  the  splendour  that  surrounds  them. 

Secondly :  Although  we  speak  of  communities 
as  of  sentient  beings;  although  we  ascribe  to 
them  happiness  and  misery,  desires,  interests, 
and  passions;  nothing  really  exists  or  feels  but 
individuals.  The  happiness  of  a  people  is  made 
up  of  the  happiness  of  single  persons ;  and  the 
quantity  of  happiness  can  only  be  augmejited  by 
increasing  the  numl)er  of  the  percipients,  or  the 
pleasure  of  their  perceptions. 

Thirdly :  Notwithstanding  that  diversity  of 
condition,  especially  different  degrees  of  plenty, 
freedom,  and  security,  greatly  vary  the  quantitj 
of  happiness  enjoyed  by  the  same  number  of 
individuals ;  and  notwithstanding  that  extreme 
cases  may  be  found,  of  human  beings  so  galled 
by  the  rigours  of  slavery,  that  the  increase  of 
numbers  is  only  the  amplification  of  misery  ;  yet, 
within  certain  limits,  and  within  those  liniitji 
13* 


150 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


do  which  civil  life  is  diversifii-d  under  the  tem- 
perate governments  that  obtain  in  Europe,  it  may 
be  affirmed,  1  think,  with  certainty,  that  the  quan- 
tity of  happiness  produced  in  any  given  district, 
so'/ar  depends  upon  the  number  of  inhabitants, 
that,  in  comparing  adjoining  periods  in  the  same 
country,  the  collective  happiness  will  be  nearly 
in  the  exact  proportion  of  the  numbers ;  that  is, 
twice  the  number  of  inhabitants  will  produce 
double  the  quantity  of  happiness:  in  distant  pe- 
riods, and  dilierent  countries,  under  great  changes 
or  great  dissimilitude  of  civil  condition,  although 
the  proportion  of  enjoyment  may  fall  much  short 
of  the  numbers,  yet  still  any  considerable  excess 
of  nmnliers  will  usually  carry  with  it  a  prepon- 
deration  of  happiness ;  that,  at  least,  it  may  and 
oucht  to  be  assumed,  in  all  political  deliberations, 
that  a  larger  portion  of  hajipiness  is  enjoyed 
amongst  ten  persons,  possessing  the  means  of 
healthy  subsistence,  than  can  be  produced  by 
Jire  persons,  under  every  advantage  of  power, 
aHiuence,  and  luxury. 

l*'rom  these  principles  it  follows,  that  the  quan- 
tity of  happiness  in  a  given  district,  although  it  is 
possible  it  may  be  increased,  the  number  of  in- 
habitants remaining  the  same,  is  chiefly  and  most 
naturally  affected  by  alteration  of  the  numbers : 
that,  consequently,  the  decay  of  population  is  the 
greatest  evil  that  a  state  can  suller ;  and  the  im- 
provement of  it,  the  object  which  ought,  in  all 
countries,  to  be  aimed  at,  in  preference  to  every 
other  political  purpose  whatsoever. 

The  importance  of  population,  and  the  supe- 
riority of  it  to  every  other  national  advantage, 
are  points  necessary  to  be  inculcated,  and  to  be 
understood  ;  inasmuch  as  false  estimates,  or  fan- 
tastic notions,  of  national  grandeur,  are  per- 
petually drawing  the  attention  of  statesmen  and 
legislators  from  the  care  of  this,  which  is,  at  all 
times,  the  true  and  absolute  interest  of  a  country: 
for  which  reason,  we  have  stated  these  points 
with  unusual  formality.  We  will  confess,  how- 
ever, that  a  competition  can  seldom  arise  between 
tire  advancement  of  population  and  any  measure 
of  sober  utility ;  because,  in  the  ordinary  progress 
of  human  afiairs,  whatever,  in  any  way,  con- 
tributes to  make  a  people  happier,  tends  to  render 
them  more  numerous. 

In  the  fecundity  of  the  human,  as  of  every 
other  species  of  animals,  nature  has  provided  for 
an  indefinite  multiplication.  Mankind  have  in- 
creased to  their  present  number  from  a  single 
pair  ;  the  oflspring  of  early  marriages,  in  the  or- 
dinary course  of  procreation,  do  more  than  replace 
the  parents:  in  countries,  and  under  circum- 
stances very  favourable  to  subsistence,  the  popu- 
lation has  been  doubled  in  the  space  of  twenty 
years;  the  havoc  occasioned  by  wars,  earthquakes, 
famine,  or  pestilence,  is  usually  repaired  in  a  short 
time. — These  indications  sufficiently  demonstrate 
the  tendency  of  nature,  in  the  human  species,  to 
a  continual  increase  of  its  numbers.  It  becomes, 
then'fore,  a  question  that  may  reasonably  be  pro- 
pounded, what  are  the  causes  which  confine  or 
check  the  natural  progress  of  this  multiplication? 
And  the  answer  which  first  presents  itself  to  the 
thoughts  of  the  inquirer  is,  that  the  population  of 
a  country  must  stop  when  the  country  can  main- 
tain no  more ;  that  is,  when  the  inhabitants  are 
already  so  numerous  as  to  exhaust  all  the  pro- 
vision which  the  soil  can  be  made  to  produce. 
This,  however,  though  an  insuperable  bar,  will 


seldom  he  found  to  be  that  which  actually  checks 
the  progress  of  population  in  any  country  of  the 
world ;  because  the  number  of  the  people  have 
seldom,  in  any/country,  arrived  at  this  limit,  or 
even  approached  to  it.  The  fertility  of  the  ground, 
in  temperate  regions,  is  capable  of  being  improved 
by  cultivation  to  an  extent  which  is  unknown ; 
much,  however,  be^'ond  the  state  of  improvement 
in  any  country  in  Europe.  In  our  own,  which 
holds  almost  the  first  place  in  the  knowledge  and 
encouragement  of  agriculture,  let  it  only  be  sup- 
posed that  ever3'  field  in  England,  of  the  same 
original  (luality  with  those  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  metropolis,  and  consequently  capable  of  the 
same  fertility,  were,  by  a  like  management,  made 
to  yield  an  equal  produce;  and  it  may  be  asserted, 
I  believe  with  truth,  that  the  quantity  of  human 
provision  raised  in  the  island  would  be  increased 
five-fold.  The  two  principles,  therefore,  upon 
which  population  seems  primarily  to  depend,  the 
fecundity  of  the  species,  and  the  capacity  of  the 
soil,  would  in  most,  perhaps  in  all  countries, 
enable  it  to  proceed  much  farther  than  it  has  j'et 
advanced.  The  number  of  marriageable  women, 
who,  in  each  country,  remain  unmarried,  aflbrd  a 
computation  how  much  the  agency  of  nature  in 
the  difl'usion  of  human  life  is  cramped  and  con- 
tracted;  and  the  quantity  of  waste,  neglected,  or 
mismanaged  surfiice, — together  with  a  comparison, 
like  the  preceding,  of  the  crops  raised  from  the  soil 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  populous  cities,  and  un- 
der a  perfect  state  of  cultivat'on,  with  those  which 
lands  of  equal  or  superior  quality  yield  in  dif}(?rent 
situations, — vvill  show  in  what  proportion  the  in- 
digenous productions  of  the  earth  are  capable  of 
being  farther  augmented. 

The  fundamental  proposition  upon  the  subject 
of  populatiun,  which  must  guide  every  endeavour 
to  improve  it,  and  from  which  every  conclusion 
concerning  it  may  be  deduced,  is  this:  "  Wherever 
the  commerce  between  the  sexes  is  regulated  by 
marriage,  and  a  provision  for  that  mode  of  sub- 
sistence, to  which  each  class  of  the  community  is 
accustomed,  can  be  procured  with  ease  and  cer- 
tainty, there  the  number  of  the  people  will  in- 
crease ;  and  the  rapidity,  as  well  as  the  extent,  of 
the  increase,  will  be  proportioned  to  the  degree  in 
which  these  causes  exist." 

This  proposition  we  will  draw  out  into  the  se- 
veral principles  which  it  contains. 

I.  First,  the  proposition  asserts  the  "necessity 
of  confining  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  to  the 
marriage-union."  It  is  only  in  the  marriage-union 
that  this  intercourse  is  sufficiently  prolific.  Be- 
side which,  family  establishments  alone  are  fitted 
to  perpetuate  a  succession  of  generations.  The 
offspringof  a  vague  and  promiscuous  concubinage 
are  not  only  few,  and  liable  to  perish  by  neglect, 
hut  are  seldom  prei>ared  for,  or  introducetl  into 
situations  suited  to  the  raising  of  families  of  their 
own.  Hence  the  advantages  of  marriages.  Now 
nature,  in  the  constitution  of  the  sexes,  has  pro- 
vided a  stimulus  which  will  infallibly  secure  the 
frequency  of  marriages,  with  all  their  beneficial 
effects  upon  the  state  of  population,  provided  the 
male  part  of  the  species  be  prohibited  from  ir- 
regular gratifications.  This  impulse,  which  is  suf- 
ficient to  surmount  almost  every  impediment  to 
marriage,  will  operate  in  proportion  to  the  dif- 
ficulty, expense,  danger,  or  infamy,  the  sense  of 
guilt,  or  the  fear  of  punishment,  which  attend  li- 
centious indulgences.  Wherefore,  in  countries  in 


OF  POPULATION  AND  PROVISION. 


151 


which  subsistence  is  become  scarce,  it  behoves  the 
state  to  watch  over  the  pubhc  morals  with  in- 
creased solicitude;  for  nothing  but  the  instinct  of 
nature,  under  the  restraint  of  chastity,  will  induce 
men  to  undertake  the  labour,  or  consent  to  the  sa- 
crifice of  personal  hberty  and  indulgence,  which 
the  support  of  a  family,  in  such  circumstances, 
requires. 

II.  The  second  requisite  which  our  proposition 
states  as  necessary  to  the  success  of  population,  is, 
"  the  ease  and  certainty  with  which  a  provision 
can  be  procured  for  that  mode  of  subsistence  to 
which  each  class  of  the  community  is  accustomed." 
It  is  not  enough  that  men's  natural  wants  be 
supplied;  that  a  provision  adequate  to  the  real 
exigencies  of  human  life  be  attainable :  habitual 
superfluities  become  actual  wants;  opinion  and 
fiishion  convert  articles  of  ornament  and  luxury 
into  necessaries  of  life.  And  it  must  not  be  ex- 
pected from  men  in  general,  at  least  in  the  present 
relaxed  state  of  morals  and  discipline,  that  they 
will  enter  into  marriages  which  degrade  their  con- 
dition, reduce  their  mode  of  living,  deprive  them 
of  the  accommodations  to  which  they  have  been 
accustomed,  or  even  of  those  ornaments  or  ap- 
pendages of  rank  and  station  which  they  have 
been  taught  to  regard  as  belonging  to  their  birth, 
or  class,  or  profession,  or  place  in  society.  The 
same  consideration,  namely,  a  view  to  their  ac- 
customcd  mode  of  life,  which  is  so  apparent  in  the 
superior  order  of  the  people,  has  no  less  intiucnce 
upon  those  ranks  which  compose  the  mass  of  the 
community.  The  kind  and  quality  of  food  and 
liquor,  the  species  of  habitation,  furniture,  and 
clothing,  to  which  the  common  people  of  each 
country  are  habituated,  must  be  attainable  with 
ease  and  certainty,  before  marriages  will  be  suf- 
ficiently early  and  general  to  carry  the  progress 
of  population  to  its  just  extent.  It  is  in  vain  to 
allege,  that  a  more  simple  diet,  ruder  habitations, 
or  coarser  apparel,  would  be  sutBcient  for  the  pur- 
poses of  life  and  health,  or  even  of  physical  case 
and  pleasure.  Men  will  not  marry  with  this  en- 
couragement. For  instance :  when  the  common 
people  of  a  country  are  accustomed  to  eat  a  large 
proportion  of  animal  food,  to  drink  wine,  spirits, 
or  beer,  to  wear  shoes  and  stockings,  to  dwell  in 
stone  houses,  they  will  not  marr)-  to  live  in  clay 
cottages,  upon  roots  and  milk,  with  no  other 
clothing  than  skins,  or  what  is  necessary  to  de- 
fend the  trunk  of  the  body  from  the  effects  of 
cold  ;  although  these  last  may  be  all  that  the  sus- 
tentation  of  lifi?  and  health  requires,  or  that  even 
contribute  much  to  animal  comfort  and  enjoy- 
ment 

The  ease,  then,  and  certainty,  with  which  the 
means  can  be  procured,  not  barely  of  sulisistence, 
but  of  that  mode  of  subsisting  which  custom  hath 
in  each  country  established,  form  the  point  upon 
which  the  state  and  progress  of  population  chiefiy 
dej'cnd.  Now,  there  are  three  causes  which  evi- 
dently regulate  this  point:  the  mode  itself  of  sub- 
sisting which  prevails  in  the  country;  the  quan- 
tity of  provision  suited  to  that  mode  of  subsistence, 
which  is  either  raised  in  the  country  or  imported 
into  it ;  and,  lastly,  the  distribution  of  that  provision. 

These  three  causes  merit  distinct  consideration. 

I.  The  mode  of  living  which  actually  obtains  in 
a  country.  In  China,  where  the  inhabitants  fre- 
quent the  sea  shore,  or  the  banks  of  large  rivers, 
and  subsist  in  a  great  measure  upon  fish,  the 
[Mipulution  is  described  to  be  excessive.    This  pe-  | 


culiarity  arises,  not  probably  from  any  civil  advan- 
tages, any  care  or  policy-,  any  particular  consti- 
tution or  superior  wisdom  of  government ;  but 
simply  from  hence,  that  the  species  of  food  to 
which  custom  hath  reconciled  the  desires  and  in- 
clinations of  the  inhabitants,  is  that  which,  of  all 
others,  is  procured  in  the  greatest  abundance, 
with  the  most  ease,  and  stands  in  need  of  the 
least  preparation.  The  natives  of  IndostuU  being 
confined,  by  the  laws  of  their  religion,  to  the  use 
of  vegetable  food,  and  requiring  little  except  rice, 
which  the  country  produces  in  plentiful  crops ; 
and  food,  in  warm  climates,  composing  the  only 
want  of  life ;  these  countries  are  populous,  under 
all  the  injuries  of  a  despotic,  and  the  agitations 
of  an  unsettled  government.  If  any  revolution, 
or  what  would  be  called  perhaps  refinement  of 
manners,  should  generate  in  these  people  a  taste 
for  the  flesh  of  animals,  similar  to  what  prevails 
amongst  the  Arabian  hordes;  should  introduce 
flocks  and  herds  into  grounds  which  are  now  co- 
vered with  corn ;  should  teach  them  to  account  a 
certain  portion  of  tliis  species  of  food  amongst  the 
necessaries  of  life ;  the  population,  from  this  sin- 
gle change,  would  suffer  in  a  few  years  a  great 
diminution:  and  this  diminution  would  fiillow,  in 
spite  of  every  effort  of  the  laws,  or  even  of  any 
improvement  that  might  take  place  in  their  civil 
condition.  In  Ireland,  the  simplicity  of  living 
alone,  maintains  a  considerable  degree  of  popula- 
tion, under  great  defects  of  police,  industry,  and 
commerce. 

Under  this  head,  and  from  a  view  of  these  con- 
siderations, may  be  understood  the  true  evil  and 
proper  danger  oi  luxury. 

Luxury,  as  it  supplies  employment  and  pro- 
motes industry,  assists  population.  But,  then 
there  is  another  consequence  attending  it,  which 
counteracts  and  often  overbalances  these  advan- 
tages. When,  by  introducing  more  superfluities 
into  general  reception,  luxury  has  rendered  the 
usual  accommodations  of  life  more  expensive,  ar- 
tificial, and  elaborate,  the  difficulty  of  maintaining 
a  family  conformably  with  the  established  mode 
of  living,  becomes  greater,  and  what  each  man 
has  to  spare  from  his  personal  consumption  pro- 
portionably  less :  the  effect  of  which  is,  that  mar- 
riages grow  less  frequent,  agreeably  to  the  maxim 
above  laid  down,  and  which  must  be  remembered 
as  the  foundation  of  all  our  reasoning  upon  the 
subject,  that  men  will  not  marry  tj  sink  their 
place  or  condition  in  society,  or  to  forego  those 
indulgences  which  their  own  habits,  or  what  they 
observe  amongst  their  equals,  have  rendered  ne- 
cessary to  their  satisfaction.  This  principle  is  ap- 
plicable to  every  article  of  diet  and  dress,  to  houses, 
furniture,  attendance;  and  this  effect  will  be  felt 
in  every  class  of  the  community.  For  instance : 
the  custom  of  wearing  broad-cloth  and  fine  linen, 
repays  the  shepherd  and  flax-grower,  feeds  tire 
manufacturer,  enriches  the  merchant,  gives  not 
only  support  but  existence  to  multitudes  of  fami- 
lies :  hitherto,  therefore,  the  effects  are  beneficial ; 
and  were  these  the  only  eflbcts,  such  elegancies, 
or,  if  you  please  to  call  them  so,  such  luxuries, 
could  not  be  too  universal.  But  here  follows  the 
mischief:  when  once  fashion  hath  annexed  the 
use  of  these  articles  of  dress  to  any  certain  class, 
the  middling  ranks,  for  example,  of  the  com- 
munity, each  individual  of  that  rank  finds  them 
to  be  necessaries  of  life,  that  is,  finds  himself 
obliged  to  comply  with  the  example  of  his  equals, 


152 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


and  to  maintain  t!iat  appearance  wliich  the  cus- 
tom of  society  requires.  This  obligation  creates 
such  a  demand  upon  his  income,  and  adds  so 
mucli  to  the  cost  and  burden  of  a  family,  as  to 
put  it  out  of  liis  power  to  marry,  with  the  pros- 
jiect  of  continuing  his  habits,  or  of  maintaining 
his  place  and  situation  in  tlie  world.  We  see,  in 
this  description,  the  cause  whicli  induces  men  to 
waste  their  hves  in  a  barren  cehbacy ;  and  this 
cause,  which  impairs  the  very  source  of  popula- 
tion, is  justly  placed  to  the  account  of  luxury. 

It  apjjears,  then,  tliat  luxury,  considered  with 
a  view  to  population,  acts  by  two  opposite  effects  ; 
and  it  seems  probable  that  there  exists  a  point  in 
the  scale,  to  which  luxury  may  ascend,  or  to  which 
the  wants  of  mankind  may  be  multiphed  with  ad- 
vantage to  the  conununity,  and  beyond  which  the 
pi'e judicial  consequences  begin  to  preponderate. 
The  determination  of  this  point,  though  it  as- 
sume the  form  of  an  arithmetical  problem,  depends 
upon  circumstances  too  numerous,  intricate,  and 
undefined,  to  admit  of  a  precise  solution.  How- 
ever, from  what  has  been  observed  concerning 
the  tendency  of  luxury  to  diminish  marriages, 
in  which  tendency  the  evil  of  it  resides,  the  fol- 
lowing general  conclusions  may  be  established : — 

1st,  That,  of  different  kinds  of  luxury,  those 
are  the  most  innocent  which  aflbrd  employment 
to  the  greatest  number  of  artists  and  manufac- 
turers ;  or  those,  in  other  words,  in  which  the 
price  of  the  work  bears  the  greatest  proportion  to 
that  of  the  raw  material. — Thus,  luxury  in  dress 
or  furniture,  is  universally  preferable  to  luxury  in 
eating,  because  the  articles  which  constitute  the 
one,  are  more  the  production  of  human  art  and 
indnstrj',  than  those  which  supply  the  other. 

2dly,  That  it  is  the  diffusion,  rather  than  the 
degree  of  luxury,  which  is  to  be  dreaded  as  a  na- 
tional evil.  The  mischief  of  luxury  consists,  as 
we  have  seen,  in  the  obstruction  which  it  forms 
to  marriage.  Now  it  is  only  a  small  part  of  the 
people  that  the  higher  ranks  in  any  country  com- 
pose ;  for  which  reason,  the  facility  or  the  difficulty 
of  supporting  the  expense  of  tkeir  station,  and  the 
consequent  increase  or  diminution  of  marriages 
among  them,  will  influence  the  state  of  popula- 
tion but  little.  So  long  as  the  prevalency  of  luxury 
is  confined  to  a  few  of  elevated  rank,  much  of  the 
benefit  is  felt,  and  little  of  the  inconveniency. 
But  when  the  imitation  of  the  same  manner  de- 
scends, as  it  always  will  do,  into  the  mass  of  the 
people ;  when  it  advances  the  requisites  of  living, 
beyond  what  it  adds  to  men's  abilities  to  purchase 
them ;  then  it  is  that  luxury  checks  the  formation 
of  families,  in  a  degree  that  ought  to  alarm  the 
public  fears. 

3dly,  That  the  condition  most  favourable  to 
population  is  that  of  a  laborious,  frugal  people, 
ministering  to  the  demands  of  an  opulent ,  luxurious 
nation ;  because  this  situation,  whilst  it  leaves 
them  every  advantage  of  luxury,  exempts  them 
from  the  evils  which  naturally  accompany  its  ad- 
mission into  any  country. 

II.  Next  to  the  mode  of  li\'ing,  we  are  to  con- 
sider "the  quantity  of  provision  suited  to  that 
mode,  which  is  either  raised  in  the  country,  or 
imported  into  it:"  for  this  is  the  order  in  which 
we  assigned  the  causes  of  population,  and  under- 
took to  treat  of  them.  Now,  if  we  measure  the 
quantity  of  provision  by  the  number  of  human 
bodies  it  will  sui)port  in  due  health  and  vigour, 
this  quantity,  the  extent  and  quality  of  the  soil 


from  which  it  is  raised  being  given,  will  dcpcna 
greatly  upon  the  kind.  For  instance  :  a  piece  of 
ground  cajjable  of  supplying  animal  food  suf 
ficient  for  the  subsistence  of  ten  persons,  would 
sustain,  at  least,  the  dou!)!e  of  that  number  with 
grain,  roots,  and  milk.  The  first  resource  of  savage 
life  is  in  the  Hcsh  of  wild  animals ;  hence  the  num- 
bers amongst  savage  nations,  compared  with  the 
tract  of  country  which  they  occupy,  are  univer- 
sally small ;  because  this  species  of  provision  is, 
of  all  others,  supplied  in  the  slenderest  proportion. 
The  next  step  was  the  invention  of  pasturage,  or 
the  rearing  of  flocks  and  herds  of  tame  aninjals : 
this  alteration  added  to  the  stock  of  provision 
much.  But  the  lust  and  principal  imjirovenii'nt 
was  to  follow;  namely,  tillage,  or  the  artificial 
production  of  corn,  esculent  plants,  and  roots. 
This  discovery,  whilst  it  changed  the  quality  of 
human  food,  augmented  the  quantity  in  a  vast 
proportion.  So  far  as  the  state  of  population  is 
governed  and  hmited  by  the  quantity  of  provision, 
perhaps  there  is  no  single  cause  that  affects  it  so 
powerfully,  as  the  kind  and  quality  of  food  which 
chance  or  usage  hath  introduced  into  a  country. 
In  England,  notwithstanding  the  produce  of  the 
soil  has  been,  of  late,  considerably  increased,  by 
the  enclosure  of  wastes,  and  the  atloption,  in 
many  places,  of  a  more  successful  husbandry,  yet 
we  do  not  observe  a  corresponding  addition  to  the 
number  of  inhabitants;  the  reason  of  which  ap- 
pears to  me  to  be,  the  more  general  consumption 
of  animal  food  amongst  us.  Many  ranks  of  peo- 
ple whose  ordinary  diet  was,  in  the  last  century, 
prepared  almost  entirely  from  milk,  roots,  and 
vegetables,  now  require  every  day  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  flesh  of  animals.  Hence  a  great 
part  of  the  richest  lands  of  the  country  are  con- 
verted to  pasturage.  Much  also  of  the  bread-corn, 
which  went  directly  to  the  nourishment  of  human 
bodies,  now  only  contributes  to  it  by  fattening  the 
flesh  of  sheep  and  oxen.  The  mass  and  volume 
of  provisions  are  hereby  diminished ;  and  what  is 
gained  in  the  melioration  of  the  soil,  is  lost  in  the 
quality  of  the  produce.  This  consideration  teaches 
us,  that  tillage,  as  an  object  of  national  care  and 
encouragement,  is  universally  preferable  to  pas- 
turage, because  the  kind  of  provision  which  it 
yields,  goes  much  farther  in  the  sustentation  of 
human  life.  Tillage  is  also  recommended  by  this 
additional  advantage,  that  it  affords  employment 
to  a  much  more  numerous  peasantry.  Indeed, 
pasturage  seems  to  be  the  art  of  a  nation,  either 
imperfectly  civilized,  as  are  many  of  the  tribes 
which  cultivate  it  in  the  internal  parts  of  Asia; 
or  of  a  nation,  like  Spain,  declining  from  its  sum- 
mit by  luxury  and  inactivity. 

The  kind  and  quality  of  provision,  together 
with  the  extent  and  capacity  of  the  soil  from 
which  it  is  raised,  being  the  same ;  the  quantity 
procured  will  principally  depend  upon  two  circum- 
stances,— the  ahility  of  the  occupier,  and  the  en- 
couragement which  he  receives.  The  greatest 
misfijrtune  of  a  country  is  an  indigent  tenantry 
Whatever  be  the  native  advantages  of  the  soil,  or 
even  the  skill  and  industry  of  the  occupier,  the 
want  of  a  sufficient  capital  confines  every  plan,  as 
well  as  cripples  and  weakens  every  operation  of 
husbandry.  This  evil  is  felt,  where  agriculture 
is  accounted  a  servile  or  mean  employment ;  where 
farms  are  extremely  subdivided  and  badly  fur- 
nished with  habitations;  where  leases  are  un- 
known, or  are  of  short  or  precarious   duration. 


OF  POPULATION,  AND  PROVISION. 


153 


With  respect  to  the  e  ncou  rage  mc  nt  of  husbandry ; 
in  tliis,  as  in  ever}'  other  employment,  the  true  re- 
ward of  industry  is  in  the  price  and  sale  of  the 
produce. — The  exclusive  right  to  the  produce,  is 
the  onl}-  incitement  which  acts  constantly  and 
universally;  the  only  spring  which  keeps  hu- 
man labour  in  motion.  All  therefore  that  the 
laws  can  do,  is  to  secure  this  right  to  the  occupier 
of  the  groimd ;  that  is,  to  constitute  such  a  system 
of  tenure,  tliat  the  full  and  entire  advantage  of 
every  improvement  go  to  the  benefit  of  the  im- 
prover ;  that  every  man  work  for  himself,  and  not 
for  another ;  and  that  no  one  share  in  the  profit 
who  does  not  assist  in  the  production.  By  the 
occupier  I  here  mean,  not  so  much  the  person 
who  performs  the  work,  as  him  who  jjrocures  the 
labour  and  directs  the  management :  and  I  con- 
sider the  whole  profit  as  received  by  the  occupier, 
when  the  occupier  is  benefited  by  the  whole 
value  of  what  is  produced,  which  is  the  case  with 
the  tenant  who  pays  a  fixed  rent  for  the  use  of 
land,  no  less  than  with  the  proprietor  who  holds 
it  as  his  own.  The  one  has  the  same  interest  in 
the  produce,  and  in  the  advantage  of  every  im- 
pro\cment,  as  the  other.  Likewise  the  proprietor, 
though  he  grant  out  his  estate  to  farm,  may  be 
considered  as  the  occupier,  insomuch  as  he  regu- 
lates the  occupation  W  the  choice,  superintend- 
ency,  and  encouragement,  of  his  tenants,  by  the 
disposition  of  his  lands,  by  erecting  buildings,  pro- 
viding accommodations,  by  prescribing  conditions, 
or  supplying  implements  and  materials  of  improve- 
ment ;  and  is  entitled,  by  the  rule  of  public  expe- 
diency above  mentioned,  to  receive,  in  the  ad\  ance 
of  his  rent,  a  share  of  the  benefit  which  arises 
from  the  increased  produce  of  his  estate.  The 
violation  of  this  fundamental  maxim  of  agrarian 
policy  constitutes  the  chief  objection  to  the  holding 
of  lands  by  the  state,  by  the  king,  by  corporate 
bodies,  by  private  persons  in  right  of  their  offices 
or  benefices.  The  inconveniency  to  the  public 
arises  not  so  much  from  the  unalienable  quality  of 
lands  thus  holden  in  perpetuity,  as  from  hence ; 
that  proprietors  of  this  description  seldom  con- 
tribute much  either  of  attention  or  expense  to  the 
cultivation  of  their  estates,  3et  claim,  by  the  rent, 
a  share  in  the  profit  of  every  improvement  that  is 
made  upon  them.  TnW  complaint  can  only  be 
obviated  by  "  long  leases  at  a  fixed  rent."  which 
convey  a  large  portion  of  the  interest  to  those  who 
actually  conduct  the  cultivation.  The  same  ob- 
jection is  applicable  to  the  holding  of  lands  by 
foreign  proprietors,  and  in  some  degree  to  estates 
of  too  great  extent  being  placed  in  the  same 
hands. 

III.  Beside  the  production  of  provision,  there 
remains  to  be  considered  the  distribution". — It  is 
in  vain  that  provisions  abound  in  the  country, 
unless  I  be  able  to  obtain  a  share  of  them.  This 
reflection  belongs  to  every  individual.  Tlie  plenty 
of  provision  produced,  the  quantity  of  the  public 
stock  afibrds  subsistence  to  individuals,  and  en- 
couragement to  the  formation  of  families,  only  in 
proportion  as  it  is  distributed,  that  is,  in  projior- 
tion  as  these  individuals  are  allowed  to  draw  from 
it  a  supply  of  their  own  wants.  The  distribution, 
therefore,  becomes  of  equal  consequence  to  popu- 
lation with  the  production. — Now  there  is  but 
one  principle  of  distribution  that  can  ever  become 
universal,  namely,  the  principle  of  "exchange ;" 
or,  in  other  words,  that  every  man  have  something 
to  give  in  return  for  what  he  wants.  Bounty, 
U 


however  it  may  come  in  aid  of  another  principle, 
however  it  may  occasionally  qualify  the  rigour,  or 
supply  the  imperlection,  of  an  established  rule  of 
distribution,  can  never  it.«elf  become  that  rule  or 
principle  ;  because  men  will  not  work  to  give  the 
])roduce  of  their  labour  away. — Morecver,  the 
only  equivalents  that  can  be  oM'ered  in  exchange 
tor  provision  are  power  and  labour.  All  property 
is  power.  What  we  call  property  in  land,  is  the 
power  to  use  it,  and  to  exclude  others  from  the 
use.  Money  is  the  representative  of  power,  be- 
cause it  is  convertible  into  power:  the  value  of 
it  consists  in  its  faculty  of  procuring  power  over 
things  and  persons.  But  poicer  which  resuhs 
from  civil  conventions  (and  of  this  kind  is  what 
we  call  a  man's  fortune  or  estate,)  is  necessarily 
confined  to  a  few,  and  is  v^'ithal  soon  exhausted  : 
whereas  the  capacity  of  labour  is  every  man's 
natural  possession,  and  composes  a  constant  and 
renewing  fund.  The  liirr,  therefore,  or  produce 
of  personal  industry,  is  that  which  the  bulk  of 
every  community  must  bring  to  market,  in  ex- 
chantre  for  the  means  of  subsistence ;  in  other 
words,  employment  must,  in  every  country,  be  the 
medium  of  distribution,  and  the  source  of  supply 
to  individuals.  But  when  we  consider  the  pro- 
duction and  distributio7i  of  provision,  as  distinct 
from,  and  independent  of,  each  other:  when,  sup- 
posing the  same  quantity  to  be  produced,  we 
inquire  in  what  way,  or  according  to  what  rule 
it  may  be  distributed  ;  we  are  led  to  a  conception 
of  the  subject  not  at  all  agreeable  to  truth  and 
reality;  for,  in  truth  and  reality,  though  pro-. ision 
must  be  produced  before  it  be  distributed,  yet  the 
production  depenfln,  in  a  great  measure,  upon  the 
distribution.  The  quantity  of  provision  raised 
out  of  the  ground,  so  far  as  the  raising  of  it 
requires  human  art  or  labour,  will  e\idcntly  be 
regulated  by  the  demand :  the  demand,  or,  in  other 
words,  the  price  and  sale,  being  that  which  alone 
rewards  the  care,  or  excites  the  dihgence,  of  the 
husbandman.  But  the  sale  of  provision  depend? 
upon  the  number,  not  of  those  who  want,  but  of 
those  who  have  something  to  oflcr  in  return  foi 
what  they  want ;  not  of  those  who  would  consume, 
but  of  those  who  can  buy  ;  that  is,  upon  the  num- 
lier  of  those  who  have  the  fruits  of  some  other 
kind  of  industry  to  tender  in  exchange  for  what 
they  stand  in  need  of  from  the  production  of  the 
soil. 

We  see,  therefore,  the  connection  between  po- 
pulation and  employment.  EmjiloTOient  alTects 
population  "  directly,"  as  it  aflbrds  the  only  me- 
dium of  distribution  Iw  which  indi'iduals  can 
ol)tain  from  the  common  stock  a  supijly  for  the 
wants  of  their  families  :  it  affects  population,  "in- 
directly," as  it  augments  the  stock  itself  of  provi- 
sion, in  the  only  way  by  which  the  production  of 
it  can  be  effectually  encouraged. — by  furnishing 
purchasers.  No  man  can  purchase  v^ithout  an 
equivalent ;  and  that  equivalent,  by  the  generality 
of  the  people,  must  in  every  country  be  derived 
from  employment.  And  upon  this  basis  is  found- 
ed the  public  benefit  of  trade,  that  is  to  say,  its 
subserviency  to  population,  in  which  its  only  real 
utility  consists.  Of  that  industry,  and  of  those 
arts  and  branches  of  trade,  which  are  employed  in 
the  production,  conveyance,  and  preparation,  of 
any  principal  species  of  human  food,  as  of  the 
business  of  the  husbandman,  the  butcher,  baker, 
brewer,  corn  merchant,  &c.  we  acknowledge  the 
necessity :  lilcewise  of  those  manufactures  w  liich 


io4 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


furnish  us  witli  warm  clothing,  convenient  habi- 
tations, domestic  utensils,  as  of  the  weaver,  tailor, 
smith,  carpenter,  &e..  we  perceive  (in  clunates, 
however,  like  ours,  removed  at  a  distance  from  the 
sun,)  the  conduciveness  to  population,  by  their 
rendering  human  life  more  healthy,  vigorous,  and 
comfortaL)lc.  But  not  one  half  the  occupations 
which  compose  the  trade  of  Europe,  fall  within 
either  of  these  descriptions.  Perhaps  two-thirds 
of  the  manufacturers  in  England  are  employed 
upon  articles  of  confessed  luxury,  ornament,  or 
splendour ;  in  the  supcrlluous  embellishment  of 
some  articles  which  are  useful  in  their  kind,  or 
upon  others  which  have  no  conceivable  use  or 
value  but  what  is  founded  in  caprice  or  fashion. 
What  can  be  less  necessary  or  less  connected  with 
the  sustentation  of  human  life,  than  the  whole 
produce  of  the  silk,  lace,  and  plate  manufac- 
tory 1  yet  what  multitudes  labour  in  the  dilltjrent 
brunches  of  these  arts  !  AVhat  can  be  imagined 
more  capricious  than  the  fondness  for  tobacco  and 
smilf?  yet  how  many  various  occupations,  and 
how  many  thousands  in  each,  are  set  at  work  in 
administering  to  this  frivolous  gratification  !  Con- 
cerning trades  of  this  kind,  (and  this  kind  com- 
prehends more  than  half  the  trades  that  are  exer- 
cised,) it  may  fairly  be  asked,  "  How,  since  they 
add  nothing  to  the  stock  of  provision,  do  they  tend 
to  increase  the  number  of  the  people  1 "  We  are 
taught  to  say  of  trade,  "  that  it  maintains  multi- 
tudes ;  "  but  by  what  means  does  it  maintain 
them,  when  it  produces  nothing  upon  which  the 
support  of  human  life  depends  ; — In  like  manner 
with  respect  to  foreign  commerce;  of  that  mer- 
chandise which  brings  the  necessaries  of  life  into 
a  country,  which  imports,  for  example,  corn,  or 
cattle,  or  cloth,  or  fuel,  we  allow  the  tendency  to 
advance  population,  because  it  increases  the  stock 
of  ])rovision  by  which  the  people  are  subsisted. 
But  this  etiect  of  foreign  commerce  is  so  little  seen 
in  our  own  country,  that  I  believe,  it  may  be  af- 
lirmed  of  Great  Britain,  what  Bishop  Berkley  said 
of  a  neighbouring  island,  that,  if  it  were  encom- 
passed with  a  wall  of  brass  fifty  cubits  high,  the 
country  might  maintain  the  same  number  of  in- 
habitants that  find  subsistence  in  it  at  present; 
and  that  every  necessary,  and  even  every  real 
comfort  and  accommodation  of  human  life,  might 
be  supplied  in  as  great  abundance  as  they  now  are. 
Here,  therefore,  as  before,  we  may  fairly  ask,  by 
what  operation  it  is,  that  foreign  commerce,  which 
brings  into  the  country  no  one  article  of  human 
subsistence,  promotes  the  multiplication  of  human 
lili- 1 

The  answer  of  this  inquiry,  will  be  contained  in 
the  discussion  of  another,  viz: 

Since  the  soil  will  maintain  many  more  than 
it  can  employ,  what  must  be  done,  supposing  the 
country  to  be  full,  with  the  remainder  of  the  in- 
habitants ]  They  who,  by  the  rules  of  partition, 
(and  some  such  must  be  established  in  every 
country,)  are  entitled  to  the  land  ;  and  they  who, 
by  their  labour  upon  the  soil,  acquire  a  right  in  its 
produce,  will  not  part  with  their  projjerty  ibr 
nothing;  or,  rather,  they  will  no  longer  raise  from 
the  soil  what  they  can  neither  use  themselves,  nor 
exchange  for  what  they  want.  Or,  lastly,  if  these 
were  willing  to  distribute  what  they  could  spare 
of  the  provision  which  the  ground  yielded,  to 
others  who  had  no  share  or  concern  in  the  pro- 
perty or  cultivation  of  it,  yet  still  the  most  enor- 
mous mischiefs  would  ensue,  from  great  numbers 


remaining  unemployed.  The  idleness  of  one  hai; 
of  the  community  would  overwhelm  the  whole 
with  confusion  and  disorder.  One  only  way  jire- 
sents  itself  of  removing  the  difficulty  wliich  this 
question  states,  and  which  is  simply  this :  that 
they,  whose  work  is  not  wanted,  nor  can  be  em- 
ployed, in  the  raising  of  provision  out  of  the 
ground,  convert  their  hands  and  ingenuity  to  the 
fabrication  of  articles  which  may  gratify  and  re- 
quite those  who  are  so  employed,  or  who  by  the 
division  of  lands  in  the  country,  are  entitled  to 
the  exclusive  possession  of  certain  parts  of  them. 
By  this  contrivance,  all  things  proceed  well.  "J  he 
occupier  of  the  ground  raises  from  it  the  utmost 
that  he  can  procure,  because  he  is  repaid  for  what 
he  can  spare  by  something  else  which  he  wants, 
or  with  which  he  is  pleased  :  the  artist  or  manufac- 
turer, though  he  have  neither  any  property  in  the 
soil,  nor  any  concern  in  its  cultivation,  is  regularly 
supplied  with  the  produce,  because  he  gives,  iu 
exchange  for  what  he  stands  in  need  of,  somethinj^ 
upon  which  the  receiver  places  an  equal  value  : 
and  the  community  is  kept  quiet,  while  both 
sides  are  engaged  in  their  respective  occupa- 
tions. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  business  of  one  half 
of  mankind  is,  to  set  the  other  half  at  work;  that 
is,  to  provide  articles  which,  by  tempting  the 
desires,  may  stimulate  the  industry,  and  call  forth 
the  activity,  of  those  upon  the  exertion  of  whose 
industry,  and  the  application  of  whose  faculties, 
the  production  of  human  provision  depends.  A 
certain  portion  only  of  human  labour  is,  or  can  be 
productive;  the  rest  is  instrumental; — both  equal- 
ly necessary,  though  the  one  have  no  other  object 
than  to  excite  the  other.  It  appears  also,  that  it 
signifies  nothing,  as  to  the  main  purpose  of  trade, 
how  superfluous  the  articles  which  it  furnishes  are ; 
whether  the  want  of  them  be  real  or  imaginary  ; 
whether  it  be  founded  in  nature,  or  in  opinion,  in 
fashion,  habit,  or  emulation  :  it  is  enough  that  they 
be  actually  desired  and  sought  after.  Flourishing 
cities  are  raised  and  supported  by  trading  in  to- 
bacco ;  populous  towns  subsist  by  the  manufac- 
tory of  ribands.  A  watch  may  be  a  very  unne- 
cessary appendage  to  the  dress  of  a  peasant ;  yet 
if  the  peasant  will  till  the  ground  in  order  to  ob- 
tain a  watch,  the  true  design  of  trade  is  answered  : 
and  the  watchmaker,  while  he  poUshes  the  case, 
or  files  the  wheels  of  his  machine,  is  contributing 
to  the  production  of  corn  as  eficctually,  though 
not  so  directly,  as  if  he  handled  the  spade  or 
held  the  plough.  The  use  of  tobacco  has  been 
mentioned  already,  not  only  as  an  acknowledged 
superfluity,  but  as  aftbrding  a  remarkable  exaiiqjle 
of  the  caprice  of  human  appetite  :  yet  if  the  fisher- 
man will  ply  his  nets,  or  the  mariner  f(?tch  rice 
from  foreign  countries,  in  order  to  procure  to 
himself  this  indulgence,  the  market  is  supplied 
with  two  important  articles  of  provision,  by  the 
instrumentality  of  a  merchandise  which  has  no 
other  apparent  use  than  the  gratification  of  a 
vitiated  palate. 

But  it  may  come  to  pass  that  the  husbandman, 
land-owner,  or  whoever  he  be  that  is  entiled  to 
the  produce  of  the  soil,  will  no  longer  exchange  it 
for  what  the  manuflicturer  has  to  ofier.  He  is 
already  supplied  to  the  extent  of  his  desires.  For 
instance,  he  wants  no  more  cloth ;  he  will  no 
longer  therefore  give  the  weaver  corn  in  return 
for  the  produce  of  his  looms :  but  he  would  readily 
give  it  for  tea,  or  for  wine.     When  the  weave* 


OF  POPULATION  AND  PROVISION. 


155 


finds  this  to  be  the  case,  he  has  nothing  to  do  but 
to  send  his  cloth  abroad,  in  exchange  lor  tea  or 
for  wine,  which  he  may  barter  for  that  provision 
which  the  offer  of  his  cloth  will  no  longer  procure. 
The  circulation  is  thus  revived :  and  the  benefit 
of  the  discovery  is,  that,  whereas  the  number  of 
weavers,  who  could  find  subsistence  from  their 
employment,  was  before  limited  by  the  consump- 
tion of  cloth  in  the  country,  that  number  is  now 
augmented,  in  proportion  to  the  demand  lor  tea 
and  wine.  This  is  the  principle  oi'fureign  com- 
merce. In  the  magnitude  and  complexity  of  the 
machine,  the  princijile  of  motion  is  sometimes  lost 
or  unobserved  ;  but  it  is  always  simple  and  the 
same,  to  whatever  extent  it  may  be  diversified 
and  enlarged  in  its  operation. 

The  ert(3ct  of  trade  upon  agriculture,  the  process 
of  which  we  have  been  endeavouring  to  describe, 
is  visible  in  the  neighbourhood  of  trading  towns, 
and  in  those  districts  which  carry  on  a  communi- 
cation with  the  markets  of  trading  towns.  The 
husbandmen  are  busy  and  skilful ;  the  peasantry 
laborious  ;  the  land  is  managed  to  the  best  advan- 
tage ;  and  double  the  quantity  of  corn  or  herbage 
(articles  which  are  ultimately  converted  into  hu- 
man provision)  raised  from  it,  of  what  the  same 
soil  yields  in  remoter  and  more  neglected  parts  of 
the  country.  Wherever  a  thriving  manufactory 
finds  means  to  establish  itself,  a  new  vegetation 
springs  up  around  it.  I  believe  it  is  true  that  agri- 
culture never  arrives  at  any  considerable,  much 
less  at  its  highest,  degree  of  perfection,  where  it  is 
not  connected  with  trade ;  that  is,  where  the  de- 
mand for  the  produce  is  not  mcreased  by  the  con- 
sumption of  trading  cities. 

Let  it  be  remembered  then,  that  agriculture  is 
the  inuuediate  source  of  human  provision ;  that 
trade  conduces  to  the  production  of  provision  only 
as  it  promotes  agriculture  ;  that  the  whole  system 
of  commerce,  vast  and  various  as  it  is,  hath  no 
other  public  importance  than  its  subserviency  to 
this  end. 

We  return  to  the  proposition  we  laid  down,  that 
'•  employment  universally  promotes  population." 
From  this  proposition  it  follows,  that  the  compa- 
rative utility  of  different  branches  of  national  com- 
merce is  measured  by  the  number  which  each 
branch  employs.  Upon  which  pruiciple  a  scale 
may  easily  be  constructed,  which  shall  assign  to 
the  several  kinds  and  divisions  of  foreign  trade, 
t'.ieir  respective  degrees  of  public  importance.  In 
tliis  scale,  the  Jiist  place  belongs  to  the  exchange 
of  wrought  goods  for  raw  materials,  as  of  broad 
cloth  for  raw  silk  ;  cutlery  for  wool ;  clocks  or 
watches  for  iron,  flax,  or  furs  ;  because  this  traffic 
l>rovides  a  market  for  the  labour  that  has  already 
been  expended,  at  the  same  time  that  it  supplies 
materials  for  new  industry.  Population  always 
flourishes  where  this  species  of  commerce  obtains 
to  any  considerable  degree.  It  is  the  cause  of 
employment,  or  the  certain  indication.  As  it 
takes  off  the  manufactures  of  the  country,  it  pro- 
motes employment ;  as  it  brings  in  raw  materials, 
it  supposes  the  existence  of  manufactories  in  the 
country,  and  a  demand  for  the  article  when  manu- 
factured. The  second  place  is  due  to  that  com- 
mm'ce,  which  barters  one  species  of  wrought  goods 
for  another,  as  stuffs  for  calicoes,  fustians  for  cam- 
brics, leather  for  paper,  or  wrought  goods  for 
articles  which  require  no  farther  preparation,  as 
for  wine,  oil,  tea,  sugar,  &c.  This  also  assists 
■employment ;  because,  when  the  country  is  stock- 


ed with  one  kind  of  manufacture,  it  rei  ews  the 
demand  by  converting  it  into  another:  but  it  is  in- 
ferior to  the  former,  as  it  promotes  this  end  by  one 
side  only  of  the  bargain, — by  what  it  carries  out. 
— The  last,  the  lowest,  and  most  disadvantageous 
species  of  conunerce,  is  the  exportation  of  raw 
materials  in  return  lor  wrought  goods :  as  when 
wool  is  sent  aljroad  to  purchase  velvets  ;  hides  or 
peltry,  to  procure  shoes,  hats,  or  hnen  cloth.  This 
trade  is  unfavourable  to  population,  because  it 
leaves  no  room  or  demand  lor  employment,  eitlier 
in  what  it  takes  out  of  the  country,  or  in  what  it 
brings  into  it.  Its  operation  on  both  sides  is 
noxious.  By  its  exports,  it  diminishes  the  very 
subject  upon  which  the  industry  of  the  inhabit- 
ants ought  to  be  exercised ;  by  its  imports,  it  les- 
sens the  encouragement  of  that  industry,  in  the 
same  proportion  that  it  supplies  the  consumption 
of  the  country  with  the  produce  of  foreign  labour. 
Of  different  branches  of  manvfactory,  those  arc, 
in  their  nature,  the  most  beneficial,  in  which  the 
price  of  the  wrought  article  exceeds  in  the  highest 
proportion  that  of  the  raw  material :  for  this  excess 
measures  the  quantity  of  employment,  or,  in  other 
words,  the  number  of  manufacturers,  wfiich  each 
branch  sustains.  The  produce  of  the  ground  ia 
never  the  most  advantageous  article  of  foreign 
commerce.  Under  a  perfect  state  of  public  econ- 
omy, the  soil  of  the  country  should  be  applied 
solely  to  the  raising  of  provisions  for  the  inhabit- 
ants, and  its  trade  be  supplied  by  their  industry. 
A  nation  will  never  reach  its  proper  extent  of 
population,  so  long  as  its  principal  commerce  con- 
sists in  the  exportation  of  corn  or  cattle,  or  even 
of  wine,  oil,  tobacco,  madder,  indigo,  timber ;  be- 
cause these  last  articles  take  up  that  surface 
which  ought  to  be  covered  with  the  materials  of 
human  subsistence. 

It  must  be  here  however  noticed,  that  we  have 
all  along  considered  the  inhabitants  of  a  country 
as  maintained  by  the  produce  of  the  country  ;  and 
that  what  we  have  said  is  applicable  with  strictness 
to  this  supposition  alone.  The  reasoning,  never- 
theless, may  easily  be  adapted  to  a  different  case  : 
for  when  provision  is  not  produced,  but  imported, 
what  has  been  affirmed  concerning  provision,  will 
be,  in  a  great  measure,  true  of  that  article,  whe- 
ther it  be  money,  produce,  or  labour,  which  is 
exchanged  for  provision.  Thus,  when  the  Dutch 
raise  madder,  and  exchange  it  for  corn  ;  or  when 
the  people  of  America  plant  tobacco,  and  send  it 
to  Europe  for  cloth ;  the  cultivation  of  madder  and 
tobacco  becomes  as  necessary  to  the  subsistence  of 
the  inhabitants,  and  by  consequence  will  afltict 
the  state  of  population  in  these  countries  as  sensi- 
bly, as  the  actual  production  of  food,  or  the  maiui- 
factory  of  raiment.  In  like  manner,  when  the 
same  inhaliitants  of  Holland  earn  money  by  the 
carriage  of  the  produce  of  one  country  to  another, 
and  with  that  money  purchase  the  provision  from 
abroad,  which  their  own  land  is  not  extensive 
enough  to  supply,  the  increase  or  decline  of  this 
carrying  trade  will  influence  the  numbers  of  the 
people  no  less  than  similar  changes  would  do  in 
the  cultivation  of  the  soil. 

Tlie  few  principles  already  established,  will 
enable  us  to  describe  the  effects  upon  population 
which  may  be  expected  from  the  following  im- 
portant articles  of  national  conduct  and  economy  : 

1.  Emigration". — Emigration  may  be  either 
the  overllowing  of  a  country,  or  the  desertion. 
As  the  increase  of  the  species  is  indefinite ;   and 


156 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


the  number  of  inhabitants  wiiich  any  given  tract 
or  .surface  can  support,  linite ;  it  is  evident  tiiat 
great  numbers  may  be  constantly  leaving  a 
country,  auJ  yet  the  country  remain  constantly 
full.  Or  whatever  be  the  cause  which  invincibly 
liaiits  the  population  of  a  country  ;  when  the 
number  of  the  people  has  Arrived  at  that  limit, 
the  progress  of  generation,  beside  continuing  the 
sucee.ssion,  will  supply  multitudes  for  foreign 
emioT.ition.  In  these  two  cases,  emigration  nei- 
ther in^licates  any  political  decay,  nor  in  truth 
diminishes  the  numlierof  the  people;  nor  ought  to 
be  prohibited  or  discouraged.  But  emigrants  may 
relinquish  their  country,  from  a  sense  of  insecurity, 
oppression,  annoyance,  and  inconveniency.  Nei- 
ther, again,  kere  is  it  emigration  which  wastes 
the  people,  but  the  evils  that  occasion  it.  It 
would  be  in  vain,  if  it  were  practicable,  to  confine 
the  inhabitants  at  home ;  for  the  same  causes 
which  drive  them  out  of  the  country,  would  pre- 
vent tlieir  multiplication  if  they  remained  in  it. 
Lastly  ;  men  may  be  tempted  to  change  their  sit- 
uation by  the  allurement  of  a  better  climate,  of  a 
more  refined  or  luxurious  manner  of  living ;  by  the 
prospect  of  wealth ;  or,  sometimes,  by  the  mere 
nominal  advantage  of  higher  wages  and  prices. 
This  class_  of  emigrants,  with  whom  alone  the 
laws  can  interfere  with  eilect,  will  never,  I  think, 
be  numerous.  With  the  generality  of  a  people, 
the  attachment  of  mankind  to  their  homes  and 
country,  the  irksomencss  of  seeing  new  habita- 
tions, and  of  living  amongst  strangers,  will  out- 
weigh, so  long  as  men  possess  the  necessaries  of 
life  in  safety,  or  at  least  so  long  as  they  can  ob- 
tain a  provision  for  that  mode  of  subsistence 
which  the  class  of  citizens  to  wliit-h  they  belong 
are  accustomed  to  enjoy,  all  the  inducements  that 
the  advantages  of  a  foreign  land  can  oiFer.  There 
appear,  therefore,  to  be  tew  cases  in  which  emi- 
gration can  be  prohibited,  with  advantage  to  the 
state  ;  it  ajjpears  also  that  emigration  is  an  equi- 
vocal symptom,  which  will  probably  accompany 
the  decline  of  the  political  body,  but  which  may 
likewise  attend  a  condition  of  perfect  health  and 
vigour. 

II.  CoLO.vizATroN. — The  only  view  under 
which  our  subject  will  permit  us  to  consider 
colonization,  is  in  its  tendency  to  augment  the 
population  of  the  parent  state. — Suppose  a  fertile, 
but  empty  island,  to  lie  within  the  reach  of  a 
country  in  which  arts  and  manufactures  are  al- 
ready established ;  suppose  a  colony  sent  out  from 
su  'h  a  country,  to  take  possession  of  the  island, 
and  to  live  tliere  under  the  protection  and  au- 
thority of  their  native  government :  the  new  set- 
tlers will  naturally  convert  their  labour  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  vacant  soil,  and  with  the  produce 
of  that  soil  will  draw  a  supply  of  manuiactures 
from  their  countrymen  at  home.  Whilst  the  in- 
habitants continue  few,  and  lands  cheap  and  fresh, 
the  colonists  will  find  it  easier  and  more  profitalile 
to  raise  corn,  or  rear  cattle,  and  with  corn  and  cat- 
tle to  [mrchase  woollen  cloth,  for  instance,  or  linen, 
than  to  spin  or  weave  these  articles  for  themselves. 
The  mother-country,  meanwhile,  derives  from  this 
connexion  an  increase  both  of  provision  and  em- 
ployment. It  promotes  at  once  the  two  great  re- 
quisites upon  which  the  facility  of  subsistence,  and 
by  consecjuence  the  state  of  population,  depend, — 
production  and  distribution ;  and  this  in  a  man- 
ner the  most  direct  and  brneficial.  No  situation 
can  be  imagined  more  favourable  to  population 


than  that  of  a  country  which  works  uj)  goods  foi 
others,  whilst  these  others  are  cultivating  new 
tracts  of  land  for  them :  for  as,  in  a  genial  cli- 
mate, and  from  a  fresh  soil,  the  labour  of  one  mar 
will  raise  provision  enough  for  ten,  it  is  manifest 
that,  where  all  are  employed  in  agriculture,  much 
the  greater  |)art  of  the  produce  will  be  sjiared 
from  the  consumption  ;  and  that  three  out  of  lour, 
at  least  to  those  who  are  maintained  by  it,  will 
reside  in  the  country  which  receives  the  redun- 
dancy. When  the  new  country  does  not  remit 
provision  to  the  old  one,  the  advantage  is  less : 
but  still  the  exportation  of  wrought  goods,  by 
whatever  return  they  are  paid  for.  advances  popu- 
lation in  that  secondary  way,  in  whi(  h  those  trades 
promote  it  that  are  not  employed  in  the  produc- 
tion of  provision.  Whatever  prejudice, therefore, 
some  late  events  have  e.\eited  against  schemes  of 
colonization,  the  system  itself  is  founded  in  ap- 
parent national  utihty ;  and  what  is  more,  ujtou 
principles  favourable  to  the  common  interest  of 
human  nature;  for  it  does  not  appear  by  what 
other  method  newly-discovered  and  unfrequented 
countries  can  be  peopled,  or  during  the  infancy  of 
their  establishment  be  protected  or  supplied.  I'he 
error  which  we  of  this  nation  at  present  lament, 
seems  to  liave  consisted  not  so  much  in  the  ori- 
ginal formation  of  colonies,  as  in  the  subsequent 
management;  in  imposing  restrictions  too  rigor- 
ous, or  in  continuing  them  too  long;  in  not  per- 
ceiving the  point  of  time  when  the  irresistible 
order  and  progress  of  human  affairs  demand  a 
change  of  laws  and  policy. 

111.  Money. — Where  money  abounds,  the  peo- 
ple are  generally  numerous :  yet  gold  and  sih  er 
neither  feed  nor  clothe  mankind  ;  nor  are  they  in 
all  countries  converted  into  provision  by  pur- 
chasing the  necessaries  of  life  at  foreign  markets ; 
nor  do  they,  in  any  country,  coinpiBe  those  arti- 
cles of  personal  or  domestic  ornament  which  cer- 
tain orders  of  the  conmmnity  have  learnt  to  re- 
gard as  necessaries  of  life,  and  without  the  means 
of  procuring  wl\ich,  they  will  not  enter  into 
family-establishments : — at  least,  this  property  of 
the  precious  metals  obtains  in  a  very  small  degree. 
The  effect  of  money  upon  the  number  of  the  peo- 
ple, though  visible  to  observation,  is  not  explained 
without  some  difficulty.  To  understand  this  con- 
nexion properly,  we  must  return  to  the  proposi- 
tion with  which  we  concluded  our  reasoning  upon 
the  subject;  "  that  population  is  chiefly  promoted 
by  employment."  Now  of  employment,  money  is 
partly  the  indication,  and  partly  the  cause.  The 
only  way  in  which  money  regularly  and  spon- 
taneously^ows  i/ito  a  country,  is  in  return  for  the 
goods  that  are  sent  out  of  it,  or  the  work  that  is 
performed  by  it ;  and  the  only  way  in  which  mo- 
ney is  retained  in  a  country,  is  by  the  country's 
supplying,  in  a  great  measure,  its  own  consump- 
tion of  manufactures.  Consequently,  the  quan- 
tity of  money  found  in  a  country,  denotes  the 
amount  of  labour  and  employment ;  but  still, 
employment,  not  money,  is  the  cause  of  pojnila- 
tion;  the  accumulation  of  money  being  merely  a 
collateral  eflect  of  the  same  cause,  or  a  circum- 
stance which  accompanies  the  existence,  and 
measures  the  operation,  of  that  cause.  And  this 
is  true  of  money,  only  whilst  it  is  acquired  by  the 
industry  of  the  inhabitants.  The  treasures  which 
belong  "to  a  country  by  the  possession  of  mines,  or 
by  the  exactif)n  of  tribute  from  foreign  dependen- 
cies, afford  no  conclusiori  concerning  the  state  of 


OF  POPULATION  AND  PROVISION. 


population.  The  influx  from  these  sources  may 
be  immense,  and  yet  the  country  remain  poor  and 
ill-peopled  ;  of  which  we  see  an  egregious  example 
in  the  condition  of  Spain,  since  the  acijuisition  of 
its  South-American  dominions. 

Eut,  secondly,  money  may  become  also  a  real 
and  an  operative  cause  of  population,  by  acting 
as  a  stinmlus  to  industrj',  and  bj'  facilitating  the 
means  of  subsistence.  The  ease  of  subsistence, 
and  the  encouragement  of  industry,  depend  nei- 
ther upon  the  price  of  labour,  nor  upon  the  price 
of  provision,  but  upon  the  proportion  w  hich  one 
bears  to  the  other.  Now  the  iniiux  of  money  into 
a  country,  naturally  tends  to  advance  this  pro- 
portion ;  that  is,  every  fresh  accession  of  money 
raises  the  price  of  labour  before  it  raises  the  price 
of  pro\ision.  When  money  is  brought  from 
abroad,  the  persons,  be  they  who  they  will,  into 
whose  hands  it  first  arrives,  do  not  buy  up  pro- 
vision with  it,  but  apply  it  to  the  purchase  and 
payment  of  labour.  If  the  state  receixes  it,  the 
state  disjjenses  what  it  receives  amongst  soldiers, 
sailors,  artificers,  engineers,  shipwrights,  work- 
men;— if  private  persons  bring  home  treasures 
of  gold  and  silver  they  usually  expend  them  in 
the  building  of  houses,  the  improvement  of  estates, 
the  purchase  of  furniture,  dress,  equipage,  in  ar- 
ticles of  luxury  or  splendour: — if  the  merchant  be 
enriched  by  returns  of  his  foreign  commerce,  he 
applies  his  increased  capital  to  the  enlargement 
of  his  business  at  home.  The  money  ere  long 
conies  to  market  for  provision ;  but  it  comes 
thither  through  the  hands  of  the  manufacturer,  the 
artist,  the  husbandman,  and  labourer.  Its  effect, 
therefore,  upon  the  price  of  art  and  labour,  v\'ill 
precede  its  effect  upon  the  price  of  provision ;  and 
during  the  interval  between  one  efit;ct  and  the 
other,  the  means  of  subsistence  will  be  multiplied 
and  facilitated,  as  well  as  industry  be  excited  by 
new  rewards.  When  the  greater  plenty  of  money 
in  circulation  has  produced  an  advance  in  the 
price  of  provision,  corresponding  to  the  advanced 
price  of  labour,  its  eHect  ceases.  The  labourer  no 
longer  gains  any  thing  by  the  increase  of  his 
wages.  It  is  not,  thereibre,  the  quantity  of  specie 
collected  into  a  country,  but  the  continual  in- 
crease of  that  quantity,  from  which  the  advantage 
arises  to  employment  and  population.  It  is  only 
the  accexsiun  of  money  which  produces  the  eflect, 
and  it  is  only  by  money  constantly  flowing  into  a 
country  that  the  etlifct  can  be  constant.  Now 
whate\er  consequence  arises  to  the  country  from 
the  inliux  of  money,  the  contrary  may  "4)6  ex- 
pected to  follow  from  the  diminution  of  its  quan- 
tity: and  accordingly  we  find,  that  whatever 
cause  drains  ofi'  the  specie  of  a  country,  faster 
than  the  streams  which  teed  it  can  supply,  not 
only  impoverishes  the  country,  but  depopulates 
it.  The  knowledge  and  experience  of  this  effect 
have  given  occasion  to  a  phrase  which  oc^-urs  in 
almost  every  discourse  upon  commerce  or  politics. 
The  balance  of  trade  svith  any  foreign  nation  is 
said  to  be  against  or  in  favour  of  a  country,  sim- 
ply as  it  tends  to  carry  money  out,  or  bring  it  in : 
that  is,  according  as  the  price  of  the  imports  ex- 
ceeds or  falls  short  of  the  price  of  the  exports :  so 
invariably  is  the  increase  or  diminution  of  the 
specie  of  a  country  regarded  as  a  test  of  the  pub- 
lic advantage  or  detriment  which  arises  from  any 
branch  of  its  commerce. 

IV.  Taxation". — i\.s  taxes  take  nothing  out 
of  a  country ;  as  they  do  not  diminish  the  pubUc 


I  stock,  onl^-  vary  the  distribution  of  it,  they  are 
I  not  necessarily  prejudicial  to  population,  if  the 
state  exact  money  from  certain  members  of  the 
I  coumiunity,  she  dispenses  it  also  amcmgst  other 
members  of  the  same  community.  They  who 
contribute  to  the  revenue,  and  they  who  are  sup- 
I  ported  or  benefited  by  the  expenses  of  go\er!i- 
,  ment,  are  to  be  placed  one  against  the  other ;  and 
whilst  what  the  subsistence  of  one  part  is  profited 
I  by  receiving,  compensates  for  what  that  of  the 
other  suflers  by  paying,  the  common  fund  of  the 
society  is  not  lessened.  This  is  true :  but  it  nmst 
be  observed,  that  although  the  sum  distributed  by 
the  state  be  always  equal  to  the  sum  collected 
from  the  people,  yet  the  gain  and  loss  to  the 
means  of  subsistence  may  be  verj"  unequal;  and 
the  balance  will  remain  on  the  wrong  or  the 
right  side  of  the  account,  according  as  the  money 
passes  by  taxation  from  the  industrious  to  the 
idle,  from  the  many  to  the  few,  from  those  who 
want  to  those  who  abound,  or  in  a  contrary  di- 
rection. For  instance :  a  tax  upon  coaches,  to  be 
laid  out  in  the  repair  of  roads,  would  probably  hn- 
prove  the  population  of  a  neighbourhood ;  a  tax 
upon  cottages,  to  be  ultimately  expended  in  the 
purchase  and  support  of  coaches,  would  cerUxinly 
diminish  it.  In  hke  manner,  a  tax  upon  wine  or 
tea  distributed  in  bounties  to  fishernien  or  hus- 
bandmen, would  augment  the  provision  of  a  coun- 
try ;  a  tax  upon  fisheries  and  husbandry,  how- 
ever indirect  or  concealed,  to  be  converted,  when 
raised,  to  the  procuring  of  wine  or  tea  for  the  idle 
and  opulent,  would  naturally  unpair  the  pubUc 
stock.  The  eflect,  therefore,  of  taxes,  upon  the 
means  of  subsistence,  depends  not  so  much  upon 
the  amount  of  the  sum  levied,  as  upon  the 
object  of  the  tax  and  the  application.  Taxes 
likewise  may  be  so  adjusted  as  to  conduce  to  the 
restraint  of  luxury,  and  the  correction  of  vice ; 
to  the  encouragement  of  industry,  trade,  agricul- 
ture, and  marriage.  Taxes  thus  contrived,  become 
rewards  and  penalties;  not  only  sources  of  re- 
venue, but  instruments  of  police.  Vices  indeed 
themselves  cannot  be  taxed,  witliout  holduig  forth 
such  a  conditional  toleration  of  them  as  to  destroy 
men's  perception  of  their  guilt ;  a  tax  comes  to  be 
considered  as  a  commutation :  the  materials,  how- 
ever, and  incentives  of  vice,  may.  Although,  for 
instance,  drunkenness  would  be,  on  this  account, 
an  unfit  object  of  taxation,  yet  public  houses  and 
spirituous  liquors  are  very  properly  subjected  to 
heavy  imposts. 

Nevertheless,  although  it  may  be  true  that 
taxes  cannot  be  pronounced  to  be  detrimental  to 
population,  by  an  alisolute  necessity  in  their  na- 
ture ;  and  though,  under  some  modifications,  and 
when  urged  only  to  a  certain  extent,  they  may 
even  operate  in  favour  of  it ;  yet  it  will  be  found, 
in  a  great  plurality  of  instances,  that  their  ten- 
dency is  noxious.  Let  it  be  supposed  that  nine 
families  inhabit  a  neighbourhood,  each  possessing 
barely  the  means  of  subsistence,  or  of  that  mode 
of  subsistence  wliich  custom  hath  established 
amongst  them ;  let  a  tenth  family  be  quartered 
upon  these,  to  be  supported  by  a  tax  raised  from 
the  nine ;  or  rather,  let  one  of  the  nine  have  his 
income  augmented  by  a  similar  deduction  from 
the  incomes  of  the  rest ;  in  either  of  these  cases, 
it  is  evident  that  the  whole  district  would  be 
broken  up :  for  as  the  entire  income  of  each  is 
supposed  to  be  barelj'  sufficient  lor  the  establish- 
ment which  it  maintains,  a  deduction  of  any  part 
H 


15S 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


ili'stroys  tliat  establishment.  Now  it  is  no  answer 
to  t!iis  ohjection,  it  is  no  apology  tor  the  grievance, 
to  s;n',  that  nothing  is  taken  out  of  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  tliat  the  stock  is  not  diminished  :  the  mis- 
chiel'  is  done  by  deranging  the  distribution.  Nor, 
again,  is  the  kixury  of  one  faniil}',  or  even  the 
maintenance  of  an  additional  family,  a  recom- 
pense to  the  country  lor  the  ruin  of  nine  others. — 
Nor.  lastly,  will  it  alter  the  eflect  though  it  may 
conceal  the  cause,  that  the  contribution,  instead 
of  being  levied  directly  upon  each  day's  wages, 
is  mixetl  up  in  the  price  of  some  article  of  con- 
stant use  and  consumption,  as  in  a  tax  upon 
canilles,  malt,  leather,  or  fuel.  This  example  illus- 
trates the  tendency  of  taxes  to  ol)struct  subsist- 
ence ;  and  the  minutest  degree  of  this  obstruction 
will  be  felt  in  the  formation  of  families.  The 
example,  indeed,  forms  an  extreme  case;  the  evil 
is  magnified,  in  order  to  render  its  operation  dis- 
tiiirt  and  visible.  In  real  life,  families  may  not  be 
broken  up,  or  forced  from  their  habitation,  houses 
be  quitted,  or  countries  suddenly  deserted,  in  con- 
sequence of  any  new  imposition  whatever ;  but 
marriages  will  become  gradually  less  frequent. 

It  seems  necessary,  however,  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  operation  of  a  new  tax,  and  the  eflijct 
of  taxes  which  have  been  long  established.  In 
the  course  of  circulation,  the  money  may  flow  back 
to  t!ie  hands  from  which  it  was  taken.  The  pro- 
portion between  the  sujiply  and  the  expense  of 
subsistence,  which  had  been  disturbed  by  the  tax, 
may  at  length  recover  itself  again.  In  the  in- 
stance just  now  stated,  the  addition  of  a  tenth 
family  to  the  neighbourhood,  or  the  enlarged  ex- 
penses of  one  of  the  nine,  may,  in  some  shape  or 
other,  so  advance  the  profits,  or  increase  the  em- 
ployment, of  the  rest,  as  to  make  full  restitution 
for  the  share  of  their  property  of  which  it  deprives 
them;  or,  what  is  more  likely  to  happen,  a  reduc- 
tion may  take  place  in  their  mode  of  hving,  suited 
to  the  abridgment  of  their  incomes.  Yet  still  the 
ultimate  and  iiermanent  eflect  of  taxation,  though 
distinguishable  from  the  impression  of  a  new  tax, 
is  generally  adverse  to  population.  The  proportion 
above  spoken  of,  can  only  be  restored  by  one  side 
or  other  of  the  following  alternative :  by  the  peo- 
ple either  contracting  their  wants,  which  at  the 
same  time  diminishes  consumption  and  employ- 
ment :  or  by  raising  the  price  of  labour,  which  ne- 
cessarily adding  to  the  price  of  the  productions 
and  manufactures  of  the  country,  checks  their 
sale  at  foreign  markets.  A  nation  which  is  bur- 
thened  with  taxes,  must  always  be  undersold  by 
a  nation  which  is  free  from  them,  unless  the  dif- 
ference be  made  up  by  some  singular  advantage 
of  climate,  soil,  skill,  or  industry.  This  quality 
belongs  to  all  taxes  which  afTect  the  mass  of  the 
community,  even  when  imjjosed  upon  the  proper- 
est  objects,  and  applied  to  the  fairest  purposes. 
But  abuses  are  inseparable  from  the  disposal  of 
public  money.  As  governments  are  usually  ad- 
ministered, the  produce  of  public  taxes  is  ex- 
pended upon  a  train  of  gentry,  in  the  maintaining 
of  pomp,  or  in  the  purcha.se  of  influence.  The 
conversion  of  property  which  taxes  cflectuate, 
when  they  are  employed  in  this  manner,  is  at- 
tended with  obvious  evils.  It  takes  from  the  in- 
dustrious, to  give  to  the  idle;  it  increases  the 
number  of  the  latter;  it  tends  to  accumulation; 
it  sacrifices  the  conveniency  of  many  to  the  luxury 
of  a  few ;  it  makes  no  return  to  the  people,  from 
whom  the  tax  is  drawn,  that  is  satisfactory  or  in- 


telligible ;  it  encourages  no  activity  which  is  use- 
lul  or  productive. 

The  sum  to  be  raised  being  settled,  a  wise 
statesman  will  contrive  his  taxes  principally  witJi 
a  view  to  tlieir  eflt'ct  upon  pupulatiun  ;  that  is,  he 
will  so  adjust  them  as  to  give  the  least  possible 
obstruction  to  those  means  of  subsistence  by  which 
the  mass  of  the  community  is  maintained.  "VVe 
are  accustomed  to  an  opinion,  that  a  tax,  to  be 
just,  ought  to  be  accurately  proportioned  to  the 
circumstances  of  the  persons  who  pay  it.  But 
upon  what,  it  might  be  asked,  is  this  opinion 
founded;  unless  it  could  be  shown  that  such  a 
proportion  interferes  the  least  with  the  general 
conveniency  of  subsistence  !  Whereas  I  should 
rather  believe,  that  a  tax,  constructed  with  a  view 
to  that  conveniency,  ought  to  rise  upon  the  ilif- 
ferent  classes  of  the  community,  in  a  niuch  higher 
ratio  than  tlie  simjile  proportion  of  their  incomes. 
The  point  to  be  regarded  is,  not  what  men  have, 
but  what  they  can  spare;  and  it  is  evident  that  a 
man  who  possesses  a  thousand  pounds  a  year, 
can  more  easily  give  up  a  hundred,  than  a  man 
with  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  can  part  with  ten; 
that  is,  those  habits  of  life  which  are  reasonable 
and  innocent,  and  upon  the  ability  to  continue 
which  the  formation  of  families  deiiends,  will  be 
much  less  aflected  by  the  one  deduction  than  the 
other :  it  is  still  more  evident,  that  a  man  of  a 
hundred  pounds  a  year  would  not  be  so  much 
distressed  in  his  subsistence,  by  a  demand  trom 
him  of  ten  pounds,  as  a  man  of  ten  pounds  a 
year  would  be  by  the  loss  of  one :  to  which  we 
must  add,  that  the  population  of  every  covmtry 
being  replenished  by  the  marriages  of  the  lowest 
ranks  of  the  society,  their  accommodation  and  re- 
lief become  of  more  importance  to  the  state,  than 
the  conveniency  of  any  higher  but  less  numerous 
order  of  its  citizens.  But  whatever  be  the  pro- 
portion which  public  expediency  directs,  whether 
the  simple,  the  duplicate,  or  any  higher  or  inter- 
mediate proportion  of  men's  incomes,  it  can  never 
be  attained  by  any  single  tax :  as  no  single  object 
of  taxation  can  be  found,  which  measures  the 
ability  of  the  subject  with  sufficient  generality 
and  exactness.  It  is  only  by  a  system  and  variety 
of  taxes,  mutually  balancing  and  equalising  one 
another,  that  a  due  proportion  can  be  preserved. 
For  instance:  if  a  tax  upon  lands  press  with 
greater  hardship  upon  those  who  live  in  the 
country,  it  may  be  properly  counterpoised  by  a 
tax  upon  the  rent  of  houses,  which  will  afit'ct 
principally  the  inhabitants  of  large  towns.  Dis- 
tinctions may  also  be  framed  in  some  taxes,  which 
shall  allow  abatements  or  exemptions  to  married 
persons;  to  the  parents  of  a  certain  number  of 
legitimate  children ;  to  improvers  of  the  soil ;  to 
particular  modes  of  cultivation,  as  to  tillage  in 
preference  to  pasturage;  and  in  general  to  that 
industry  which  is  immediately  productive,  in  pre- 
ference to  that  which  is  only  instrumental ;  but 
above  all,  which  may  leave  the  heaviest  part  of 
the  burthen  upon  the  methods,  whatever  they  be, 
of  acquiring  wealth  without  industry,  or  even  of 
subsisting  in  idleness. 

V.  ExpORTATior^  OF  BREAD-CORN. — Nothinfi; 
seems  to  have  a  more  positive  tendency  to  reduce 
the  number  of  the  people,  than  the  sending  abroad 
part  of  the  provision  by  which  they  are  maintained , 
yet  this  has  been  the  policy  of  legislators  very 
studious  of  the  improvement  of  their  country.  In 
order  to  reconcile  ourselves  to  a  practice  which 


OF  POPULATION  AND  PROVISION. 


159 


appears  to  militate  with  the  chief  interest,  that  is, 
with  the  population  of  the  country  that  adopts  it, 
we  must  be  reminded  of  a  maxim  which  belongs 
to  the  productions  both  of  nature  and  art,  "  that  it 
is  impossible  to  have  enough  without  a  super- 
luiity."  The  point  of  suthcicncy  cannot,  in  any 
case,  be  so  exactly  hit  upon,  as  to  have  nothing 
to  sjiare,  yet  never  to  want.  This  is  peculiarly  true 
of  bread-corn,  of  which  the  annual  increase  is 
extremely  valuable.  As  it  is  necessary  that  the 
crop  be  adequate  to  the  consumption  in  a  year  of 
scarcity,  it  must,  of  consequence,  greatly  exceed 
it  in  a  year  of  plenty.  A  redundancy  therefore 
will  occasionally  arise  from  the  very  care  that  is 
taken  to  secure  the  people  against  the  danger  of 
want;  and  it  is  manifest  that  the  exportation  of 
this  redundancy  subtracts  nothing  from  the  num- 
ber that  can  regularly  be  maintained  by  the  pro- 
duce of  the  soil.  Moreover,  as  the  exportation  of 
corn,  under  these  circumstances,  is  attended  with 
no  direct  injury  to  population,  so  the  benefits 
which  indirectly  arise  to  population  from  foreign 
commerce,  belongs  to  this,  in  common  with  other 
s[)ecies  of  trade  ;  together  with  the  peculiar  advan- 
tage of  presenting  a  constant  incitement  to  the 
skill  and  industry  of  the  husbandman,  by  the 
promise  of  a  certain  sale  and  an  adequate  price, 
under  e^ery  contingency  of  season  and  produce. 
There  is  another  situation,  in  which  corn  may 
not  only  be  exported,  but  in  which  the  people  can 
thrive  by  no  other  means;  that  is,  of  a  newly 
settled  country,  with  a  fertile  soil.  The  exporta- 
tion of  a  large  proportion  of  the  corn  which  a  coun- 
try produces,  proves,  it  is  true,  that  the  inhabitants 
have  not  yet  attained  to  the  number  which  the 
country  is  capable  of  maintaining  :  but  it  does  not 
prove  but  that  they  may  be  hastening  to  this  limit 
with  tbe  utmost  practicable  celerity,  which  is  the 
])prfection  to  be  sought  for  in  a  young  establish- 
ment. In  all  cases  except  these  two,  and  in  the 
former  of  them  to  any  greater  degree  than  what 
is  necessary  to  take  off  occasional  redundancies, 
the  exportation  of  corn  is  either  itself  noxious  to 
po|)ul:ition,  or  argues  a  defect  of  population  arising 
from  some  other  cause. 

VI.    AURIDGMKNT     OF    LABOUR. — It     has    long 

been  made  a  question,  whether  those  mechanical 
contrivances  which  abridge  labour,  by  perform- 
ing the  same  work  by  fewer  hands,  be  detrimental 
or  not  to  the  population  of  a  country.  From 
what  has  l)een  delivered  in  preceding  parts  of  the 
jiresent  chapter,  it  will  be  evident  that  this  ques- 
tion is  equivalent  to  another, — whether  such  con- 
tri\ances  diminish  or  not  the  quantity  of  employ- 
meat.  The  first  and  most  obvious  etiect  undoubt- 
edly is  this;  because,  if  one  man  be  made  to  do 
what  three  men  did  bfffore,  two  are  immediately 
discharged :  but  if,  by  some  more  general  and  re- 
moter consequence,  they  increase  the  demand  for 
work,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  prevent  the  di- 
minution of  that  demand,  in  a  greater  proportion 
than  they  contract  the  number  of  hands  by  which 
it  is  performed,  the  quantity  of  employment,  upon 
the  whole,  will  gain  an  addition.  Upon  which 
principle  it  may  be  observed,  first,  that  whenever 
a  nieclianical  invention  succeeds  in  one  place,  it  is 
necessary  that  it  be  imitated  in  every  other,  where 
the  same  manufacture  is  carried  on ;  for,  it  is  mani- 
fest, that  he  who  has  the  benefit  of  a  conciscr  ope- 
ration, will  soon  outvie  and  undersell  a  competitor 
who  continues  to  use  a  more  circuitous  labour.  It 
i.s  also  true,  in  the  second  place,  that  whoever  Jtrs/ 


discover  or  adopt  a  mechanical  improvement,  will, 
for  some  time,  draw  to  themselves  an  increase  of 
employment ;  and  that  this  preference  may  con- 
tinue even  after  the  improvement  has  become 
general ;  for,  in  every  kind  of  trade,  it  is  not  only 
a  great  but  permanent  advantage,  to  ha\'e  once 
preoccupied  the  jaiblic  reputation.  Thirdly,  alter 
every  superiority  which  might  be  derived  from  the 
possession  of  a  secret,  has  ceased,  it  may  be  well 
questioned  whetlier  even  then  any  loss  can  accrue 
to  employment.  The  same  money  will  be  spared 
to  the  same  article  still.  Wherefore,  in  proportion 
as  the  article  can  be  afforded  at  a  lower  price,  by 
reason  of  an  easier  or  shorter  process  in  the  nianu- 
fiicture,  it  will  either  grow  into  more  general  use, 
or  an  improvement  will  take  place  in  the  quality 
and  fabric,  which  w'ill  demand  a  jiroportionable 
addition  of  hands.  The  number  of'  persons  em- 
l)Io3ed  in  the  manufactory  of  stockings,  has  not,  I 
apprehend,  decreased  since  the  invention  of  stock- 
ing-mills. The  amount  of  what  is  expended  upon 
the  article,  after  subtracting  from  it  the  price  of 
the  raw  material,  and  consequently  what  is  j)aid 
for  work  in  this  branch  of  our  manufactories,  is  not 
less  than  it  was  before.  Goods  of  a  finer  texture 
are  worn  in  the  place  of  coarser.  This  is  the 
change  which  the  invention  has  produced;  and 
which  compensates  to  the  manufactory  for  every 
other  inconveniency.  Add  to  which,  that  in 
the  above,  and  in  almost  every  instance,  an  im- 
provement which  conduces  to  the  recommenda- 
tion of  a  manufactory,  either  by  the  cheajaiess 
or  the  quality  of  the  goods,  draws  up  alter  it  many 
dependent  employments,  in  which  no  abbreviation 
has  taken  place. 


From  the  reasoning  that  has  been  pursued,  and 
the  various  considerations  suggested  in  this  chap- 
ter, a  judgment  may,  in  some  sort,  be  formed,  how 
far  regulations  of  law  are  in  their  nature  cajjable 
of  contributing  to  the  support  and  advancement  of 
population.  1  say  how  far  ;  for,  as  in  many  sub- 
jects, so  especially  in  those  which  relate  to  com- 
merce, to  plenty,  to  riches,  and  to  the  number  of 
people,  more  is  wont  to  be  expected  from  laws,  than 
laws  can  do.  Laws  can  only  imperfectly  restrain 
that  dissoluteness  of  manners,  which,  by  diminish- 
ing the  frequency  of  marriages,  impairs  the  very 
source  of  population.  Laws  cannot  regulate  the 
wants  of  mankind,  their  mode  of  living,  or  their 
desire  of  those  supcrfiuities  which  fashion,  more 
irresistible  than  laws,  has  once  introduced  into 
general  usage  ;  or,  in  other  words,  has  erected  into 
necessaries  of  life.  Laws  cannot  induce  men  to 
enter  into  marriages,  when  the  expenses  of  a 
family  nmst  deprive  them  of  that  system  of  ac 
commodation  to  which  they  have  habituated  their 
expectations.  Laws,  by  their  protection,  by  as- 
suring to  the  labourer  the  fruit  and  profit  of  his 
labour,  may  help  to  make  a  people  industrious; 
but  without  industry,  the  laws  cannot  provide 
either  subsistence  or  employment ;  laws  cannot 
make  corn  grow  without  toil  and  care,  or  trade 
flourish  without  art  and  diligence.  In  spite  of  all 
laws,  the  expert,  laborious,  honest  workman,  will 
be  employed,  in  preference  to  the  lazy,  the  un- 
skilful, the  fraudulent,  and  evasive :  and  this  is  not 
more  true  of  two  inhabitants  of  the  same  village, 
than  it  is  of  the  people  of  two  different  countries, 
which  communicate  either  with  each  other,  or  with 


160 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


the  rest  of  the  world.  The  natural  basis  of  trade 
is  rivalsliip  of  quality  and  price  ;  or,  which  is  the 
same  thing,  of  skill  and  industry.  Every  attempt 
to  force  trade  by  operation  of  law,  that  is,  by  com- 
pelling persons  to  buy  goods  atone  market,  which 
they  can  obtain  cheaper  and  better  from  another, 
is  sure  to  be  either  eluded  by  the  quick-sighted- 
ness  and  incessant  activity  of  private  interest,  or 
to  be  frustrated  by  retaliation.  One  half  of  the 
commercial  laws  of  many  states  are  calculated 
merely  to  counteract  the  restrictions  which  have 
been  imposed  by  other  states.  Perhaps  the  only 
way  in  which  the  interposition  of  law  is  salutary 
in  trade,  is  in  the  prevention  of  frauds. 

Next  to  the  indispensable  requisites  of  interna! 
peace  and  security,  the  chief  advantage  which  can 
be  derived  to  population  from  the  interference  of 
law,  appears  to  me  to  consist  in  the  encourage- 
ment of  agriculture.  This,  at  least,  is  the  direct 
way  of  increasing  the  number  of  the  people :  every 
other  mode  being  effectual  only  by  its  influence 
upon  this.  Now  the  principal  expedient  by  which 
such  a  purpose  can  be  promoted,  is  to  adjust  the 
laws  of  property,  as  nearly  as  possible,  to  tlie  two 
following  rules:  first,  "  to  give  to  the  occupier  all 
the  power  over  the  soil,  which  is  necessary  lor  its 
perfect  cultivation;" — secondly,  "to  assign  the 
whole  profit  of  every  improvement  to  the  persons 
by  whose  activity  it  is  carried  on."  What  we  call 
property  in  land,  as  hath  been  observed  above,  is 
power  over  it.  Now  it  is  indifferent  to  the  public  in 
whose  hands  this  power  resides,  if  it  be  rightly  used ; 
it  matters  not  to  whom  the  land  belongs,  if  it  be 
well  cultivated.  When  we  lament  that  great  estates 
are  often  united  in  the  same  hand,  or  complain 
that  one  man  possesses  what  would  be  sufficient 
for  a  thousand,  we  suffer  ourselves  to  be  misled  by 
words.  The  owner  of  ten  thousand  pounds  a-year, 
consumes  little  more  of  the  produce  of  the  soil  than 
the  owner  of  ten  pounds  a-year.  If  the  cultivation 
l>e  equal,  the  estate  in  the  hands  of  one  great  lord, 
affords  subsistence  and  employment  to  the  same 
number  of  persons  as  it  would  do  if  it  were  divided 
amongst  a  hundred  proprietors.  In  like  manner 
we  ought  to  judge  of  the  effect  upon  the  public  in- 
terest, which  may  arise  from  lands  being  holden 
by  the  king,  or  by  the  subject;  by  private  persons, 
or  by  corporations ;  by  laymen,  or  ecclesiastics ;  in 
fee,  or  for  life;  by  virtue  of  office,  or  in  right  of  in- 
heritance. I  do  not  mean  that  these  varieties  make 
no  difference,  but  I  mean  that  all  the  dillerence 
they  do  make  respects  the  cultivation  of  tlie  lands 
which  are  so  holden. 

There  exist  in  thiscountry,  conditions  of  tenure 
which  condemn  tlie  land  itself  to  perpetual  sterility. 
Of  this  kind  is  the  right  of  common,  which  pre- 
cludes each  proprietor  from  the  improvement,  or 
even  the  convenient  occupation,  of  liis  estate,  with- 
out (what  seldom  can  be  obtained)  the  consent  of 
many  others.  This  tenure  is  also  usually  embar- 
rassed by  the  interference  of  inanorial  claims, 
under  which  it  often  happens  that  the  surface  be- 
longs to  one  owner,  and  the  soil  to  another ;  so 
that  neither  owner  can  stir  a  clod  without  the  con- 
currence of  his  partner  in  the  property.  In  many 
manors,  the  tenant  is  restrained  from  granting 
leases  beyond  a  short  term  of  years ;  which  renders 
every  plan  of  solid  unprovement  impracticable. 
In  these  cases,  the  owner  wants,  what  the  first 
rule  of  rational  policy  requires,  "  sufficient  power 
over  the  soil  for  its  perfect  cultivation."  This 
power  ought  to  be  extended  to  iiini  by  some  easy 


and  general  law  of  enfranchisement,  partition,  and 
enclosure ;  which,  though  compulsory  upon  the 
lord,  or  tlie  rest  of  the  tenants,  whilst  it  has  in  view 
the  melioration  of  the  soil,  and  tenders  an  equitable 
co]npens;ition  for  every  right  that  it  takes  away,  is 
neither  more  arbitrary,  nor  more  dangerous  to  the 
stalnlity  of  property,  than  that  which  is  done  in 
the  construction  of  roads,  bridges,  embankments, 
navigable  canals,  and  indeed  in  almost  every  pub- 
lic work,  in  which  private  owners  of  land  are 
obliged  to  accept  that  price  for  their  property  w  hich 
an  indifferent  jury  may  award.  It  may  here,  how- 
ever, be  proper  to  observe,  that  although  the  en- 
closure of  wastes  and  pastures  be  generally  bene- 
ficial to  population,  yet  the  enclosure  of  lands  in 
tillage,  in  order  to  convert  them  into  pastures,  is 
as  generally  hurtful. 

But,  secondly,  agriculture  is  discouraged  by  every 
constitution  of  landed  property  which  lets  in  those, 
who  have  no  concern  in  the  improvement,  to  a 
participation  of  the  profit.  This  objection  is  ap- 
plicable to  all  such  customs  of  manors  as  subject 
the  proprietor,  upon  the  death  of  the  lord  or  tenant, 
or  the  alienation  of  the  estate,  to  a  fine  apportioned 
to  the  improved  value  of  the  land.  But  of  all  in- 
stitutions which  are  in  this  way  adverse  to  culli- 
valion  and  improvement,  none  is  so  noxious  as  tliat 
of  tithes.  A  claimant  here  enters  into  the  produce, 
who  contributed  no  as.sistance  whatever  to  the  pro- 
duction. When  years,  perhaps,  of  care  and  toil 
have  matured  an  improvement;  when  the  hus- 
bandman sees  new  crops  ripening  to  his  skill  and 
industry ;  the  moment  he  is  ready  to  put  his  sickle 
to  the  grain,  he  finds  himself  compelled  to  di- 
vide his  harvest  with  a  stranger.  1'ithes  are  a 
tax  not  only  upon  industry,  but  upon  that  industry 
which  feeds  mankind ;  upon  that  species  of  exer- 
tion which  it  is  the  aim  of  all  wise  laws  to  cherish 
and  promote ;  and  to  uphold  and  excite  which, 
composes,  as  we  have  seen,  the  main  benefit  that 
the  community  receives  from  the  whole  system  of 
trade,  and  the  success  of  commerce.  And,  toge- 
ther witli  the  more  general  inconveniency  that  at- 
tends the  exaction  of  tithes,  there  is  this  additional 
evil,  in  the  mode  at  least  according  to  which  they 
are  collected  at  present,  that  they  operate  as  a 
bounty  upon  pasturage.  The  burthen  of  the  tax 
falls  with  its  chief,  if  not  with  its  whole  weight, 
upon  tillage  ;  that  is  to  say,  upon  that  precise  mode 
of  cultivation,  which,  as  hath  been  shown  above, 
it  is  the  business  of  the  state  to  relieve  and  remu- 
nerate, in  preference  to  every  other.  No  mea- 
sure of  such  extensive  concern  appears  to  me  so 
practicable,  nor  any  single  alteration  so  beneficial, 
as  the  conversion  of  tithes  into  corn-rents.  This 
comniuJ:ation,  I  am  convinced,  might  be  so  adjusted 
as  to  secure  to  the  tithe-holder  a  complete  and 
perpetual  equivalent  for  his  interest,  and  to  leave 
to  industry  its  full  operation,  and  entire  reward. 


ch:apter  XII. 

Of  War,  and  of  Military  Establishments. 

Bf.cause  the  Christian  Scriptures  describe  wars 
as  what  they  are, — as  crimes  or  judgments,  some 
have  been  led  to  believe  that  it  is  unlawtid  ibr  a 
Christian  to  bear  arms.  But  it  should  be  remem- 
bered that  it  may  be  necessary  for  individuals  to 
unite  tlieir  force,  and  for  this  end  to  resign  them- 
selves to  the  direction  of  a  common  will ;  and  yot 


OF  WAR,  AND  OF  MILITARY  ESTABLISHMENTS. 


161 


i1  may  be  true  that  that  will  is  oflen  actuated  by 
criminal  motives,  and  often  determined  to  destruc- 
tive purposes.  Hence,  althougli  the  origin  of  wars 
oe  ascribed,  in  Scripture,  to  the  operation  of  law- 
less and  malignant  passion  ;*  and  though  war  it- 
self be  enumerated  among  the  sorest  calamities 
witli  which  a  land  can  be  visited,  the  profession 
of  a  soldier  is  nowhere  forbidden  or  condenmed. 
When  the  soldiers  demanded  of  John  the  Baptist 
wliat  they  sKoiitd  do,  he  said  unto  them,  "  Do  vio- 
lence to  no  man,  neither  accuse  any  falsely,  and 
be  content  with  your  wages."t  In  which  answer 
we  do  not  find  that,  in  order  to  prepare  themselves 
for  tlie  reception  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  it  was 
required  of  soldiers  to  relinquish  their  profession, 
but  only  that  they  should  beware  of  the  vices  of 
wliicii  that  profession  was  -iccused.  The  precept 
wliich  follows,  "  Be  content  with  your  wages," 
sup[)osed  them  to  continue  in  their  situation.  It 
was  of  a  Roman  centurion  that  Christ  pronounced 
that  memo'raBle  eulogy,  "  I  have  not  found  so  great 
fiiilh,  no,  not  in  Israel."t  The  first  Gentile  con- 
v.eili  who  was  received  into  the  Christian  church, 
and  to  whom  the  Gospel  was  imparted  by  the  im- 
mediate and  especial  direction  of  Heaven,  held 
the  same  station :  and  in  the  history  of  this  trans- 
action we  discover  not  the  smallest  intimation, 
t^i'it  Qoragliyg,  upon  becoming  a  Christian,  quit- 
ted the  service  of  the  Roman  legion  ;  that  his  pro- 
fession was  objected  to,  or  his  continuance  in  it  con- 
sidered as  in  any  wise  inconsistent  with  his  new 
charjcter. 

In  ajiplying  the  principles  of  morality  to  the  af- 
fairs of  nations,  the  difficulty  which  meets  us, 
arises  from  hence,  "  that  the  particular  consequence 
sometimes  appears  to  exceed  the  value  of  the  gen- 
eral rule."  In  this  circumstance  is  founded  the 
only  distinction  that  exists  between  the  case  of 
independent  states,  and  of  independent  indi- 
viduals. In  the  transactions  of  private  persons, 
no  advantage  that  results  from  the  breach  of  a 
general  law  of  justice,  can  compensate  to  the 
public  for  the  violation  of  the  law ;  in  the  concerns 
of  empire,  this  may  sometimes  be  doubted.  Thus, 
that  the  faith  of  promises  ought  to  be  maintained, 
as  far  as  is  lawful,  and  as  lar  as  was  intended  by 
the  jjarties,  whatever  inconveniency  cither  of  them 
may  suffer  by  his  fidelity,  in  the  intercourse  of 
priv;ite  life,  is  seldom  disputed ;  because  it  is 
evidi'ut  to  almost  every  man  who  reflects  upon 
the  suliject,  that  tlie  common  happiness  gains 
more  liy  the  preservation  of  the  rule,  than  it  could 
do  by  the  removal  of  the  inconveniency.  But 
when  the  adherence  to  a  public  treaty  would  en- 
slave a  whole  people ;  would  block  up  seas,  rivers, 
or  harbours ;  depopulate  cities ;  condemn  fertile 
regions  to  eternal  desolation ;  cut  oft'  a  country 
from  its  sources  of  provision,  or  deprive  it  of  those 
commercial  advantages  to  which  its  climate,  pro- 
duce, or  situation  naturally  entitle  it:  the  magni- 
tude of  the  particular  evil  induces  us  to  call  in 
I  question  the  obligation  of  the  general  rule.  Moral 

1  Philosophy  furnishes  no  precise  solution  to  these 
doul)ts.  She  cannot  pronounce  that  any  rule  of 
morality  is  so  rigid  as  to  bend  to  no  exceptions  ; 
nor,  on  the  other  hand,  can  she  comjnise  these 
exceptions  within  any  previous  description.  She 
confesses  that  the  obligation  of  every  law  depends 


*  James  iv.  1. 
X  Luke  vii.  9. 


X 


t  Luke  iii.  14. 
§  Acts.  X.  1. 


upon  its  ultimate  utility ;  that  this  utility,  havincr 
a  finite  and  determinate  value,  situations  may  be 
feigned,  and  consequently  may  possibly  arise,  in 
which  the  general  tendency  is  outweighed  bj  the 
enormity  of  the  particular  mischief:  but  she  re- 
calls, at  the  same  time,  to  the  consideration  of  the 
inquirer,  the  almost  inestimable  importance,  as  of 
other  general  rules  of  relative  justice,  so  especially 
of  national  and  personal  fidelity ;  the  unseen,  if 
not  unbounded,  extent  of  the  mischief  which  must 
follow  from  the  want  of  it ;  the  danger  of  leaving 
it  to  the  sufferer  to  decide  upon  the  comparison 
of  particular  and  general  consequences  ;  and  the 
still  greater  danger  of  such  decisions  being  drawn 
into  future  precedents.  If  treaties,  for  instance, 
be  no  longer  binding  than  whilst  they  are  conve- 
nient, or  until  the  inconveniency  ascend  to  a 
certain  point,  (which  point  must  be  fixed  by  the 
judgment,  or  rather  by  the  feelings,  of  the  com- 
plaining party  ;)  or  if  such  an  opinion,  after  being 
authorised  by  a  few  examples,  come  at  length  to 
prevail ;  one  and  almost  the  only  method  of  avert- 
ing or  closing  the  calamities  of  war,  of  either  pre- 
venting or  putting  a  stop  to  the  destruction  of 
mankind,  is  lost  to  the  world  for  ever.  We  do 
not  say  that  no  evil  can  exceed  this,  nor  any  pos- 
sible advantage  compensate  it ;  but  we  say  that  a 
loss,  which  affects  all,  will  scarcely  be  made  up 
to  the  common  stock  of  human  happiness  by  any 
benefit  that  can  be  procured  to  a  single  nation 
which,  however  respectable  when  compared  with 
any  other  single  nation,  bears  an  inconsiderable 
proportion  to  the  whole.  These,  however,  are 
the  principles  upon  which  the  calculation  is  to  bo 
formed.  It  is  enough,  in  this  place,  to  remark 
the  cause  which  produces  the  hesitation  that  we 
sometimes  feel,  in  applying  rules  of  personal  pro- 
bity to  the  conduct  of  nations. 

As  between  individuals  it  is  found  impossible 
to  ascertain  every  duty  by  an  immediate  reference 
to  public  utility,  not  only  because  such  reference 
is  oftentimes  too  remote  for  the  direction  of  private 
consciences,  but  because  a  multitude  of  cases  arise 
in  which  it  is  indifferent  to  the  general  interest  by 
what  rule  men  act,  though  it  be  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  they  act  by  some  constant  and  known 
rule  or  other :  and  as,  for  these  reasons,  certain 
positive  constitutions  are  wont  to  be  established  in 
every  society,  which,  when  established,  become  as 
obligatory  as  the  original  principles  of  natural 
justicethemselves;  so,  likewi.se,  it  is  between  in- 
dependent communities.  Together  with  those 
maxims  of  universal  equity  which  are  common  to 
states  and  to  individuals,  and  by  which  the  rights 
and  conduct  of  the  one  as  well  as  the  other,  ought 
to  be  adjusted,  when  they  fall  within  the  scope 
and  application  of  such  maxims  ;  there  exists  8>lso> 
amongst  sovereigns  a  system  of  artificial  jurispru- 
dence, under  the  name  of  the  law  of  nations.  In 
this  code  are  found  the  rules  which  determine  the 
right  to  vacant  or  newly  discovered  countries; 
those  which  relate  to  the  protection  of  fugitives, 
the  privileges  of  ambassadors,  the  condition  aii(l 
duties  of  neutrality,  the  immunities  of  neutral 
ships,  ports,  and  coasts,  the  distance  from  .shoi*  to 
which  these  immunities  extend,  the  distinction 
between  free  and  contraband  goods,  and  a  varifty 
of  subjects  of  the  same  kind.  Concerning  which 
examples,  and  indeed  the  principal  part  of  what  is 
called  the  jus  gentium,  it  may  be  observed,  that 
the  rules  derive  their  moral  force,  (by  which  I 
mean  the  regard  that  ought  to  be  paid  to  them  by 
14* 


162 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


the  consciences  of  sovereigns,)  not  from  their  in- 
terwal  reusonubleness  or  Justice,  for  many  of  them 
are  perfectly  arlntiii'ry,  nor  yet  from  the  authority 
by  which  they  were  established,  for  the  greater 
part  have  grown  insensibly  into  usage,  without 
any  public  compact,  Ibrmal  acknowledgment,  or 
even  known  original ;  but  simply  I'rom  the  fact  of 
their  being  established,  and  the  general  duty  of 
conforming  to  established  rules  upon  questions, 
and  between  parties,  where  nothing  but  positive 
regulations  can  prevent  disputes,  and  where  dis- 
putes are  Ibljowed  by  such  destructive  conse- 
quences. The  first  of  the  instances  which  we  have 
just  now  enumerated,  may  be  selected  for  the  illus- 
tration ol'  this  remark.  The  nations  of  Europe 
consider  the  sovereignty  of  newly-discovered  coun- 
tries as  belonging  to  the  prince  or  state  whose 
subject  makes  the  discovery :  and  in  pursuance  of 
this  rule,  it  is  usual  for  a  navigator,  who  falls  upon 
an  unknown  shore,  to  take  possession  of  it,  in 
the  name  of  his  sovereign  at  home,  by  erecting 
his  standard,  or  displaying  his  flag  upon  a  desert 
coast.  Now  nothing  can  be  more  fanciful,  or  less 
substantiated  by  any  considerations  of  reason  or 
justice,  than  the  right  which  such  discovery,  or 
the  transient  occupation  and  idle  ceremony  that 
accompany  it,  confer  upon  the  country  of  the  dis- 
coverer. Nor  can  any  stipulation  be  produced, 
by  which  the  rest  of  the  world  have  bound  them- 
selves to  submit  to  this  pretension.  Yet  when  we 
reflect  that  the  claims  to  newly-discovered  coun- 
tries can  hardly  be  settled,  between  the  dillerent 
nations  which  frequent  them,  without  some  posi- 
tive rule  or  other;  that  such  claims,  if  left  un- 
settled, would  prove  sources  of  ruinous  and  fatal 
contentions ;  that  the  rule  already  proposed,  how- 
ever arbitrary,  possesses  one  principal  quality  of  a 
rule, — determination  and  certainty :  above  all, 
that  it  is  acijuiesced  in,  and  that  no  one  has  power 
to  substitute  another,  however  he  might  con- 
trive a  better,  in  its  place  :  when  we  retiect  upon 
these  properties  of  the  rule,  or  rather  upon  these 
consequences  of  rejecting  its  authority,  we  are- led 
to  ascribe  to  it  the  virtue  and  obligation  of  a  pre- 
cept of  natural  justice,  because  we  perceive  in  it 
that  which  is  tlie  foundation  of  justice  itself, — 
public  importance  and  utility.  And  a  prince  who 
should  dispute  this  rule,  for  the  want  of  regularity 
in  its  formation,  or  of  intelligible  justice  in  its 
principle,  and  by  such  disputes  should  disturb  the 
tranquillity  of  nations,  and  at  the  same  time  lay 
the  foundation  of  future  disturbances,  would  be 
little  less  criminal  than  he  who  breaks  the  public 
peace,  by  a  violation  of  engagements  to  which  he 
had  himself  consented,  or  by  an  attack  upon  those 
national  rights  which  are  founded  immediately  in 
the  law  of  nature,  and  in  the  first  perceptions  of 
equity.  The  same  thing  may  be  repeated  of  the 
rules  which  the  law  of  nations  prescrilies  in  the 
other  instances  that  were  mentioned,  namely,  that 
the  obscurity  of  their  origin,  or  the  arbitrariness  of 
their  principle,  subtracts  nothing  from  the  respect 
that  is  due  to  them,  when  once  established. 


War  may  be  considered  with  a  view  to  its 
r.aiises  and  its  conduct. 

The  justifying  causes  of  war,  are,  deliberate 
invasions  of  right,  and  the  necessity  of  main- 
taining such  a  balance  of  power  amongst  neigh- 
muring  nations,  as  that  no  single  state,  or  con- 


federacy of  states,  be  strong  enough  to  overwhelm 
the  rest.  The  objects  of  just  war,  are,  precaution, 
defence,  or  reparation.  In  a  larger  sense,  every 
just  war  is  a  defensive  war,  inasmuch  as  every 
just  war  supposes  an  injury  pej-petrated,  at- 
tempted, or  feared. 

The  insufficient  causes  or  unjustifahJe  mo- 
tives of  war,  are  the  family  alliances,  the  personal 
friendships,  or  the  personal  quarrels,  of  princes ; 
the  internal  disputes  which  are  carried  on  in  other 
nations;  the  justice  of  other  wars;  the  extension 
of  territory,  or  of  trade ;  the  misfortunes  or  acci- 
dental weakness  of  a  neighbouring  or  rival  nation 

There  are  two  lessons  of  rational  and  suliei 
policy,  which,  if  it  were  possible  to  inculcate  them 
into  the  councils  of  princes,  would  exclude  many 
of  the  motives  of  war,  and  allay  that  restless  am- 
bition which  is  constantly  stirring  up  one  part  of 
mankind  against  another. 

The  first  of  these  lessons  admonishes  princes 
to  "  place  their  glory  and  their  enmlation,  not  in 
extent  of  territory,  but  in  raising  the  greatest 
quantity  of  happiness  out  of  a  given  territory." 
I'he  enlargement  of  territory  by  conquest  is  not 
only  not  a  just  object  of  war,  but  in  the  greater  part 
of  the  instances  in  which  it  is  attempted,  not  even 
desirable.  It  is  certainly  not  desirable  where  it 
adds  nothing  to  the  numbers,  the  enjoyments,  or 
the  security,  of  the  conquerors.  What  com- 
monly is  gained  to  a  nation,  by  the  annexing  of 
new  dependencies,  or  the  subjugation  of  other 
countries  to  its  dominion,  but  a  wider  frontier  to 
defend ;  more  interfiling  claims  to  vindicate ; 
more  quarrels,  more  enemies,  more  rebellions,  to 
encounter ;  a  greater  force  to  keep  up  by  sea  and 
land ;  more  services  to  provide  for,  and  more 
establishments  to  pay  1  And,  in  order  to  draw 
from  these  acquisitions  something  that  may  make 
up  for  the  charge  of  keeping  them,  a  revenue  is  to 
be  extorted,  or  a  monopoly  to  be  enforced  and 
watched,  at  an  expense  which  costs  half  their 
produce.  Thus  the  provinces  are  oppressed,  in 
order  to  pay  for  being  ill-governed ;  and  the  ori- 
ginal state  is  exhausted  in  maintaining  a  feeble 
authority  over  discontented  subjects.  No  assign- 
able portion  of  country  is  benefited  by  the  change ; 
and  if  the  sovereign  appear  to  himself  to  be  en- 
riched or  strengthened,  when  every  part  of  his 
dominion  is  made  poorer  and  weaker  than  it  was, 
it  is  probable  that  he  is  decei\ed  by  apppearances. 
Or  were  it  true  that  the  grandeur  of  the  prince  is 
magnified  by  those  exploits ;  the  glory  which  is 
purchased,  and  the  ambition  which  is  gratified,  by 
the  distress  of  one  country  without  adding  to  the 
happiness  of  another,  which  at  the  same  time 
enslaves  the  new  and  impoverishes  the  ancient 
part  of  the  empire,  by  whatever  names  it  may  be 
known  or  fiattered,  ought  to  be  an  object  of  uni- 
versal execration  ;  and  oftentimes  not  more  so  to 
the  vanquished,  than  to  the  very  people  whose 
armies  or  whose  treasures  have  achieved  the 
victory. 

There  are,  indeed,  two  cases  in  which  the  ex- 
tension of  territory  may  be  of  real  advantage,  and 
to  both  parties.  The  first  is,  where  an  empire 
thereby  reaches  to  the  natural  boundaries  which 
divide  it  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  Thus  we  ac- 
count the  British  Channel  the  natural  boundary 
which  separates  the  nations  of  England  and 
France ;  and  if  France  possessed  any  countries  on 
this,  or  England  any  cities  or  provinces  on  that, 
side  of  the  sea,  recovery  of  such  towns  and  districts 


OF  WAR,  AND  OF  MILITARY  ESTABLISHMENTS. 


163 


to  what  may  be  called  tlieir  natural  sovereign, 
though  it  may  not  be  a  just  reason  for  commencing 
war,  would  be  a  proper  use  to  make  of  victory. 
Tlie  other  case  is,  where  neighbouring  states,  being 
severally  too  small  and  weak  to  defend  themselves 
against  the  dangers  that  surround  them,  can  only 
be  safe  by  a  strict  and  constant  junction  of  their 
strength :  here  conquest  will  affect  the  purposes 
of  confederation  and  alliance ;  and  the  union  which 
it  produces  is  often  more  close  and  permanent  than 
that  which  results  from  voluntary  association. 
Thus,  if  the  heptarchy  had  continued  in  England, 
the  different  kingdoms  of  it  might  have  separately 
fallen  a  prey  to  foreign  invasion :  and  although 
the  interest  and  danger  of  one  part  of  the  island 
were  in  truthcommontoevery  other  part,  it  might 
have  been  difficult  to  have  circulated  this  persua- 
sion amongst  independent  nations,  or  to  have 
united  them  in  any  regular  or  steady  opposition 
to  their  continental  enemies,  had  not  the  valour 
and  fortune  of  an  enterprising  prince  incorporated 
the  whole  into  a  single  monarchy.  Here,  the  con- 
quered gained  as  much  by  the  revolution,  as  the 
conquerors.  In  like  manner,  and  for  the  same 
reason,  when  the  two  royal  families  of  Spain 
were  met  together  in  one  race  of  princes,  and  the 
several  provinces  of  France  had  devolved  into  the 
possessiou  of  a  single  sovereign,  it  became  unsafe 
for  the  inhabitants  of  Great  Britain  any  longer  to 
remain  under  separate  governments.  The  union 
of  England  and  Scotland,  which  transformed  two 
quarrelsome  neighbours  into  one  powerful  empire, 
and  which  was  lirst  brought  aljout  by  the  course 
of  succession,  and  afterwards  completed  by  amica- 
ble convention,  would  have  been  a  fortunate  con- 
clusion of  hostilities,  had  it  been  effected  by  the 
operations  of  war. — These  two  cases  being  ad- 
mitted, namely,  the  obtaining  of  natural  bounda- 
ries and  barriers,  and  the  including  under  the  same 
government  those  who  have  a  common  danger 
and  a  common  enemy  to  guard  against ;  I  know 
not  whether  a  third  can  be  thought  of,  iu  which 
the  extension  of  empire  by  conquest  is  useful  even 
to  the  conquerors. 

The  second  rule  of  prudence  which  ought  to  be 
recommended  to  those  who  conduct  the  atfairs  of 
nations,  is,  "  never  to  pursue  national  honour  as 
distinct  from  national  interest.''^  This  rule  ac- 
knowledges that  it  is  often  necessary  to  assert  the 
honour  of  a  nation  for  the  sake  of  its  interest.  The 
spirit  and  courage  of  a  people  are  supported  by 
flattering  their  pride.  Concessions  which  betray 
too  much  of  fear  or  weakness,  though  they  relate 
to  points  of  mere  ceremony,  invite  demands  and 
attacks  of  more  serious  importance.  Our  rule 
allows  all  this ;  and  only  directs  that,  when  points 
of  honour  become  subjects  of  contention  between 
sovereigns,  or  are  likely  to  be  made  the  occasion  of 
war,  the^'  be  estimated  with  a  reference  to  utility, 
and  not  hij  themselves.  "  The  dignity  of  his  crown, 
the  honour  of  his  dag,  the  glory  of  his  arms,"  in 
the  mouth  of  a  prince,  are  stately  and  imposing 
terms ;  but  the  ideas  they  inspire,  are  insatiable. 
It  may  be  always  glorious  to  conquer,  whatever 
be  the  justice  of  the  war,  or  the  price  of  the  vic- 
tory. The  dignity  of  a  sovereign  may  not  permit 
him  to  recede  from  clainas  of  homage  and  respect, 
at  whatever  expense  of  national  peace  and  happi- 
ness they  are  to  be  maintained;  however  unjust 
they  may  have  been  in  their  original,  or  in  their 
continuance  however  useless  to  the  possessor,  or 
mortifying  and  vexatious  to  other  states.  The  pur- 


suit of  honour,  when  set  loose  from  the  admonitions 
of  prudence,  becomes  in  kings  a  wild  and  romantic 
passion :  eager  to  engage,  and  gathering  fury  in  its 
progress,  it  is  checked  by  no  ditliculties,  repelled  by 
no  dangers ;  it  forgets  or  despises  those  considera 
tions  of  safety,  ease,  wealth,  and  plenty,  which,  in 
the  eye  of  true  public  wisdom,  compose  the  objects 
to  which  the  renown  of  arms,  the  fame  of  victory, 
are  only  instrumental  and  subordinate.  The  pur- 
suit of  interest,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  sober  princi- 
ple ;  computes  costs  and  consequences ;  is  cautious 
of  entering  into  war ;  stops  in  time :  when  regulated 
by  those  universal  maxims  of  relative  justice  which 
belong  to  the  aflairs  of  communities  as  well  as  of 
private  persons,  it  is  the  right  principle  for  nations 
to  proceed  by :  even  when  it  trespasses  upon  these 
regulations,  it  is  much  less  dangerous,  because 
much  more  temperate  than  the  other. 

II.  The  conduct  of  war.— If  the  cause  and  end 
of  war  be  justifiable ;  all  the  means  that  appear 
necessary  to  the  end,  are  justifiable  also.  This 
is  the  principle  which  defends  those  extremities 
to  which  the  violence  of  war  usually  proceeds :  for 
since  war  is  a  contest  hy  force  between  parties  who 
acknowledge  no  common  superior,  and  since  it 
includes  not  in  its  idea  the  supposition  of  any  con- 
vention which  should  place  limits  to  the  opera- 
tions of  force,  it  has  naturally  no  boundary  but 
that  in  which  force  terminates, — the  destruction 
of  the  life  against  which  the  force  is  directed.  Let 
it  be  observed,  however,  that  the  license  of  war  au- 
thorises no  acts  of  hostility  but  what  are  necessary 
or  conducive  to  the  end  and  object  of  the  war. 
Gratuitous  barbarities  borrow  no  excuse  from  this 
plea :  of  which  kind  is  every  cruelty  and  every  in- 
sult that  serves  only  to  exasperate  "the  sufferings, 
or  to  incense  the  hatred,  of  an  enemy,  without 
weakening  his  strength,  or  in  any  manner  tending 
to  procure  his  submission ;  such  as  the  slaughter 
of  captives,  the  subjecting  of  them  to  indignities 
or  torture,  the  violation  of  women,  the  profiination 
of  temples,  the  demolition  of  public  buildings, 
libraries,  statues,  and  in  general  the  destruction 
or  defacing  of  works  that  conduce  nothing  to  an- 
noyance or  defence.  These  enormities  are  pro- 
hibited not  only  by  the  practice  of  civilized  nations, 
but  by  the  law  of  nature  itself;  as  having  no  proper 
tendency  to  accelerate  the  termination,  or  accom- 
plish the  object  of  the  war ;  and  as  containing  that 
which  in  peace  and  war  is  equally  unjustifiable, — 
ultimate  and  gratuitous  mischief 

There  are  other  restrictions  imposed  upon  the 
conduct  of  war,  not  by  the  law  of  nature  prunarily, 
but  by  the  laws  of  war,  first,  and  by  the  law  of 
nature  as  seconding  and  ratifying  the  laws  e  ^  war. 
The  laws  of  war  are  part  of  the  law  of  nations  ; 
and  founded,  as  to  their  authority,  upon  the  same 
principle  with  the  rest  of  that  code,  namely,  ujjon 
the  fact  of  their  being  established,  no  matter  when 
or  by  whom ;  upon  the  expectation  of  their  being 
mutually  observed,  in  consequence  of  that  esta- 
blishment; and  upon  the  general  utility  which 
results  from  such  observance.  The  binding  force 
of  these  rules  is  the  greater,  because  the  regard 
that  is  paid  to  them  must  be  universal  or  none. 
The  breach  of  the  rule  can  only  be  punished  by  the 
subversion  of  the  rule  itself:  on  which  account,  the 
whole  mischief  that  ensues  from  the  laws  of  thoso 
salutary  restrictions  which  such  rules  prescribe,  i^• 
justly  chargeable  upon  the  first  aggressor.  To 
this  consideration  may  be  referred  the  duty  of  re- 
fraining in  war  from  poison  and  from  assassina- 


164 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY. 


tion.  If  tlie  law  of  nature  simply  be  consulted, 
it  may  be  difficult  to  distinguish  between  these 
and  other  methods  of  destruction,  which  are  prac- 
tised without  scruple  by  nations  at  war.  If  it  be 
lavvful  to  kill  an  enemy  at  all,  it  seems  lawful  to 
do  so  by  one  mode  of  death  as  well  as  by  another ; 
by  a  dose  of  poison,  as  by  the  point  of  a  sword  ; 
by  the  hand  of  an  assassin,  as  by  the  attack  of  an 
army  :  for  if  it  be  said  that  one  species  of  assault 
leaves  to  an  enemy  the  power  of  deil'nding  itself 
against  it,  and  that  the  other  two  does  not ;  it  may 
be  answered,  that  we  possess  at  least  the  same  right 
to  cut  oft'  an  enemy's  defence,  that  we  have  to  seek 
his  destruction.  In  this  manner  might  the  ques- 
tion be  debated,  if  there  existed  no  rule  or  law  of 
war  upon  the  sulyect.  But  when  we  observe  that 
such  practices  are  at  present  excluded  by  the  usage 
and  opinions  of  civilized  nations;  that  the  first  re- 
course to  them  would  be  ibllowed  by  instant  re- 
taliation ;  that  the  mutual  license  which  such 
attempts  )nust  introduce,  would  fill  both  sides  witli 
the  misery  of  continual  dread  and  suspicion,  with- 
out adding  to  the  strength  or  success  of  either ; 
that  when  the  example  came  to  be  more  generally 
imitated,  which  it  soon  would  be,  after  the  senti- 
ment that  condemns  it  had  been  once  broken  in 
upon,  it  would  greatly  aggravate  tlie  horrors  and 
calamities  of  war,  yet  procure  no  superiority  to 
any  of  the  nations  engaged  in  it ;  when  we  view 
these  eficcts,  we  join  in  the  public  reprobation  of 
such  fatal  expedients,  as  of  the  admission  amongst 
mankind  of  new  and  enormous  evils  without  ne- 
cessity or  advantage. — The  law  of  nature,  we  see 
at  length,  forbids  these  innovations,  as  so  many 
transgressions  of  a  beneficial  general  rule  actually 
subsisting. 

The  license  of  war  then  acknowledges  two  limi- 
tations :  it  authorises  no  hostilities  which  have  not 
an  apparent  tendency  to  efiectuate  the  object  of  the 
war;  it  respects  those  positive  laws  which  the 
custom  of  nations  hath  sanctified,  and  which 
whilst  they  are  mutually  conformed  to,  mitigate 
the  calamities  of  war,  without  weakening  its  ope- 
rations, or  diminishing  the  power  or  safety  of 
belligerent  states. 


Long  and  various  experience  seems  to  have 
convinced  the  nations  of  Europe,  that  nothing 
but  a  standing  army  ciin  oppose  a  standing  army, 
where  the  numbers  on  each  side  bear  any  mode- 
rate proportion  to  one  another.  The  first  stand- 
ing army  tliat  appeared  in  Europe  after  the  fall  of 
the  Roman  legion,  was  that  which  was  erected  in 
France,  by  Charles  VII.  about  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century :  and  that  the  institution  hath 
since  become  general,  can  only  be  attributed  to  the 
superiority  and  success  which  are  everywhere  ob- 
served to  attend  it.  The  truth  is,  the  closeness, 
regularity,  and  quickness,  of  their  movements;  the 
unreserved,  instantaneous,  and  almost  mechanical, 
obedience  to  orders  ;  the  sense  of  personal  honour, 
and  the  familiarity  with  danger,  which  belong  to 
a  disciplined,  veteran,  and  embodied  soldiery,  give 
such  firmness  and  intrepidity  to  their  approach, 
such  weight  and  execution  to  their  attack,  as  are 
net  to  be  withstood  by  loose  ranks  of  occasional  and 
nevyly-levicd  troops,  who  are  liable  by  their  inex- 
perience to  disorder  and  confusion,  and  in  whom 
fear  is  constantly  augmented  by  novelty  and  sur- 
prise.    It  is  possible  that  a  militia,  with  a  great 


excess  of  numbers,  and  a  ready  supply  of  recruiis 
may  sustain  a  defensive  or  a  tiying  war  agains'^ 
regular  troops :  it  is  also  true  that  any  service 
which  keeps  soldiers  for  a  while  together,  and 
inures  them  by  little  and  little  to  the  liabits  of  war 
and  the  dangers  of  action,  transforms  them  in  ef- 
fect into  a  standing  army.  But  upon  this  plan  it 
may  be  necessary  for  almost  a  whole  nation  to  go 
out  to  war  to  repel  an  invader;  beside  that  a  peo- 
ple so  unprepared  must  always  have  the  seat,  and 
with  it  the  miseries,  of  war  at  home,  being  utterly 
incapable  of  carrying  their  operations  into  a  foreign 
country. 

Prom  the  acknowledged  superiority  of  standing 
armies,  it  follows,  not  only  that  it  is  unsafe  for  a 
nation  to  disband  its  regular  troops,  whilst  neigh- 
bouring kingdoms  retain  theirs ;  but  also  that 
regular  troops  jirovide  for  the  public  service  at  the 
least  possible  expense.  I  suppose  a  certain  quan- 
tity of  military  strength  to  be  necessary,  and  I  say 
that  a  standing  army  costs  the  community  less 
than  any  other  establishment  which  presents 
to  an  enemy  the  same  force.  The  constant 
drudgery  of"  low  employments  is  not  only  incom- 
patible with  any  great  degree  of  ))erfection  or  cx- 
pertness  in  the  profession  of  a  soldier,  but  the  pro- 
fession of  a  soldier  almost  always  unfits  men  lor 
the  business  of  regular  occupations.  Of  three  in- 
habitants of  a  vil^ge,  it  is  better  that  one  should 
addict  himself  entirely  to  arms,  and  the  other  two 
stay  constantly  at  home  to  cultivate  the  ground, 
than  that  all  three  should  mix  the  avocations  of  a 
camp,  with  the  business  of  husbandry.  By  the 
former  arrangement,  the  country  gains  one  com- 
plete soldier,  and  two  industrious  husbandmen; 
from  the  latter  it  receives  three  raw  militia-men, 
who  are  at  the  same  time  three  idle  anil  profligate 
peasants.  It  should  be  considered  also,  that  the 
emergencies  of  war  wait  not  for  seasons.  Where 
there  is  no  standing  army  ready  for  immediate 
service,  it  may  be  necessary  to  call  the  reaper  from 
the  fields  in  harvest,  or  the  ploughman  in  seed 
time ;  and  the  provision  of  a  whole  year  may 
perish  by  the  interruption  of  one  month's  labour. 
A  standing  army,  therefore,  is  not  only  a  more 
effectual,  but  a  cheaper,  method  of  providing  for 
the  public  safety,  than  any  other,  because  it  adds 
more  than  any  other  to  the  common  strength,  and 
takes  less  from  that  which  comjtoses  the  wealth  ol' 
a  nation, — its  stock  of  productive  industry. 

There  is  yet  another  distinction  between  stand- 
ing armies  and  militias,  which  deserves  a  more  at- 
tentive consideration  than  any  that  has  been 
mentioned.  When  the  state  relies,  for  its  defence, 
u])on  a  militia,  it  is  necessary  that  arms  be  put 
into  the  hands  of  the  people  at  large.  The  mi- 
litia itself  must  he  numerous,  in  proportion  to  the 
want  or  inferiority  of  its  discipline,  and  the  iml)e- 
cilities  or  defects  of  its  constitution.  Moreover,  as 
such  a  militia  must  be  sujiplied  by  rotation,  allot- 
ment, or  some  mode  of  succession  whereby  they 
who  have  served  a  certain  time  are  replaced  by 
fresh  drafts  from  the  country ;  a  much  greater 
number  will  be  instructed  in  the  use  of  arms,  and 
will  have  been  occasionally  embodied  together, 
than  are  actually  emplov'cd,  or  than  are  suppo.sed 
to  be  wanted,  at  the  same  time.  Now  what 
ellk'ts  upon  the  civil  con<lition  of  the  country  may 
be  looked  for  from  this  general  diffusion  of  the 
military  character,  becomes  an  inquiry  of  great 
importance  and  delicacy.  To  me  it  appears  doubt- 
ful whether  any  government  can  be  long  secure, 


OF  WAR,  AND  OF  MILITARY  ESTABLISHMENTS. 


165 


where  the  people  are  acquainted  with  the  use  of 
arms,  and  accustomed  to  resort  to  them.  Every 
faction  will  find  itf^elf  at  the  head  of  an  anny  ; 
every  disgust  will  excite  commotion,  and  every 
commotion  become  a  ci\  il  war.  Nothing,  perhaps, 
can  govern  a  nation  of  armed  citizens  but  that 
which  governs  an  army, — despotism.  I  do  not 
mean  that  a  reoular  government  would  become 
despotic  by  training  up  its  subjects  to  the  know- 
ledge and  exercise  of  arms,  but  that  it  would  ere 
long  be  forced  to  give  way  to  despotism  in  some 
other  shape ;  and  that  the  country  would  be  liable 
to  what  is  even  worse  than  a  settled  and  constitu- 
tional despotism — to  perpetual  rebellions,  and  to 
perpetual  revolutions ;  to  short  and  violent  usur- 
pations :  to  the  successive  tyranny  of  governors, 
rendered  cruel  and  jealous  by  the  danger  and  in- 
stability of  their  situation. 

The  same  purposes  of  strength  and  efficacy 
which  make  a  standing  arm}-  necessary  at  all, 
make  it  necessary  in  mixed  governments,  that 
this  army  be  submitted  to  the  management  and 
direction  of  the  prince  :  for  however  well  a  popular 
council  may  be  qualiiied  for  the  offices  of  legisla- 
tion, it  is  altogether  unfit  for  the  conduct  of  war ; 
in  which,  success  usually  depends  upon  vigour 
and  enterprise ;  upon  secrecy,  dispatch,  and  una- 
nunity  ;  upon  a  quick  perception  of  opportunities, 
and  the  power  of  seizing  every  opportunity 
immediately.  It  is  likewise  necessary  that  the 
oiiedicnci!  of  an  army  be  as  prompt  and  active  as 
possible ;  for  which  reason  it  ought  to  be  made  an 
obedience  of  will  and  emulation.  Upon  this  con- 
sideration is  founded  the  expediency  of  leaving  to 
the  prince  not  only  the  government  and  destina- 
tion of  the  army,  but  the  appointment  and  pro- 
motion of  its  officers :  because  a  design  is  then 
alone  likely  to  be  executed  with  zeal  and  fidelity 
when  the  person  who  issues  the  order,  chooses 
the  instruments,  and  rewards  the  service.  To 
which  we  may  subjoin,  that,  in  governments  like 


ours,  if  the  direction  and  officering  of  the  army 
were  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  democratic  part  ot 
the  constitution,  this  power,  added  to  what  they 
already  po.ssess,  would  so  overbalance  all  that 
would  be  left  of  regal  yirerogative,  that  little  would 
remain  of  monarchy  in  the  constitution,  but  the 
name  and  expense;  nor  would  these  probably 
remain  long 

Whilst  we  describe,  however,  the  advantages  of 
standing  armies,  we  must  not  conceal  the  dantrer. 
These  properties  of  their  constitution, — the  sol- 
dier}'  being  separated  in  a  great  degree  from  the 
rest  of  the  community,  their  being  closely  linked 
amongst  themselves  by  habits  of  society  and  sub- 
ordination, and  the  depcndencj-  of  "the  whole 
chain  upon  the  will  and  favour  of  the  prince. — 
however  essential  they  may  be  to  the  purjx)ses  for 
which  armies  are  kept  up,  give  them  an  aspect  in 
no  wise  favourable  to  public  liberty.  The  dano-er, 
however,  is  diminished,  by  maintaining,  on  all 
occasions,  as  much  alliance  of  interest,  and  as 
much  intercourse  of  sentiment,  between  the  mili- 
tary part  of  the  nation  and  the  other  orders  of  the 
people,  as  are  consistent  with  the  union  and  dis- 
cipline of  an  army.  For  which  purpo.se,  officers 
of  the  army,  upon  whose  disposition  towards  the 
commonwealth  a  great  deal  may  depend,  should 
be  taken  from  tl-e  principal  families  of  the  country 
and  at  the  samt  time  also  be  encouraged  to  esta- 
blish in  it  families  of  their  own,  as  weTl  as  be  ad- 
mitted to  seats  in  the  senate,  to  hereditary  distinc- 
tions, and  to  all  the  civil  honours  and  privileo-es 
that  are  compatible  with  their  profession ;  which 
circumstances  of  connexion  and  situation  will  give 
them  such  a  share  in  the  general  rights  of  the 
people,  and  so  engage  their  inclinations  on  the 
side  of  public  liberty,  as  to  aifbrd  a  reasonable  se- 
curity that  they  cannot  be  brought,  by  any  promises 
of  personal  aggrandizement,  to  assist,  in  the  exe- 
cution of  measures  which  might  enslave  their 
posterity,  their  kindred,  and  theu  couiiti'}'. 


IIOR^  PAULINA: 

OR, 

TPIE  TRUTH 


THE  SCRIPTURE  HISTORY  OF  ST.  PAUL  EVINCED. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  REVEREND  JOHN  LAW,  D.  D. 

LORD  BISHOP  OF  KILLALA  AND  ACIIONRY, 

As  a  testimony  of  esteem  for  his  virtues  and  learning,  and  of  gratitude  for  the  Ions 


and 


faithful  friendship  with  which  the  Author  has  been  honoured  by  him,  this  attempt  to  confrm  the 
Evidence  of  the  Christian  History  is  inscribed,  by  his  affectionate  and  most  obliged  Servant, 

W.  PALEY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Exposition  of  the  Argument. 

The  volume  of  Christian  Scriptures  contains 
thirteen  letters  purporting  to  be  written  by  St 
Pnul :  it  contains  also  a  book,  which,  amongst 
other  things,  professes  to  deliver  the  history,  or  ra- 
ther memoirs  of  the  history,  of  this  same  person. 
By  assuming  the  genuineness  of  the  letters,  we 
may  prove  the  substantial  truth  of  the  history  :  or, 
by  assuijiing  the  truth  of  the  history,  we  may  ar- 
gue strongly  in  support  of  the  genuineness  of  the 
letters.  But  I  assume  neither  one  nor  the  other. 
The  reader  is  at  liberty  to  suppose  these  writings 
t.0  have  beeia  lately  discovered  in  the  library  of  the 
Escurial,  and  to  come  to  our  hands  destitute  of  any 
extrinsic  or  collateral  evidence  whatever ;  and  the 
argument  I  am  about  to  offer  is  calculated  to  show, 
that  a  comparison  of  the  different  writings  would, 
even  under  these  circumstances,  afford  good  rea- 
son to  believe  the  persons  and  transactions  to  have 
been  real,  the  letters  authentic,  and  the  narration 
in  the  main  to  be  true. 

Agreement  or  conformity  between  letters  bear- 
ing the  Jiame  of  an  ancient  author,  and  a  received 
history  of  that  author's  life,  does  not  necessarily 
establish  the  credit  of  either;  because, 

1.  The  history  may,  like  Middleton's  Life  of 
Cicero,  or  Jortin's  Life  of  Erasmus,  have  been 
wholly,  or  in  part,  compiled  from  the  letters ;  in 
which  case  it  is  manifest  that  the  history  adds  no- 
thing to  the  evidence  already  alTorded  by  the  let- 
ters; or, 

2.  The  letters  may  have  been  fabricated  out  of 
the  history ;  a  species  of  imposture  which  is  cer- 
tainly practicable;  and  which,  without  any  acces- 
sion of  proof  or  authority,  would  necessarily  pro- 
duce the  appearance  of  consistency  and  agree- 
ment; or. 


3.  The  history  and  letters  may  have  been 
founded  upon  some  authority  common  to  both ;  as 
upon  reports  and  traditions  which  prevailed  in  the 
age  in  which  they  were  composed,  or  upon  some 
ancient  record  now  lost,  which  both  writers  con- 
sulted ;  in  which  case  also,  the  letters,  without 
being  genuine,  may  exhibit  marks  of  conformity 
with  the  history  ;  and  the  history,  without  being 
true,  may  agree  with  the  letters. 

Agreement,  therefore,  or  conformity,  is  only  to 
be  relied  upon  so  far  as  we  can  exclude  these 
several  suppositions.  Now  the  point  to  be  noticed 
is,  that  in  the  three  cases  above  enumerated,  con- 
formity must  be  the  effect  oi  design.  Where  the 
history  is  compiled  from  the  letters,  which  is  the 
first  case,  the  design  and  composition  of  the  work 
are  in  general  so  confessed,  or  made  so  evident  by 
comparison,  as  to  leave  us  in  no  danger  of  con- 
founding the  production  with  original  history,  or 
of  mistaking  it  for  an  independent  authority.  The 
agreement,  it  is  probable,  will  be  close  and  uniform, 
and  will  easily  be  perceived  to  result  from  the  in- 
tention of  the  author,  and  from  the  plan  and  con- 
duct of  his  work. — Wliere  the  letters  are  fabri- 
cated from  the  history,  which  is  the  second  case, 
it  is  always  for  the  purpose  of  imjjosing  a  forgery 
upon  the  public  ;  and  in  order  to  give  colour  and 
probability  to  the  fraud,  names,  places,  and  cir- 
cumstances, found  in  the  history,  may  be  stu- 
diously introduced  into  the  letters,  as  well  as  a  gen- 
eral consistency  be  endeavoured  to  be  maintained. 
But  here  it  is  manifest  that  whatever  coriiriuity 
appears,  is  the  consequence  of  meditation,  artilire, 
and  design. — The  third  case  is  that  wherein  the 
history  and  the  letters,  without  any  direct  privity 
or  communication  with  each  other,  derive  their 
materials  from  the  same  source  ;  and,  by  reason 
of  their  common  original,  furnish  instances  of  ac- 
cordance and  correspondency.  This  is  a  situation 
166 


EXPOSITION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


167 


m  which  we  must  allow  it  tc  be  possible  for 
ancient  writings  to  be  placed;  anJ  it  is  a  situation 
in  which  it  is  more  difficult  to  distinguish  spu- 
rious from  genuine  writings,  than  in  either  of  the 
cases  described  in  the  preceding  suppositions ; 
inasmuch  as  the  congruities  observable  are  so  far 
accidental,  as  that  they  are  not  produced  by  the 
immediate  transplanting  of  names  and  circum- 
stances out  of  one  writing  into  the  other.  But 
although,  with  respect  to  each  other,  the  agree- 
ment in  these  writings  be  mediate  and  secondary, 
yet  it  is  not  properly  or  absolutely  undesigned : 
because,  with  respect  to  the  common  original 
from  which  the  information  of  the  writers  proceeds, 
it  is  studied  and  factitious.  The  case  of  which  we 
treat  must,  as  to  the  letters,  he  a  case  of  forgery  : 
and  when  the  writer  who  is  personating  another, 
sits  down  to  his  composition — whether  he  have 
tue  history  with  which  we  now  compare  the  letters, 
or  some  other  record  before  him  ;  or  whether  he 
have  only  loose  tradition  and  reports  to  go  by — he 
must  adapt  his  imposture,  as  well  as  he  can,  to 
what  he  finds  in  these  accounts ;  and  his  adaptations 
wiP  be  the  result  of  counsel,  scheme,  and  industry : 
art  must  be  employed  ;  and  vestiges  will  appear  of 
management  and  design.  Add  to  this,  that,  in 
most  of  the  following  examples,  the  circumstances 
in  which  the  coincidence  is  remarked,  are  of  too 
particular  and  domestic  a  nature,  to  have  floated 
down  upon  the  stream  of  general  tradition. 

Of  the  three  cases  which  we  have  stated,  the 
ditTerence  between  the  first  and  the  two  others  is, 
that  in  the  first  the  design  may  be  fair  and  honest, 
in  the  others  it  must  be  accompanied  with  the 
consciousness  of  fraud ;  but  in  all  there  is  design. 
In  examining,  therefore,  the  agreement  between 
ancient  writings,  the  character  of  truth  and  ori- 
ginality is  undesignedness :  and  this  test  applies 
to  every  supposition  ;  for,  whether  we  suppose  the 
history  to  be  true,  but  the  letters  spurious ;  or,  the 
letters  to  be  genuine,  but  the  history  false ;  or, 
lastly,  falsehood  to  belong  to  both — the  history  to 
be  a  fable,  and  the  letters  fictitious  :  the  same  in- 
ference will  result — that  either  there  will  be  no 
agreement  between  them,  or  the  agreement  will 
be  the  effect  of  design.  Nor  will  it  elude  the 
princi[)le  of  this  rule,  to  suppose  the  same  person 
to  have  been  the  author  of  all  the  letters,  or  even 
the  author  both  of  the  letters  and  the  history;  for 
no  less  design  is  necessary  to  produce  coincidence 
between  different  parts  of  a  man's  own  writings, 
especially  when  they  are  made  to  take  the  differ- 
ent forms  of  a  history  and  of  original  letters,  than 
to  adjust  them  to  the  circumstances  found  in  any 
other  writing. 

With  respect  to  those  writings  of  the  New 
Testament  which  are  to  be  the  subject  of  our 
present  consideration,  I  think,  that,  as  to  the  au- 
thenticity of  the  epistles,  this  argument,  where  it 
is  sufficiently  sustained  by  instances,  is  nearly 
conclusive ;  for  I  cannot  assign  a  supposition  of 
forgery,  in  which  coincidences  of  the  kind  we 
inquire  after  are  likely  to  appear.  As  to  the 
history,  it  extends  to  these  points : — It  proves  the 
general  reality  of  the  circumstances :  it  proves  the 
historian's  knowledge  of  these  circumstances.  In 
the  present  instance  it  confirms  his  pretensions  of 
having  been  a  contemporary,  and  in  the  latter  part 
of  his  history,  a  companion,  of  St.  Paul.  In  a 
word,  it  establishes  the  substantial  truth  of  the 
narration;  and  subi:tantial  truth  is  that,  which, 
in  every  historical  inquiry,  ought  to  be  the  first 


thing  sought  after  and  ascertained :  it  must  be  the 
groundwork  of  every  other  observation. 

The  reader  then  will  please  to  remember  this 
word  undesignedness,  as  denoting  that  upon 
which  the  construction  and  validity  of  our  argu- 
ment chiefiy  depend. 

As  to  the  proofs  of  undesignedness,  I  shall  in 
this  place  say  little ;  for  I  had  rather  the  reader's 
persuasion  should  arise  from  the  instances  them- 
selves, and  the  separate  remarks  with  which  they 
may  be  accompanied,  than  from  any  previous  for- 
mulary or  description  of  argument.  In  a  great 
plurality  of  examples,  I  tru.st  he  will  be  perlectl}^ 
convinced  that  no  design  or  contrivance  whatever 
has  been  exercised  :  and  if  some  of  the  coincidences 
alleged  appear  to  be  minute,  circuitous,  or  oblique, 
let  him  reflect  that  this  very  indirectness  and  sub- 
tility  is  that  which  gives  force  and  propriety  to 
the  exami)le.  Broad,  obvious,  and  explicit  agree- 
ments prove  little  ;  because  it  may  be  suggestetl 
that  the  insertion  of  such  is  the  ordinary  expe- 
dient of  every  forgery :  and  though  they  may  occur, 
and  probably  will  occur  in  genuine  writings,  yet 
it  cannot  be  proved  that  they  are  peculiar  to  these. 
Thus  what  St.  Paul  declares  in  chap.  xi.  of  1  Cor. 
concerning  the  institution  of  the  eucharist — "For 
I  have  received  of  the  Lord  that  which  I  also  de- 
livered unto  you,  that  the  Lord  Jesus,  the  same 
night  in  which  he  was  betrayed,  took  bread  ;  and 
when  he  had  given  thanks  he  brake  it,  and  said, 
Take,  eat ;  this  is  my  body,  which  is  broken  for 
you ;  this  do  in  remembrance  of  me"' — though  it 
be  in  close  and  verbal  conformity  with  the  account 
of  the  same  transaction  preserved  by  St.  Luke,  is 
yet  a  confornuty  of  which  no  use  can  be  made  in 
our  argument ;  for  if  it  should  be  objected  that  this 
was  a  mere  recital  from  the  gospel,  borrowed  by 
the  author  of  the  epistle,  for  the  purpose  of  setting 
oif  his  composition  by  an  appearance  of  agreement 
with  the  received  account  of  the  Lord's  supper,  I 
should  not  know  how  to  repel  the  insinuation.  In 
like  manner,  the  description  which  St.  Paul  gives 
of  himself  in  his  epistle  to  the  Pliilippians  (iii.  5.) 
— "  Circumcised  the  eighth  day,  of  the  stock  of 
Israel,  of  the  tribe  of  Benjamin,  an  Hebrew  of 
the  Hebrews ;  as  touching  the  law,  a  Pharisee ; 
concerning  zeal,  persecuting  the  Church  ;  touch- 
ing the  righteousness  which  is  in  the  law,  blame- 
less"— is  made  up  of  particulars  so  plainly  de- 
livered concerning  him,  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles, the  Epistle  to  the  RouMns,  and  the  Epistle  to 
the  Galatians,  that  I  cannot  deny  but  that  it 
would  be  easy  for  an  impostor,  who  was  fabrica- 
ting a  letter  in  the  name  of  St.  Paul,  to  collect 
these  articles  into  one  view.  This,  therelbre,  is  a 
conformity  which  we  do  not  adduce.  But  when 
I  read  ill  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  that  when 
"  Paul  came  to  Derbe  and  Lystra,  behold  a  certain 
disciple  was  there,  named  Timotheus,  the  son  of 
a  certain  woman  which  teas  a  jeiress;''  and  when, 
in  an  epistle  addressed  to  Timothy,  I  find  him  re- 
minded of  his  "  having  known  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tuTesfrom  a  child ;^'  which  implies  that  he  must, 
on  one  side  or  both,  have  been  brought  up  by 
Jewish  parents  :  I  concei\e  that  I  remark  a  coin- 
cidence which  shows,  by  its  verj'  obliquity,  that 
scheme  was  no*  employed  in  its  formation.  In 
like  manner,  if  a  coincidence  depend  upon  a  com- 
parison of  dates,  or  rather  of  circumstances  from 
which  the  dates  are  gathered — the  more  intricate 
that  comparison  shall  be  ;  the  more  numerous  the 
inte.'mediate  steps  through  which  the  conclusion 


168 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


is  deduced  ;  in  a  word,  the  more  circuitous  the  in- 
vestigation is,  tlie  better,  because  tiie  agreement 
which  finally  results  is  thereby  tJirther  remo\'ed 
from  the  suspicion  of  contrivance,  affectation,  or 
design.  And  it  should  be  remembered,  concern- 
ing these  coincidences,  that  it  is  one  thing  to  be 
minute,  and  another  to  be  precarious  ;  one  thing 
to  be  unobserved,  and  another  to  be  obscure ;  one 
thing  to  be  circuitous  or  oblique,  and  another  to 
be  forced,  dubious,  or  fanciful.  And  this  distinc- 
tion ought  always  to  be  retained  in  our  thoughts. 
The  very  particularity  of  St.  Paul's  epistles  ; 
the  perpetual  recurrence  of  names  of  persons  and 
places  ;  the  frequent  allusions  to  the  incidents  of 
his  private  life,  and  the  circumstances  of  his  con- 
dition and  history  ;  and  the  connexion  and  paral- 
lelism of  these  with  the  same  circumstances  in 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  so  as  to  enable  us,  for 
the  most  part,  to  confront  them  one  with  another ; 
as  well  as  the  relation  which  subsists  between  the 
circumstances,  as  mentioned  or  referred  to  in  the 
different  Epistles — aflbrd  no  inconsiderable  proof 
of  the  genuiness  of  the  writnigs,  and  the  reahty  of 
the  transactions.  For  as  no  advertency  is  suf- 
ficient to  guard  against  slips  and  contradictions, 
when  circumstances  are  multiplied,  and  when 
they  are  liable  to  be  detected  by  contemporary 
accounts  equally  circumstantial,  an  impostor,  I 
should  expect,  would  either  have  avoided  particu- 
lars entirely,  contenting  himself  with  doctrinal 
discussions,  moral  precepts,  and  general  reflec- 
tions ;  *  or  if,  for  the  sake  of  imitating  St.  Paul's 
style,  he  should  have  thought  it  necessary  to  inter- 
sperse his  composition  with  names  and  circum 
stances,  he  woidd  have  placed  them  out  of  the 
reach  of  comparison  with  the  history.  And  I  am 
confirmed  in  this  opinion  by  the  inspection  of  two 
attempts  to  counterfeit  St.  Paul's  epistles,  which 
have  coinc  down  to  us  ;  and  the  only  attempts  of 
which  we  have  any  knowledge,  that  are  at  all  de- 
serving of  regard.  One  of  the.se  is  an  epistle  to 
the  Laodiceans,  extant  in  Latin,  and  preserved 
by  Fabricius,  in  his  collection  of  apocryphal  scrip- 
tures. The  other  purports  to  be  an  epistle  of  St. 
Paul  to  the  Corinthians,  in  answer  to  an  epistle 
from  the  Corinthians  to  him.  This  was  trans- 
lated by  Scroderus  from  a  copy  in  the  Arminian 
language  which  had  been  sent  to  W.  Whiston, 
and  was  afterwards,  from  a  more  perfect  copy 
procured  at  Aleppo,  published  by  his  sons,  as  an 
appendix  to  their  edition  of  Moses  Chorenensis.  No 
Greek  copy  exists  of  either :  they  are  not  only  not 
supported  by  ancient  testimony,  but  they  are  nega- 
tived and  excluded  ;  as  they  have  never  found  ad- 
mission into  any  catalogue  of  apostolical  writings, 
acknowledged  by,  or  known  to,  the  early  ages  of 
Christianity.  In  the  first  of  these  I  found,  as  I 
expected,  a  total  ev  it  at  ion  of  circumstances.     It  is 

*  This,  however,  must  not  be  misunderstood.  A 
person  writinf;  to  his  friends,  and  upon  a  subject  in 
which  the  transactions  of  his  own  life  were  concerned, 
would  probably  be  led,  in  tlie  course  of  his  letter,  e.<pe- 
cially  if  it  was  a  long  one,  to  refer  to  passages  found  in 
his  history.  A  person  addressing  an  epistle  to  the  pub- 
lic at  large,  or  under  the  form  of  an  epistle  delivering  a 
discourse  upon  some  speculative  argument,  would  not, 
it  is  probable,  meet  with  an  occasion  of  alluding  to  tlie 
circumstances  of  his  life  at  all ;  he  might,  or  he  might 
not ;  the  chance  on  either  side  Is  nearly  equal.  This  is 
the  situation  of  the  catholic  epistle.  Although,  there- 
fore, the  presence  of  these  allusions  and  agreements  be 
a  valuable  accession  to  the  arguments  by  which  the 
authenticity  of  a  letter  is  maintained,  yet  the  want  of 
thein  certainly  forms  no  positive  objection. 


simply  a  collection  of  sentences  from  the  canon 
ical  epistles,  strung  together  with  very  little  skill. 
The  second,  which  is  a  more  versute  and  specious 
forgery,  is  introduced  with  a  list  of  names  of  per- 
sons who  wrote  to  St.  Paul  from  Corinth  ;  and  is 
preceded  by  an  account  sufliciently  particular  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  epistle  was  sent  from 
Corinth  to  St.  Paul,  and  the  answer  returned. 
But  they  are  names  which  no  one  ever  heard  of; 
and  the  account  it  is  impossible  to  combine  with 
any  thing  found  in  the  Acts,  or  in  the  other  epis- 
tles. It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  point  out  the 
internal  marks  of  spuriousncss  and  imposture 
which  these  compositions  betray  ;  but  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  observe,  that  they  do  not  afibrd  those 
coincidences  which  we  propose  as  proofs  of  authen- 
ticity in  the  epistles  which  we  defend. 

Having  explained  the  general  scheme  and  form- 
ation of  the  argument,  I  may  be  permitted  to  sul> 
join  a  brief  account  of  the  manner  of  conducting  it. 

I  have  disposed  the  several  instances  of  agree- 
ment under  separate  numbers  :  as  well  to  mark 
more  sensibly  the  divisions  of  the  subject,  as  for 
another  purpose,  viz :  that  the  reader  may  thereby 
be  reminded  that  the  instances  are  independent  of 
one  another.  I  have  advanced  nothing  which  I  did 
not  think  probable ;  but  the  degree  of  probability 
by  which  different  instances  are  supported,  is  un- 
doubtedly very  different.  If  the  reader,  therefore, 
meets  with  a  number  which  contains  an  instance 
that  appears  to  him  unsatisfactory,  or  founded 
in  mistake,  he  will  dismiss  that  number  from 
the  argument,  but  without  prejudice  to  any  other. 
He  will  have  occasion  also  to  observe  that  the  co- 
incidences discoverable  in  some  epistles  are  nuich 
fewer  and  weaker  than  what  are  supplied  by 
others.  But  he  will  add  to  his  observation  this 
important  circumstance— that  whatever  ascertains 
the  original  of  one  epistle,  in  some  measure  esta- 
blishes the  authority  of  the  rest.  For,  whether 
these  epistles  be  genuine  or  spurious,  every  thing 
about  them  indicates  that  they  come  from  the 
same  hand.  The  diction,  which  it  is  extremely 
difficult  to  imitate,  preserves  its  resemblance  and 
peculiarity  throughout  all  the  epistles.  Numer- 
ous expressions  and  singularities  of  style,  found  in 
no  other  part  of  the  New  Testament,  are  repeated 
in  different  epistles ;  and  occur  in  their  respective 
places,  without  the  smallest  appearance  of  force  or 
art.  An  involved  argumentation,  frequent  obscu- 
rities, especially  in  the  order  and  transition  of 
thought,  piety,  vehemence,  affection,  bursts  of 
rapture,  and  of  unparalleled  sublimity,  are  pro- 
})erties,  all  or  most  of  them,  discernible  in  every 
letter  of  the  collection.  But  although  these  epis- 
tles bear  strong  marks  of  proceeding  from  the  same 
hand,  I  think  it  is  still  more  certain  that  they  were 
originally  separate  pulilications.  They  form  no 
continued  story ;  they  compose  no  regular  corres- 
pondence ;  they  comprise  not  the  transactions  of 
any  particular  period  ;  they  carry  on  no  connexion 
of  argument ;  they  depend  not  upon  one  another  ; 
except  in  one  or  two  instances,  they  refl^r  not 
to  one  another.  I  will  farther  undertake  to  say, 
that  no  study  or  care  has  been  employed  to 
produce  or  preserve  an  appearance  of  consistency 
amongst  them.  All  which  observations  show  that 
they  were  not  i)itended  by  the  person,  whoever 
he  was,  that  wrote  them,  to  come  forth  or  be  read 
together :  that  they  appeared  at  first  separately, 
and  have  been  collected  since. 

The  proper  purpose  of  the  following  work  is  tc 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  ROMANS. 


1C9 


bring  together,  from  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and 
from  the  dillcrent  epistles,  such  passages  as  fur- 
nish examples  of  undesigned  coincidence ;  but  I 
have  so  far  enlarged  upon  this  plan,  as  to  take 
into  it  some  circumstances  found  in  the  epistles, 
which  contributed  strength  to  the  conclusion, 
though  not  strictly  objects  of  comparison. 

It  appeared  also  a  part  of  the  same  plan,  to 
examine  the  difficulties  which  presented  them- 
selves in  the  course  of  our  inquiry. 

I  do  not  know  that  the  subject  has  been  pro- 
posed or  considered  in  this  view  before.  Ludovi- 
cus,  Capellus,  Bishop  Pearson,  Dr.  Benson,  and 
Dr.  Lardner,  have  each  given  a  continued  history 
of  St.  Paul's  life,  made  up  from  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles  and  the  Epistles  joined  together.  But 
this,  it  is  manifest,  is  a  different  undertaking 
from  the  present,  and  directed  to  a  difierent  pur- 
pose. 

If  what  is  here  ofTered  shall  add  one  thread  to 
that  complication  of  probabilities  b}'  which  the 
Cliristian  history  is  attested,  the  reader's  atten- 
lion  will  be  repaid  by  the  supreme  importance 
)f  the  subject ;  and  my  design  will  be  fully  an- 
swered. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Epistle  to  the  Romans. 

No.  I. 

The  first  passage  I  shall  produce  from  this 
epistle,  and  upon  which  a  good  deal  of  observation 
will  be  founded,  is  the  following : — 

"  But  now  I  go  unto  Jerusalem,  to  minister 
unto  the  saints ;  for  it  hath  pleased  them  of 
Macedonia  and  Achaia,  to  make  a  certain  contri- 
bution for  the  poor  saints  which  are  at  Jerusa- 
lem."— -Rom.  XV.  25,  iQ. 

In  this  quotation  three  distinct  circuinstances 
are  stated — a  contribution  in  Macedonia  for  tlie 
relief  of  the  Christians  of  Jerusalem,  a  contribu- 
tion in  Achaia  for  the  same  purpose,  and  an  in- 
tended journey  of  St.  Paul  to  Jerusalem.  These 
circumstances  are  stated  as  taking  place  at  the 
same  tiiae,  and  that  to  be  the  time  when  the  epis- 
tle was  written.  Now  let  us  inquire  whether  we 
Ctin  find  these  circumstances  elsewhere,  and  whe- 
ther, if  we  do  find  them,  they  meet  together  in 
respect  of  date.  Turn  to  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles, chap.  XX.  ver.  2,  3,  and  you  read  the  follow- 
ing account :  "  When  he  had  gone  over  those 
parts,  (viz.  Macedonia,)  and  luid  given  them 
much  exhortation,  he  came  into  Greece,  and 
there  abode  three  months ;  and  when  the  Jews 
laid  wait  for  him,  as  he  was  about  to  sail  into  Sy- 
ria, he  proposed  to  return  through  Macedonia." 
From  this  passage,  compared  with  the  account  of 
St.  Paul's  travels  given  before,  and  from  the  se- 
quel of  the  chapter,  it  appears  that  upon  St.  Paul's 
second  visit  to  the  peninsula  of  Greece,  his  inten- 
tion was,  when  he  should  leave  the  country,  to 
proceed  from  Acliaia  directly  by  sea  to  Syria; 
but  that  to  avoid  the  Jews,  who  were  lying  in 
wait  to  intercept  him  in  his  route,  he  so  far 
changed  his  purpose  as  to  go  back  through  Mace- 
donia, embark  at  Philippi,  and  pursue  his  voyage 
from  thence  towards  Jerusalem.  Here,  therefore, 
is  a  journey  to  Jerusalem ;  but  not  a  syllable  of 
any  contribution.     And  as  St.  Paul  had  taken 


several  journeys  to  Jerusalem  before,  and  one  also 
immediately  aftei  his^'rs^  visit  into  the  peninsula 
of  Greece,  (Acts  xviii,  21,)  it  cannot  from  hiiice 
be  collected  in  which  of  these  visits  the  epistle 
was  written,  or  with  certainty,  that  it  was  written 
in  either.  The  silence  of  the  historian,  who  pro- 
fesses to  have  been  with  St.  Paul  at  the  time, 
(c.  XX.  V.  6,)  concerning  any  contribution,  might 
lead  us  to  look  out  for  some  different  journey,  or 
might  induce  us,  perhaps,  to  question  the  con- 
sistency of  the  two  records,  did  not  'a  very  acci- 
dental reference,  in  another  part  of  the  same 
history,  ailbrd  us  sufficient  ground  to  believe  that 
this  silence  was  omission.  When  St.  Paul  matie 
liis  reply  before  Felix,  to  the  accusations  of  Ter- 
tullus,  he  alleged,  as  was  natural,  that  neither 
the  errand  which  brought  him  to  Jerusalem,  nor 
his  conduct  whilst  he  remained  there,  merited  the 
calumnies  with  which  the  Jews  had  aspersed 
him.  "  Now  after  many  years  (i.  e.  of  absence,) 
I  came  to  bring  alms  to  v\y  nation,  and  offer- 
ings ;  whereupon  certain  Jews  from  Asia  found 
me  purified  in  the  temple,  neither  with  multitude, 
nor  with  tumult,  who  ought  to  have  been  heie 
before  thee,  and  object,  if  they  h;id  aught  against 
me."  Acts  xxiv.  17 — 19.  This  mention  of  alms 
and  offerings  certainly  firings  the  narrative  in  the 
Acts  near  to  an  accordancy  with  the  epistle  ;  yet 
no  one,  I  am  persuaded,  will  suspect  that  this 
clause  was  put  into  St.  Paul's  defence,  eitlier  to 
supply  the  omission  in  the  preceding  narrative,  or 
with  any  view  to  such  accordancy. 

After  all,  nothing  is  yet  said  or  hinted,  con- 
cerning the  jjlace  of  the  coiitrihution ;  nothing 
concerning  Macedonia  and  Achaia.  Turn  there- 
fore to  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians, 
chap.  xvi.  ver.  1 — 4,  and  you  have  St.  Paul  de- 
livering the  following  directions  :  "  Concerning 
the  collection  for  the  saints,  as  I  have  given  or- 
ders to  the  churches  of  Galatia,  even  so  do  ye ; 
upon  the  first  day  of  the  week  let  every  one  of 
you  lay  by  him  in  store  as  God  hath  prospered 
him,  that  there  be  no  gatherings  when  I  coir.e. 
And  when  I  come,  whomsoever  you  shall  approve 
by  yoiu'  letters,  them  will  I  send  to  bring  your 
liberality  unto  Jerusalem;  and  if  it  be  meet,  that 
I  go  also,  they  shall  go  with  me."  In  this  pas- 
sage we  find  a  contribution  carrying  on  at  Co- 
rinth, the  capital  of  Achaia,  for  the  Christians  of 
Jerusalem ;  we  fhid  also  a  hint  given  of  the  pos- 
silnlity  of  St.  Paul  going  i\\>  to  Jerusalem  him- 
self, after  he  had  paid  his  visit  into  Achaia :  but 
this  is  spoken  of  rather  as  a  possil)ility  than  as 
any  settled  intention  ;  for  his  first  thought  was, 
"  Whomsoever  you  shall  approve  b}'  your  letters, 
them  will  I  send  to  Innng  your  liberality  to  Jeru- 
salem :"  and  in  the  sixth  verse  he  adds,  "that  ye 
may  bring  me  on  my  journey  whithersoever  I 
go."  This  epistle  purports  to  be  written  affer  St. 
Paul  had  been  at  Corinth :  for  it  refers  through- 
out to  what  he  had  done  and  said  amongst  thorn 
wiiilst  he  was  there.  The  expression,  therefore, 
"  when  I  come,"  must  relate  to  a  second  \  isit ; 
against  wh.ich  visit  tlie  contribution  spoken  of  was 
desired  to  be  in  readiness. 

But  though  the  contribution  in  Achaia  be  ex- 
pressly mentioned,  nothing  is  here  said  concern- 
ing any  contribution  in  Macedonia.  Turn,  there- 
fore, in  the  third  place,  to  the  Second  Epistle  to 
the  Corinthians,  chap.  viii.  wt.  1 — 4,  and  you 
will  discover  the  particular  which  remams  to  be 
sought  for:  "Moreover,  brethren,  we  do  you  to 


170 


HOR-S:  PAULINiE. 


wit  of  the  grace  of  GoJ  bestowed  on  the  ch  urches 
of  Macedonia  ;  liow  that,  in  a  great  trial  of  af- 
iliction,  tlie  abundance  of  their  joy  and  their  deep 
poverty  ahouudcd  unto  the  riclies  of  their  hbera- 
iity:  fur  to  tlieir  power,  1  bear  record,  yea  and 
lieyond  their  power,  tliey  were  willing  of  them- 
selves :  praying  us  with  much  entreaty,  tliat  we 
would  receive  the  gift,  and  take  upon  us  the  fel- 
lowship of  the  ministering  to  the  saints."  To 
which  add,  chap.  ix.  ver.  2 :  "  1  know  the  forward- 
ness of  your  mind,  for  which  1  boast  of  you  to 
them  of  Macedonia,  that  Achaia  was  ready  a 
year  ago."  In  this  epistle  we  find  St.  Paul  ad- 
vanced as  far  as  Macedonia,  upon  that  second 
visit  to  Corinth  which  he  promised  in  his  former 
epistle  ;  we  find  also,  in  the  passages  now  quoted 
from  it,  that  a  contribution  was  going  on  in  Ma- 
cedonia at  the  same  time  with,  or  soon  however 
following,  the  contribution  which  was  made  in 
Achaia  ;  but  for  whom  the  contribution  was  made 
does  not  appear  in  this  epistle  at  all:  that  in- 
formation must  be  supplied  from  the  lirst  epistle. 
Here,  therefore,  at  length,  but  fetched  from 
three  dilll'rent  writings,  we  have  obtained  the 
several  circumstances  we  inquired  after,  and 
which  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans  brings  to- 
gether, viz.  a  contribution  in  Achiaia  for  the 
Christians  of  Jerusalem ;  a  contribution  in  Ma- 
cedonia tor  the  same;  and  an  apj)roaching  jour- 
ney of  St.  Paul  to  Jerusalem.  We  have  these 
circumstances — each  by  some  hint  in  the  pas- 
sage in  which  it  is  mentioned,  or  by  the  date  of 
the  writing  in  which  the  passage  occurs — fixed 
to  a  particular  time;  and  we  have  that  time  turn- 
ing out  upon  examination  to  be  in  all  the  same  ; 
namely  towards  the  close  of  St.  Paul's  second 
visit  to  the  peninsula  of  Greece.  This  is  an  in- 
stance of  conlbrmity  beyond  the  possibility,  T  will 
venture  to  say,  of  random  writing  to  produce.  I 
also  assert,  that  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  im- 
probable that  it  should  have  been  the  ellcct  of 
contrivance  and  design.  The  imputation  of  de- 
sign amounts  to  this:  that  the  forger  of  the  Epis- 
tle to  the  Romans  inserted  in  it  the  passage  upon 
which  our  observations  are  founded,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  colour  to  his  forgery  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  conformity  with  other  writings  which 
were  then  extant.  I  reply,  in  the  lirst  place,  that, 
if  he  did  this  to  countenance  his  forgery,  he  did  it 
for  the  purpose  of  an  argument  which  would  not 
strike  one  reader  in  ten  thousand.  Coincidences 
so  circuitous  as  this,  answer  not  the  ends  of  for- 
gery ;  are  seldom,  I  believe,  attempted  by  it.  In 
the  second  place,  I  observe,  that  he  must  have 
had  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and  the  two  epis- 
tles to  the  Corinthians,  before  him  at  the  time. 
In  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  (I  mean  that  part  of 
the  Acts  which  relate  to  this  period,)  he  would 
have  found  the  journey  to  Jerus.dem  ;  but  nothing 
about  the  contribution.  In  the  I'irst  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians  he  would  have  found  a  contribution 
going  on  in  Achaia  for  the  Christians  of  Jerusa- 
lem, and  a  distant  hint  of  the  possibility  of  the 
journey ;  liut  nothing  concerning  a  contribution 
in  Macedonia.  In  the  Second  Epistle  to  the  Co- 
rinthians he  would  have  found  a  contribution  in 
Macedonia  accompanying  that  in  Achaia ;  but  no 
intimation  for  whom  either  was  intended,  and  not 
a  word  about  the  journey.  It  was  only  by  a  close 
and  attentive  collation  of  the  three  writings,  that 
he  could  have  picked  out  the  circumstances  which 
he  has  imitcd  in  his  epistle ;  and  by  a  still  more 


nice  examinatl)n,  that  he  could  have  determinsc: 
them  to  belong  to  the  same  period.  In  the  third 
place,  I  remark,  what  diminishes  very  much  the 
suspicion  of  fraud,  how  aptly  and  connectedly  the 
mention  of  the  circumstances  in  question,  viz.  the 
journey  to  Jerusalem,  and  of  the  occasion  of  that 
journey,  arises  from  the  context,  "  Whensoever 
I  take  my  journey  into  Spain,  I  will  comctoj'ou; 
for  I  trust  to  see  you  in  my  journey,  and  to  lie 
brought  on  my  way  thitherward  by  you,  if  first  I 
be  somewhat  filled  with  your  company.  But  now 
I  go  unto  Jerusalem,  to  minister  unto  the  saints  ; 
for  it  hath,  •pleased  them  of  Macedonia  and 
Achaia  to  make  a  certain  contribution  for  the 
poor  saints  which  are  at  Jerusalem.  It  luith 
pleased  them  verily,  and  their  debtors  they  are, , 
lor  if  the  Gentiles  have  been  made  partakers  of 
their  spiritual  things,  their  duty  is  also  to  minis- 
ter unto  them  in  carnal  things.  When  therefore 
I  have  performed  this,  and  have  sealed  them  to 
this  fruit,  I  will  come  by  you  into  Spain."  Is 
the  passage  in  Italics  like  a  passage  foisted  in  for 
an  extraneous  purpose!  Does  it  not  arise  from 
what  goes  before,  by  a  junction  as  easy  as  any 
example  of  writing  upon  real  business  can  fur- 
nish J  Could  any  thing  be  more  natural  than 
that  St.  Paul,  in  writing  to  the  Romans,  should 
speak  of  the  time  when  he  hoped  to  visit  them; 
should  mention  the  business  which  then  detained 
him ;  and  that  he  purposed  to  set  forwards  upon 
his  journey  to  them  when  that  business  was  com- 
pleted 1 

No.  II. 

By  means  of  the  quotation  which  formed  the 
subject  of  the  preceding  number,  we  collect  that 
the  Epistle  to  the  Romans  was  written  at  the 
conclusion  of  St.  Paul's  second  visit  to  the  penin- 
sula of  Greece ;  but  this  we  collect,  not  from  the 
epistle  itself,  nor  from  any  thing  declared  con- 
cerning the  time  and  place  in  any  part  of  the 
epistle,  but  from  a  comparison  of  circumstances 
referred  to  in  the  epistle,  with  the  order  of  e\ cuts 
recorded  in  the  Acts,  and  with  references  to  the 
same  circumstances,  though  for  quite  difierent 
purposes,  in  the  two  epistles  to  the  Corinthians. 
Now  would  the  author  of  a  forgery,  who  sought 
to  gain  credit  to  a  spurious  letter  by  congruitics, 
depending  upon  the  time  and  place  in  which  the 
letter  was  supposed  to  be  written,  have  lelt  that 
time  and  place  to  be  made  out,  in  a  manner  so 
obscure  and  indirect  as  this  is '?  If  therefore  coin- 
cidences of  circumstances  can  be  pointed  out  in 
this  ejristle,  depending  upon  its  date,  or  the  place 
where  it  was  written,  whilst  that  date  and  place 
are  only  ascertained  by  other  circumstances,  such 
coincidences  may  fairly  be  stated  as  undesigned. 
Under  this  head  I  adduce 

Chap.  xvi.  31 — 23:  "  Timotheus,  my  work- 
fellow,  and  Lucius,  and  Jason,  and  Sosipater,  my 
kinsmen,  salute  you.  I,  Tertius,  who  wrote  this 
epistle,  salute  you  in  the  Lord.  Gains,  mine  host, 
and  of  the  whole  church,  saluteth  you ;  and 
duartus,  a  brother."  With  this  pass;ige  I  com- 
l)are,  Acts  xx.  4:  "  And  there  accompanieil  him 
into  Asia,  Sopater  of  Berea  ;  and,  of  the  The.ssa- 
lonians,  Aristarchus  and  Secundus;  and  Gains 
of  Derbe,  and  Timotheus;  and,  of  Asia,  Tychicus 
and  Trophimus."  The  Epistle  to  the  Romans, 
we  have  seen,  was  written  just  before  St.  Paul's 
departure  from  Greece,  after  his  second  visit  to 
that  peninsula:   the   persons   mentioned  in   the 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  ROMANS. 


171 


quotation  from  the  Acts  are  those  who  accom- 
paiiied  him  in  that  departure.  Of  seven  whose 
names  are  joined  in  the  salutation  of  the  cliurch 
of  Rome,  three,  viz.  Sosipater,  Gaius,  and  Timo- 
thy, are  proved,  by  this  passage  in  the  Acts,  to 
have  been  with  St.  Paul  at  the  time.  And  this  is 
perhaps  as  much  coincidence  as  could  be  expected, 
ti-om  reality,  though  less,  I  am  apt  to  think,  than 
would  have  been  produced  by  design.  Four  are 
mentioned  in  the  Acts  who  are  not  joined  in  the 
salutation ;  and  it  is  in  the  nature  of  the  case 
probable  that  there  should  be  many  attending  St. 
Paul  in  Greece,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  con- 
verts at  Rome,  nor  were  known  by  them.  In  like 
manner,  several  are  joined  in  the  salutation  who 
are  not  mentioned  in  the  passage  referred  to  in 
the  Acts.  This  also  was  to  be  expected.  The 
occasion  of  mentioning  them  in  the  Acts  was 
their  proceeding  with  St.  Paul  upon  his  journey. 
But  we  may  be  sure  that  there  were  many  eminent 
Christians  with  St.  Paul  in  Greece,  besides  those 
who  accompanied  him  into  Asia.* 

But  if  any  one  shall  still  contend  that  a  forger 
of  the  epistle,  with  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  betbre 
him,  and  having  settled  this  scheme  of  writing  a 
letter  as  from  St.  Paul,  upon  his  second  visit  into 
Greece,  would  easily  think  of  the  expedient  of 
putting  in  the  names  of  those  persons  who  ap- 
peared to  be  with  St.  Paul  at  the  time  as  an  ob- 
vious recommendation  of  the  imposture :  I  then 
repeat  my  observations  ;  first,  that  he  would  have 
made  the  catalogue  more  complete ;  and,  secondly, 
that  with  this  contrivance  in  his  thoughts,  it  was 
certainly  his  business,  in  order  to  avail  himself  of 
the  artifice,  to  have  stated  in  the  body  of  the  epis- 
tle, that  Paul  was  in  Greece  when  he  wrote  it, 
and  that  he  was  there  upon  his  second  visit. 
Neither  of  which  he  has  done,  either  directly,  or 
even  so  as  to  be  discoverable  by  any  circumstance 
found  in  the  narrative  delivered  in  the  Acts. 

Under  the  same  head,  viz.  of  coincidences  de- 
pending ujwn  date,  I  cite  from  the  epistle  the  fol- 
lowing salutation:  "Greet  Priscilla  and  Aquila, 
my  helpers  in  Jesus  Christ,  who  have  for  my  liie 
laid  down  their  own  necks ;  unto  whom  not  only 
I  give  thanks,  but  also  all  the  churches  of  the 
Gentiles." — Chap.  xvi.  3.  It  appears,  from  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles,  that  Priscilla  and  Aquila 
had  originally  been  inhabitants  of  Rome ;  for  we 
read,  Acts  xviii.  2,  that  "  Paul  found  a  certain 
Jew,  named  Aquila,  lately  come  from  Italy  with 


*  Of  these  Jason  is  one,  whose  presence  upon  this  oc- 
casion is  very  naturally  accounted  for.  Jason  was  an 
inhabitant  of  Thessalonica  in  Macedonia,  and  enter- 
tained St.  Paul  in  his  house  upon  his  tirst  visit  to  that 
country. — Acts  xvii  7.  St.  Paul,  upon  this  his  second 
visit,  passed  through  Macedonia  on  his  way  to  Greece, 
and,  from  the  situation  of  Thessalonica,  most  likely 
through  that  city.  It  appears,  from  various  instances 
in  the  Acts,  to  have  been  the  practice  of  many  converts, 
to  attend  St.  Paul  from  place  to  place.  It  is  therefore 
highly  probable,  I  mean  that  it  is  highly  consistent  with 
the  account  in  the  history,  that  Jason,  according  to  that 
account  a  zealous  disciple,  the  inhabitant  of  a  city  at 
no  great  distance  from  Greece,  and  through  which,  as 
it  should  seem,  St.  Paul  had  lately  passed,  should  have 
accompanied  St.  Paul  into  Greece,  and  have  been  with 
him  there  at  this  time.  Lucius  is  another  name  in  the 
epistle.  A  very  slight  alteration  would  convert  Aouz.o,- 
into  Aouxa,-,  Lucius  into  Luke,  which  would  produce 
an  additional  coincidence:  for,  if  Luke  was  the  author 
of  the  history,  he  was  with  St.  Paul  at  the  time;  in- 
asmuch as,  describing  the  voyage  which  took  place  soon 
after  th^>  writing  of  this  epistle,  the  historian  uses  the 
first  parson—"  H'e  sailed  away  from  Philippi."  Acts  xx.  (j. 


his  wife  Priscilla,  because  that  Claudius  had 
commanded  all  Jews  to  depart  from  Home." 
They  were  connected,  therefore,  with  the  place 
to  which  the  salutations  are  sent.  That  is  one 
coincidence;  another  is  the  following:  St.  Paul 
became  acquainted  with  these  persons  at  Corinth 
during  his  first  return  into  Greece.  They  accom- 
panied him  upon  his  visit  into  Asia  ;  were  settled 
for  some  time  at  Ephesus,  Acts  xviii.  19 — '2G, 
and  appear  to  have  been  with  St.  Paul  when  he 
wrote  from  that  place  his  First  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians,  1  Cor.  xvi.  19.  Not  long  after  the 
writing  of  which  epistle  St.  Paul  went  froui 
Ephesus  into  Macedonia,  and,  "  after  he  had 
gone  over  those  parts,"  proceeded  from  thence 
upon  his  second  visit  into  Greece  ;  during  which 
visit,  or  rather  at  the  conclusion  of  it,  the  Epistle 
to  the  Romans,  as  hath  been  shown,  was  written. 
We  have  therefore  the  time  of  St.  Paul's  residence 
at  Ephesus  after  he  had  written  to  the  Corin- 
thians, the  time  taken  up  by  his  progress  through 
Macedonia,  (which  is  indefinite,  and  was  probably 
considerable,)  and  his  three  months'  abode  in 
Greece ;  we  have  the  sum  of  those  three  periods 
allowed  for  Aquila  and  Priscilla  going  back  to 
Rome,  so  as  to  be  there  when  the  epistle  before 
us  was  written.  Now  what  this  quotation  leads 
us  to  observe  is,  the  danger  of  scattering  names 
and  circumstances  in  writings  like  the  present, 
how  implicated  they  often  are  with  dates  and 
places,  and  that  nothing  but  truth  can  preserve 
consistency.  Had  the  notes  of  time  in  the  Epistle 
to  the  Romans  fixed  the  writing  of  it  to  any  date 
prior  to  St.  Paul's  first  residence  at  Corinth,  the 
salutation  of  Aquila  and  Priscilla  would  have 
contradicted  the  history,  because  it  would  have 
been  prior  to  his  acquaintance  with  these  persons. 
If  the  notes  of  time  had  fixed  it  to  any  period 
during  that  residence  at  Corinth,  during  his  jour- 
ney to  Jerusalem  when  he  first  returned  out  of 
Greece,  during  his  stay  at  Antioch,  whither  he 
went  down  to  Jerusalem,  or  during  his  second 
progress  through  the  Lesser  Asia,  upon  which  he 
proceeded  from  Antioch,  an  equal  contradiction 
would  have  been  incurred;  because  from  Acts 
xviii.  2 — 18,  19 — 26,  it  appears  that  during  all 
this  time  Aquila  and  Priscilla  were  either  along 
with  St.  Paul,  or  were  abiding  at  Ephesus.  Lastly, 
had  the  notes  of  time  in  this  epistle,  which  we 
have  seen  to  be  perfectly  incidental,  compared 
with  the  notes  of  time  in  the  First  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians,  which  are  equally  incidental,  fixed 
this  epistle  to  be  either  contemporary  with  that, 
or  prior  to  it,  a  similar  contradiction  would  have 
ensued  ;  because,  first,  when  the  Ejustle  to  the 
Corinthians  was  written,  Aquila  and  Priscilla 
were  along  with  St.  Paul,  as  they  joined  in  the 
salutation  of  that  church,  1  Cor.  xvi.  19;  and 
because,  secondly,  the  history  does  not  allow  us  to 
suppose,  that  between  the  time  of  their  becoming 
acquainted  with  St.  Paul  and  the  time  of  St. 
Paul's  writing  to  the  Corinthians,  Aquila  and 
Priscilla  could  have  gone  to  Rome,  so  as  to  have 
been  saluted  in  an  epistle  to  that  city;  and  then 
come  back  to  St.  Paul  at  Ejjhesus,  so  as  to  be 
joined  with  him  in  saluting  the  church  of  Corinth. 
As  it  is,  all  things  are  consistent.  The  Epistle  to 
the  Romans  is  posterior  even  to  the  Second  Epis- 
tle to  the  Corinthians;  because  it  speaks  of  a  con- 
tribution in  Achaia  being  completed,  which  the 
Second  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  chap,  viii,  is 
only  soliciting.  It  is  sufficiently  therefore  posterio; 


^=1^ 


172 


nORM  PAULINA. 


to  tlip  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  to  allow 
tiiar  in  the  interval  for  Aquila  and  Priscilla's  re- 
turn t'roiu  Ephesns  to  Rome. 

Boi'ore  we  dismiss  these  two  persons,  we  may 
take  notice  of  the  terms  of  commendation  in  which 
St.  Paul  describes  them,  and  of  the  agreement  of 
that  enromium  with  the  history.  "  My  helpers 
in  Christ  Jesus,  who  have  for  my  life  laid  down 
their  necks  ;  unto  whom  not  onlj-  I  give  thanks, 
but  also  all  the  churches  of  the  Gentiles."  In  the 
eighteenth  chapter  of  the  Acts,  we  are  informed 
that  Aquila  and  Priscilla  were  Jews ;  that  St. 
'^anl  first  met  with  them  at  Corinth;  that  for 
«o)iie  time  he  alxxle  in  the  same  house  with  them; 
..nat  St.  Paul's  contention  at  Corinth  was  with 
the  unbelieving  Jews,  who  at  first  "  opposed  and 
blasj)hemed,  and  afterwards  with  one  accord  raised 
an  insurrection  against  him ;"  that  Aquila  and 
Priscilla  adhered,  we  may  conclude,  to  St.  Paul 
throughout  this  whole  contest ;  for,  when  he  left 
the  city,  they  went  with  him,  Acts  xviii.  18.  Un- 
der these  circumstances,  it  is  highly  probable  that 
they  should  be  involved  in  the  dangers  and  per- 
secutions which  St.  Paul  underwent  from  the 
Jews,  being  themselves  Jews ;  and,  by  adhering  to 
St.  Paul  in  this  dispute,  deserters,  as  they  would 
be  accounted,  of  the  Jewish  cause.  Farther,  as 
thev,  though  Jews,  were  assisting  to  St.  Paul  in 
preaching  to  the  Gentiles  at  Corinth,  they  had 
in  ken  a  decided  part  in  the  great  controversy  of 
that  day,  the  admission  of  the  Gentiles  to  a 
parity  of  religious  situation  with  the  Jews.  For 
this  conduct  alone,  if  there  was  no  other  reason, 
tliey  may  seem  to  have  been  entitled  to  "  thanks 
from  the  churches  of  the  Gentiles."  They  were 
Jews  taking  part  with  Gentiles.  Yet  is  all  this 
so  indirectly  intimated,  or  rather  so  much  of  it  left 
to  inference,  in  tlie  account  given  in  the  Acts, 
that  I  do  not  think  it  probable  that  a  forger  either 
could  or  would  have  drawn  his  representation 
from  thence;  and  still  less  probable  do  I  think  it, 
that,  without  having  seen  the  Acts,  he  could,  by 
mere  accident  and  without  truth  for  his  guide, 
have  delivered  a  representation  so  conformable  to 
the  circumstances  there  recorded. 

The  two  congruities  last  adduced,  depended 
upon  the  time,  the  two  following  regard  the  place, 
of  the  epistle. 

1.  Chap.  xvi.  23.  "Erastus,  the  chamberlain 
of  tlie  city,  saluteth  you" — of  what  city  ?  We  have 
seen,  that  is,  we  have  inferred  from  circumstances 
found  in  the  epistle,  comj^ared  with  circumstances 
found  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and  in  the  two 
epistles  to  the  Corinthians,  that  our  epistle  was 
written  during  St.  Paul's  second  visit  to  the 
peninsula  of  Greece.  Again,  as  St.  Paul,  in  his 
epistle  to  the  church  of  Corinth,  1  Cor.  xvi.  3, 
speaks  of  a  collection  going  on  in  that  city,  and  of 
his  desire  that  it  might  be  ready  against  he  came 
thither;  and  as  in  this  epistle  he  speaks  of  that 
collection  being  ready,  it  follows  that  the  epistle 
was  written  either  whilst  he  was  at  Corinth,  or 
after  he  had  been  there.  Thirdly,  since  St.  Paul 
speaks  in  this  epistle  of  his  journey  to  Jerusalem, 
as  about  instantly  to  lake  place;  and  as  we  learn. 
Acts  XX.  3,  that  his  design  and  attempt  was  to 
sail  upon  that  journey  immediately  from  Greece, 
properly  so  call'^d,  i.  e.  as  distinguished  from 
Macedonia ;  it  is  probable  that  he  was  in  this 
country  when  he  wrote  the  epistle,  in  which  he 
speaks  of  himself  as  upon  the  eve  of  setting  out. 
(f  in  Greece,  he  was  most  likely  at  Corinth ;  for 


the  two  Epistles  to  the  Corinthians  show  that  the 
principal  end  of  his  coming  into  Greece,  was  to 
visit  that  city,  where  he  had  founded  a  church. 
Certainly  we  know  no  place  in  Greece  in  which 
his  presence  was  so  probable  ;  at  least,  the  placing 
of  him  at  Corinth  satisfies  every  circumstance. 
Now  that  Erastus  was  an  inhabitant  of  Corinth, 
or  had  some  connexion  with  Corinth,  is  rendered 
a  fair  subject  of  presumption,  by  that  which  is  ac- 
cidentally said  of  him  in  the  Second  Epistle  to 
Timothy,  chap.  iii.  20.  "  Erastus  abode  at  Co- 
rinth." St.  Paul  complains  of  his  solitude,  and 
is  telling  Timothy  what  was  become  of  his  com- 
panions: "Erastus  abode  at  Corinth;  but  Tro- 
phimus  have  I  left  at  Miletum  sick."  Erastus  was 
one  of  tliosc  who  had  attended  St.  Paul  in  his 
travels.  Acts  xix.  22:  and  when  those  travels 
had,  upon  some  occasion,  brouglit  our  apostle  and 
his  train  to  Corinth,  Erastus  staid  there,  for  no 
reason  so  probable,  as  that  it  was  his  home.  I 
allow  that  this  coincidence,  is  not  so  precise  as 
some  others,  yet  I  think  it  too  clear  to  be  pro- 
duced by  accident :  for,  of  the  many  places,  which 
this  same  epistle  has  assigned  to  different  persons, 
and  the  innumerable  others  which  it  might  have 
mentioned,  how  came  it  to  fix  upon  Corinth  for 
Erastus  1  And,  as  far  as  it  is  a  coincidence,  it  is 
certainly  undesigned  on  the  part  oftlie  author  of  the 
Epistle  to  the  Romans  :  because  he  has  not  told 
us  of  what  city  Erastus  was  the  chamberlain ;  or, 
which  is  the  same  thing,  from  what  city  the  epistle 
was  written,  the  setting  forth  of  which  was  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  the  display  of  the  coinci- 
dence, if  any  such  display  had  been  thought  of: 
nor  could  the  author  of  the  Ejjistle  to  Timothy 
leave  Erastus  at  Corinth,  from  any  thing  he  might 
have  read  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  because 
Corinth  is  nowhere  in  that  epistle  mentioned 
either  by  name  or  description. 

2.  Chap.  xvi.  1 — 3.  "I  commend  unto  j^ou 
Phrebe,  our  sister,  which  is  a  servant  of  the 
church  which  is  at  Cenchrea,  that  ye  receive  her 
in  the  Lord,  as  becometh  saints,  and  that  ye  as- 
sist her  in  whatsoever  business  she  hath  need  of 
you;  for  she  hath  been  a  succourer  of  many,  and 
of  myself  also."  Cenchrea  adjoined  to  Corinth; 
St.  Paul  therefore,  at  the  time  of  vs-riting  the  let- 
ter, was  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  woman 
whom  he  thus  recommends.  But,  farther,  that 
St.  Paul  had  before  this  been  at  Cenchrea  itself, 
appears  from  the  eighteenth  chapter  of  the  Acts ; 
and  appears  by  a  circumstance  as  incidental,  and 
as  unlike  design,  as  any  that  can  be  imagined. 
"  Paul  after  this  tarried  there  (viz.  at  Cornith,) 
yet  a  good  while,  and  then  took  his  leave  of  his 
brethren,  and  sailed  thence  into  Syria,  and  with 
him  Priscilla  and  Aquila,  having  shorn  his  head 
r?i  Cenchrea,  for  he  had  a  vow."  xviii.  18.  The 
shaving  of  the  head  denoted  the  expiration  of  the 
Nazaritic  vow.  The  historian,  therefore,  by  the 
mention  of  this  circumstance,  virtually  tells  us 
that  St.  Paul's  vow  was  expired  before  he  set  for- 
ward upon  his  voyage,  having  deterred  probably 
his  departure  until  he  should  be  released  from  tlie 
restrictions  under  which  his  vow  laid  him.  Shall 
we  say  that  the  author  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles feigned  this  anecdote  of  St.  Paul  at  Cenchrea, 
because  he  had  read  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans 
that  "  PhcEbe,  aservant  of  the  church  of  Cenchrea, 
had  lieen  a  succourer  of  many,  and  of  him  alsoT' 
or  shall  we  say  that  the  author  of  the  Epistle  to 
the  Romans,  out  of  his  own  imagination,  created 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  ROMANS. 


173 


Phcsbe  "a  servant  of  the  church  at  Cenchrea,'' 
because  he  read  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  that 
Paul  had  "  shorn  his  head"  in  that  place  1 
No.  III. 

Chap.  i.  13.  "  Now  I  would  not  have  you  ig- 
norant, brethren,  that  oftentimes  I  purposed  to 
come  unto  you,  but  was  let  hitherto,  that  I  might 
have  some  fruit  among  you  also,  even  as  among 
other  Gentiles.''  Again,  xv.  23,  '24 :  "  But  now 
having  no  more  place  in  these  parts,  and  having 
a  great  desire  these  many  years  (joi^kkx^  often- 
times,) to  come  unto  you,  whensoever  1  take  my 
j'ourney  into  Spain  I  will  come  to  you ;  for  I  trust 
o  see  you  in  nw  journey,  and  to  be  brought  on 
my  way  thitherward  by  you:  but  now  I  go  up 
unto  Jerusalem  to  minister  to  the  saints.  When, 
therefore,  I  have  performed  this,  and  have  scal- 
ed to  them  this  fruit,  I  will  come  by  you  into 
Spain." 

With  these  passages  compare  Acts  six.  21. 
"  After  these  things  were  ended,  (viz.  at  Ephe- 
sus.)  Paul  purposed  in  the  spirit,  when  he  had 

Jassed  through  Macedonia  and  Achaia,  to  go  to 
crusalem;    saying.  After  I  have  been  there,   I 
must  also  see  Rome." 

Let  it  be  observed  that  our  epistle  purports  to 
have  been  written  at  the  conclusion  of  St.  Paul's 
second  journey  into  Greece :  that  the  quotation 
from  the  Acts  contains  words  said  to  have  been 
spoken  by  St.  Paul  at  Ephesus,  some  time  before 
he  set  forwards  upon  that  journey.  Now  I  con- 
tend that  it  is  impossible  that  two  independent 
fictions  should  have  attributed  to  St.  Paul  the 
same  purpose,  especially  a  purpose  so  specific  and 
particular  as  this,  which  was  not  merely  a  general 
design  of  visiting  Rome  after  he  had  pas.sed 
through  Macedonia  and  Achaia,  and  after  he  had 
performed  a  voyase  from  these  countries  to  Jeru- 
salem. The  conformity  between  the  history  and 
the  epistle  is  perftct.  \n  the  first  quotation  from 
the  epistle,  we  find  that  a  design  of  visiting  Rome 
had  long  dwelt  in  the  apostle's  mind :  in  the  quo- 
tation from  the  Acts,  we  find  that  design  ex- 
pressed a  considerable  time  before  the  epistle  was 
written.  In  the  history,  we  find  that  the  plan 
which  St.  Paul  had  fomied  was,  to  pass  through 
Macedonia  and  Achaia :  after  that  ^o  go  to  Jeru- 
salem ;  and  when  he  had  finished  his  \isit  there, 
to  sail  for  Rome.  When  the  epistle  was  written, 
he  had  executed  so  much  of  his  plan,  as  to  have 
passed  through  Macedonia  and  Achaia ;  and  was 
preparing  to  pursue  the  remainder  of  it,  b}-  speed- 
ily setting  out  towards  Jerusalem:  and  in  this 
point  of  his  travels  he  tells  his  friends  at  Rome, 
that,  when  he  had  completed  the  business  which 
carried  him  to  Jerusalem,  he  would  come  to  them. 
Secondly,  I  say,  that  the  very  insjiection  of  the 
passages  vvill  satisfy  us  that  they  were  not  made 
up  from  one  another. 

"  Whensoever  I  take  my  journey  into  Spain, 
I  will  come  to  you ;  for  I  trust  to  see  you  in  my 
journev,  and  to  he  brought  on  my  way  thither- 
ward by  you ;  but  now  I  go  up  to  Jerusalem  to 
minister  to  the  saints.  When,  therefore.  I  have 
performeti  this,  and  have  sealed  to  them  this  fruit, 
1  will  come  by  you  into  Spain."' — This  from  the 
epistle. 

"  Paul  purposed  in  the  spirit,  when  he  had 
pas,sed  through  Macedonia  and  Achaia,  to  go  to 
Jerusalem :  saying,  After  I  have  been  there,  I 
must  also  see  Rome." — This  firom  the  Acts. 


If  the  passage  in  the  epistle  was  taken  from 
that  in  the  Acts,  why  was  Spain  put  in  1  If  the 
passage  in  the  Acts  was  tuken  from  that  in  the 
epistle,  whj-  was  Spain  left  out  1  If  the  two 
passages  were  unknown  to  each  other,  nothing 
can  account  for  their  conformity  but  truth.  Whe- 
ther we  supjx)se  the  history  and  the  epistle  to 
be  alike  fictitious,  or  the  history  to  be  true  but 
the  letter  spurious,  or  the  letter  to  be  genuine  but 
the  history  a  fable,  the  meeting  with  this  circum- 
stance in  both,  if  neither  borrowed  it  from  the 
other,  is  upon  all  these  suppositions  equally  in- 
exphcable. 

xVo.  IV. 

The  following  quotation  I  offer  for  the  purpose 
of  pointing  out  a  geographical  coincidence,  of  so 
much  importance,  that  Dr.  Lardner  considered  it 
as  a  confirmation  of  the  whole  history  of  St. 
Paul's  travels. 

Chap.  XV.  19.  ''■  So  that  fi-om  Jerusalem,  and 
round  about  unto  Illyricum,  I  have  iully  preached 
the  Gospel  of  Christ." 

I  do  not  think  that  these  words  necessarily  im- 
port that  St.  Paul  had  penetrated  into  Illvricum, 
or  preached  the  Gospel  in  that  province  :  but  ra- 
ther that  he  had  come  to  the  confines  of  Illyricum, 
(/i^xei  T»  uxujisi!,)  and  that  these  confines  were 
the  external  boundary  of  his  travels.  St.  Paul 
considers  Jerusalem  as  the  centre,  and  is  here 
viewing  the  circumference  to  which  his  travels 
extended.  The  Ibrm  of  expression  in  the  original 
conveys  this  idea — x-a  liemrxKv.ii  x«i  xuxx.™  fixf 
Ts  u>.ue»K8.  Illyricum  was  the  part  of  this  cir- 
cle which  he  mentions  in  an  ejiistle  to  the  Ro- 
mans, because  it  lay  in  a  direction  from  Jerusa- 
lem towards  that  city,  and  pointed  out  to  the  Ro- 
man readers  the  nearest  place  to  them,  to  which 
his  travels  from  Jerusalem  had  brought  him.  The 
name  of  Illyricum  nowhere  occurs  in  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles  ;  no  suspicion,  therefore  can  be 
received  that  the  mention  of  it  was  borrowed  from 
thence.  Yet  I  think  it  appears,  from  these  same 
Acts,  that  St.  Paul,  before  the  time  when  he 
wrote  his  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  had  reached  the 
confines  of  Illyricum ;  or,  however,  that  he  might 
have  done  so,  in  perfect  consi.stency  with  the  ac- 
count there  delivered.  Illyricum  adjoins  upon 
^Macedonia ;  measuring  from  Jerusalem  towards 
Rome,  it  lies  close  behind  it.  If,  therefore,  St. 
Paul  traversed  the  whole  country  of  Alacedonia, 
the  route  would  necessarily  bring  him  to  the  con- 
fines of  Illyricum,  and  these  confines  would  be 
described  as  the  extremity  of  his  journey.  Now 
the  account  of  St.  Pauls  second  visit  to  the 
peninsula  of  Greece,  is  contained  in  these  words: 
"He  departed  for  to  go  into  Macedonia;  and 
when  he  had  gone  over  these  parts,  and  had 
given  them  much  exhortation,  he  came  into 
Greece."  Acts  xx.  2.  This  account  allows,  or 
rather  leads  us  to  suppose,  that  St.  Paul,  in  going 
over  Macedonia  (Ji;>.6'jiv  t»  nig-^,  sxsii-x,)  had  passed 
so  far  to  the  west,  as  to  come  into  those  parts  of 
the  country  which  were  contiguous  to  Illyricum, 
if  he  did  not  enter  into  Illyricum  itself.  The  his- 
tory, therefore,  and  the  epistle  so  far  agree,  and 
the  agreement  is  much  strengthened  by  a  coin- 
cidence oi  time.  At  the  time  the  epistle  was  writ- 
ten, St.  Paul  might  say,  in  conformity  with  the 
history,  that  he  had  "  come  into  Illyricum :"  much 
before  that  time,  he  could  not  have  said  so ;  for, 
upon  liis  former  journey  to  Macedonia,  his  route 
15* 


174 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


IS  laiiJ  JowTi  from  the  time  of  his  landing  at  Phi- 
li|ipi  to  his  sailing  from  Corinth.  We  trace  him 
from  Philippi  to  Amphipolis  and  ApoUonia  ;  Irom 
thence  to  'Pliessalonica ;  I'rom  Thessalonica  to 
Berea;  from  Berea  to  Athens;  and  from  Athens 
to  Corinth :  which  tract  conlines  him  to  the  east- 
ern side  of  the  peninsula,  and  therefore  keeps  him 
all  the  while  at  a  consideraiile  distance  from  Illy- 
ricuin.  Upon  his  second  visit  to  Macedonia,  the 
history,  we  have  seen,  leaves  him  at  liberty.  It 
must  have  been,  therefore,  upon  that  second  visit, 
il'  at  all,  that  he  approached  illyricum ;  and  this 
visit,  we  know,  almost  immediately  preceded  the 
writing  of  the  epistle.  It  was  natural  that  the 
apostle  should  refer  to  a  journey  wliicli  was  fresh 
in  his  thoughts. 

No.  V. 

Chap.  XV.  30.  "  Now  I  heseech  you,  brethren, 
for  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ's  sake,  and  for  the  love 
of  the  Spirit,  that  ye  strive  together  with  me  in 
your  prayers  to  God  for  me,  that  I  may  he  de- 
livered from  them  that  do  not  believe,  in  Judaga." — 
With  this  compare  Acts  xx.  22,  23 ; 

"  And  now,  behold,  I  go  bound  in  the  spirit 
unto  Jerusalem,  not  knowing  the  things  that  shall 
liefall  me  there,  save  that  the  Holy  Ghost  witnes- 
scth  in  every  city,  saying  that  bonds  and  afflic- 
tions abide  me." 

Let  it  be  remarked,  that  it  is  the  same  journey 
to  Jerusalem  which  is  spoken  of  in  these  two  pas- 
sages ;  that  the  epistle  was  written  immediately 
before  St.  Paul  set  forwards  upon  this  journey 
from  Achaia ;  that  the  words  in  the  Acts  were 
uttered  by  him  when  he  had  proceeded  in  that 
journey  as  far  as  Miletus,  in  Lesser  Asia.  This 
being  remembered,  I  observe  that  the  two  pas- 
sages, without  any  resemblance  between  them 
that  could  induce  us  to  suspect  that  they  were 
borrowed  from  one  another,  represent  the  state 
of  St.  Paul's  mind,  with  respect  to  the  event  of 
the  journey,  in  terms  of  substantial  agreement. 
They  both  express  his  sense  of  danger  in  the  ap- 
proaching visit  to  Jerusalem  :  they  both  express 
the  doubt  which  dwelt  upon  his  thoughts  con- 
cerning what  might  there  befall  him.  When,  in 
his  epistle,  he  entreats  the  Roman  Christians, 
"  for  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ's  sake,  and  for  the  love 
of  the  Sjiirit,  to  strive  together  with  him  in  their 
prayers  to  God  for  him,  that  he  might  be  delivered 
from  them  which  do  not  believe,  in  Judaea,"  he 
sufficiently  confesses  his  fears.  In  the  Acts  of  the 
A]Jostlcs  we  see  in  him  the  same  apprehensions, 
and  the  same  uncertainty :  "  I  go  bound  in  the 
spirit  to  Jerusalem,  not  knowing  the  things  that 
shall  befall  me  there."  The  only  difference  is, 
that  in  the  history  his  thoughts  are  more  inclined 
to  des])ondency  than  in  the  ejnstle.  In  the  epis- 
tle he  retains  his  hope  "that  he  should  come 
unto  them  with  joy  by  the  will  of  God:"  in  the 
history,  his  mind  yields  to  the  reflection,  "  that 
the  Holy  Ghost  witnesseth  in  every  city  that 
bonds  and  afflictions  awaited  him."  Now  that  liis 
fears  should  be  greater,  and  his  hopes  less,  in  this 
stage  of  his  journey  than  when  he  wrote  his  epis- 
tle, that  is,  when  he  first  set  out  upon  it,  is  no 
other  alteration  than  might  well  be  expected ; 
since  those  prophetic  intimations  to  which  he  re- 
fers, when  he  says,  "  the  Holy  Ghost  witnesseth 
in  every  city,"  had  probably  been  received  by  him 
in  the  course  of  his  journey,  and  were  probably 
similar  to  what  we  know  he  received  in  the  re- 


maining part  of  it  at  Tyre,  xxi.  4 ;  and  aflerwards 
from  Agabus  at  Ca^sarea,  xxi.  II. 

No.  VI. 

There  is  another  strong  remark  arising  from 
the  same  passage  in  the  epistle  ;  to  make  which 
understood,  it  will  be  necessary  to  state  the  pas- 
sage over  again,  and  somewhat  more  at  length. 

"  I  beseech  you,  brethren,  for  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ's  sake,  and  for  the  love  of  the  Spirit,  that 
ye  stri\e  together  with  me  in  your  prayers  to  God 
for  me,  that  I  may  be  delivered  from  them  that  do 
not  believe,  in  Judiea — that  I  may  come  unto  vou 
with  joy  by  the  will  of  God,  and  may  with  you  be 
refreshed." 

I  desire  the  reader  to  call  to  mind  that  part  of 
St.  Paul's  history  which  took  place  after  his  ar- 
rival at  Jerusalem,  and  which  employs  the  seven 
last  chapters  of  the  Acts;  and  I  build  upon  it  this 
observation — that  supposing  the  Epistle  to  the 
Romans  to  have  been  a  forgery,  and  the  author 
of  the  forgery  to  have  had  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles before  him,  and  to  have  there  seen  that  St. 
Paul,  in  fact,  "  was  7iot  delivered  from  the  un- 
believing Jews,"  but  on  the  contrary,  that  he  was 
taken  into  custody  at  Jerusalem,  and  brought  to 
Rome  a  prisoner — it  is  next  to  impossible  that  he 
should  have  made  St.  Paul  express  expectations 
so  contrary  to  what  he  saw  had  been  the  event ; 
and  utter  prayers,  with  apparent  hopes  of  success, 
which  he  must  have  known  were  frustrated  in 
the  issue. 

This  single  consideration  convinces  me,  that 
no  concert  or  confederacy  whatever  subsisted  be- 
tween the  Epistle  and  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles ; 
and  that  whatever  coincidences  have  been  or  can 
be  pointed  out  between  them,  are  unsophisticated, 
and  are  the  result  of  truth  and  reality. 

It  also  convinces  me  that  the  epistle  was  writ- 
ten not  only  in  St.  Paul's  life-time,  but  before  he 
arrived  at  Jerusalem ;  for  the  important  events  re- 
lating to  him  which  took  place  after  his  arrival  at 
that  city,  must  have  been  known  to  the  Chris- 
tian community  soon  after  they  happened:  they 
form  the  most  public  part  of  his  history.  But 
had  they  been  known  to  the  author  of  the  ejns- 
tle — in  other  words,  had  they  then  taken  place — 
the  passage  which  we  have  quoted  from  the  epis- 
tle would  not  have  been  found  there. 

No.  VII. 

I  now  proceed  to  state  the  conformity  which 
exists  between  the  argument  of  this  epistle  and 
the  history  of  its  reputed  author.  It  is  enough  for 
this  purpose  to  observe,  that  the  object  of  the 
epistle,  that  is,  of  the  argumentative  part  of  it, 
was  to  place  the  Gentile  convert  upon  a  parity  of 
situation  with  the  Jewish,  in  respect  of  his  re- 
ligious condition,  and  his  rank  in  the  divine  fa- 
vour. The  epistle  supports  this  point  by  a  variety 
of  arguments ;  such  as,  that  no  man  of  either  de- 
scription was  justified  by  the  works  of  the  law — 
for  this  plain  reason,  that  no  man  had  performed 
them ;  that  it  became  therefore  necessary  to  ap- 
point another  medium  or  condition  of  justification, 
in  which  new  medium  the  Jewish  peculiarity  was 
merged  and  lost;  that  Abraham's  own  justifica- 
tion was  anterior  to  the  law,  and  independent  of 
it :  that  the  Jewish  converts  were  to  consider  the 
law  as  now  dead,  and  themselves  as  married  to 
another;  that  what  the  law  in  truth  could  not  do, 
in  that  it  was  weak  through  the  flesh,  God  had 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  ROMANS. 


175 


done  by  sending  his  Son ;  that  God  had  rejected 
the  unbelienng  Jews,  and  had  substituted  in  their 
place  a  society  of  believers  in  Christ,  collected  in- 
differently from  Jews  and  Gentiles.  Soon  after 
the  writing  of  this  epistle,  St.  Paul,  agreeably  to 
the  intention  intimated  in  the  epistle  itself,  took 
liis  journey  to  Jerusalem.  The  day  after  he  ar- 
rived there,  he  was  introduced  to  the  church. 
What  passed  at  this  interview  is  thus  related, 
Acts  xxi.  I'J :  "  When  he  had  saluted  them,  he  de- 
clared particularly  what  things  God  had  wrought 
fmong  the  Gentiles  by  his  ministry  :  and  when 
tliey  heard  it,  they  glorified  the  Lord:  and  said 
unto  him,  thou  seest,  brother,  how  many  thou- 
siuids  of  Jews  there  are  which  believe  ;  and  they 
are  all  zealous  of  the  law  ;  and  they  are  informed 
of  thee,  that  thou  teachest  all  the  Jews  which  are 
aaiong  the  Gentiles  to  forsake  Moses,  saying,  that 
thev  ought  not  to  circumcise  their  children,  nei- 
tlicr  to  walk  after  the  customs."  St.  Paul  dis- 
claimed the  charge:  but  there  must  have  been 
something  to  have  led  to  it.  Now  it  is  only  to 
suj)pose  that  St.  Paul  openly  professed  the  prin- 
ciples which  the  epistle  contains ;  that,  in  the 
course  of  his  ministry,  he  had  uttered  the  senti- 
ments which  he  is  here  made  to  write :  and  the 
matter  is  accounted  for.  Concerning  the  accusa- 
tion which  public  rumour  had  brought  against 
him  to  Jenisalem,  I  will  not  say  that  it  was  just ; 
but  I  will  say,  that  if  he  was  the  author  of  the 
epistle  before  us,  and  if  his  preaching  was  con- 
sistent with  his  writing,  it  was  extremely  natural : 
for  though  it  be  not  a  necessary,  surely  it  is  an 
easy  inference,  that  if  the  Gentile  convert,  who 
did  not  observe  the  law  of  Moses,  held  as  advan- 
tageous a  situation  in  his  religious  interests  as  the 
Jewish  convert  who  did,  there  could  be  no  strong 
reason  for  observing  that  law  at  all.  The  re- 
monstrance therefore  of  the  church  of  Jerusalem, 
and  the  report  which  occasioned  it,  were  founded 
in  no  very  violent  misconstruction  of  the  apostle's 
doctrine.  His  reception  at  Jerusalem  was  exactly 
wlint  I  should  have  expected  the  author  of  this 
e-iistle  to  have  met  with.  I  am  entitled  therefore 
to  argue,  that  a  separate  narrative  of  eftects  ex- 
pi'rienced  by  St.  Paul,  similar  to  what  a  person 
mi'.rht  be  expected  to  experience  who  held  the 
doctrines  advanced  in  this  epistle,  forms  a  proof 
that  he  did  hold  these  doctrines;  and  that  the 
epi-^tle  hearing  his  name,  in  which  such  doctrines 
are  laid  down,  actually  proceeded  from  him. 

No.  VIII. 

This  number  is  supplemental  to  the  former.  I 
propose  to  point  out  in  it  two  particulars  in  the 
conduct  of  the  argument,  perfectly  adapted  to  the 
historical  circumstances  under  which  the  epistle 
was  written ;  which  yet  are  free  from  all  ap- 
jiearance  of  contrivance,  and  which  it  would  not, 
I  think,  have  entered  into  the  mind  of  a  sophist 
to  contrive. 

I.  The  Epistle  to  the  Galatians  relates  to  the 
same  general  question  as  the  Epistle  to  the  Ro- 
mans. vSt.  Paul  had  founded  the  church  of  Ga- 
latia ;  at  Rome,  he  had  never  been.  Observe 
now  a  diflerence  in  his  manner  of  treating  of  the 
same  subject,  corresponding  with  this  diB'erence 
in  his  situation.  In  the  Epistle  to  the  Galatians 
he  puts  the  point  in  a  great  measure  upon  au- 
tho'-ify :  "I  marvel  that  ye  are  so  soon  removed 
from  him  that  called  you  into  the  grace  of  Christ, 
unto  another  Gospel." — Gal.  i.  6.    "  I  certify  you, 


brethren,  that  the  gospel  which  was  preached  of 
me,  is  not  after  man ;  for  I  neither  received  it  of 
man,  neither  was  I  taught  it  but  by  the  revelation 
of  Jesus  Christ." — ch.  i.  11,  12.  "I  am  afraid, 
lest  I  have  bestowed  upon  you  labour  in  vain." — 
iv.  11,  12.  "  I  desire  to  be  present  with  you  now, 
for  I  stand  in  doubt  of  you." — iv.  20.  "Behold.  I, 
Paul,  say  unto  you,  that  if  ye  be  circumcised, 
Christ  shall  profit  you  nothing." — v.  2.  "  This 
persuasion  cometh  not  of  him  that  called  you." — 
V.  8.  This  is  the  style  in  which  he  accosts  the 
Galatians.  In  the  epistle  to  the  converts  of  Rome, 
where  his  authority  was  not  established,  noi  his 
person  known,  he  puts  the  same  points  entirely 
upon  ars:ument.  The  perusal  of  the  epistle  will 
])rove  this  to  the  satisfaction  of  every  reader  :  and, 
as  the  observation  relates  to  the  whole  contents  of 
the  epistle,  I  forbear  adducing  separate  extracts. 
I  repeat,  therefore,  that  we  have  pointed  out  a  .lis- 
tinction  in  the  two  epistles,  suited  to  the  relation 
in  which  the  author  stood  to  his  different  corres- 
pondents. 

Another  adaptation,  and  somewhat  of  the  same 
kind,  is  the  following : 

2.  The  Jews,  we  know,  were  very  numerous 
at  Rome,  and  probably  formed  a  princijial  part 
amongst  the  new  converts;  so  much  so,  that  the 
Christians  seem  to  have  been  known  at  Rome 
rather  as  a  denomination  of  Jews,  than  as  any 
thing  else.  In  an  epistle  consequently  to  the  Ro- 
man believers,  the  point  to  be  endeavoured  after 
by  St.  Paul  was  to  reconcile  the  Jewish  converts 
to  the  opinion,  that  the  Gentiles  were  admitted  by 
God  to  a  parity  of  religious  situation  with  them- 
selves, and  that  without  their  being  bound  by  the 
law  of  Moses.  The  Gentile  converts  would  pro- 
bably accede  to  this  opinion  very  readily.  In  this 
epistle,  therefore,  though  directed  to  the  Roman 
church  in  general,  it  is  in  truth  a  Jew  writing  to 
Jews.  Accordingly  you  will  take  notice,  that  as 
often  as  his  argmnent  leads  him  to  say  any  thing 
derogatory'  from  the  Jewish  institution,  he  con- 
stantly follows  it  by  a  softening  clause.  Having 
(ii.  28,  29.)  pronounced,  not  much  perhaps  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  native  Jews,  "  that  he  is  not  a 
Jew  which  is  one  outwardly,  neither  that  circum- 
cision which  is  outward  in  the  flesh :"  he  adds 
immediately,  "What  advantage  then  hath  the 
Jew,  or  what  profit  is  there  in  circumcision  ? 
Much  every  xray."  Having,  in  the  third  chapter, 
ver.  28,  brought  his  argument  to  this  formal  con- 
clusion, "  that  a  man  is  justified  by  faith  without 
the  deeds  of  the  law,"  he  presently  subjoins,  ver. 
31,  "  Do  we  then  make  void  the  law  through 
faith  1  God  forbid!  Yea,  we  establish  the  /aw." 
In  the  seventh  chapter,  when  in  the  sixth  verse 
he  had  advanced  the  bold  assertion,  "  that  now 
we  are  delivered  from  the  law,  that  being  dead 
wherein  we  were  held;"  in  the  very  next  verse 
he  comes  in  with  this  healing  question,  "  What 
shall  we  say,  then  1  Is  the  law  sin  1  God  forbid  ! 
Nay,  I  had  not  known  sin  but  by  the  law.  Having 
in  the  following  words  insinuated,  or  rather  more 
than  insinuated,  the  inefiicacy  of  the  Jewish  law, 
viii.  3,  "  for  what  the  law  could  not  do,  in  that  it 
was  weak  through  the  flesh,  God  sending  his  own 
Son  in  the  likeness  of  sinful  flesh,  and  for  sin, 
condemned  sin  in  the  flesh :"  after  a  digression 
indeed,  but  that  sort  of  a  digression  which  he 
could  never  resist,  a  rapturous  contemplation 
of  his  Christian  hope,  and  which  occupies  the 
latter  part  of  this  chapter ;  we  find  liim  in  the 


176 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


next,  as  if  sensible  that  he  had  said  somethinir 
which  would  give  offence,  returning  to  his  Jewish 
brethren  in  terms  of  the  warmest  affection  and  re- 
spect :  "  I  sa}'  the  truth  in  Christ  Jesus ;  I  he  not ; 
m}'  conscience  also  bearing  me  witness  in  the 
Holy  Ghost,  that  I  have  great  heaviness  and  con- 
tinual sorrow  in  my  heart ;  for  I  could  wish  that 
myself  were  accursed  from  Christ,  for  my  bre- 
thren, my  kinsmen  according  to  the  Jle.sh,  who 
are  Israelites,  to  whom  pertairteth  the  adoption, 
and  the  glory,  and  the  covenants,  and  the  giving 
of  the  laic,  and  the  service  of  God,  and  the  pro- 
mises ;  whose  are  the  fathers  ;  and  of  whom,  as 
concerning  the  fesh,  Christ  came."  When,  in 
the  thirty-first  and  thirty-second  verses  of  this 
ninth  chapter,  he  represented  to  the  Jews  the  er- 
ror of  even  the  best  of  their  nation,  by  telling  them 
that  "  Israel,  which  followed  after  the  law  of 
righteousness,  had  not  attained  to  the  law  of 
righteousness,  because  they  sought  it  not  by  faith, 
but  as  it  were  by  the  works  of  the  law,  for  they 
stumbled  at  that  stumbling  stone,"  he  takes  care 
to  annex  to  this  declaration  these  conciliating 
expressions:  "Brethren,  my  hearfs  desire  and 
prayer  to  God  for  Israel  is,  that  they  might  be 
saved ;  for  I  bear  them  record  that  they  have  a  zeal 
of  God,  but  not  according  to  knowledge."  Lastly, 
having  ch.  x.  20,  21,  by  the  application  of  a  pas- 
sage in  Isaiah,  insinuated  the  most  ungrateful  of 
a!!  propositions  to  a  Jewish  ear,  the  rejection  of 
the  Jewish  nation,  as  God's  peculiar  people  ;  he 
hastens,  as  it  were,  to  qualify  the  intelhgence  of 
their  fall  by  this  interesting  expostulation:  "  I  say, 
then,  hath  God  cast  away  his  people,  (i.  e.  wholly 
and  entirely']")  God  forbid!  for  I  also  am  an  Is- 
raelite, of  the  seed  of  Abraham,  of  the  tribe  of 
Benjamin.  God  hath  not  cast  away  his  people, 
which  he  foreknetv  ■"  and  follows  this  thought, 
throughout  the  whole  of  the  eleventh  chapter,  in 
a  series  of  reflections  calculated  to  soothe  the  Jew- 
ish converts,  as  v/ell  as  to  procure  from  their  Gen- 
tile brethren  respect  to  the  Jewish  institution. 
Now  all  this  is  perfectly  natural.  In  a  real  St. 
Paul,  writing  to  real  converts,  it  is  what  an.xiety 
to  bring  them  over  to  his  persuasion  would  na- 
turally produce;  but  there  is  an  earnestness  and 
a  personality,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  in  the  manner, 
which  a  cold  forgery,  I  apprehend,  would  neither 
have  conceived  nor  supported. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians. 

No.  I. 

Before  we  proceed  to  compare  this  epistle 
with  the  history,  or  with  any  other  epistle,  we 
will  employ  one  number  in  stating  certain  re- 
marks applicable  to  our  argument,  which  arise 
from  a  perusal  of  the  epistle  itself 

By  an  expression  in  the  first  verse  of  the 
seventh  chapter,  "  now  concerning  the  things 
whereof  ye  wrote  unto  me,"  it  appears,  that  this 
letter  to  the  Corinthians  was  written  by  St.  Paul 
in  answer  to  one  which  he  had  received  from 
them  ;  and  that  the  seventh,  and  some  of  the  fol- 
lowing chapters,  are  taken  up  in  resolving  certain 
doubts,  and  regulating  certain  points  of  order, 
joncerning  which  the  Corinthians  had  in  their 
letter  consulted  him.     This  alone  is  a  circum- 


stance considerably  in  favour  of  the  authenticity 
of  the  epistle  ;  for  it  must  have  been  a  far-fetched 
contrivance  in  a  forgery,  first  to  have  feigned  the 
receipt  of  a  letter  from  the  Church  of  Coiinth, 
which  letter  does  not  appear;  and  then  to  have 
drawn  uj)  a  fictitious  answer  to  it,  relative  to  a 
great  variety  of  doubts  and  inquiries,  purely 
economical  and  domestic;  and  which,  though 
likely  enough  to  have  occurred  to  an  infant  so- 
ciety, in  a  situation  and  under  an  institution  so 
novel  as  that  of  a  Christian  Church  then  was,  it 
must  have  very  much  exercised  the  author's  in- 
vention, and  could  have  answered  no  imaginable 
purpose  of  forgery,  to  introduce  the  mention  of  at 
all.  Particulars  of  the  kind  we  refer  to,  are  such 
as  the  following  :  the  rule  of  duty  and  prudence 
relative  to  entering  into  marriage,  as  applicable  to 
virgins,  to  widows  ;  the  case  of  husbands  married 
to  unconverted  wives ;  of  wives  having  uncon- 
verted husbands  ;  that  case  where  the  unconverted 
party  chooses  to  separate,  where  he  cljooses  to 
continue  (he  union;  the  effect  which  their  conver- 
sion produced  upon  their  prior  state,  of  circumci- 
sion, of  slavery ;  the  eating  of  things  ofiered  to 
idols,  as  it  was  in  itself,  as  others  were  afiected  by 
it ;  the  joining  in  idolatrous  sacrifices ;  the  deco- 
rum to  he  observed  in  their  religious  assemblies, 
the  order  of  speaking,  the  silence  of  women,  the 
covering  or  uncovering  of  the  head,  as  it  became 
men,  as  it  became  women.  These  subjects,  with 
their  several  subdivisions,  are  so  particular,  minute, 
and  numerous,  that  though  they  be  exactly  agree- 
alile  to  the  circumstances  of  the  persons  to  whom 
the  letter  was  written,  nothing,  I  believe,  but  the 
existence  and  reality  of  those  circumstances  could 
have  suggested  to  the  writer's  thoughts. 

But  this  is  not  the  only  nor  the  principal  observa- 
tion upon  the  correspondence  between  the  church 
of  Corinth  and  their  apostle,  which  I  wish  to 
point  out.  It  appears,  I  think,  in  this  correspond- 
ence, that  although  the  Corinthians  had  written 
to  St.  Paul,  requesting  his  answer  and  his  direc- 
tions in  the  several  points  above  enumerated,  yet 
that  they  had  not  said  one  syllable  about  tho 
enormities  and  disorders  which  had  crept  in 
amongst  them,  and  in  the  blame  of  which  they  all 
shared;  but  that  St.  Paul's  information  concern- 
ing the  irregularities  then  prevailing  at  Corinth 
had  come  round  to  him  from  other  quarters.  The 
quarrels  and  disputes  excited  by  their  contentious 
adherence  to  their  different  teachers,  and  by  their 
placing  of  them  in  competition  with  one  another, 
were  not  mentioned  in  their  letter,  but  communi- 
cated to  St.  Paul  by  more  private  intelligence:  "  It 
hath  been  declared  unto  me,  my  brethren,  by 
them  which  are  of  the  house  of  Chloe,  that  there 
are  contentions  among  you.  Now  this  [  say, 
that  every  one  of  you  saith,  I  am  of  Paul,  and  I 
of  Apollos,  and  I  of  Cejihas,  and  I  of  Christ." 
(i.  11,  12.)  The  incestuous  marriage  "of  a  man 
with  his  father's  wife,"  which  St.  Paul  reprehends 
with  so  much  severity  in  the  fifth  chapter  of  our 
epistle,  and  which  was  not  the  crime  of  an  indi- 
vidual only,  but  a  crime  in  which  the  whole 
church,  by  tolerating  and  conniving  at  it,  had 
rendered  themselves  partakers,  did  not  come  to  St, 
Paul's  knowledge  by  the  letter,  but  by  a  rumour 
which  had  reached  his  ears :  "It  is  reported 
commonly  that  there  is  fornication  among  you, 
and  .such  fornication  as  is  not  so  much  as  named 
among  the  Gentiles,  that  one  should  have  liis 
father's  wife  ;  and  ye  are  pufled  up,  and  have  not 


FIRST  EPISTLE  TO  THE  CORINTHIANS. 


177 


ratlier  mourned  that  he  that  hath  done  this  deed 
might  be  taken  away  from  among  you."  (v.  1,  2.) 
Their  going  to  law  before  the  judicature  of  the 
country,  ratlier  than  arbitrate  and  adjust  their 
disputes  among  themselves,  which  St.  Paul  ani- 
madverts upon  with  his  usual  plainness,  was  not 
intimated  to  him  in  the  letter,  because  he  tells  them 
his  opinion  of  this  conduct  before  he  comes  to  the 
contents  of  the  letter. ,  Their  htigiousness  is  cen- 
sured by  St.  Paul  in  the  sixth  chapter  of  his  epis- 
tle, and  it  is  only  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventh 
chapter  that  he  proceeds  upon  the  articles  which 
he  found  in  their  letter;  and  he  proceeds  upon 
them  with  this  preface :  "  Now  concerning  the 
things  whereof  ye  wrote  unto  me,"  (vii.  1,)  wliich 
introduction  he  would  not  have  used  if  he  had 
been  already  discussing  any  of  the  sulyects  con- 
cerning which  they  had  written.  Their  irregu- 
larities in  celebrating  the  Lord's  supper,  and  the 
utter  perversion  of  the  institution  which  ensued, 
were  not  ui  the  letter,  as  is  evident  from  the  terms 
in  which  St.  Paul  mentions  the  notice  he  had  re- 
ceived of  it :  "  Now  in  tliis  that  I  declare  unto  you, 
I  praise  you  not,  that  ye  come  together  not  for 
the  better,  but  for  the  worse ;  for  first  of  all,  when 
ye  come  together  in  the  church,  /  hear  that  there 
be  divisions  among  you,  and  /  partly  believe  it.'" 
Now  that  the  Corinthians  should,  in  their  own 
letter,  exhibit  the  fair  side  of  their  conduct  to  the 
apostle,  and  conceal  from  him  the  faults  of  their 
behaviour,  was  extremely  natural,  and  extremely 
probable :  but  it  was  a  distinctioii  which  would 
not,  I  think,  have  easily  occurred  to  the  author  of 
a  forgery  ;  and  much  less  likely  is  it,  that  it  should 
have  entered  into  his  thoughts  to  make  the  dis- 
tinction appear  in  the  way  in  which  it  does  ap- 
pear, viz :  not  by  the  original  letter,  not  by  any 
express  observation  upon  it  in  the  answer,  but 
distantly  by  marks  perceivable  in  the  manner,  or 
in  the  order,  in  wliich  St.  Paul  takes  notice  of 
their  faults. 

No.  II. 

Our  epistle  purports  to  have  been  written  after 
St.  Paul  had  already  been  at  Corinth ;  "  I,  bre- 
thren, when  I  came  unto  you,  came  not  with  excel- 
lency of  speech  or  of  wisdom,"  (ii.  1,)  and  in 
many  other  places  to  the  same  effect.  It  purports 
also  to  have  been  written  upon  the  eve  of  another 
visit  to  that  church  :  "  I  will  come  to  you  shortly, 
if  the  Lord  will,"  (iv.  19  ;)  and  again,  "  I  will  come 
to  you  when  I  shall  pass  through  Macedonia," 
(xvi.  5.)  Now  the  history  relates  that  St.  Paul 
did  in  tact  visit  Corinth  twice :  once  as  recorded 
at  length  in  the  eighteenth,  and  a  second  time  as 
mentioned  briefly  in  the  twentieth  chapter  of  the 
Acts.  The  same  history  also  informs  us,  (Acts 
XX.  1,)  that  it  was  from  Ephesus  St.  Paul  pro- 
ceeded upon  his  second  journey  into  Greece. — 
Therefore,  as  the  epistle  purports  to  have  been 
written  a  short  time  preceding  that  journey  ;  and 
as  St.  Paul,  the  history  tells  us,  had  resided  more 
than  two  years  at  Ephesus,  before  he  set  out  upon 
it,  it  follows  that  it  must  have  been  from  Ephesus, 
to  be  consistent  with  the  history,  that  the  epistle 
was  written  ;  and  every  note  of  place  in  the  epis- 
tle agrees  with  this  supposition.  "  If,  after  the 
manner  of  men,  I  have  fought  with  beasts  at 
Ephesus,  what  advantageth  it  me,  if  the  dead  rise 
not  1"  (xv.  32.)  I  allow  that  the  apostle  might  say 
this,  wnerever  he  was ;  but  it  was  more  natural 
and  more  to  the  purpose  to  say  it,  if  he  was  at 


Ephesus  at  the  time,  and  in  the  midst  of  those 
conflicts  to  which  the  expression  relates.  "  The 
churches  of  Asia  salute  you,"  (xvi.  19.)  Asia, 
throughout  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  and  the 
epistles  of  St.  Paul,  does  not  mean  the  whole  of 
Asia  Minor  or  Anatolia,  nftr  even  the  whole  of 
the  proconsular  Asia,  but  a  district  hi  the  ante- 
rior part  of  that  comitry,  called  Lydian  Asia,  di- 
vided from  the  rest,  much  as  Portugal  is  from 
Spain,  and  of  wliich  district  Ephesus  was  the 
capital.  "  Aquila  and  Priscilla  salute  you," 
(xvi.  19.)  Aquila  and  Priscilla  were  at  Ephesus 
during  the  period  within  which  tliis  epistle  was 
written.  Acts  (xviii.  18.  26.)  "I  will  tarry  at 
Ephesus  until  Pentecost,"  (xvi.  8.)  This,  I 
apprehend,  is  in  terms  almost  asserting  that  he 
was  at  Ephesus  at  the  time  of  writing  the  epistle. 
— "  A  great  and  effectual  door  is  opened  unto  me," 
(xvi.  9.)  How  well  this  declaration  corresponded 
with  the  state  of  things  at  Ephesus,  and  the  pro- 
gress of  the  Gospel  in  these  parts,  we  learn  from 
the  reflection  with  which  the  historian  concludes 
the  account  of  certain  transactions  which  passed 
there:  "  So  mightily  grew  the  word  of  God  and 
prevailed,"  (Acts  xix.  20 ;)  as  well  as  from  the 
complaint  of  Demetrius,  "  that  not  only  at  Ephe- 
sus, but  also  throughout  all  Asia,  this  Paul  hath 
persuaded,  and  turned  away  much  people," 
(xix.  26.)  "  And  there  are  many  adversaries," 
says  the  epistle,  (xvi.  9.)  Look  into  the  liistory 
of  tliis  period  :  "  When  divers  were  hui Jtned  and 
believed  not,  but  spake  evil  of  that  way  before  thf  ■ 
multitude,  he  departed  from  them,  and  separattj- 1 
the  disciples."  The  conformity,  therefore,  upc  n 
tliis  head  of  comparison,  is  circumstantial  ai  id 
perfect.  If  any  one  think  that  this  is  a  confer  m- 
ity  so  obvious,  that  any  forger  of  tolerable  caut  ion 
and  sagacity  would  have  taken  care  to  preserv<  ;  it, 
I  must  desire  such  a  one  to  read  the  epistk  for 
himself;  and,  when  he  has  done  so,  to  dci  dare 
whether  he  has  discovered  one  mark  of  aTt  or 
design  ;  whether  the  notes  of  time  and  plac  e  ap- 
pear to  Irim  to  be  inserted  with  any  referen  ce  to 
each  other,  with  any  view  of  their  being  com  pared 
with  each  other,  or  for  the  purpose  of  establ  ishijig 
a  visible  agreement  with  the  history,  in  reisyect  of 
them. 

No.  III. 

Chap.  iv.  17 — 19.  "  For  this  cause  I  hc;ve  sent 
unto  you  Timotheus,  who  is  my  beloved  son  and 
faithful  in  the  Lord,  who  shall  bring  you  into  re- 
membrance of  my  ways  which  be  in  Christ,  as  I 
teach  every  where  in  every  church.  Now  some 
are  puffed  up,  as  though  I  woidd  not  come  unto 
you;  but  I  will  come  unto  you  shortly,  if  the 
Lord  will." 

With  this  I  compare  Acts  xix.  21,  92 :  "  After 
these  things  were  ended,  Paul  purposed  in  the 
spirit,  when  he  had  passed  through  Macedonia 
and  Achaia,  to  go  to  Jerusalem;  saying,  After  I 
have  been  there,  I  must  also  see  Rome;  so  he  sent 
unto  Macedonia  two  of  them  that  ministered  unto 
him,  Timotheus  and  Erastus." 

Though  it  be  not  said,  it  appears,  I  think,  with ; 
sufficient  certainty,  I  mean  from  the  history,  in- 
dependently of  the  epistle,  that  Timothy  was  sent 
upon  this  occasion  into  Achaia,  of  which  Corinth 
was  the  capital  city,  as  well  as  into  Macedonia  : 
for  the  sending  of  Timothy  and  Erastus  is,  in  the 
passage  where  it  is  mentioned,  plainly  connected 
with  St.  Paul's  own  journey:  he  sent  them  bejbrcr 


178 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


him.  As  he  therefore  purposed  to  go  into  Achaia 
himself,  it  is  highly  probable  that  they  were  to  go 
thither  also.  Nevertheless,  they  are  said  only  to 
have  been  sent  into  Macedonia,  because  Mace- 
donia was  in  truth  the  country  to  which  they 
went  immediately  from  Ephesus ;  being  directed, 
as  we  suppose,  to  proceed  afterwards  from  thence 
into  Achaia.  If  this  be  so,  the  narrative  agrees 
with  the  epistle ;  and  the  agreement  is  attended 
with  very  little  appearance  of  design.  One  thing 
at  least  concerning  it  is  certain :  that  if  this  pas- 
sage of  St.  Paul's  history  had  been  taken  from  his 
letter,  it  would  have  sent  Timothy  to  Corinth  by 
name,  or  expressly  however  into  Achaia. 

But  there  is  another  circumstance  in  these  two 
passages  much  less  obvious,  in  which  an  agree- 
ment holds  without  any  room  for  suspicion  that  it 
was  produced  by  design.  We  have  observed  that 
the  sending  of  Timothy  into  the  peninsula  of 
Greece  was  connected  in  the  narrative  with  St. 
Paul's  own  journey  thither ;  it  is  stated  as  the 
eliect  of  the  same  resolution.  Paul  purposed  to 
go  into  Macedonia;  "so  he  sent  two  of  them  that 
ministered  unto  him,  Timotheus  and  Erastus." 
Now  in  the  epistle  also  you  remark,  that,  when 
the  apostle  mentions  his  having  sent  Timothy 
unto  them,  in  the  very  next  sentence  he  speaks 
of  his  own  visit ;  "  for  this  cause  have  I  sent  unto 
you  Timotheus  who  is  my  beloved  son,  &c.  Now 
some  are  puffed  up,  as  though  1  would  not  come  to 
you;  but  I  will  come  to  you  shortly,  if  God  will." 
Timothy's  journey,  we  see,  is  mentioned  in  the 
history  and  in  the  epistle,  in  close  connexion  with 
St.  Paul's  own.  Here  is  the  same  order  of 
thought  and  intention ;  yet  conveyed  under  such 
diversity  of  circumstance  and  expression,  and  the 
mention  of  them  in  the  epistle  so  allied  to  the  oc- 
casion which  introduces  it,  viz.  the  insinuation  of 
his  adversaries  that  he  would  come  to  Corinth  no 
n'ore,  that  I  am  persua<led  no  attentive  reader 
will  believe,  that  these  passages  were  written  in 
concert  with  one  another,  or  will  doubt  but  that 
the  agreement  is  unsought  and  uncontrived. 

But,  in  the  Acts,  Erastus  accompanied  Timothy 
in  this  journey,  of  whom  no  mention  is  made  in 
the  epistle.  From  what  has  been  said  in  our  ob- 
servations upon  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  it  ap- 
pears probable  that  Erastus  was  a  Corintliian.  If 
so,  though  he  accompanied  Timothy  to  Corinth, 
he  was  only  returning  home,  and  Timothy  was 
the  messenger  charged  with  St.  Paul's  orders. — 
At  any  rate  this  discrepancy  shows  that  the  pas- 
sages were  not  taken  from  one  another. 

No.  IV. 

Chap.  xvi.  10,  11.  "Now  if  Timotheus  come, 
see  that  he  may  be  with  you  without  fear ;  for  he 
worketh  the  work  of  the  Lord,  as  I  also  do :  let  no 
man  therefore  despise  him,  but  conduct  him  forth 
in  peace,  that  he  may  come  unto  rae,  for  I  look 
for  him  with  the  brethren. 

From  the  passage  considered  in  the  preceding 
number,  it  appears  that  Timothy  was  sent  to 
Corinth  cither  with  the  epistle,  or  before  it:  "  for 
this  cause  have  I  sent  unto  you  Timotheus." 
From  the  passage  now  quoteid,  we  infer  that 
Timothy  was  not  sent  with  the  epistle  ;  for  had 
he  been  the  bearer  of  the  letter,  or  accompanied  it, 
would  St.  Paul  in  that  letter  have  said,  "7/"  Timo- 
thy come"?"  Nor  is  the  sequel  consistent  with 
the  supposition  of  his  carrying  the  letter;  for  if 
Timothy  was  with  the  apostle  when  he  wrote  the 


letter,  could  he  say,  as  he  does,  "  I  look  for  hmi 
with  the  brethren  V  I  conclude,  therefore,  that 
Tunothy  had  left  St.  Paul  to  proceed  upon  his 
journey  before  the  letter  was  written.  Farther, 
the  passage  before  us  seems  to  imply,  that  Timo- 
thy was  not  expected  by  St.  Paul  to  arrive  at 
Corinth,  till  alter  they  had  received  the  letter. 
Pie  gives  them  directions  in  the  letter  how  to 
treat  him  when  he  should  arrive  :  "  If  he  come," 
act  towards  him  so  and  so.  Lastly,  the  whole 
form  of  expression  is  most  naturally  applicable  to 
the  supposition  of  Timothy's  coming  to  Corinth, 
not  directly  from  St.  Paul,  but  from  some  other 
quarter  ;  and  that  his  instructions  had  been,  when 
he  should  reach  Corinth,  to  return.  Now,  how 
stands  this  matter  in  the  history  1  Turn  to  the 
nineteenth  chapter  and  twenty-first  verse  of  the 
Acts,  and  you  will  find  that  Timothy  did  not, 
when  sent  from  Ephesus,  where  he  left  St.  Paul, 
and  where  the  present  epistle  was  written,  pro- 
ceed by  a  straight  course  to  Corinth,  but  that  he 
went  round  through  Macedonia.  This  clears  up 
every  thing ;  for,  although  I'imothy  was  sent 
forth  upon  his  journey  before  the  letter  was  writ- 
ten, yet  he  might  not  reach  Corinth  till  after  the 
letter  arrived  there  ;  and  he  would  come  to  Co- 
rinth, when  he  did  come,  not  directly  from  St. 
Paul  at  Ephesus,  but  from  some  part  of  Mace- 
donia. Here,  therefore,  is  a  circumstantial  and 
critical  agreement,  and  unquestionably  without 
design ;  for  neither  of  the  two  passages  in  the 
epistle  mentions  Timothy's  journey  into  Mace- 
donia at  all,  though  nothing  but  a  circuit  of  that 
kind  can  explain  and  reconcile  the  expressions 
which  the  writer  uses. 

No.  V. 

Chap.  i.  12.  "  Now  this  I  say,  that  every  one 
of  you  saith,  I  am  of  Paul,  and  1  of  Apollos,  and 
I  of  Cephas,  and  I  of  Christ." 

Also,  iii.  6.  "  I  have  planted,  Apollos  watered, 
but  God  gave  the  increase." 

This  expression,  "  I  have  planted,  Apollos 
watered,"  imports  two  things  ;  first,  that  Paul  had 
been  at  Corinth  before  Apollos ;  secondly,  that 
Apollos  had  been  at  Corinth  after  Paul,  but  before 
the  writing  of  this  epistle.  This  implied  account 
of  the  several  events,  and  of  the  order  in  which 
they  took  place,  corresponds  exactly  with  the 
history.  St.  Paul,  after  his  first  visit  into  Greece, 
returned  from  Corinth  into  Syria  by  the  way  of 
Ephesus  ;  and,  dropping  his  companions  Aquila 
and  Priscilla  at  Ephesus,  he  proceeded  forwards 
to  Jerusalem ;  from  Jerusalem  he  descended  to 
Antioch ;  and  from  thence  made  a  progress 
through  some  of  the  upper  or  northern  provinces 
of  the  Lesser  Asia,  Acts  xviii.  19.  23 :  during 
which  progress,  and  consequently  in  the  interval 
between  St.  Paul's  first  and  second  visit  to  Co- 
rinth, and  consequently  also  before  the  writing  of 
this  epistle,  which  was  at  Ephesus  two  years  at 
least  after  the  apostle's  return  from  his  progress, 
we  hear  of  Apollos,  and  we  hear  of  him  at  Corinth. 
Whilst  St.  Paul  was  engaged,  as  hath  been  said, 
in  Phrygia  and  Galatia,  Apollos  came  down  to 
Ephesus ;  and  being,  in  St.  Paul's  absence,  in- 
structed by  Aquila  and  Priscilla,  and  having  ob- 
tained letters  of  recommendation  from  the  church 
at  Ephesus,  he  passed  over  to  Achaia  ;  and  when 
he  was  there,  we  read  that  he  "  helped  them  much 
which  had  believed  through  grace,  for  he  mightily 
convinced   the  Jews,  and  that  publicly." — Acts 


FIRST  EPISTLE  TO  THE  CORINTHIANS, 


179 


xviii.  27,  28.  To  have  brought  Apollos  into 
Achaia,  of  which  Corinth  was  the  capital  city,  as 
well  as  the  principal  Christian  church ;  and  to 
have  shown  that  he  preached  the  Gospel  in  that 
country,  would  have  been  sufficient  for  our  pur- 
pose. But  the  history  happens  also  to  mention 
Corinth  by  name,  as  the  place  in  which  Apollos, 
after  his  arrival  at  Achaia,  fixed  his  residence  :  for, 
proceeding  with  the  account  of  St.  Paul's  travels, 
it  tells  us,  that  while  Apollos  was  at  Corinth, 
Paul,  having  passed  through  the  upper  coasts 
came  down  to  EphesuSjXix.  I.  What  is  said  there- 
fore of  Apollos  in  the  epistle,  coincides  exactly, 
and  especially  in  the  point  of  chronology,  with 
what  is  delivered  concerning  him  in  the  history. 
The  only  question  now  is,  whether  the  allusions 
were  made  with  a  regard  to  this  coincidence 
Now,  the  occasions  and  purposes  for  which  the 
name  of  Apollos  is  introduced  in  the  Acts  and  in 
the  Epistles,  are  so  independent  and  so  remote, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  discover  the  smallest  refer- 
ence from  one  to  the  other.  Apollos  is  mentioned 
in  the  Acts,  in  immediate  connexion  with  the 
history  of  Aquila  and  Priscilla.  and  for  the  very 
singular  circumstance  of  his  "  knowing  only  the 
baptism  of  John." 

In  the  epistle,  where  none  of  these  circum- 
stances are  taken  notice  of,  his  name  first  occurs, 
for  the  purpose  of  reproving  the  contentious  spirit 
of  the  Corinthians ;  and  it  occurs  only  in  conjunc- 
tion with  that  of  some  others:  "Every  one  of  you 
saith,  I  am  of  Paul,  and  I  of  Apollos,  and  I  of 
Cephas,  and  I  of  Christ.''  The  second  passage 
in  which  Apollos  appears,  "  I  have  planted, 
Apollos  watered,"  fixes,  as  we  have  observed,  the 
order  of  time  amongst  three  distinct  events :  but  it 
fixes  this,  I  will  venture  to  pronounce,  without 
the  writer  perceiving  that  he  was  doing  any  such 
tiling.  The  sentence  fixes  this  order  in  exact 
conformity  with  the  histor}' ;  but  it  is  itself  intro- 
duced solely  for  the  sake  of  the  reflection  which 
follows :  •'  Neither  is  he  that  planteth  any  thing, 
neither  he  that  watereth,  but  God  that  giveth  the 
increase." 

No.  VI. 

Chap.  iv.  11,  12.  "Even  unto  this  present 
hour  we  both  hunger  and  thirst,  and  are  naked, 
and  are  buffeted,  and  have  no  certain  dwelling- 
place  ;  and  labour,  working  with  our  own  hands." 

We  are  expressly  told  in  the  history,  that  at 
Corinth  St.  Paul  laboured  with  his  own  hands : 
"  He  found  Aquila  and  Priscilla ;  and,  because  he 
was  of  the  same  craft,  he  abode  with  them,  and 
wrought ;  for  by  their  occupation  they  were  tent- 
makers."  But,  in  the  text  before  us,  he  is  made 
to  say,  that  "  he  laboured  efen  %into  the  present 
hour"  that  is,  to  the  time  of  writing  the  epistle  at 
Ephesus.  Now,  in  the  narration  of  St.  Paul's 
transactions  at  Ephesus,  delivered  in  the  nine- 
teenth chapter  of  the  Acts,  nothing  is  said  of  his 
working  with  his  own  hands ;  but  in  the  twentieth 
chapter  we  read,  that  upon  his  return  from 
Greece,  he  sent  for  the  elders  of  the  Church  of 
Ephesus,  to  meet  him  at  Miletus;  and  in  the  dis- 
course which  he  there  addressed  to  them,  amidst 
some  other  reflections  which  he  calls  to  their  re- 
membrance, we  find  the  following:  "I  have 
coveted  no  man's  silver,  or  gold,  or  apparel;  yea, 
yourselves  also  know,  that  these  hands  have  mi- 
nistered unto  my  necessities,  and  to  them  that  were 
with  me."     The  reader  will  not  forget  to  remark, 


that  though  St.  Paul  be  now  at  Miletus,  it  is  to 
the  elders  of  the  church  of  Ephesus  he  is  speaking, 
when  he  says,  "Ye  yourselves  know  that  these 
hands  have  ministered  to  my  necessities;"  and 
that  the  whole  discourse  relates  to  his  conduct 
during  his  last  preceding  residence  at  Ephesus. 
That  manual  labour,  therefore,  which  he  had  ex- 
ercised at  Corinth,  he  continued  at  Ephesus,  and 
not  only  so,  but  continued  it  during  that  parti- 
cular residence  at  Ephesus,  near  the  conclusion  of 
which  this  epistle  was  written ;  so  that  he  might 
with  the  strictest  truth  say  at  the  time  of  writing 
the  epistle,  "  Even  iinto  this  present  hour  wo 
labour,  working  with  our  own  hands."  The 
correspondency  is  sufficient,  then,  as  to  the  unde- 
signedness  of  it.  It  is  manifest  to  my  judgrnent, 
that  if  the  history,  in  this  article,  had  been  taken 
from  the  ejiistle,  this  circumstance,  if  it  appeared 
at  all,  would  have  appeared  in  its  place,  that  is,  in 
the  direct  account  of  St.  Paul's  transactions  at 
Ephesus. — The  correspondency  would  not  have 
been  effected,  as  it  is,  by  a  kind  of  refierted  stroke, 
that  is,  by  a  reference  in  a  subsequent  speech,  to 
what  in  the  narrative  was  omitted.  Nor  is  it 
likely,  on  the  other  hand,  that  a  circumstance 
which  is  not  extant  in  the  history  of  St.  Paul  at 
Ephesus,  should  have  been  made  the  subject  of  a 
factitious  allusion,  in  an  epistle  purporting  to  be 
written  by  him  from  that  place  ;  not  to  mention 
that  the  allusion  itself,  especially  as  to  time,  is  too 
oblique  and  general  to  answer  any  purpose  of  for- 
gery whatever. 

No.  VII. 

Chap.  ix.  20.  "  And  unto  the  Jews,  I  became 
as  a  Jew,  that  I  might  gain  the  Jews;  to  them 
that  are  under  the  law,  as  under  the  law." 

We  have  the  disposition  here  described,  ex- 
emplified in  two  instances  which  tne  history  re- 
cords; one.  Acts  xvi.  3,  "  Him  (Timothy)  would 
Paul  have  to  go  forth  with  him,  and  took  and  cir- 
cumcised him,  because  of  the  Je7rs  in  those  quar- 
ters ;  for  they  knew  all  that  his  father  was  a 
Greek."  This  was  before  the  writing  of  the  epis- 
tle. The  other.  Acts  xxi.  23,  26,  and  after  the 
writing  of  the  epistle:  "Do  this  that  we  sav  to 
thee :  we  have  four  men  which  have  a  vow  on 
them;  them  take,  and  purify  thyself  with  them, 
that  they  may  shave  their  heads;  and  all  may 
know  that  these  things,  whereof  they  were  in- 
fonned  concerning  thee,  are  nothing;  but  that 
thou  thyself  also  walkcst  orderly,  and  keepest  the 
law. — Then  Paul  took  the  men,  and  the  next 
day.  purif  tying  himself  uith  them,  entered  into 
the  temple.''''  Nor  does  this  concurrence  lietween 
the  character  and  the  instances  look  like  the  result 
of  contrivance.  St.  Paul,  in  the  epistle,  describes, 
or  is  made  to  describe,  his  own  accommodating 
conduct  towards  Jews  and  towards  Gentiles,  to- 
wards the  weak  and  over-scrupulous,  towards 
men  indeed  of  every  variety  of  character;  "to 
them  that  are  without  law  as  without  law,  being 
not  without  law  to  God,  but  under  the  law  to 
Christ,  that  I  might  gain  them  that  are  without 
law ;  to  the  weak  became  I  as  weak,  that  I  might 
gain  the  weak ;  I  am  made  all  things  to  all  men, 
that  I  might  gain  some."  This  islhe  sequel  of 
the  text  which  stands  at  the  head  of  the  present 
number.  Taking  therefore  the  whole  passage  to- 
gether, the  apostle's  condescension  to  the  Jews  is 
mentioned  only  as  a  part  of  his  general  disposition 
towards  all.    It  is  not  probable  that  tins  character 


180 


H.ORM  PAULINiE. 


sliould  have  been  made  up  from  the  instances  in 
the  Acts,  whicli  relate  solely  to  his  dealings  with 
the  Jews.  It  is  not  probable  that  a  sophist  should 
take  his  hint  from  those  instances,  and  then  ex- 
tend it  so  much  beyond  them ;  and  it  is  still  more 
incredible  that  the  two  instances,  in  the  Acts,  cir- 
cumstantially related  and  interwoven  with  the  his- 
tory, should  have  been  fabricated  in  order  to  suit 
the  character  which  St.  Paul  gives  of  himself  in 
the  epistle. 

No.  VIII. 

Chap.  i.  14—17.  "  I  thank  God  that  I  bap- 
tized none  of  you  but  Crispus  and  Gains,  lest  any 
should  say  that  I  baptized  in  my  own  name ;  and 
I  baptized  also  the  household  of  Stephanas:  be- 
sides, I  know  not  whether  I  baptized  any  other  : 
for  Christ  sent  me  not  to  baptize,  but  to  preach 
the  Gospel." 

It  may  be  expected,  that  those  whom  the  apos- 
tle baptized  with  his  own  hands,  were  converts 
distinguished  from  the  rest  by  some  circumstance, 
either  of  eminence  or  of  connexion  with  him. 
Accordingly,  of  the  three  names  here  mentioned, 
Crispus,  we  find,  from  Acts  xviii.  8,  was  a  "chief 
ruler  of  the  Jewish  synagogue  at  Corinth,  who 
believed  in  the  Lord  with  all  his  house."  Gains, 
it  appears  from  Romans  xvi.  23,  was  St.  Paul's 
host  at  Corinth,  and  the  host,  he  tells  us,  "  of  the 
whole  church."  The  household  of  Stephanas, 
we  read  in  the  sixteenth  chapter  of  tliis  epistle, 
"  were  the  first  fruits  of  Achaia."  Here,  there- 
fore, is  the  propriety  we  expected:  and  it  is  a 
proof  of  reahty  not  to  be  contemned  ;  for  their 
names  appearing  in  the  several  places  in  which 
they  occur,  with  a  mark  of  distinction  belonging 
to  each,  could  hardly  be  the  effect  of  chance,  with- 
out any  truth  to  direct  it :  and  on  the  other  hand, 
to  suppose  that  they  were  picked  out  from  these 
passages,  and  brought  together  in  the  text  before 
us,  in  order  to  display  a  conformity  of  names,  is 
both  improbable  in  itself,  and  is  rendered  more  so, 
by  the  purpose  for  which  they  are  introduced. 
They  come  in  to  assist  St.  Paul's  exculpation  of 
himself,  against  the  possible  charge  of  having  as- 
sumed the  character  of  the  founder  of  a  separate 
religion,  and  with  no  other  visible,  or,  as  I  think, 
imaginable  design.* 


*  Chap.  i.  1.  "  Paul  called  to  be  an  apostle  of  Jesus 
Christ,  through  the  will  of  God,  and  Sosthenes,  our  bro- 
ther, unto  the  Church  of  God  which  is  at  Corinth."  The 
only  account  we  have  of  any  person  who  bore  the  name 
of  Sosthenes,  is  found  in  the  eighteenth  chapter  of  the 
Acts.  When  the  Jews  at  Corinth  liad  brought  Paul  be- 
fore Gallio,  and  Gallio  had  dismissed  their  complaint  as 
unworthy  of  his  interference,  and  had  driven  them  from 
the  judgment-seat;  "  then  all  the  Greeks,"  says  the  his- 
torian, "  took  Sosthenes,  the  chief  ruler  of  the  syna- 
gogue, "  and  beat  him  before  the  judgment-seat."  The 
Sosthenes  here  spoken  of  was  a  Corinthian ;  and,  if  he 
was  a  Christian,  and  with  St.  Paul  when  he  wrote  this 
epistle,  was  likely  enough  to  be  joined  with  him  in  the 
salutation  of  the  Corinthian  church.  But  here  occurs 
a  ililTiculty.  If  Sosthenes  was  a  Christian  at  the  time 
of  this  uproar,  why  should  the  Orer.ks  beat  him?  The 
assault  upon  the  Christians  was  made  by  the  Jews.  It 
was  the  Jews  who  had  brought  Paul  before  the  magis- 
trate. If  it  had  been  the  Jews  also  who  had  beaten 
Sosthenes,  I  should  not  have  doubted  but  that  he  had 
been  a  favourer  of  St.  Paul,  and  the  same  person  who 
is  joined  with  him  in  the  epistle.  Let  us  see  therefore 
whether  there  ba  not  some  error  in  our  present  text. 
The  Alexandrian  manuscript  gives  ^rati/xs?  alone,  with- 
out 01  EA.\-ivEj,  and  is  followed  in  this  reading  by  the 


JSTo.  IX. 

Chap.  xvii.  10,  11.  "  Now,  if  Timotheus  come 
let  no  man  despise  him."  Why  despise  him '] 
This  charge  is  not  given  concerning  any  other 
messenger  whom  St.  Paul  sent,  and,  in  the  dif- 
ferent epistles,  many  such  messengers  are  men- 
tioned. Turn  to  1  Tim.  chap.  iv.  12,  and  you  will 
find  that  Timothy  was  a  young  man,  younger  pro- 
bably than  those  who  were  usually  employed  in  the 
Christian  mission ;  and  that  St.  Paul,  apprehending 
lest  he  should,  on  that  account,  be  exposed  to  con- 
tempt, urges  upon  him  the  caution  which  is  there 
inserted  — "  Let  no  man  despise  thy  youth." 

No.  X. 

Chap.  xvi.  1.  "  Now,  concerning  the  collection 
for  the  saints,  as  I  have  given  order  to  the  churches 
of  Galatia,  even  so  do  ye." 

The  churches  of  Galatia  and  Phrygia  were  the 
last  churches  which  St.  Paul  had  visited  before  the 
writing  of  this  epistle.  He  was  now  at  Ephesus, 
and  became  thither  immediately  from  visiting  these 
churches :  "  He  went  over  all  the  country  of  Gala- 
tia and  Phrygia,  in  order,  strengthening  all  the  dis- 
ciples. And  it  came  to  pass  that  Paul  having  passed 
through  the  upper  coasts,  (viz.  the  above-named 
countries,  called  the  upper  coasts,  as  being  the 
northern  part  of  Asia  Minor,)  came  to  Ephesus," 
Acts  xviii.  23  ;  xix.  1.  These  therefore,  probably, 
were  the  last  churches  at  which  he  left  directions 
for  their  public  conduct  during  his  absence.  Al- 
though two  years  intervened  between  his  journey 
to  Ephesus  and  his  writing  this  epistle,  yet  it  does 
not  appear  that  during  that  time  he  visited  any 
other  church.  That  he  had  not  been  silent  when 
he  was  in  Galatia,  upon  this  subject  of  contribu- 
tion for  the  poor,  is  farther  made  out  from  a  hint 
which  he  lets  fall  in  his  epistle  to  that  church : 
"  Only  tliey  (viz.  the  other  apostles,)  would  that 
we  should  remember  the  poor,  the  same  also  which 
I  was  forward  to  do." 

No.  XI. 

Chap.  iv.  18.  "  Now  some  are  puffed  up,  as 
though  I  would  not  come  unto  you." 


Coptic  version,  by  the  Arabian  version,  published  by 
Arpeiiius,  by  the  Vulgate,  and  by  Bede's  Latin  version. 
The  Greek  manuscripts  again,  as  well  as  Chrysostom, 
give  01  l3jJx<oi,  in  the  place  of  oi  Ext^-^ng.  A  great  plu- 
rality of  manuscripts  authorize  the  reading  which  is 
retained  in  our  copies.  In  this  variety  it  appears  to  me 
extremely  probable  that  the  historian  originally  wrote 
TTxi'TEi  alone,  and  that  oi  Exxiifts,  and  oi  icuJaioi  have 
been  respectively  added  as  explanatoiy  of  what  the 
word  TTxvTsg  was  supposed  to  mean.  The  sentence, 
without  the  addition  of  either  name, would  run  very  per- 
spicuously, thus,  "  y-xi  x^ryjAxa-BV  XVTOVi  xrro  TOU  /Sij^aTO; 

STU5TT0V  s/uTTeoirSev  TOU  /E>)/4«To;.  and  he  drove  them 
away  from  the  judgment-seat;  and  they  all,"  viz. 
the  crowds  of  Jews  whom  the  judge  had  bid  begone, 
"  took  Sosthenes  and  beat  him  before  the  judgment- 
seat."  It  is  certain  that,  as  the  whole  body  of  the  peo- 
ple were  Greeks,  the  application  of  all  to  them  wag 
unusual  and  hard.  If  I  was  describing  an  insurrection 
at  Paris,  I  might  say  all  the  Jews,  all  the  Protestants, 
or  all  the  Enslish  acted  so  and  so ;  but  I  should  scarcely 
say  all  the  French,  when  the  whole  mass  of  the  com- 
munity were  of  that  description.  As  what  is  here  of- 
fered is  founded  upon  a  various  reading,  and  that  in 
opposition  to  the  greater  part  of  the  manuscripts  that 
are  extant  I  have  not  given  it  a  place  in  tlie  text. 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO  THE  CORINTHIAI^S. 


181 


Why  should  they  suppose  that  he  would  not 
come  ]  Turn  to  the  first  chapter  of  the  Second 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  and  you  will  find  that 
he  had  already  disappointed  them :  "  I  was  minded 
to  come  unto  you  before,  that  you  might  have  a 
second  benefit;  and  to  pass  by  you  into  Mace- 
donia, and  to  come  again  out  of  Macedonia  unto 
you,  and  of  you  to  be  brought  on  my  way  toward 
Judea.  When  I,  therefore,  was  thus  minded  did  I 
use  lightness  ?  Or  the  things  that  I  purpose  do 
I  purpose  according  to  the  fiesh,  that  with  me 
there  should  be  yea,  yea,  and  nay,  nay  ]  But,  as 
God  is  true,  our  word  toward  you  was  not  yea  and 
nay."  It  appears  from  this  quotation,  that  he  had 
not  only  intended,  but  that  he  had  promised  them 
a  visit  before ;  for,  otherwise,  why  should  he  apo- 
\o'fi7.e  for  the  change  of  his  purpose,  or  express  so 
much  anxiety  lest  this  change  should  be  imputed 
to  any  culpable  fickleness  in  his  temper;  and  lest 
he  should  thereby  seem  to  them,  as  one  whose 
word  was  not,  in  any  sort,  to  he  depended  upon  1 
Besides  which,  the  terms  made  use  of,  plainly  re- 
fer to  a  promise,  "  Our  word  toward  you  was  not 
yea  and  nay."  St.  Paul,  therefore,  had  signified 
an  intention  which  he  had  not  been  able  to  exe- 
cute ;  and  this  seeming  breach  of  his  word,  and 
tbe  delay  of  his  visit,  had,  with  some  who  were 
evil  affected  towards  him,  given  birth  to  a  sugges- 
tion that  he  would  come  no  more  to  Corinth. 

No.  XII. 

Chap.  V.  7, 8.  "  For  even  Christ,  our  passover, 
is  sacrificed  for  us;  therefore  let  us  keep  the  feast, 
not  with  old  leaven,  neither  with  the  leaven  of 
malice  and  wickedness,  but  with  the  unleavened 
bread  of  sincerity  and  truth." 

Dr.  Benson  tells  us,  that  from  this  passage, 
compared  with  chapter  xvi.  8,  it  has  been  con- 
jectured that  this  epistle  was  written  about  the 
time  of  the  Jewish  passover;  and  to  me  the  con- 
jecture apjiears  to  be  very  well  founded.  The 
passage  to  which  Dr.  Benson  refers  us  is  this: 
"  I  will  tarry  at  Ephesus  until  Pentecost."  With 
this  passage  he  ought  to  have  joined  another  in 
the  sam»  'ontext:  "And  it  may  be  that  I  will 
abide,  yes>,  and  winter  with  j'ou;"  for  from  the 
two  passages  laid  together,  it  follows  that  the 
ejiistle  wa«  written  before  Pentecost,  yet  after 
winter;  which  necessarily  determines  the  date  to 
the  part  of  the  year  within  wliich  the  passover 
falls.  It  was  written  before  Pentecost,  because 
he  says,  "  I  will  tarry  at  Ephesus  until  Pentecost." 
It  was  written  after  winter,  because  he  tells  them, 
"  It  mav  be  that  I  may  abide,  yea,  and  winter 
with  you."  The  winter  which  the  apostle  pur- 
posed to  pass  at  Corinth  was  undoubtedly  the 
winter  next  ensuing  to  the  date  of  the  epistle:  yet 
it  was  a  winter  suljsequent  to  the  ensuing  Pen- 
tecost, because  he  did  not  intend  to  set  forwards 
upon  his  journey  till  after  that  feast.  The  words, 
"  let  us  keep  the  feast,  not  with  old  leaven,  nei- 
ther with  the  leavcnof  malice  and  wickedness,  but 
with  the  unleavened  bread  of  sincerity  and  truth," 
look  very  like  words  suggested  by  the  season ;  at 
least  they  have,  upon  that  supposition,  a  force  and 
significancy  which  do  not  belong  to  them  upon 
any  other ;  ami  it  is  not  a  little  remarkable,  that 
the  hints  casually  dropped  in  the  epistle  concern- 
ing particular  parts  of  the  year,  should  coincide 
with  this  supposition. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Second  Epistle  to  the  Corinthian. 

No.I. 

I  wiLi,  not  say  that  it  is  impossible,  having  seen 
the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  to  construct 
a  second  with  ostensible  allusions  to  the  first;  or 
that  it  is  impossible  that  both  should  be  fabricated, 
so  as  to  carry  on  an  order  and  continuation  of 
story,  by  successive  references  to  the  same  events. 
But  I  saj^  that  this,  in  cither  case,  must  be  the  effect 
of  craft  and  design  Whereas,  whoever  examines 
the  allusions  to  the  former  epistle  which  he  finds 
in  this,  whilst  he  will  acknowledge  them  to  l)e 
such  as  would  rise  spontaneously  to  the  hand  of 
the  writer,  from  the  very  subject  of  the  corres- 
pondence, and  the  situation  of  the  corresponding 
parties,  supposing  these  to  be  real,  will  see  no 
particle  of  reason  to  suspect,  either  that  the  clauses 
containing  these  allusions  were  insertioyis  for  the 
purpose,  or  that  the  several  transactions  of  the  Co- 
rinthian church  were  feigned,  in  order  to  form  a 
train  of  narrative,  or  to  support  the  appearance  of 
connexion  between  the  two  epistles. 

1.  In  the  First  Epistle,  St.  Paul  announces  his 
intention  of  passing  through  Macedonia,  in  his 
way  to  Corinth :  "  I  will  come  to  you  when  I  shall 
pass  through  Macedonia."  In  the  Second  Epistle, 
we  find  him  arrived  in  Macedonia,  and  about  to 
pursue  his  journey  to  Corinth.  But  observe  the 
manner  in  which  this  is  made  to  appear:  "  I  know 
the  forwardness  of  your  mind,  for  which  I  boast 
of  you  to  them  of  Macedonia,  that  Achaia  was 
ready  a  year  ago,  and  your  zeal  hath  provoked 
very  many :  yet  have  I  sent  the  brethren,  lest  our 
boasting  of  you  should  be  in  vain  in  this  hehall'; 
that,  as  I  said,  ye  may  be  ready ;  lest,  hapi^-,  if 
they  of  INlacedonia  come  with  me,  and  find  you 
unprepared,  we  (that  we  say  not  you)  be  asham- 
ed in  this  same  confident  boasting,"  chap.  ix. 
2,  3,  4.  St.  Paul's  being  in  Macedonia  at  the 
time  of  writing  the  epistle,  is,  in  this  passage,  in- 
ferred only  from  his  saying  that  he  had  boasted 
to  the  Macedonians  of  the  alacrity  of  his  Achaiau 
converts;  and  the  fear  which  he  expresses,  lest,  if 
any  of  the  Macedonian  Christians  should  come 
with  him  unto  Achaia,  they  should  find  his  boast- 
ing unwarranted  by  the  event.  The  business  of 
the  contribution  is  the  sole  cause  of  mentioning 
Macedonia  at  all.  Will  it  be  insinuated  that  this 
passage  was  framed  merely  to  state  that  St.  Paul 
was  now  in  Macedonia ;  and,  by  that  statement,  to 
produce  an  apparent  agreement  with  the  purpose 
of  visiting  Macedonia,  notified  in  the  First  Epistle"? 
Or  will  it  be  thought  probable,  that,  if  a  sophist 
had  meant  to  place  St.  Paul  in  Macedonia,  for  the 
sake  of  giving  countenance  to  his  forgery,  he 
would  have  done  it  in  so  oblique  a  manner  as 
through  the  medium  of  a  contribution]  The  same 
thing  may  be  observed  of  another  text  in  the  epis- 
tle, in  which  the  name  of  Macedonia  occurs: 
"  Furthermore,  when  I  came  to  Troas  to  preach 
the  Gospel,  and  a  door  was  ojiened  unto  me  of  the 
Lord,  1  had  no  rest  in  my  spirit,  because  I  found 
not  Titus,  my  brotlier;  but  taking  m}^  leave  of 
them,  I  went  from  thence  into  Macedonia."  I 
mean,  that  it  may  he  observed  of  this  passage  also, 
that  there  is  a  reason  for  mentioning  Macedoma 
16 


[=r-.: 


182 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


entirely  distinct  from  the  purpose  of  showing  St. 
Paul  to  be  there.  Indeed,  if  the  passage  before 
us  show  that  point  at  all,  it  shows  it  so  obscurely, 
that  Grotius,  though  he  did  not  doubt  that  Paul 
was  now  in  Macedonia,  refers  this  text  to  a  dif- 
ferent journey.  Is  this  the  hand  of  a  forger,  me- 
ditating to  establish  a  false  conformity?  The  text, 
I  however,  in  whicli  it  is  most  strongly  implied  that 
St.  Paul  wrote  the  present  epistle  from  Mace- 
donia, is  found  in  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  verses 
ol'  the  seventh  chapter :  "  I  am  filled  with  comfort, 
I  am  exceeding  joylul  in  all  our  tribulation  ;  for, 
vviien  we  were  come  into  Macedonia,  our  flesh  had 
no  rest ;  without  were  fightings,  within  were  fears: 
nevertheless,  God,  that  comforteth  those  that  are 
cast  down,  comforted  us  by  the  coming  of  Titus." 
Yet  even  here,  I  think,  no  one  will  contend,  that 
St.  Paul's  coming  to  Macedonia,  or  being  in  Ma- 
cedonia, was  the  principal  thing  intended  to  be 
told ;  or  that  the  telling  of  it,  indeed,  was  any  part 
of  the  intention  with  which  the  text  was  wntten; 
or  that  the  mention  even  of  the  name  of  Mace- 
donia was  not  purely  mcidental,  in  the  description 
of  those  tumultuous  sorrows  with  which  the 
writer's  mind  hath  been  lately  agitated,  and  from 
which  he  was  relieved  by  the  coming  of  Titus. 
The  first  five  verses  of  the  eighth  chapter,  which 
commend  the  liberality  of  the  Macedonian 
churches,  do  not,  in  my  opinion,  by  themselves, 
prove  St.  Paul  to  have  been  at  Macedonia  at  the 
tiiue  of  writing  the  epistle. 

2.  In  the  t'irst  Epistle,  St.  Paul  denounces  a 
severe  censure  against  an  incestuous  marriage, 
which  had  taken  place  amongst  the  Corinthian 
converts,  with  the  connivance,  not  to  say  with  the 
approbation,  of  the  church ;  and  enjoins  the  church 
to  purge  itself  of  this  scandal,  by  expelling  the  of- 
fender from  its  society:  "It  is  reported conunonly, 
that  there  is  fornication  among  you,  and  such  for- 
nication, as  is  not  so  much  as  named  amongst  the 
Gentiles,  that  one  should  have  his  father's  wife ; 
and  ye  are  pufled  up,  and  have  not  rather  mourn- 
ed, that  he  that  hath  done  this  deed  might  be  taken 
away  from  among  you;  for  I,  verily,  as  absent  in 
body,  but  present  in  spirit,  have  judged  already, 
as  though  I  were  present,  concerning  him  that 
hath  done  this  deed:  in  the  name  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  when  ye  are  gathered  together,  and 
my  spirit,  with  the  power  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
to  deliver  such  a  one  unto  Satan  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  flesh,  that  the  spirit  may  be  saved  in 
the  day  of  the  Lord,"  chap.  v.  1 — 5.  In  the 
Second  Epistle,  we  find  this  sentence  executed, 
and  the  oflender  to  be  so  affected  with  the  punish- 
ment, that  St.  Paul  now  intercedes  for  his  resto- 
ration ;  "  Sufficient  to  such  a  man  is  tins  punish- 
ment, which  was  inflicted  of  many  ;  so  that,  con- 
trariwise, ye  ought  rather  to  forgive  him  and 
comfort  him,  lest  perhaps  such  a  one  should  be 
swallowed  up  with  over-much  sorrow ;  wherefore, 
I  beseech  you  that  ye  would  confirm  your  love 
towards  him,"  2  Cor.  chap.  ii.  7,  8.  Is  this 
whole  business  feigned  for  the  sake  of  carrying  on 
a  continuation  of  story  through  the  two  epistles'!  i 
The  church  also,  no  less  than  the  offender,  was 
brought  by  St.  Paul's  reproof  to  a  deep  sense  of 
the  impropriety  of  their  conduct.  Their  penitence, 
and  their  respect  to  his  authority,  were,  as  might 
be  expected,  exceeding  crrateful  t^  St.  Paul :  "  We 
were  comforted  not  by  Titus'  coming  only,  but  by 
the  consolation  wherewith  he  was  comfoited  in 
you,  when  he  told  us  your  earnest  desire,  your 


mourniiig,  your  fervent  mind  towards  me,  so  thai 
I  rejoiced  the  more;  for,  though  1  made  you  sorry 
with  a  letter,  I  do  not  repent,  though  I  did  repent; 
for  I  perceive  that  the  same  epistle  made  you  sorry, 
though  it  were  but  for  a  season.  IN'ow  I  rejoice, 
not  that  ye  were  made  sorry,  but  that  ye  sor- 
rowed to  repentance ;  for  ye  were  made  sorry,  af- 
ter a  godly  manner,  that  ye  might  receive  damage 
by  us  in  nothing,"  chap.  vii.  7 — 9.  That  this 
passage  is  to  be  referred  to  the  incestuous  mar- 
riage, is  proved  by  the  twelfth  verse  of  the  same 
chapter:  "  Though  1  wrote  unto  you,  I  did  it  not 
for  his  cause  that  had  done  the  wrong,  nor  for 
his  cause  that  suffered  wrong ;  but  that  our  care 
for  you,  in  the  sight  of  God,  might  appear  unto 
you."  There  were,  it  is  true,  various  topics  of 
blame  noticed  in  the  First  Epistle  ;  but  there  was 
none,  except  this  of  the  incestuous  marriage, 
which  could  be  called  a  transaction  between  pri- 
vate parties,  or  of  whicli  it  could  be  said  that  one 
particular  person  had  done  the  "  wrong,"  and  an- 
other particular  person  had  "  sufi'ercd  it."  Could 
all  this  be  without  foundation  ?  or  could  it  be  put 
into  the  Second  Epistle,  merely  to  furnish  an  ob- 
scure sequel  to  what  had  been  said  about  an  in- 
cestuous marriage  in  the  first  1 

3.  In  the  sixteenth  chapter  of  the  First  Epistle, 
a  collection  for  the  saints  is  recommended  to  be 
set  forwards  at  Corinth:  "Now,  concerning  the 
collection  for  the  saints,  as  I  have  given  order  to 
the  churches  of  Galatia,  so  do  ye."  chap.  xvi.  1. 
In  the  ninth  chapter  of  the  Second  Epistle,  such 
a  collection  is  spoken  of,  as  in  readiness  to  be  re- 
ceived :  "  As  touching  the  ministering  to  the 
saints,  it  is  superfluous  for  me  to  write  to  you,  for 
I  know  the  forwardness  of  your  mind,  for  which 
I  boast  of  you  to  them  of  Macedonia,  that  Achaia 
was  ready  a  year  ago,  and  your  zeal  hath  pro\'oked 
very  many,"  chap.  ix.  I,  2.  This  is  such  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  transaction  as  might  be  expect- 
ed ;  or,  possibly  it  will  be  said,  as  might  easily  be 
counterfeited ;  but  there  is  a  circumstance  of  nicety 
in  the  agreement  between  the  two  epistles,  which, 
I  am  convinced,  the  author  of  a  forgery  would  not 
have  hit  upon,  or  which,  if  he  had  hit  upon  it,  he 
would  have  set  forth  with  more  clearness.  The 
Second  Epistle  speaks  of  the  Corinthians  as  hav- 
ing begun  this  eleemosynary  business  a  year  be- 
fore :  "  This  is  expedient  for  you  who  have  begun 
before,  not  only  to  do,  but  also  to  be  forward  a  year 
ago,"  chap.  viii.  x.  "  I  boast  of  you  to  them 
of  Macedonia,  that  Achaia  was  ready  a  year  ago," 
chap.  ix.  2.  From  the.se  texts  it  is  evident,  that 
something  had  been  done  in  the  business  a  year 
before.  It  appears,  however,  from  other  texts 
in  the  epistle,  that  the  contribution  was  not  yet 
collected  or  paid ;  for  brethren  were  sent  from 
St.  Paul  to  Corinth,  "to  make  up  their  boun- 
ty," chap.  ix.  5.  They  are  urged  to  "perform 
the  doing  of  it,"  chap.  viii.  II.  "And  every 
man  was  exhorted  to  give  as  he  purposed  in  his 
heart,"  chap.  ix.  7.  The  contribution,  there- 
fore, as  represented  in  our  present  epistle,  was  in 
readiness,  yet  not  received  from  the  contributors ; 
was  begun,  was  forward  long  before,  yet  not 
hitherto  collected.  Now  this  representation  agrees 
with  one,  and  only  with  one,  supposition,  namely, 
that  every  man  had  laid  by  in  store,  had  already 
provided  the  fund,  from  which  he  was  afterwards 
tocontribute— the  very  case  which  the  First  Epis- 
tle authorises  us  to  suppose  to  have  existed  ;  for  in 
that  epistle  St.  Paul  had  charged  the  Corinthians, 


J 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO  THE  CORENTHIANS. 


183 


"  upon  the  first  day  of  the  week,  every  one  of  them, 
to  lay  Liy  in  store  as  God  had  prospered  him,'  * 
1  Cor.  chap.  xvi.  2. 

No.  II. 

In  comparing  the  Second  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians with  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  we  are  soon 
brouglit  to  observe,  not  only  tliat  there  exists  no 
vestige  either  of  the  epistle  having  been  taken 
from  the  history,  or  the  history  from  the  epistle ; 
but  also  that  there  appears  in  the  contents  of  the 
epistle  positive  evidence,  that  neither  was  borrowed 
from  the  other.  Titus,  who  bears  a  conspicuous 
part  in  the  epistle,  is  not  mentioned  in  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles  at  all.  St.  Paul's  sufferings  enu- 
merated, chap.  xi.  24.  "of  the  Jews  five  times  re- 
ceived I  forty  stripes  save  one ;  thrice  was  I  beaten 
with  rods ;  once  was  I  stoned ;  thrice  I  suffered 
shipwreck ;  a  night  and  a  day  I  have  been  in  the 
deep,"  cannot  be  made  out  from  his  history  as  de- 
livered in  the  Acts ;  nor  would  tliis  account  have 
been  given  by  a  writer,  who  either  drew  his  know- 
ledge of  St.  Paul  from  that  history,  or  who  was 
careful  to  preser\e  a  conformity  with  it.  The 
account  in  the  epistle  of  St.  Paul's  escape  from 
Damascus,  though  agreeing  in  the  main  fact  with 
the  account  of  the  same  transaction  in  the  Acts, 
is  related  with  such  difference  of  circumstance,  as 
renders  it  utterly  improbable  that  one  should  be 
derived  from  the  other.  The  two  accounts,  placed 
b\'  the  side  of  each  other,  stand  as  follows  : 


*  The  following  observations  will  satisfy  us  concern- 
ine  the  purity  of  our  apostle's  conduct  in  the  suspicious 
busine.ss  of  a  pf'cuniaiy  contribution. 

1.  He  disclaims  the  having  received  any  inspired 
authiuity  for  the  directions  which  he  is  giving;  '■  I 
speak  not  by  commandment,  but  by  occasion  of  the  for- 
wardness of  others,  and  to  prove  the  sincerity  of  your 
love,"  2  Cor.  chap.  viii.  8.  Who,  that  had  a  sinister 
p  irpiise  to  answer  by  the  recommending  of  subscrip- 
tions, would  thus  distinguish,  and  thus  lower  the  credit 
of  his  own  recommendation  ? 

2.  .Although  he  asserts  the  general  right  of  Christian 
ministers  to  a  maintenance  from  their  ministry,  yet  he 
protests  against  the  making  use  of  this  right  in  his  own 
person  :  '■  Even  so  hath  the  Lord  ordained,  that  they 
which  preach  the  Gospel  should  live  of  the  Gospel ;  but 
I  have  used  none  of  these  things,  neither  have  I  written 
these  things  that  it  should  be  so  done  unto  me ;  for  it 
were  batter  for  me  to  die  than  that  any  man  should 
make  my  glorying,  t.  e.  my  professions  of  disinterested- 
ness, void,"  1  Cor.  chap.  ix.  14,  15. 

3.  He  repoateilly  proposes  that  there  should  be  asso- 
ciates with  himself  in  the  management  of  the  public 
bounty;  not  colleagues  of  his  own  appointment,  but 
persons  elected  for  that  purpose  by  the  contributors 
themselves.  "  And  when  I  come,  whomsoever  ye  shall 
approve  by  your  letters,  them  will  I  send  to  bring  your 
liberality  unto  .lerusalem;  and  if  it  be  meet  that  I 
go  also,  they  shall  go  with  me,"  J  Cor.  chap.  xvi.  3,  4. 
And  in  th;- Second  Epistle,  what  is  here  proposed,  we 
find  actually  done,  and  done  for  the  very  purpose  of 
guarding  his  character  against  any  imputation  that 
niisht  be  brought  upon  it,  in  the  discharge  of  a  pecu- 
niary trust :  "  And  we  have  sent  with  him  the  brother, 
whose  praise  is  in  the  Gospel  throughout  all  the 
chiircnes ;  and  not  that  only,  but  who  was  also  chosen 
of  the  churches  to  travel  with  us  with  this  grace  (gift) 
which  is  administered  by  us  to  the  glory  of  the  same 
Lord,  and  the  declaration  of  your  ready  mind:  avoid- 
ing this,  that  no  man  should  blame  us  in  this  abund- 
ance which  is  administered  by  us  ;  providing  for  things 
honest,  not  only  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  but  also  in  tl.e 
sight  of  men  ;"  i.  e.  not  resting  in  the  consciousness  of 
oiu-  own  integrity,  but,  in  such  a  sul.iect,  careful  also 
to  approve  our  integrity  to  the  public  idgraent.  2  Cor. 
cliap.  viii.  18—21. 


2  Cor.  chap.  xi.  32,  33. 
In  Damascus,  the  governor 
under  Aretas  the  king,  kept 
the  city  of  the  Damascenes 
with  a  garrison,  desirous  to 
apprehend  me  ;  and  through 
a  window  in  a  bai^ket  was  I 
let  down  by  the  wall,  and 
escaped  his  hands. 


Acts,  chap  ix.  23—25. 
.Vnd  after  manv  davs  were 
fullilled,  the  Jews  to.ik 
counsel  to  kill  hiin  ;  but 
their  laying  in  wait  was 
known  of  Saul,  and  tli^y 
watched  the  gates  day  and 
night  to  kill  iiiin  :  then  the 
disciples  took  him  by  night, 
and  let  him  down  by  the 
wall  in  a  basket. 

Now  if  we  be  satisfied  in  general  concerning 
these  two  ancient  writings,  that  the  one  was  not 
known  to  the  writer  of  the  other,  or  not  consulted 
by  him;  then  the  accordances  which  may  be 
pointed  out  between  them,  will  admit  of  no  solu- 
tion so  probable,  as  the  attributing  of  them  to 
truth  and  reaUty,  as    their   common  foundation. 

No.  III. 

The  opening  of  this  epistle  exhibits  a  connexiot 
with  the  history,  which  alone  would  satisfy  my 
mind  that  the  epistle  was  written  by  St.  Paul,  and 
b}'  St.  Paul  in  the  situation  in  which  the  history 
places  him.  Let  it  be  remembered,  tliat  in  the 
nineteenth  chapter  of  the  Acts,  St.  Paul  is  repre- 
sented as  driven  away  from  Ephesus,  or  as  leaving 
however  Epliesus,  in  consequence  of  an  uproar  in 
that  city,  excited  by  some  interested  adversaries 
of  the  new  religion.  The  account  of  the  tiunult 
is  as  follows  :  "  When  they  heard  these  sayings," 
viz.  Demetrius's  complamt  of  the  danger  to  be 
apprehendeci  from  St.  Paul's  ministry  to  the  es- 
tablished worship  of  the  Ephesian  goddess,  "they 
were  full  of  wrath,  and  cried  out.  saying.  Great  is 
Diana  of  the  Ephesians.  And  the  whole  city  was 
filled  with  contusion ;  and  having  caught  Gains 
and  Aristarchus,  Pauls  companions  in  travel, 
they  rushed  with  one  accord  into  the  tlieatre ;  and 
when  Paul  would  liave  entered  in  unto  the  people, 
the  disciples  suffered  him  not ;  and  certaui  of  the 
chief  of  Asia,  which  were  his  friends,  sent  unto 
him,  desiring  that  he  would  not  adventure  him- 
self into  the  theatre.  Some,  therefore,  cried  one 
thing,  and  some  another;  for  the  assembly  was 
confused,  and  the  more  part  knew  not  wherefore 
they  were  come  together.  And  they  drew  Alex- 
ander out  of  the  multitude,  the  Jews  putting  liiiu 
forward  ;  and  Alexander  beckoned  with  his  hand, 
and  would  have  made  his  defence  unto  the  people ; 
but,  when  they  knew  that  he  was  a  Jew,  all  with 
one  voice,  about  the  space  of  two  hours,  cried  out, 
Great  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians. — And  after  the 
uproar  was  ceased,  Paul  called  unto  him  the  dis- 
ciples, and  embraced  them,  and  departed  for  to  go 
into  Macedonia."  When  he  was  arrived  in  Ma- 
cedonia, he  wrote  the  Second  Epistle  to  the  Co- 
rinthians which  is  now  before  us ;  and  he  begins 
his  epistle  in  tliis  wise:  "  Blessed  be  God,  even 
the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the  Father 
of  mercies,  and  the  God  of  all  comfort,  who  coni- 
forteth  us  in  all  our  tribulation,  that  we  may  be 
able  to  comfort  them  which  are  in  any  trouble,  by 
the  comfort  wherewith  we  ourselves  are  comforted 
of  God.  For,  as  the  sufferings  of  Christ  abound 
in  us,  so  our  consolation  also  aboundeth  by  Christ ; 
and  whether  we  be  afflicted,  it  is  for  your  conso- 
lation and  salvation,  which  is  effectual  in  the  en- 
during of  the  same  sufferings  which  we  also  sutler; 
or  whether  we  be  comforted,  it  is  for  your  consola- 
tion and  salvation  :  and  our  hope  of  you  is  stead- 
fast, knowing  that,  as  ye  are  partakers  of  the  suf- 
ferings, so  shall  ye  be  also  of  the  consolation.  For 


184 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


we  would  not,  brethren,  have  you  ignorant  of  our 
trouble  which  came  to  us  in  Asia,  that  we  were 
pressed  out  of  measure,  above  strength,  insomuch 
that  we  despaired  even  of  hfe ;   but  we  had  the 
sentence  of  death  in  ourselves,  that  wc  should 
not  trust  in  ourselves,  but  in  God,  which  raiseth 
the    dead,   who  delivered    us   from   so    great  a 
death,  and  doth  deliver;  in  whom  we  trust  that  he 
will  yet  deliver  us."     jSTothing  could  be  more  ex- 
pressive of  the  circumstances  m  which  the  history' 
describes  St.  Paul  to  have  been  at  the  time  when 
the   epistle   purports  to  be  written;    or  rather, 
nothing  could  be  more  expressive  of  the  sensa- 
tions arising  from  these  circumstances,  tlian  this 
passage.     It  is  the  calm  recollection  of  a  mind 
emerged  from  the  confusion  of  instant  danger.    It 
is  that  devotion  and  solemnity  of  thought,  which 
follows  a  recent  dehverance.  There  is  justenoucrh 
of  particularity  in  the  passage  to  show  that  it  is 
to  be  referred  to  the  tumult  at  Ephesus:  "  We 
would  not,  brethren,  have  you  ignorant  of  our 
trouble  which  came  to  us  in  Asia."     And  there  is 
nothing  more ;  no  mention  of  Demetrius,  of  the 
seizure  of  St.  Paul's  friends,  of  the  interference  of 
the  town-clerk,  of  the  occasion  or  nature  of  the 
danger  which  St.  Paul  had  escaped,  or  even  of 
the  city  where  it  happened ;  in  a  word,  no  recital 
from  which  a  suspicion  could  be  conceived,  either 
that  the  author  of  the  epistle  had  made  use  of  the 
narrative  in  the  Acts  ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
he  had  sketched  the  outline,  which  the  narrative 
in  the  Acts  only  filled  up.     That  the  forger  of  an 
epistle,  under  the  name  of  St.  Paul,  should  borrow 
circumstances  from  a  liistory  of  St.  Paul  then  ex- 
tant ;  or,  that  the  author  of  a  history  of  St.  Paul 
should  gather  materials  from  letters  bearing  St. 
Paul's  name,  may  be  credited ;  but  I  cannot  believe 
that  any  forger  whatever,  should  fall  upon  an  ex- 
pedient so  refined,  as  to  exhibit  sentiments  adapted 
to  a  situation,  and  to  leave  his  readers  to  seek  out 
that  situation  from  the  history ;  still  less  that  the 
author  of  a  history  should  go  about  to  frame  facts 
and  circumstances,  fitted  to  supjily  the  sentiments 
which  he  found  in  the  letter.     It  may  be  said,  per- 
haps, that  it  does  not  appear  from  the  history,  that 
any  danger  threatened  St.  Paul's  life  in  the  up- 
roar at  Ephe.-ius,  so  imminent  as  tliat  from  wliich 
in  the  epistle  he  represents  himself  to  have  been 
delivered.     This  matter,  it  is  true,  is  not  stated  by 
the  historian  in  form  ;  but  the  personal  danger  of 
the  apostle,  we  cannot  doubt,  must  have  been  ex- 
treme, when  the  "  whole  city  was  filled  with  con- 
fusion ;"  when  the  populace  had  "  seized  his  com- 
panions;" when,  in  the  distraction  of  his  mind,  he 
insisted   upon    "coming   forth  amongst  them;" 
when  the  Christians  who  were  about  him  "would 
not  suffer  him;"  when  "  his  friends,  certain  of  the 
chief  of  Asia,  sent  to  him,  desiring  that  he  would 
not  adventure  himself  in  the  tumult;"  when,  last- 
ly, he  was  obliged  to  quit  immediately  the  place 
and  the  country,    "and   when   the   tumult  was 
ceased,  to  depart  into  Macedonia."     All  which 
particulars  are  found  in  the  narration,  and  justify 
St.  Paul's  own  account,  "  that  he  was  pressed  out 
of  measure,  above   strength,  insomuch   that   he 
despaired  even  of  life;  that  he  had  the  sentence 
of  death  in  himself;"  i.  e.  that  he  looked  upon 
nimself  as  a  man  condemned  to  die. 

No.  IV. 

It  has  already  been  remarked,  that  St.   Paul's 
original  intention  was  to  have  visited  Corinth  in 


his  way  to  Macedonia:  "  I  was  minded  to  come 
unto  you  before,  and  to  pass  by  you  into  Macedo- 
nia," 2  Cor.  chap.  i.  15,  16.  It  has  also  been  re- 
marked that  he  changed  his  intention,  and  ulti- 
mately resolved  upon  going  through  Macedonia 
Jirst.  Now  upon  this  head  there  exists  a  circum- 
stance of  correspondency  between  our  epistle  and 
the  history,  which  is  not  very  obvious  to  the  read- 
er's observation ;  but  which,  when  observed,  will 
be  found,  I  think,  close  and  exact.  Which  cir- 
cumstance is  this :  that  though  the  change  of  St. 
Paul's  intention  be  expressly  mentioned  only  in 
the  second  epistle,  yet  it  appears,  both  from  the 
history  and  from  this  second  epistle,  that  the 
change  had  taken  place  before  the  writing  of  the 
first  epistle ;  that  it  appears  however  from  neither, 
otherwise  than  by  an  inference,  unnoticed  per- 
haps by  ahiiost  every  one  who  does  not  sit  down 
professedly  to  the  examination. 

First,  then,  how  does  this  point  appear  from 
the  history  1  In  the  nineteenth  chapter  of  the 
^.cts,  and  the  twenty-first  verse,  we  are  told,  that 
"  Paul  purposed  in  the  spirit  when  he  had  passed 
through  Macedonia  and  Achaia,  to  go  to  Jerusa- 
lem. So  he  sent  into  Macedonia  two  of  them 
that  ministered  unto  him,  Timotheus  and  Erastus ; 
but  he  himself  stayed  in  Asia  for  a  season."  A 
short  time  a/ter  this,  and  evidently  in  pursuance 
of  the  same  intention,  we  find  (chap.  xx.  1,  3.) 
that  Paul  departed  from  Ephesus  for  to  go  into 
Macedonia:  and  that  when  he  had  gone  over 
those  parts,  he  came  into  Greece."  The  resolu- 
tion therefore  of  passing  first  through  Macedonia, 
and  from  thence  into  Greece,  was  formed  by  St. 
Paul  previously  to  the  sending  away  of  Timothy. 
The  order  in  which  the  two  countries  are  men- 
tioned shows  the  direction  of  his  intended  route, 
"  when  he  had  passed  through  Macedonia  and 
Achaia."  Timothy  and  Erastus,  who  were  to 
precede  him  in  his  progress,  were  sent  by  him 
from  Ephesus  into  Macedonia.  He  himself  a 
short  time  afterwards,  and,  as  hath  been  ob- 
served, evidently  in  continuation  and  pursuance 
of  the  same  design,  "  departed  for  to  go  into  Ma- 
cedonia." If  he  had  ever,  therefore,  entertained 
a  different  plan  of  his  journey,  which  is  not 
hinted  in  the  history,  he  must  have  clianged  that 
plan  before  this  time.  But,  from  the  17th  verse 
of  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  First  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians,  we  discover,  that  Timothy  had  been 
sent  away  from  Ephesus  before  that  epistle  was 
written :  "  For  this  cause  have  I  sent  unto  you 
Timotheus,  who  is  my  beloved  son."  The 
change,  therefore,  of  St.  Paul's  resolution,  which 
was  prior  to  the  sending  away  of  Timothy,  was 
necessarily  prior  to  the  writing  of  the  First  Epistle 
to  the  Corinthians. 

Thus  stands  the  order  of  dates,  as  collected  from 
the  history,  compared  with  the  First  Epistle.  Now 
let  us  inquire,  secondly,  how  this  matter  is  repre- 
sented in  the  epistle  before  us.  In  the  sixteenth 
verse  of  the  first  chapter  of  this  epistle,  St.  Paul 
speaks  of  the  intention  which  he  had  once  enter- 
tained of  visiting  Achaia,  in  his  way  to  Macedo- 
nia: "In  this  confidence  I  was  minded  to  come 
unto  you  before,  that  ye  might  have  a  second  bene- 
fit: and  to  pass  by  you  into  Macedonia."  After 
protesting,  in  the  seventeenth  verse,  against  any 
evil  construction  that  might  be  put  upon  his  lay- 
ing aside  of  this  intention,  in  the  t\^'enty-third 
verse  he  discloses  the  cause  of  it :  "  Moreover  1 
call  God  for  a  record  upon  my  soul,  that,  to  spare 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO  THE  CORINTHIANS. 


18; 


you,  I  came  not  as  yet  unto  Corinth."  And  then 
he  proceeds  as  follows:  "But  I  determined  this 
with  myself,  that  I  would  not  couie  again  to  you 
in  heaviness :  for,  if  I  make  you  sorry,  who  is  he 
then  that  makcth  me  glad,  but  the  sauie  which  is 
made  sorry  by  mel  A7id  I  wrote  this  same  unto 
you,  lest  when  I  came  1  should  have  sorrow  from 
them  ol"  whom  I  ought  to  rejoice ;  having  conh- 
dence  in  you  all,  that  my  joy  is  the  joy  of  you  all ; 
for,  out  of  much  affliction  and  anguish  of  heart,  / 
wrote  unto  yon  with  many  tears;  not  that  ye 
should  be  grieved,  but  that  ye  might  know  the 
love  which  I  have  more  abundantly  unto  jou:  but 
if  any  have  caused  grief,  he  hath  not  grieved  me 
but  in  part,  that  I  may  not  overcharge  you  all. 
Sutficient  to  such  a  man  is  this  punishment,  which 
was  inflicted  of  many."  In  this  quotation,  let  the 
reader  first  direct  his  attention  to  the  clause  marked 
by  Italics,  "  and  I  wrote  this  same  unto  you,"  and 
let  him  consider,  whether  from  the  context,  and 
from  the  structure  of  the  whole  passage,  it  be  not 
e\  ident  that  this  writing  was  after  St.  Paul  had 
"  determined  with  himself,  that  he  would  not  come 
again  to  them  in  heaWness  1"  whether,  indeed,  it 
was  not  in  consequence  of  this  determination,  or 
at  least  with  this  determination  upon  his  mind  ? 
And,  in  the  next  place,  let  him  consider  whether 
the  sentence,  "  I  determined  this  with  mj'self,  that 
I  would  not  come  again  to  you  in  heaviness,"  do 
not  plainly  refer  to  that  postponing  of  his  visit,  to 
which  he  had  alluded  in  the  verse  but  one  before, 
when  he  said,  "I  call  God  for  a  record  upon  my 
soul,  that,  to  spare  you,  I  came  not  as  yet  unto 
Corinth :"  and  whether  this  be  not  the  visit  of 
which  he  speaks  in  the  sixteenth  verse,  wherein 
he  informs  the  Corinthians,  "that  he  had  been 
minded  to  pass  by  them  into  Macedonia;"  but  that, 
for  reasons,  which  argued  no  levity  or  fickleness 
in  his  disposition,  he  had  been  compelled  to  change 
his  purpose,  [f  this  be  so,  then  it  follows  that  the 
writing  here  mentioned  was  posterior  to  the 
change  of  his  intention.  The  only  question,  there- 
fore, that  remains,  will  be,  whether  this  writing 
relate  to  the  letter  which  we  now  have  under  the 
title  of  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  or  to 
some  other  letter  not  extanf?  And  upon  tliis 
question,  I  think  INIr.  Locke's  observation  decisive ; 
namelv,  that  the  second  clause  marked  in  the  quo- 
tation by  Italics,  "  I  wrote  unto  you  with  many 
tears,"  and  the  first  clause  so  marked,  "  I  wrote 
this  same  unto  you,"  belong  to  one  writing,  what- 
ever that  was ;  and  that  the  second  clause  goes  on 
to  advert  to  a  circumstance  which  is  found  in  our 
present  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  ;  namely, 
the  case  and  punishment  of  the  incestuous  person. 
Upon  the  whole,  then,  we  see,  that  it  is  capable  of 
being  inferred  from  St.  Paul's  own  words,  in  the 
long  extract  which  we  have  quoted,  that  the  First 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  was  written  after  St. 
Paul  had  determined  to  postpone  his  journey  to 
Corinth;  in  other  words,  that  the  change  of  his 
pui"pose  with  respect  to  the  course  of  his  journey, 
though  expressly  mentioned  only  in  the  Second 
Epistle,  had  taken  place  before  the  writing  of  the 
First;  the  point  which  we  made  out  to  be  implied 
in  the  history,  by  the  order  of  the  events  there  re- 
corded, and  the  allusions  to  those  events  in  the 
First  Epistle.  Now  this  is  a  species  of  congruity 
of  all  others  the  most  to  be  relied  upon.  It  is  not 
an  agreement  between  two  accounts  of  the  same 
transaction,  or  between  different  statements  of  the 
same  fact,  for  the  fact  is  not  stated :  notliing  that 
2A 


can  be  called  an  account  is  given ;  but  it  is  the 
junction  of  two  conclusions,  deduced  from  inde- 
pendent sources,  and  deducible  only  by  invtstiga- 
tion  and  comparison. 

This  point,  viz.  the  change  of  the  route,  beinj; 
prior  to  the  writing  of  the  First  Epistle,  also  falls 
in  with,  and  accounts  for,  the  manner  in  which  he 
speaks  in  that  epistle  of  his  journey.  His  lir.st 
intention  had  been,  as  he  here  declares,  to  "pass 
by  them  into  Macedonia:"  that  intention  having 
been  previously  given  up,  he  writes,  in  his  First 
Epi-stle,  "  that  he  would  not  see  them  now  by  the 
wav,"  i.  e.  as  he  must  have  done  upon  his  first 
plan ;  "but  that  he  trusted  to  tarry  awhile  with  them, 
and  possibly  to  abide,  yea  and  winter  with  them," 
1  Conn.  chap.  xvi.  5,  G.  It  also  accounts  for  a 
singularity  in  the  text  referred  to,  which  must 
strike  every  reader:  "  I  will  come  to  you  when  1 
pass  through  Macedonia ;  for  I  do  pass  through 
Macedonia."  The  supplemental  sentence,  "  for  I 
do  pass  through  Macedonia,"  imports  that  there 
had  been  some  previous  conmiunication  upon  the 
subject  of  the  journey ;  and  also  that  there  had 
been  some  vacillation  and  indecisivencss  in  the 
apostle's  plan :  both  which  we  now  perceive  to 
have  been  the  case.  The  sentence  is  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  This  is  what  I  at  last  resolve  upon." 
The  expression,  "  ot«v  Mx^sJovi^tv  Suko^,"  is  ambi- 
guous ;  it  may  denote  cither  "  when  I  pass,  or  when 
I  shall  have  passed,  through  Macedonia:"  the  con- 
siderations offered  above  fix  it  to  the  latter  sense. 
Lastly,  the  point  we  have  endeavoured  to  make 
out,  confirms,  or  rather,  indeed,  is  necessary  to  the 
support  of  a  conjecture,  which  forms  the  subject 
of  a  number  in  our  observations  upon  the  First 
Epistle,  that  the  insinuation  of  certain  of  the  church 
of  Corinth,  thai  he  would  come  no  more  amongst 
them,  was  founded  on  some  previous  disappoint- 
ment of  their  expectations. 

No.  V. 

But  if  St.  Paul  had  changed  his  purpose  before 
the  writing  of  the  First  Epistle,  why  did  he  detei 
explaining  himself  to  the  Corinthians,  concerning 
the  reason  of  that  change,  until  he  wrote  the  Se- 
cond 1  This  is  a  very  fair  question ;  and  we  are 
able,  I  think,  to  return  to  it  a  satisfactory^  answer. 
The  real  cause,  and  the  cause  at  length  assigned 
by  St.  Paul  for  postponing  his  visit  to  Corinth, 
and  not  travelling  by  the  route  which  he  had  at 
first  designed,  was  the  disorderly  state  of  the  Co- 
rinthian church  at  the  time,  and  the  painful  severi- 
ties which  he  should  have  found  himself  obliged  to 
exercise,  if  he  had  come  amongst  them  during  the 
existence  of  these  irregularities.  He  was  willing 
therefore  to  try,  before  he  came  in  person,  what  a 
letter  of  authoritative  objurgation  would  do  amongst 
them,  and  to  leave  time  for  the  operation  of  the 
experiment.  That  was  his  scheme  in  writing  the 
First  Epistle.  But  it  was  not  for  him  to  acquaint 
them  with  the  scheme.  After  the  epistle  had  pro- 
duced its  effect  (and  to  the  utmost  extent,  as  it 
should  seem,  of  the  apostle's  hopes;)  when  he  had 
wrought  in  them  a  deep  sense  of  their  fault,  and 
an  almost  passionate  solicitude  to  restore  them- 
selves to  the  approbation  of  their  teacher ;  when 
Titus  (chap.  vii.  6,  7,  11.)  had  brought  him  intel- 
ligence "of  their  earnest  desire,  their  mourning, 
their  fervent  mind  towards  him,  of  their  sorrow 
and  their  penitence ;  what  carefulness,  what  clear- 
ing of  themselves,  what  indignation,  what  fear, 
what  vehement  desire,  what  zeal,  what  revenge,"' 
16* 


186 


HOR^  PAULlNiE. 


his  letter,  and  the  general  concern  occasioned  by 
it,  had  excilei  amongst  them ;  he  then  opens  him- 
self fully  upon  the  suhjcct.  The  atiectionate  mind 
of  the  apostle  is  touched  hy  this  return  of  zeal  and 
duty.  He  tells  them  that  he  did  not  visit  them  at 
the  time  proposed,  lest  their  meeting  should  have 
been  attended  with  nmtual  grief;  and  with  grief  to 
him  embittered  by  the  reflection,  that  he  was  giving 
pain  to  those,  from  whom  alone  he  could  receive 
comfort :  "  I  determined  this  with  myself,  that  I 
would  not  come  again  to  you  in  heaviness ;  for,  if 
1  make  you  sorry,  who  is  he  that  maketh  me  glad 
liut  the  same  which  is  made  sorry  by  me'!"  chaj). 
ii.  I,  2 :  that  he  had  written  his  former  epistle  to 
warn  them  beforehand  of  their  fault,  "  lest  when 
he  came  he  should  have  sorrow  of  them  of  whom 
he  ought  to  rejoice  ;"  chap.  ii.  3 :  that  he  had  the 
farther  view,  though  perhaps  unperccived  by  them, 
of  making  an  experiment  of  their  fidelity,  "  to 
know  the  proof  of  them,  whether  they  are  obedi- 
ent in  all  things,"  chap.  ii.  9.  This  full  discovery 
of  his  motive  came  very  naturally  from  the  apostle, 
alter  he  had  seen  the  success  of  his  measures,  but 
would  not  have  been  a  seasonable  communication 
before.  The  whole  composes  a  train  of  senthnent 
and  of  conduct  resulting  from  real  situation,  and 
irom  real  circumstance,  and  as  remote  as  possible 
from  liction  or  iuipoitui'e. 

No.  VI. 

Chap.  xi.  9.  "When  I  was  present  with  you 
and  wanted,  I  was  chargeable  to  no  man :  tor  that 
which  was  lacking  to  me,  the  brethren  which 
came  from  Macedonia  supplied."  The  principal 
fact  set  ibrth  in  this  passage,  the  arrival  at  Corinth 
of  brethren  from  Macedonia  during  St.  Paul's  first 
residence  in  that  city,  is  explicitly  recorded.  Acts, 
chap,  xviii.  1,  5.  "After  these  things  Paul  de- 
parted from  Athens,  and  came  to  Corinth.  And 
when  Silas  and  Timothcus  were  come  Irom  Mace- 
donia, Paul  was  pressed  in  spirit,  and  testified  to 
the  Jews  that  Jesus  was  Christ." 

No.  VII. 

The  above  quotation  from  the  Acts  proves  that 
Silas  and  Timotheus  were  assisting  to  St.  Paul  in 
preaching  the  Gospel  at  Corinth.  With  which 
correspond  the  words  of  the  epistle,  (chap.  i.  19,) 
"  For  the  Son  of  God,  Jesus  Christ,  who  was 
preached  among  you  by  us,  even  by  me,  and  Sil- 
vanus,  and  Timotheus,  was  not  yea  and  nay,  but 
in  him  was  yea."  I  do  admit  that  the  corresjwnd- 
ency,  considered  by  itself,  is  too  direct  and  obvious ; 
and  that  an  impostor  with  the  history  before  him 
might,  and  probably  would,  produce  agreements  of 
the  same  kind.  But  let  it  be  remembered,  that 
this  reference  is  found  in  a  writing,  which,  from 
many  discrepancies,  and  especially  from  those 
noted  No.  II.,  we  may  conclude,  was  not  composed 
by  any  one  who  had  consulted,  and  who  pursued 
the  history.  Some  observation  also  arises  upon 
the  variation  of  the  name.  We  read  Silas  in  the 
Acts,  Silvanus  in  the  epistle.  The  similitude  of 
these  two  names,  if  they  were  the  names  of  dlller- 
ent  persons,  is  greater  than  could  easily  have  pro- 
ceeded from  accident ;  I  mean  tliat  it  is  not  probable, 
that  two  persons,  placed  in  situations  so  much 
alike,  should  bear  names  so  nearly  resembling  each 
other.*     On  the  other  hand,  the  difierence  of  the 


*  That  Ihpy  were  tlie  same  person  is  fartliRr  confirmed 
by  1  Tiiess.  cUap,  i.  1.  coiiiparud  with  Acts,  chap.  xvii.  10. 


name  in  the  two  passages  negatives  the  suppositior, 
of  the  passages,  or  the  account  contained  in  them, 
being  transcribed  either  from  the  other. 

No.  VIII. 

Chap.  ii.  12,  13.  "  When  1  came  to  Troas 
to  preach  Christ's  Gospel,  and  a  door  was  opened 
unto  me  of  the  Lord,  I  had  no  rest  in  my  sjiirit, 
because  I  found  not  I'itus  my  brother;  but  taking 
my  leave  of  them,  I  went  from  thence  into  Ma- 
cedonia." 

To  establish  a  conformity  between  this  passage 
and  the  history,  not  lung  more  is  necessary  to  be 
presumed,  than  that  St.  Paul  proceeded  from  E])he- 
sus  to  Macedonia,  upon  the  same  course  by  which 
he  came  back  from  Macedonia  to  Ephesus,  or 
rather  to  Miletus  in  the  neighbourhood  of  E{)lie- 
sus ;  in  other  words,  that  in  his  journey  to  the 
peninsula  of  Greece,  he  went  and  returned  the 
same  way.  St.  Paul  is  now  in  Macedonia,  where 
he  had  lately  arrived  from  Ephesus.  Our  quota- 
tion imports  that  in  his  journey  he  had  stopped  at 
Troas.  Of  this,  the  history  says  nothuig,  leaving 
us  only  the  short  account  that  "  Paul  departed 
from  Ephesus,  for  to  go  into  Macedonia."  But 
the  history  says,  that  in  his  return  from  Macedo- 
nia to  Ephesus,  "Paul  sailed  from  Philippi  to 
Troas;  and  that,  when  the  disciples  came  to- 
gether on  the  first  diiy  of  the  week  to  break  bread, 
Paul  preached  unto  them  all  night;  that  from 
Troas  he  went  by  land  to  Assos;  from  Assos, 
taking  ship  and  coasting  along  the  front  of  Asia 
Minor,  he  came  by  Mitylene  to  Miletus."  Which 
account  proves,  first,  that  Troas  lay  in  the  way 
by  which  St.  Paul  passed  between  Ejihesus  and 
Macedonia  ;  secondly,  that  he  had  disciples  there. 
In  one  journey  between  these  two  places,  the 
epistle,  and  in  another  journey  between  the  same 
places,  the  history,  makes  him  stop  at  this  city. 
Of  the  first  journey  he  is  made  to  say,  "  that  a 
door  was  in  that  city  opened  unto  me  of  the  Lord ; 
in  the  second,  we  find  disciples  there  collected 
around  him,  and  the  apostle  exercising  his  minis- 
try, with,  what  was  even  in  him,  more  than  ordi- 
nary zeal  and  labour.  The  epistle,  therefore,  is  in 
this  instance  confirmed,  if  not  by  the  terms,  at 
least  by  the  probability  of  the  history  ;  a  species 
of  confirmation  by  no  means  to  be  despised,  be- 
cause, as  far  as  it  reaches,  it  is  evidently  uncon- 
trived. 

Grotius,  I  know,  refers  the  arrival  at  Troas,  to 
which  the  epistle  alludes,  to  a  difierent  period,  l)ut 
I  think  very  improbably;  for  nothing  ap}iears  to 
me  more  certain,  than  that  the  meeting  with  Ti- 
tus, which  St.  Paul  expected  at  Troas,  was  the 
same  meeting  which  took  place  in  Macedonia, 
viz.  upon  Titus's  coming  out  of  Circece.  In  the 
quotation  before  ns,  he  tells  the  Corinthians, 
"  When  I  came  to  Troas,  I  had  no  rest  in  my 
spirit,  because  I  found  not  Titus  my  brother ;  but 
taking  my  leave  of  them,  I  went  from  thence  into 
Macedonia."  Then  in  the  seventh  chapter  he 
writes,  "  When  we  were  come  into  Macedonia, 
our  flesh  had  no  rest,  but  we  were  troubled  on 
every  side;  without  were  fightings,  within  were 
fears ;  nevertheless  God,  that  comforteth  them 
that  are  cast  down,  comforted  us  by  the  coming  of 
Titus."  These  two  passages  plainly  relate  to  the 
same  journey  of  Titus,  in  meeting  with  whom  St. 
Paul  had  been  disappointed  at  Troas,  and  rejoiced 
in  Macedonia.  And  amongst  other  reasons  which 
fix  the  former  passage  to  the  coming  of  Titus  out 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO  THE  CORINTHIANS. 


187 


of  Greece,  is  the  consideration,  that  it  was  nothing 
to  the  Corintinans  that  St.  Paul  did  not  meet  with 
Titus  at  Troas,  were  it  not  that  he  was  to  bring 
iiiteUigence  from  Corinth.  The  mention  of  the 
disappointment  in  tliis  place,  upon  any  other  sup- 
position, is  irrelative. 

No.  IX. 

1  Chap.  xi.  24,  25.  "  Of  the  Jews  five  times  re- 
ceived 1  forty  stripes  save  one ;  thrice  was  1  beaten 
with  rods;  once  was  I  stoned;  thrice  I  suffered 
shipwreck ;  a  night  and  a  day  I  have  been  in  the 
deep." 

These  particulars  cannot  be  extracted  out  of  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles;  which  proves,  as  hath  been 
already  observed,  that  the  epistle  was  not  framed 
from  the  history :  yet  they  are  consistent  with  it, 
which,  considering  how  numerically  circumstan- 
tial the  account  is,  is  more  than  could  happen  to 
arbitrary  and  independent  fictions.  When  I  say 
that  these  particulars  are  consistent  with  the  his- 
tory, I  mean,  first,  that  there  is  no  article  in  the 
enumeration  which  is  contradicted  by  the  history ; 
secondly,  that  the  history,  though  silent  with  re- 
spect to  many  of  the  facts  here  enumerated,  has 
left  space  for  the  existence  of  these  facts,  con- 
sistent with  the  fidelity  of  its  own  narration. 

First,  no  contradiction  is  discoverable  between 
the  epistle  and  the  history.  When  St.  Paul  says, 
thrice  was  I  beaten  with  rods,  although  the  his- 
tory record  only  one  beating  with  rods.  viz.  at 
Philippi,  Acts  xvi.  22,  yet  is  there  no  contradic- 
tion. It  is  only  the  omission  in  one  book  of  what 
is  related  in  another.  But  had  the  history  con- 
tained accounts  of  four  beatings  with  rods,  at  the 
time  of  writing  this  epistle,  in  which  St.  Paul 
says  that  he  had  only  suffered  three,  there  would 
have  been  a  contradiction  properly  so  called.  The 
same  observation  applies  generally  to  the  other 
parts  *■  the  enumeration,  concerning  which  the 
history  is  silent :  but  there  is  one  clause  in  the 
quotation  particularly  deserving  of  remark;  be- 
cause, when  confronted  with  the  history,  it  fur- 
nishes the  nearest  api)roach  to  a  contradiction, 
without  a  contradiction  being  actually  incurred, 
of  any  I  remember  to  have  met  with.  "  Once," 
saith  St.  Paul,  "  was  I  stoned."  Does  the  history 
relate  that  St.  Paul,  prior  to  the  writing  of  this 
epistle,  had  been  stoned  more  than  oncel  The 
history  mentions  distinctly  one  occasion  upon 
which  St.  Paul  was  stoned,  viz.  at  Lystra  in  Ly- 
caonia.  "  Then  came  thither  certain  Jews  from 
Antioch  and  Iconium,  who  persuaded  the  peo- 
ple ;  and  having  stoned  Paul,  drew  him  out  of  the 
city,  supposing  he  had  been  dead,"  chap.  xiv.  19. 
Anil  it  mentions  also  another  occasion  in  which 
"  an  assault  was  made  both  of  the  Gentiles,  and 
also  of  the  Jews,  with  their  rulers,  to  u.se  them 
despitefully  and  to  stone  them;  but  they  were  ! 
aw.ire  of  it,"  the  history  proceeds  to  tell  us,  "and  \ 
fled  into  Lystra  and  Derbe."  This  happened  at  j 
Iconiuni,  prior  to  the  date  of  the  epistle.  Now  had  | 
tlie  assault  been  completed ;  had  the  history  re- 
lated that  a  stone  was  thrown,  as  it  relates  that 
preparations  were  made  both  by  Jews  and  Gen- 
tiles to  stone  Paul  and  his  companions ;  or  even 
had  the  account  of  this  transaction  stojjped,  with- 
out going  on  to  inform  u^^  that  Paul  and  his  com- 
panions were  "  aware  of  their  danger  and  fled," 
a  contradiction  between  the  history  and  the  epis- 
tle would  have  ensued.  Truth  is  necessarily  con- 
sistent :  but  it  is  scarcely  possible  that  independent 


accounts,  not  having  truth  to  guide  them,  should 
thus  advance  to  the  very  brink  of  contradiction 
without  falling  into  it. 

Secondly,  1  say,  that  if  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles be  silent  concerning  many  of  the  instances 
enumerated  in  the  epistle,  this  silence  may  be 
accounted  for,  from  the  plan  and  taliric  of  the 
history.  The  date  of  the  epistle  synchronizes 
with  the  beginnuig  of  the  twentieth  chapter  of 
the  Acts.  The  part,  therefore,  of  the  history, 
which  precedes  the  twentieth  chapter,  is  the  only 
part  in  which  can  be  found  any  notice  of  the  per- 
secutions, to  which  St.  Paul  refers.  Now  it  does 
not  appear  that  the  author  of  the  history  was  with 
St.  Paul  until  his  departure  from  Troas,  on  his 
way  to  Macedonia,  as  related,  chap.  xvi.  10 ;  or 
rather,  indeed,  the  contrary  appears.  It  is  in  tliis 
point  of  the  history  that  the  language  changes.  In 
the  seventh  and  eighth  verses  of  this  chj-ipter  the 
third  person  is  used.  "  After  they  were  come  to 
Mysia,  thei/  essayed  to  go  into  Bilhynia,  but  the 
Spirit  sufiered  them  not;  and  they  passing  by 
Mysia  came  to  Troas;"  and  the  third  person  is  in 
like  manner  constantly  used  throughout  the  fore- 
going part  of  the  history.  In  the  tenth  verse  of 
this  chapter,  the  first  person  comes  in :  "  After 
Paul  had  seen  the  vision,  immediately  ice  en- 
deavoured to  go  into  Macedonia;  assuredly  ga- 
thering that  the  Lord  had  called  us  to  preach  the 
Gospel  unto  them."  Now,  from  this  time  to  the 
writing  of  the  epistle,  the  history  occujjies  four 
chapters  ;  yet  it  is  in  these,  if  in  any,  that  a  regu- 
lar or  continued  account  of  the  apostle's  life  is  to 
be  expected  ;  for  how  succinctly  his  history  is  de- 
livered in  the  preceding  part  of  the  book,  that  is 
to  say,  from  the  time  of  his  conversion  to  the  time 
when  the  historian  joined  him  at  Troas,  except 
the  particulars  of  his  conversion  itself,  wliich  are 
related  circumstantially,  may  be  understood  from 
the  following  observations : — 

The  history  of  a  period  of  sixteen  years  is  com- 
prised in  less  than  three  chapters  ;  and  of  these,  a 
material  part  is  taken  up  with  discourses.  After 
his  conversion,  he  continued  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Damascus,  according  to  the  history,  for  a  cer- 
tain considerable,  though  indefinite,  length  of  time, 
according  to  his  own  words,  (Gal.  i.  18.)  for  three 
years  ;  of  which  no  other  account  is  given  than 
this  short  one,  that  "straightway  he  preached 
Christ  in  the  synagogues,  that  he  is  the  Son  of 
God  ;  that  all  that  heard  him  were  amazed,  and 
said.  Is  not  this  he  that  destroyed  them  which 
called  on  this  name,  in  Jerusalem]  that  he  in- 
creased the  more  in  strength,  and  confounded  the 
Jews  which  dwelt  at  Damascus;  and  that,  after 
many  days  were  fullilled,  the  Jevss  took  counsel 
to  kill  him."  From  Damascus  he  proceeded  to 
Jerusalem :  and  of  his  residence  there  nothing 
more  particular  is  recorded,  than  that  "  he  was 
with  the  apostles,  coming  in  and  jjoing  out ;  that 
he  spake  boldly  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus, 
and  disputed  against  the  Grecians,  who  went 
about  to  kill  him."  From  Jerusalem,  the  history 
sends  him  to  his  native  city  of  Tarsus.*  It  seems 
probable,  from  the  order  and  disposition  of  the  his- 
tory, that  St.  Paul's  stay  at  Tarsus  was  of  some 
continuance;  for  we  hear  nothing  of  liim,  until, 
after  a  long  apparent  interval,  and  much  inter- 
jacent narrative,  Barnabas  desirous  of  Paul's  as- 
sistance upon  the  enlargement  of  the  Christian 

*  Acts  ii.  30 


183 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


mission,  "  went  to  Tarsus  for  to  seek  him."*  We 
cannot  doubt  but  that  the  new  apostle  had  been 
busied  in  his  ministry ;  yet  of  what  he  did,  or 
what  he  sutiercd,  during  this  period,  which  may 
include  three  or  four  years,  the  liistory  professes 
not  to  dehver  any  information.  As  Tarsus  was 
situated  upon  the  sea-coast,  and  as,  though  Tarsus 
was  his  home,  yet  it  is  probable  he  visited  from 
thence  many  other  places,  for  the  purpose  of 
preaching  the  Gospel,  it  is  not  unlikely,  that,  in 
the  course  of  three  or  four  years,  he  might  under- 
take  many  short  voyages  to  neighbouring  coun- 
tries, in  the  navigating  of  which  we  may  be  al- 
lowed to  suppose  that  some  of  those  disasters  and 
shipwrecks  befell  liim,  to  which  he  refers  in  the 
quotiition  before  us,  "thrice  I  suffered  shipwreck, 
a  night  and  a  day  I  have  been  in  the  deep."  This 
last  clause  I  am  inclined  to  interpret  of  his  being 
obliged  to  take  to  an  open  boat,  upon  the  loss  of 
the  ship,  and  his  continuing  out  at  sea,  in  that 
dangerous  situation,  a  night  and  a  day.  St.  Paul 
is  here  recounting  his  sutlerings,  not  relating  mi- 
racles. From  Tarsus,  Barnabas  brought  Paul  to 
Antioch,  and  there  he  remained  a  year:  but  of  the 
transactions  of  that  year  no  other  description  is 
given  than  what  is  contained  in  the  last  four 
verses  of  the  eleventh  chapter.  After  a  more 
solemn  dedication  to  the  ministry,  Barnabas  and 
Paul  proceeded  from  Antioch  to  Cilicia,  and  from 
thence  they  sailed  to  Cyprus,  of  which  voyage  no 
particulars  are  mentioned.  Upon  their  return 
froui  Cyprus,  they  made  a  progress  together 
through  the  Lesser  Asia;  and  though  two  re- 
markable speeches  be  preserved,  and  a  few  in- 
cidents in  the  course  of  their  travels  circumstan- 
tially related,  yet  is  the  account  of  this  progress, 
upon  the  whole,  given  professedly  with  concise- 
ness ;  for  instance,  at  Iconium  it  is  said  that  they 
abode  a  long  time;t  yet  of  this  long  abode,  except 
concerning  the  manner  in  which  they  were  driven 
away,  no  memoir  is  inserted  in  the  history.  Th«* 
wliole  is  wrapped  up  in  one  short  summary, 
"  They  spake  boldly  in  the  Lord,  which  gave  tes- 
timony unto  the  word  of  his  grace,  and  granted 
si^ns  and  wonders  to  be  done  by  their  hands." 
Having  completed  their  progress,  the  two  apos- 
tles returned  to  Antioch,  "  and  there  they  abode 
long  time  with  the  disciples."  Here  we  have 
another  lar^e  portion  of  time  passed  over  in  si- 
lence. To  this  succeeded  a  journey  to  Jerusalem, 
upon  a  dispute  which  then  much  agitated  the 
Christian  church,  concerning  the  obligation  of  the 
law  of  Moses.  When  the  object  of  that  journey 
was  completed,  Paul  proposed  to  Barnabas  to  go 
again  and  visit  their  brethren  in  every  city  where 
they  had  preached  the  word  of  the  Lord.  Th.e 
execution  of  this  plan  carried  our  apostle  tlirough 
Syria,  Cilicia,  and  many  provinces  of  the  Lesser 
Asia;  yet  is  the  account  of  the  whole  journey 
dispatched  in  four  verses  of  the  sixteenth  chapter. 
If  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  had  undertaken  to 
exhibit  regular  annals  of  St.  Paul's  ministry,  or, 
even  any  continued  account  of  his  life,  from  his 
conversion  at  Damascus  to  his  imjirisonment  at 
Rome,  I  should  have  thought  the  omission  of  the 
circumstances  referred  to  in  our  epistle,  a  matter 
of  reasonable  objection.  But  when  it  appears, 
from  the  history  itself,  that  large  portions  of  St. 
Paul's  life  were  either  passed  over  in  silence,  or 
jnly  slightly  touched  upon,  and  that  nothing  more 


'  Acts  xi.  25. 


t  Chap.  xiv.  3. 


tlian  certain  detached  incidents  and  discourses  i^ 
related  ;  when  we  observe  also,  that  the  author  of 
the  history  did  not  join  our  apostle's  society  till  a 
few  years  before  the  writing  of  the  epistle,  at  least 
that  there  is  no  proof  in  the  history  that  he  did  so, 
in  comparing  the  history  with  the  epistle,  we  shall 
not  be  surprised  by  the  discovery  of  omissions;  we 
shall  ascribe  it  to  truth  that  there  is  no  contra- 
diction. 

No.  X. 

Chap.  iii.  1.  "Do  we  begin  again  to  commend 
ourselvesl  or  need  we,  as  some  others,  epistles  of 
commendation  to  you^' 

"  As  some  others."  Turn  to  Acts  xviii.  27, 
and  you  will  lind  that,  a  short  time  before  the 
writing  of  that  epistle,  Apollos  had  gone  to  Corinth 
with  letters  of  commendation  from  the  Ephesian 
Christians;  "and  when  Apollos  was  disposed 
to  pass  into  Achaia,  the  brethren  wrote,  exhorting 
the  disciples  to  receive  him."  Here  the  words  of 
the  epistle  bear  the  appearance  of  alluding  to  some 
specific  instance,  and  the  history  supplies  that  in- 
stance ;  it  supplies  at  least  an  instance  as  apposite 
as  possible  to  the  terms  which  the  apostle  uses, 
and  to  the  date  and  direction  of  the  epistle,  in 
which  they  are  ibund.  The  letter  which  Apollos 
carried  from  Ephtsus,  was  precisely  the  letter  of 
commendation  which  St.  Paul  meant ;  and  it  was 
to  Achaia,  of  which  Corinth  was  the  capital,  and 
indeed  to  Corinth  itself,  T  Acts,  chap.  xix.  1,)  that 
Apollos  carried  it;  and  it  was  about  two  years 
before  the  writing  of  this  epistle.  If  St.  Paul's 
words  be  rather  thought  to  refer  to  some  general 
usage,  which  then  obtained  among  Cliristian 
churches,  the  case  of  Apollos  exemplifies  that 
usage;  and  affords  that  species  of  confirmation  to 
the  epistle,  which  arises  from  seeing  the  manners 
of  the  age,  in  which  it  purports  to  be  written,  faith- 
fully preserved. 

No.  XL 

Chap  xiii.  I.  "  This  is  the  tliird  time  I  am 
coming  to  you:"  t^ .tok  tsto  tf^o/^ai. 

Do  not  these  words  import  that  the  writer  had 
been  at  Corinth  twice  before  1  Yet,  if  tliey  im- 
port this,  they  overset  e^■ery  congruity  we  have 
been  endeavouring  to  establish.  The  Acts  of  the 
Apostles  record  only  two  journeys  of  St.  Paul  to 
Corinth.  We  have  all  along  supposed,  what  every 
mark  of  time  except  this  expression  indicates,  that 
this  epistle  was  written  between  the  first  and  se- 
cond of  these  journeys.  If  St.  Paul  had  been 
already  twice  at  Corinth,  this  supposition  must  be 
given  up ;  and  every  argument  or  observation 
which  depends  upon  it  falls  to  the  ground.  Again, 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  not  only  record  no  more 
than  two  journeys  of  St.  Paul  to  Corinth,  but  do 
not  allow  us  to  suppose  that  more  than  two  such 
journeys  could  be  made  or  intended  by  him  within 
the  period  which  the  history  comprises ;  for  from 
his  first  journey  into  Greece  to  his  first  imprison- 
ment at  Rome,  with  which  the  history  concludes, 
the  apostle's  time  is  acrounted  for.  If  therefore 
the  ejiistle  was  written  after  the  second  journey  to 
Corinth,  and  upon  the  view  and  expectation  of  a 
third,  it  must  have  been  written  after  his  first  im- 
prisonment at  Rome.  i.  e.  after  the  time  to  whicli 
the  history  extends.  When  I  first  read  over  this 
epistle  with  the  particular  view  of  comparing  it 
with  the  history,  which  I  chose  to  do  without  con- 
sulting any  commentary  whatever,  I  own  that  I 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO  THE  CORINTHIAINS. 


189 


felt  myself  confounded  by  this  text.  It  appeared 
to  contradict  the  ojjinion,  which  I  had  been  led  by 
a  great  variety  of  circumstances  to  form,  concern- 
ing the  date  and  occasion  of  the  epistle.  At 
length,  however,  it  occurred  to  my  thoughts  to  in- 
quire, whether  the  passage  did  necessarily  imply 
that  St.  Paul  had  been  at  Corinth  twice ;  or, 
whether,  when  he  says,  "  this  is  the  third  time  I 
am  coming  to  you,"  he  might  mean  only  that  this 
was  the  third  time  that  he  was  ready,  that  he  was 
prepared,  that  he  intended  to  set  out  upon  his  jour- 
ney to  Corinth.  I  recollected  that  he  had  once 
before  this  purposed  to  visit  Corinth,  and  had  been 
disappointed  in  this  purpose;  which  disappoint- 
ment forms  the  subject  of  much  apology  and  pro- 
testation, in  the  first  and  second  chajiters  of  the 
epistle.  Now,  if  the  journey  in  wliich  he  had 
been  disappointed  was  reckoned  by  him  one  of  the 
times  in  which  "  he  was  coming  to  them,"  then 
the  present  would  be  the  tliird  time,  i.  e.  of  his 
being  ready  and  prepared  to  come ;  altliough  he 
had  been  actually  at  Corinth  only  07ice  before. 
This  conjecture  being  taken  up,  a  farther  exami- 
nation of  the  passage  and  the  epistle,  produced 
proofs  wliich  placed  it  beyond  doubt.  "  This  is 
the  third  time  I  am  coming  to  you:"  in  the  verse 
following  these  words,  he  adds,  "  I  told  you  before, 
and  foretell  you,  as  if  I  were  present  the  second 
time ;  and  being  absent,  now  I  write  to  them 
which  heretofore  have  sinned,  and  to  all  other,  that, 
if  I  come  again,  I  will  not  spare."  In  this  verse, 
the  apostle  is  declaring  beforehand  what  he  would 
do  in  his  intended  visit ;  his  expression  therefore, 
"  as  if  I  were  present  the  second  time,"  relates  to 
that  visit.  But,  if  his  future  visit  would  only  make 
him  present  among  them  a  second  time,  it  follows 
that  lie  had  been  already  there  but  once.  Again,  in 
the  fifteenth  verse  of  the  first  chapter,  he  tells  them, 
"  In  this  confidence,  I  was  minded  to  come  unto 
you  before,  that  ye  might  have  a  second  benefit :" 
Why  a  second,  and  not   a  third   benefit  1    why 

JsuTSf  Ml/,  and    not  r^n^v  %«§tv,  it    the  t^ irof  6^%o/4Xi 

in  the  fifteenth  chapter,  meant  a  tli  ird  visit  1  for, 
though  the  visit  in  the  first  chapter  be  that  visit  in 
which  he  was  disappointed,  yet,  as  it  is  evident 
from  the  epistle  that  he  had  never  been  at  Corinth 
from  the  time  of  the  disappointment  to  the  time  of 
writing  the  epistle,  it  follows,  that  if  it  was  only 
a  second  visit  in  which  he  was  disappomted  then, 
it  could  only  be  a  second  visit  which  he  proposed 
now.  But  the  text  which  I  think  is  decisive  of 
the  question,  if  any  question  remain  upon  the  sub- 
ject, is  the  fourteenth  verse  of  the  twelfth  chapter : 
"  Behold  the  third  time  I  am  ready  to  come  to 
you;"  iSh  TjiToi-  iTDi/t^g  £%<«  i\Si,v.  It  is  very  clear 
that  the  t^itov  «Toi^»jf  £%«»  6ii.6£ii.  of  the  twelfth 
chapter,  and  the  t^itov  tsto  i^x'f^^'  of  the  thir- 
teenth chapter,  are  equivalent  expressions,  were 
intended  to  convey  the  same  meaning,  and  to  re- 
late to  the  same  journey.  The  comparison  of  these 
phrases  gives  us  St.  Paul's  own  explanation  of  his 
own  words  ;  and  it  is  that  very  explanation  which 
•^  we  are  contending  for,  viz.  that  t^ito;/  tsto  tgxo/^xi 
■  does  not  mean  that  he  was  coming  a  third  time, 
but  that  this  was  the  third  time  he  was  in  readi- 
ness to  come,  T^iTov  £Toi^»5  ix'^".  I  do  not  appre- 
hend, that  after  this  it  can  be  necessary  to  call  to 
our  aid  the  reathngof  the  Alexandrian  manuscript, 
which  gives  iTtn/xws  £x<"  ei^iuv  in  the  thirteenth 
chapter  as  well  as  in  the  twelfth ;  or  of  the  Syriac 
and  Coptic  versions,  which  follow  that  reading, 
because  I  allow,  that  the  reading,  besides  not  being 


sufficiently  supported  by  ancient  copies,  is  prolia- 
bly  paraphrastical,  and  has  been  inserted  for  the 
purpose  of  expressing  more  unequivocally  the 
sense,  which  the  shorter  expression  t^itovtsto 
e(X^f^=<-'  was  supposed  to  carry.  Upon  the  whole, 
the  matter  is  sufficiently  certain :  nor  do  I  propose  it 
as  a  now  interpretation  of  the  text  which  contains 
the  difficulty,  for  the  same  was  gi^  en  by  Grotius 
long  ago :  but  I  thought  it  the  clearest  way  of  ex- 
plaining the  subject,  to  describe  the  manner  in 
which  the  difficulty,  the  solution  and  the  proofs 
of  that  solution,  successively  presented  themselves 
to  my  inquiries.  Now,  in  historical  researches,  a 
reconciled  inconsistency  becomes  a  positive  argu- 
ment. First,  because  an  impostor  generally  guards 
against  the  appearance  of  inconsistency ;  and  se- 
condly, because,  when  apparent  inconsistencies 
are  found,  it  is  seldom  that  any  thing  but  truth 
renders  them  capable  of  reconciliation.  The  ex- 
istence of  the  difficulty  proves  the  want  or  absence 
of  that  caution,  which  usually  accompanies  the 
consciousness  of  fraud ;  and  the  solution  proves, 
that  it  is  not  the  collusion  of  fortuitous  proposi- 
tions which  we  have  to  deal  with,  but  that  a 
thread  of  truth  winds  through  the  whole,  which 
preserves  every  circumstance  in  its  place. 

No.  XII. 

Chap.  X.  14 — 16.  "  We  are  come  as  far  as  to 
you  also,  in  preaching  the  Gospel  of  Christ ;  not 
boasting  of  things  without  our  measure,  that  is, 
of  other  men's  labours ;  but  having  hope,  when 
your  faith  is  increased,  that  we  shall  be  enlarged 
by  you,  according  to  our  rule,  abundantly  to  preach 
the  Gospel  in  the  regions  beyond  you." 

This  quotation  affords  an  indirect,  and  there- 
fore unsuspicious,  but  at  the  same  time  a  distinct 
and  indubitable  recognition  of  the  truth  and  ex- 
actness of  the  history.  I  consider  it  to  be  inq^lied 
by  the  words  of  the  quotation,  that  Corinth  was 
the  extremity  of  St.  Paul's  travels  hitherto.  He 
expresses  to  the  Corinthians  his  hope,  that  in  some 
future  visit  he  might  "preach  the  Gospel  to  the 
regions  beyond  them;"  which  imports  that  he  had 
not  hitherto  proceeded  "beyond  them,"  but  that 
Corinth  was  as  yet  the  farthest  point  or  boundary 
of  his  travels.  Now,  how  is  St.  Paid's  first  jour- 
ney into  Europe,  which  was  the  only  one  he  had 
taken  before  the  writing  of  the  epistle,  traced  out  in 
the  liistory  1  Sailing  from  Asia,  he  landed  at  Fhi- 
lippi :  from  Philippi,  traversing  the  eastern  coast  of 
the  peninsula,  he  passed  through  Amphipolis  and 
Apollonia  to  Thessalonica ;  from  hence  through  Be- 
rea  to  Athens,  and  from  Athens  to  Corinth,  where 
he  stopped;  and  from  whence,  after  a  residence  of 
a  year  and  a  half,  he  sailed  back  into  Syria.  So 
that  Corinth  was  the  last  place  which  he  visited  in 
the  peninsula ;  was  the  place  from  which  he  return- 
ed into  Asia ;  and  was,  as  such,  the  boundary  and 
limit  of  his  progress.  He  could  not  have  said  the 
same  thing,  viz.  "  I  hope  hereafter  to  visit  the  re- 
gions beyond  you,"  in  an  epistle  to  the  Philippians, 
or  in  an  epistle  to  the  Thessalonians,  inasmuch  as 
he  must  be  deemed  to  have  already  visited  the 
regions  beyond  theTn,  having  proceeded  from  those 
cities  to  other  parts  of  Greece.  But  from  Corinth 
he  returned  home :  every  part  therefore  beyond 
that  city,  might  properly  be  said,  as  it  is  said  in 
the  passage  before  us,  to  be  unvisited.  Yet  is  tliis 
propriety  the  spontaneous  effect  of  truth,  and  oro- 
duced  without  meditation  or  design. 


190 


HORiE  PAULIJNiE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Epistle  lo  the  Galatimis. 

No.  I. 

The  argument  of  this  epistle  in  some  measure 
proves  its  antiquity.  It  will  hardly  be  doubted, 
but  that  it  was  written  whilst  the  dispute  concern- 
ing the  circumcision  of  Gentile  converts  was  fresh 
in  men's  minds :  for,  even  supposing  it  to  have 
been  a  forgery,  the  only  credible  motive  that  can 
be  assigned  for  the  forgery,  w;is  to  bring  the  name 
and  authority  of  the  apostle  into  this  controversy. 
No  design  could  be  so  insipid,  or  so  unlikely  to 
enter  into  the  thoughts  of  any  man,  as  to  produce 
an  epistle  written  earnestly  and  pointedly  upon 
one  side  of  a  controversy,  when  the  controversy 
itself  was  dead,  and  the  question  no  longer  inte- 
resting to  any  description  of  readers  whatever. 
Now  the  controversy  concerning  the  circumcision 
of  the  Gentile  Christians  was  of  such  a  nature, 
that,  if  it  arose  at  all,  it  must  have  arisen  in  the 
beginning  of  Christianity.  As  Judea  was  the 
scene  of  the  Christian  history;  as  the  Author  and 
preachers  of  Christianity  were  Jews;  as  the  reli- 
gion itself  acknowledged  and  was  founded  upon 
the  Jewish  religion,  in  contra-distinction  to  every 
other  religion  then  professed  amongst  mankind; 
it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  some  of  its 
teachers  should  carry  it  out  in  the  world  rather  as 
a  sect  and  modification  of  Judaism,  than  as  a 
separate  original  revelation ;  or  that  they  should 
invite  their  proselytes  to  those  observances  in 
which  they  lived  themselves. — This  was  likely  to 
happen :  but  if  it  did  not  hapi>en  at  first ;  if, 
whilst  the  religion  was  in  the  hands  of  Jewish 
teachers,  no  such  claim  was  advanced,  no  such 
condition  was  attempted  to  be  imposed,  it  is  not 
probable  that  the  doctrine  would  be  started,  much 
less  that  it  should  prevail,  in  any  future  period. 
I  likewise  think,  that  those  pretensions  of  Juda- 
ism were  much  more  likely  to  be  insisted  upon, 
whilst  the  Jews  continued  a  nation,  than  after 
their  fall  and  dispersion;  whilst  Jerusalem  and 
the  temple  stood,  than  after  the  destruction 
brought  upon  them  by  the  Roman  arms,  the  fatal 
cessation  of  the  sacrifice  and  the  priesthood,  the 
humiliating  loss  of  their  country,  and,  with  it,  of 
the  great  rites  and  symbols  of  their  institution. 
It  should  seem  therefore,  from  the  nature  of  the 
subject,  and  the  situation  of  the  parties,  that  this 
controversy  was  carried  on  in  the  interval  between 
the  preaching  of  Christianity  to  the  Gentiles,  and 
the  invasion  of  Titus ;  and  that  our  present  epistle, 
which  was  undoubtedly  intended  to  bear  a  part  in 
this  controversy,  must  be  referred  to  the  same 
period. 

But,  again,  the  epistle  supposes  that  certain 
designing  adherents  of  the  Jewish  law  had  crept 
into  the  churches  of  Galatia;  and  had  been  en- 
deavouring, and  but  too  successfully,  to  persuade 
the  Galatic  converts,  that  they  had  been  taught 
the  new  religion  imperfectly  and  at  second  hand ; 
that  the  founder  of  their  church  himself  pos- 
sessed only  an  inferior  and  deputed  commission, 
the  seat  of  truth  and  authority  being  in  the  apos- 
tles ami  ciders  of  Jerusalem ;  moreover,  that  what- 
ever he  might  profess  amongst  them,  he  had  him- 
self at  other  times,  and  in  other  places,  given  way 
to  the  doctrine  of  circumcision.  The  epistle  is 
unintelligible  without  supposing  all  this.  Refer- 
ring  therefore  to  this,  as  to  what  had  actually 


passed,  we  find  St.  Paul  treating  so  unjust  an  at- 
tempt, to  undermine  his  credit,  and  to  introduce 
amongst  his  converts  a  doctrine  which  he  had 
uniformly  reprobated,  in  terms  of  great  asperity 
and  indignation.  And  in  order  to  refute  the  sus- 
picions which  had  been  raised  concerning  the 
fidelity  of  his  teaching,  as  well  as  to  assert  tlie  in- 
dependency and  divine  original  of  his  mission,  we 
find  him  appealing  to  the  history  of  his  conversion, 
to  his  conduct  under  it,  to  the  manner  in  whicfi 
lie  had  conferred  with  the  apostles  when  he  met 
with  them  at  Jerusalem :  alleging,  that  so  far  was 
his  doctrine  from  being  derived  from  them,  or 
they  from  exercising  any  superiority  over  him,  that 
they  had  simply  assented  to  what  he  had  already 
preached  amongst  the  Gentiles,  and  which  preach- 
ing was  communicated  not  by  them  to  him,  but 
by  himself  to  them  ;  that  he  had  maintained  the 
liberty  of  the  Gentile  church,  by  opposing,  upon 
one  occasion,  an  apostle  to  the  face,  when  the 
timidity  of  his  behaviour  seemed  to  endanger  it ; 
that  from  the  first,  that  all  along,  that  to  that  hour, 
he  had  constantly  resisted  the  claims  of  J  udaism ; 
and  that  the  persecutions  which  he  daily  under- 
went, at  the  hands  or  by  the  instigation  of  the 
Jews,  and  of  which  he  bore  in  his  person  the 
marks  and  scars,  might  have  been  avoided  by  him, 
if  he  had  consented  to  employ  his  labours  in  bring- 
ing, through  the  medium  of  Chri.jtianity,  converts 
over  to  the  Jewish  institution,  for  then  "  would 
the  offence  of  the  cross  have  ceased."  Now  an 
impostor  who  had  forged  the  epistle  for  the  pur- 
pose of  producing  St.  Paul's  authority  in  the  dis- 
pute, which,  as  hath  been  observed,  is  the  only 
credible  motive  that  can  be  assigned  for  the  for- 
gery, might  have  made  the  apostle  deliver  his 
opinion  upon  the  subject,  in  strong  and  decisive 
terms,  or  might  have  put  his  name  to  a  train  of 
reasoning  and  argumentation  upon  that  side  of 
the  question  which  the  imposture  was  intended  to 
recommend.  I  can  allow  the  possibility  of  such 
a  scheme  as  that.  But  for  a  writer,  with  this 
purpose  in  view,  to  feign  a  series  of  transactions 
supposed  to  have  passed  amongst  the  Christians 
of  Galatia,  and  then  to  counterfeit  expressions  of 
anger  and  resentment  excited  by  these  transac- 
tions ;  to  make  the  apostle  travel  back  into  his 
own  history,  and  into  a  recital  of  various  passages 
of  his  life,  some  indeed  directly,  but  others  ob- 
liquely, and  others  even  obscurely  bearing  upon 
the  point  in  question;  in  a  word,  to  sub.stitute 
narrative  for  argument,  expostulation  and  com- 
plaint for  dogmatic  positions  and  controversial 
reasoning,  in  a  writing  properly  controversial,  and 
of  which  the  aim  and  design  was  to  support  one 
side  of  a  much  agitated  question — is  a  method  so 
intricate,  and  so  unlike  the  methods  pursued  by  all 
other  impostors,  as  to  require  very  flagrant  proofs 
of  imposition  to  induce  us  to  believe  it  to  be  one. 

No.  II. 

In  this  number  I  shall  endeavour  to  prove, 

1.  That  the  Epistle  to  the  Galatians,  and  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles,  were  written  without  any 
communication  with  each  other. 

2.  That  the  Epistle,  though  written  without 
any  communication  with  the  history,  by  recital, 
implication,  or  reference,  bears  testimony  to  many 
of  the  facts  conatined  in  it. 

1.  The  Epistle  and  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles 
were  written  without  any  communication  with 
each  other. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  GALATIANS. 


191 


To  judge  of  this  point,  we  must  examine  those 
passages  in  each,  which  describe  the  same  trans- 
action; for,  if  the  author  of  either  writing  derived 
his  information  from  the  account  which  he  had 
seen  in  the  other,  when  he  came  to  speak  of  the 
same  transaction,  he  would  follow  that  account. 
Tlie  history  of  St.  Paul,  at  Damascus,  as  read  in 
the  Acts,  and  as  referred  to  by  the  epistle,  forms 
an  instance  of  this  sort.  According  to  the  Acts, 
Paul  (after  his  conversion)  was  certain  days  with 
the  "  disciples  which  were  at  Damascus.  And 
straightway  he  preached  Christ  in  the  synagogues, 
that  he  is  the  Son  of  God.  But  all  that  heard  him 
were  amazed,  and  said,  is  not  this  he  which  des- 
troyed them  which  called  on  this  name  in  Jerusa- 
lem, and  came  hither  for  that  intent,  that  he  niieht 
bring  them  bound  unto  the  cliief  priests  1  But 
Saul  increased  the  more  in  strength,  confounding 
the  Jews  which  were  at  Damascus,  proving  that 
this  is  very  Christ.  And  after  that  many  days 
were  fulfilled,  the  Jews  took  counsel  to  kill  him. 
But  their  laying  await  was  known  of  Saul ;  and 
they  watched  the  gates  day  and  night  to  kill  him. 
Then  the  disciples  took  him  by  night,  and  let  him 
down  by  the  wall  in  a  basket.  And  when  Saul 
was  come  to  Jerusalem,  he  assayed  to  join  him- 
self to  the  disciples."     Acts,  chap.  ix.  19 — 26. 

According  to  the  epistle,  "  When  it  pleased 
God,  who  separated  me  from  mj'  mother's  womb, 
and  called  me  by  his  grace,  to  reveal  his  own  Son 
in  me,  that  I  might  preach  him  anwng  the  hea- 
then, immediately  I  conferred  not  with  tlesh  and 
blood,  neither  went  1  up  to  Jerusalem  to  them 
which  were  apostles  before  me ;  but  I  went  into 
Arabia,  and  returned  again  to  Damascus ;  then, 
after  three  years,  I  went  up  to  Jerusalem." 

Beside  the  diflerence  observable  in  the  terms 
and  general  complexion  of  these  two  accounts, 
"the  journey  into  Arabia,"  mentioned  in  the 
epistle,  and  omitted  in  the  history,  affords  full 
proof  that  there  existed  no  correspondence  be- 
tween these  writers.  If  the  narrative  in  the  Acts 
had  been  made  up  from  the  epistle,  it  is  impossible 
that  this  journey  should  have  been  passed  over 
in  silence ;  if  the  epistle  had  been  composed  out  of 
what  the  author  had  read  of  St.  Paul's  history  in 
the  Acts,  it  is  unaccountable  that  it  should  have 
been  inserted*. 

The  journey  to  Jemsalem  related  in  the  second 
chapter  of  the  Epistle  ("  then,  fourteen  \'ears  after, 
I  went  up  again  to  Jerusalem ;")  supplies  another 
example  of  the  same  kind.  Either  this  was  the  jour- 
ney described  in  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  Acts, 
when  Paul  and  Barnabas  were  sent  from  Antioch 
to  Jerusalem,  to  consult  the  apostles  and  elders 
upon  the  question  of  the  Gentile  converts  ;  or  it 
was  some  journey  of  which  the  history  does  not 
take  notice.  If  the  first  opinion  be  followed,  the 
discrepancy  in  the  two  accounts  is  so  considerable, 
that  it  is  not  without  difficulty  they  can  be  adapt- 
ed to  the  same  transaction:  so  that  upon  this  sup- 
position, there  is  no  place  for  suspecting  that  the 


*  N.  E.  The  Acts  of  the  Apostles  simply  inform  us 
that  St.  Paul  left  Damascus  in  order  to  go  to  Jerusalem, 
"  after  many  days  were  fulfilled."  If  any  one  doubt 
whether  the  words  "  many  days"  could  be  intended  to 
express  a  period  which  included  a  term  of  three  years, 
he  will  find  a  complete  instance  of  the  same  phrase  used 
with  the  same  latitude  in  the  first  book  of  Kings,  chap. 
xi.  38,  30.  "  And  Shimei  dwelt  at  Jerusalem  mamj 
(ffli/.*:  and  it  came  to  pass  at  the  end  o[  three  years,  that 
two  of  the  servants  of  Shimei  ran  away." 


writers  were  guided  or  assisted  by  each  other.  If 
the  latter  opinion  be  preferred,  we  have  then  a 
journey  to  Jerusalem,  and  a  conference  with  the 
principal  members  of  the  church  there,  circum- 
stantially related  in  the  epistle,  and  entirely  omit- 
ted in  the  Acts ;  and  we  are  at  hberty  to  repeat 
the  observation,  which  we  before  made,  that  the 
omission  of  so  material  a  fact  in  the  history  is  in- 
explicable, if  the  historian  had  read  the  epistle  ; 
and  that  the  insertion  of  it  in  the  epistle,  if  the 
writer  derived  his  information  from  the  history,  is 
not  less  so. 

St.  Peter's  visit  to  Antioch,  during  which  the 
dispute  arose  between  liim  and  St.  Paul,  is  not 
mentioned  in  the  Acts. 

If  we  connect,  with  these  instances,  the  general 
obsenation,  that  no  scrutiny  can  discover  the 
smallest  trace  of  transcription  or  imitation  either 
in  things  or  words,  we  shall  be  fully  satisfieil  in 
this  part  of  our  case ;  namely,  that  the  two  records, 
be  the  facts  contained  in  them  true  or  false,  come 
to  our  hands  from  independent  sources. 

Secondly,  I  say  that  the  epistle,  thus  proved  to 
have  been  WTitten  without  any  communication 
with  the  liisfory,  bears  testimony  to  a  great  variety 
of  particulars  contained  in  the  history. 

1.  St.  Paul,  in  the  early  part  of  his  life,  had  ad- 
dicted himself  to  the  study  of  the  Jewish  religion, 
and  was  distinguished  by  his  zeal  for  the  institu- 
tion and  for  the  traditions  which  had  been  incor- 
porated with  it.  Upon  this  part  of  his  character 
the  history  makes  St.  Paul  speak  thus :  "  I  am 
verily  a  man  which  am  a  Jew,  born  in  Tarsus,  a 
city  of  Cilicia,  yet  brought  up  in  this  city  at  the 
feet  of  Gamaliel,  and  taught  according  to  the  per- 
fect manner  of  the  law  of  the  fathers ;  and  was 
zealous  towards  God,  as  ye  all  are  tliis  day." 
Acts,  chap.  xxii.  3. 

The  epistle  is  as  follows :  "  I  profited  in  the 
Jews'  religion  above  many  my  equals  in  mine  own 
nation,  being  more  exceedingly  zealous  of  the  tra- 
ditions of  my  fathers.''  Chap.  i.  14. 

2.  St.  Paul,  before  his  conversion,  had  been  a 
fierce  persecutor  of  the  new  sect.  "  As  for  Saul, 
he  made  havoc  of  the  church ;  entering  into  every 
house,  and,  haling  men  and  women,  committed 
them  to  prison."  Acts,  chap.  viii.  3. 

This  is  the  history  of  St.  Paul,  as  delivered  in 
the  Acts :  in  the  recital  of  his  own  history  in  the 
epistle,  "  Ye  have  heard,"  says  he,  "  of  my  con- 
versation in  times  past  in  the  Jews'  religion,  how 
that  beyond  measure  I  persecuted  the  church  of 
God."  Chap.  i.  13. 

3.  St.  Paul  was  miraculously  converted  on  his 
way  to  Damascus.  "  And  as  he  journeyed  he 
came  near  to  Damascus:  and  suddenly  there 
shined  round  about  him  a  hght  from  heaven ;  and 
he  fell  to  the  earth,  and  heard  a  voice  saving  unto 
him,  Saul.  Saul,  why  persecutest  thou  me]  And 
he  said,  Who  art  thou.  Lord  1  And  the  Lord  said, 
I  am  Jesus,  whom  thou  persecutest ;  it  is  hard  for 
thee  to  kick  against  the  pricks.  And  he,  trem- 
bling and  astonished,  said.  Lord,  what  wilt  thou 
have  me  to  do  1  Acts,  chap.  ix.  3 — 6.  With  these 
compare  the  epistle,  chap.  i.  15 — 17:  "When  it 
pleased  God,  who  separated  me  from  my  mother's 
womb,  and  called  me  by  his  grace  to  reveal  his  Son 
in  me,  that  I  might  preach  him  among  the  hea- 
then ;  immediately  I  conferred  not  with  flesh  and 
blood,  neither  went  I  up  to  Jerusalem,  to  them 
that  were  apostles  before  me;  but  I  went  into 
Arabia,  and  returned  again  unto  Damascus." 


193 


HOR^  PAULINtE. 


In  this  quotation  from  the  epistle,  I  desire  it  to 
be  remarked  how  incidentally  it  appears,  that  the 
affair  passed  at  Damascus.  In  what  may  he  called 
the  direct  part  of  the  accoimt,  no  mention  is  made 
of  the  place  of  his  conversion  at  all :  a  casual  ex- 
pression at  the  end,  and  an  expression  brought  in 
for  a  different  purpose,  alone  fixes  it  to  have  been 
at  Damascus;  "I  returned  again  to  Damascus." 
Nothing  can  be  more  like  simpHcity  and  unde- 
signedness  than  this  is.  It  also  draws  the  agree- 
ment between  the  two  quotations  somewhat 
closer,  to  observe  that  they  both  state  St.  Paul  to 
have  preached  the  gospel  inmiediately  upon  his 
call :  "  And  straightway  he  preached  Christ  in 
the  synagogues,  that  he  is  the  Son  of  God,"  Acts, 
chap.  ix.  20.  "  When  it  pleased  God  to  reveal 
his  Son  in  me,  that  I  might  preach  him  among 
the  heathen,  immediately  1  conferred  not  with  flesh 
and  blood."  Gal.  chap.  i.  15. 

4.  The  course  of  the  apostle's  travels  afler  his 
conversion  was  this :  he  went  from  Damascus  to 
Jerusalem,  and  from  Jerusalem  into  Syria  and 
Cilicia.  '•  At  Damascus  tlie  disciples  took  hhn 
by  niglit,  and  let  him  down  by  the  wall  in  a  bas- 
ket ;  and  when  Saul  was  come  to  Jerusalem,  he 
essayed  to  join  himself  to  the  disciples,"  Acts, 
chap.  ix.  25.  Afterwards,  "  when  the  brethren 
knew  the  conspiracy  formed  against  liim  at  Jeru- 
salem, they  brought  him  down  to  Cassarea,  and 
sent  him  forth  to  Tarsus,  a  city  in  Cilicia,''  chap. 
ix.  30.  In  the  epistle,  St.  Paul  gives  the  following 
brief  account  of  his  proceedings  within  the  same 

f)eriod :  "  After  three  years  I  went  up  to  Jerusa- 
ern  to  see  Peter,  and  abode  with  him  fifteen  daj's  ; 
afterwards  I  came  into  the  regions  of  Syria  and 
Cilicia."  The  history  had  told  us  that  Paul  passed 
from  CfBsarea  to  Tarsus :  if  he  took  his  journey 
by  land,  it  would  carry  him  through  Syria  into 
Cilicia ;  and  he  would  come  after  his  visit  at  Jeru- 
salem, "  into  the  regions  of  Syria  and  Cilicia,"  in 
the  very  order  in  which  he  mentions  them  in  the 
epistle.  This  supposition  of  liis  going  from  Cifi- 
sarea  to  Tarsus,  by  land,  clears  up  also  another 
point.  It  accounts  for  what  St.  Paul  says  in  the 
same  place  concerning  the  churches  of  Judea : 
"  Afterwards  I  came  into  the  regions  of  Syria  and 
Cilicia,  and  was  unknown  by  face  unto  the 
churches  of  Judea,  which  were  in  Christ:  but 
they  had  heard  only  that  he  which  persecuted  us 
in  times  past,  now  preacheth  the  faith,  which  once 
he  destroyed  ;  and  they  glorified  God  in  me." 
Upon  which  passage  I  observe,  first,  that  what  is 
here  said  of  the  churches  of  Judea,  is  spoken  in 
connexion  with  his  journey  into  the  regions  of 
Syria  and  Cilicia.  Secondly,  that  the  passage  itself 
has  little  significancy,  and  that  the  connexion  is 
inexplicable,  unless  St.  Paul  went  through  Judea* 
(though  probably  by  a  hasty  journey)  at  the  time 
that  he  came  into  the  regions  of  Syria  and  Cilicia. 
Suppose  him  to  have  passed  by  land  from  Caesa- 
rea  to  I'arsus,  all  this,  as  hath  been  observed, 
would  be  precisely  true. 

5.  Barnabas  was  with  St.  Paul  at  Antioch. 
"  Then  departed  Barnabas  to  Tarsus,  for  to  seek 
Saul ;  and  when  he  had  found  him,  he  brought 


*  Dr.  Doddridge  thought  that  the  CiBsarea  here  men- 
•knied  was  not  the  celebrated  city  of  that  name  upon 
the  Mediterranean  sea,  but  Cssarea  Philippi,  near  the 
borders  of  Syria,  which  lies  in  a  much  more  direct  line 
from  Jerusalem  to  Tarsus  than  the  other.  The  objection 
to  this^Dr.  Benson  remarks,  is,  that  Caisarea  without 
any  addition,  usually  denotes  Caesarea  PalcstiniE. 


him  unto  Antioch.  And  it  came  to  pass  that  a 
wliole  year  they  assembled  themselves  with  the 
church,"  Acts,  chap.  xi.  25, 26.  Again,  and  upon 
another  occasion,  "  they  (Paul  and  Barnabas) 
sailed  to  Antioch:  and  there  they  continued  a 
long  time  with  the  disciples."  Chap.  xiv.  26. 

Now  what  says  the  epistle  1  "  When  Peter  was 
come  to  Antioch,  I  withstood  him  to  the  face,  be- 
cause he  was  to  be  blamed ;  and  the  other  Jews 
dissembled  likewise  with  him ;  insomuch  that  Bar- 
nabas also  was  carried  away  with  their  dissimula- 
tion." Chap.  ii.  11,  13. 

6.  The  stated  residence  of  the  apostles  was  at 
Jerusalem.  "  At  that  time  there  was  a  great  per- 
secution against  the  church  which  was  at  Jerusa- 
lem; and  they  were  all  scattered  abroad  through- 
out the  regions  of  Judea  and  Samaria,  except  the 
apostles,"  Acts,  chap.  viii.  1.  "  They  (the  Chris- 
tians at  Antioch)  determined  that  Paul  and  Bar- 
nabas should  go  up  to  Jerusalem,  unto  the  apos- 
tles and  elders,  about  this  question,"  Acts,  chap. 
XV.  2.  With  these  accounts  agrees  the  declara- 
tion in  the  epistle:  "Neither  went  I  up  to  Jerusa- 
lem to  them  which  were  apostles  before  me,"  chap. 
i.  17:  for  this  declaration  implies,  or  rather  as- 
sumes it  to  be  known,  that  Jerusalem  was  the 
place  where  the  apostles  were  to  be  met  with. 

7.  There  were  at  Jerusalem  two  aposlles,  or  at 
least  two  eminent  members  of  the  church,  of  the 
name  of  James.  This  is  directly  inferred  from 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  which  in  the  second 
verse  of  the  twelfth  (chapter  relates  the  death  of 
James,  the  brother  of  John ;  and  yet  in  the  fif- 
teenth chapter,  and  in  a  subsequent  part  of  the 
history,  records  a  speech  delivered  by  James  in 
the  assembly  of  the  apostles  and  elders.  It  is  also 
strongly  hnplied  by  the  form  of  expression  used  in 
the  epistle :  "  Other  apostles  saw  I  none,  save 
James,  the  Lord's  brother;"  i.  e.  to  distinguish 
him  from  James  the  brother  of  John. 

To  us  who  have  been  long  conversant  in  the 
Christian  history,  as  contained  in  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  these  points  are  obvious  and  familiar; 
nor  do  we  readily  apprehend  any  greater  difficulty 
in  making  them  appear  in  a  letter  purporting  to 
have  been  written  by  St.  Paul,  than  there  is  in 
introducing  them  into  a  modern  sermon.  But,  to 
judge  correctly  of  the  argument  before  us,  we  must 
discharge  this  knowledge  from  our  thoughts.  We 
must  propose  to  ourselves  the  situation  of  an  au- 
thor who  sat  down  to  the  writing  of  the  epistle 
without  having  seen  the  history ;  and  then  the 
concurrences  we  have  deduced  will  be  deemed  of 
importance.  They  will  at  least  be  taken  for 
separate  confirmations  of  the  several  facts,  and  not 
only  of  these  particular  facts,  but  of  the  general 
truth  of  the  history. 

For,  what  is  the  rule  with  respect  to  corroborative 
testimony  which  prevails  in  courts  of  justice,  and 
which  prevails  only  because  experience  has  proved 
that  it  is  a  useful  guide  to  truth  1  A  principal  wit- 
ness in  a  cause  delivers  his  account :  his  narrative, 
in  certain  parts  of  it,  is  confinned  by  witnesses  who 
are  called  afterwards.  The  credit  derived  from  their 
testimony  belongs  not  only  to  the  particular  cir- 
cumstances in  vvhich  the  auxiliary  witnesses  agree 
with  the  principal  witness,  but  in  some  measure 
to  the  whole  of  his  evidence ;  because  it  is  impro- 
bable that  accident  or  fiction  should  draw  a  line 
which  touched  upon  truth  in  so  many  points. 

In  hke  manner,  if  two  records  be  produced, 
manifestly  independent,  that  is,  manifestly  written 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  GALATIANS. 


1^3 


without  any  participation  of  intelligence,  an  agree- 
ment between  them,  even  in  few  and  slight  cir- 
cumstances (especially  if  from  the  ditferent  nature 
and  design  of  the  writings,  few  points  only  of 
agreement,  and  those  incidental,  could  be  expected 
to  occur,)  would  add  a  sensible  weight  to  the  au- 
thority of  both,  in  every  part  of  their  contents. 

The  same  rule  is  applicable  to  history,  with  at 
least  as  much  reason  as  any  other  species  of  evi- 
dence. 

No.  III. 

But  although  the  references  to  various  particu- 
lars in  the  epistle,  compared  with  the  direct  account 
of  the  same  particulars  in  the  history,  afford  a 
considerable  proof  of  the  truth,  not  only  of  these 
particulars  but  of  the  narrative  which  contains 
them ;  yet  they  do  not  show,  it  will  be  said,  that 
the  epistle  was  written  by  St.  Paul :  for  admitting, 
(what  seems  to  have  been  proved,)  that  the  writer, 
whoever  he  was,  had  no  recourse  to  the  Acts  of 
the  Apostles,  yet  many  of  the  facts  referred  to, 
such  as  St.  Paul's  miraculous  conversion,  his 
change  from  a  virulent  persecutor  to  an  indefati- 
gable preacher,  his  labours  amongst  the  Gentiles, 
and  his  zeal  for  the  liberties  of  the  Gentile  church, 
Were  so  notorious  as  to  occur  readily  to  the  mind 
of  an}''  Christian,  who  should  choose  to  personate 
his  character,  and  counterfeit  his  name;  it  was 
only  to  write  what  every  body  knew.  Now  I 
think  that  this  supposition— viz.  that  the  epistle 
was  composed  upon  general  information,  and  the 
general  publicity  of  the  facts  alluded  to,  and  that 
the  author  did  no  more  than  weave  into  his  work 
what  the  common  fame  of  the  Christian  church 
had  reported  to  his  ears — is  repelled  b}'  the  parti- 
cularity of  the  recitals  and  references.  This  par- 
ticularity is  observable  in  the  following  instances, 
in  perusing  which,  I  desire  the  reader  to  reflect, 
whether  they  exhibit  the  language  of  a  man  who 
had  nothing  but  general  reputation  to  proceed 
upon,  or  of  a  man  actually  speaking  of  himself 
and  of  his  own  history,  and  consequently  of  tilings 
concerning  which  he  possessed  a  clear,  intimate, 
and  circumstantial  knowledge. 

1.  The  history,  in  giving  an  account  of  St.  Paul 
after  his  conversion,  relates,  "that,  after  many 
days,"  effecting,  by  the  assistance  of  the  disciples, 
his  escape  from  Damascus,  "  he  proceeded  to  Jeru- 
salem," Acts,  chap.  ix.  25.  The  epistle,  speaking 
of  the  same  period,  makes  St.  Paul  say,  that  "  he 
went  into  Arabia,"  that  he  returned  again  to  Da- 
mascus, that  after  three  years  he  went  up  to  Jeru- 
salem.    Chap.  i.  17,  18. 

2.  The  history  relates,  that  when  Saul  was 
come  from  Damascus,  "  he  was  with  the  disciples 
coming  in  and  going  out,"  Acts,  chap.  ix.  28. 
The  epistle,  describing  the  same  journey,  tells  us, 
"  that  he  went  up  to  Jerusalem  to  see  Peter,  and 
abode  with  him  fifteen  days,"  chap.  i.  18. 

3.  The  history  relates,  that  when  Paul  was  come 
to  Jerusalem,  "  Barnabas  took  him  and  brought 
him  to  the  apostles,"  Acts,  chap.  ix.  27.  The 
epistle,  "  that  he  saw  Peter;  but  other  of  the  apos- 
tles, saw  he  none,  save  James,  the  Lord's  brother," 
chap.  i.  19. 

Now  this  is  as  it  should  be.  The  historian  de- 
livers his  account  in  general  terms,  as  of  facts  to 
which  he  was  not  present.  The  person  who  is 
the  subject  of  that  account,  when  he  comes  to  speak 
of  these  facts  himself,  particularises  time,  names, 
and  circmnstances.  „ 

2B 


4.  The  like  notation  of  places,  persons,  and 
dates,  is  met  with  in  the  account  of  St.  Paul's 
journey  to  Jerusalem,  given  in  the  second  chap- 
ter of  the  epistle.  It  was  fourteen  years  after  his 
conversion  ;  it  was  in  company  with  Barnabas  and 
Titus ;  it  was  then  that  he  met  with  James,  Ce- 
phas, and  John;  it  was  then  also  that  it  was 
agreed  amongst  them,  that  they  should  go  to  the 
circumcision,  and  he  unto  the  Gentiles. 

5.  The  dispute  with  Peter,  wliich  occupies  the 
sequel  of  the  second  chapter,  is  marked  with  the 
same  particularity.  It  was  at  Antioch ;  it  was 
after  certain  came  from  James ;  it  was  wliilst  Bar- 
nabas was  there,  who  was  carried  away  b}'  their 
dissimulation.  These  examples  negative  the  in- 
sinuation, that  the  epistle  presents  notliing  but 
indefhiite  allusions  to  public  facts. 

No.  IV. 

Chap.  IV.  11 — 16.  "  I  am  afraid  of  you,  lest  I 
have  bestowed  upon  you  labour  in  vain.  Brethren, 
I  beseech  3'ou,  be  as  I  am,  for  I  am  as  ye  are.  Ye 
have  not  injured  me  at  all.  Ye  know  how,  through 
infirmity  of  the  flesh,  I  preached  the  gospel  unto 
you  at  the  first ;  and  my  temj  'ation,  uhich  was  in 
the  flesh,  ye  despised  not,  nor  rejected;  but  re- 
ceived me  as  an  angel  of  God,  even  as  Christ  Je- 
sus. Where  is  then  the  blessedness  you  spake  of] , 
for  I  bear  you  record,  that,  if  it  had  been  possible, 
ye  would  have  plucked  out  your  own  eyes  and  have 
given  them  unto  me.  Am  I  therefore  become  your 
enemy,  because  I  tell  you  the  truth  1" 

With  this  passage  compare  2  Cor.  chap.  xii.  1 
— 9:  "It  is  not  expedient  for  me,  doubtless,  to 
glory;  I  will  come  to  visions  and  revelations  of  the 
Lord.  I  knew  a  man  in  Christ  above  fourteen 
years  ago,  (whether  in  the  body  I  cannot  tell,  or 
whether  out  of  t^e  body,  I  cannot  tell ;  God  know- 
eth ;)  such  a  one  was  caught  up  to  the  tliird  hea- 
ven :  and  I  knew  such  a  man,  (whether  in  the 
body,  or  out  of  the  body  I  cannot  tell,  God  know- 
eth.)  how  that  he  was  caught  up  into  Paradise, 
and  heard  unspeakable  words,  which  it  is  not  law- 
ful for  a  man  to  utter.  Of  such  a  one  will  I  glory, 
yet  of  myself  will  I  not  glory,  but  in  mine  infirmi- 
ties :  for,  though  I  would  desire  to  glory,  I  shall 
not  he  a  fool ;  for  I  will  say  the  truth.  But  now 
I  forbear,  lest  any  man  should  think  of  me  jtbovp 
that  wliich  he  seeth  me  to  be,  or  that  he  heareth 
of  me.  And  lest  I  should  be  exalted  above  mea- 
sure, through  the  abundance  of  the  revelations, 
there  was  given  to  me  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  the 
messenger  of  Satan  to  biiffet  me,  lest  I  should  be 
exalted  above  measure.  For  this  thing  I  besought 
the  Lord  thrice,  that  it  miglit  depart  from  me. 
And  he  said  unto  me.  My  grace  is  sufficient  for 
thee ;  for  my  strength  is  made  perfect  in  weakness. 
Most  gladly  therefore  will  I  rather  glory  m  my  in- 
firmities, that  the  power  of  Christ  may  rest  upon 
me." 

There  can  he  no  doubt  but  that  "  the  tempta- 
tion which  vyas  in  the  fiesh,"  mentioned  in  the 
Epistle  to  the  Galatians,  and  "  the  thorn  in  the 
flesh,  the  messenger  of  Satan  to  buffet  him,"  men- 
tioned in  the  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  were  in- 
tended to  denote  the  same  thing.  Either,  there- 
fore, it  was  what  we  pretend  it  to  have  been,  the 
same  person  in  both,  alluding,  as  the  occasion  led 
him,  to  some  bodily  infirmity  under  which  he  la- 
boured ;  that  is,  we  are  reading  the  real  letters  of  a 
real  apostle ;  or,  it  was  that  a  sophist,  who  had 
seen  the  circumstance  in  one  epistle,  contrived,  for 
17 


194 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


the  sake  of  correspondency,  to  bring  it  into  an- 
oth<'r ;  or,  lastly,  it  was  a  circumstance  in  St.  Paul's 
personal  condition,  supposed  to  be  well  known  to 
those  into  whose  hands  the  epistle  was  likely  to 
fall;  and  for  that  reason,  introduced  into  a  writing 
designed  to  bear  his  name.  I  have  extracted  the 
quotations  at  length,  in  order  to  enable  the  reader 
to  judge  accurately  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
mention  of  this  particular  comes  in,  in  each ;  be- 
cause that  judgment,  I  think,  will  acquit  the  au- 
thorof  tire  epistle  of  the  charge  of  having  studiously 
inserted  it,  either  with  a  view  of  producing  an  ap- 
parent agreement  between,  or  for  any  other  pur- 
pose whatever. 

The  context,  by  which  the  circumstance  before 
us  is  introduced,  is  in  the  two  places  totally  ditler- 
ent,  and  without  any  mark  of  imitation :  yet  in 
both  places  does  the  circumstance  rise  aptly  and 
naturally  out  of  the  context,  and  that  context  from 
the  train  of  thought  carried  on  in  the  epistle. 

The  Epistle  to  the  Galatians,  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end,  runs  in  a  strain  of  angry  com- 
plaint of  their  defection  from  the  apostle,  and  from 
the  principles  which  he  had  taught  them.  It  was 
very  natural  to  contrast  with  this  conduct,  the 
zeal  with  which  tliey  had  once  received  liim ;  and 
it  was  not  less  so  to  mention,  as  a  proof  of  their 
former  disposition  towards  him,  the  indulgence 
which,  wliilst  he  was  amongst  them,  they  had 
shown  to  his  infirmity ;  "  My  temptation  which 
was  in  the  flesh,  ye  despised  not,  nor  rejected,  but 
received  me  as  an  angel  of  God,  even  as  Christ 
Jesus.  Where  is  then  the  blessedness  you  spake 
of,"  i.  e.  the  benedictions  whicli  you  bestowed 
upon  mel  "  for  I  bear  you  record,  that,  if  it  had 
liecn  possible,  ye  would  have  plucked  out  your 
own  eyes,  and  nave  given  them  to  me." 

In  the  two  epistles  to  the  Corinthians,  especially 
in  tlie  second,  we  have  the  apostle  contending 
with  certain  teachers  in  Corinth,  who  had  formed 
a  party  in  tliat  church  against  him.  To  vindicate 
his  personal  authority,  as  well  as  the  dignity  and 
credit  of  his  ministry  amongst  them,  he  takes  oc- 
casiiin  (but  not  without  apologising  repeatedly  for 
the  folly,  that  is,  for  the  indecorum  of  pronouncing 
fiis  own  panegyric,*)  to  meet  his  adversaries  in 
thiir  boastings:  "Whereinsoever  any  is  bold,  (I 
s[)eak  foolishly,)  I  am  bold  also.  Are  they  He- 
brews 1  so  am  I.  Are  they  Israelites  1  so  am  I. 
Are  they  the  seed  of  Abraham  1  so  am  I.  Are 
they  the  ministers  of  Christ  ^  (I  speak  as  a  fool,)  I 
am  more;  in  labours  more  abundant,  in  stripes 
above  measure,  in  prisons  more  frequent,  in  deaths 
oft."  Being  led  to  the  subject,  he  goes  on,  as  was 
natural,  to  recount  his  trials  and  dangers,  his  in- 
cessant cares  and  labours  in  the  Christian  mission. 
From  the  proofs  which  he  had  given  of  his  zeal 
and  activity  in  the  service  of  Christ,  he  passes  (and 
tliat  with  the  same  view  of  establishing  his  claim 
to  be  considered  as  "  not  a  whit  behind  the  very 
chiefe-st  of  the  apostles,")  to  the  visions  and  reve- 
lations which  from  time  to  time  have  been  vouch- 
safed to  him.  And  then,  by  a  close  and  easy 
connexion,  comes  in  the  mention  of  his  infirmity: 
"  Lest  1  should  be  exalted,"  says  he,  "  above  mea- 

*  "  Would  to  God  you  would  bear  with  me  a  little  in 
my  folly,  and  indeed  bear  with  me !  chap.  xi.  1. 

"  That  which  I  speak,  I  spf?ak  it  not  after  the  Lord, 
but  as  it  were  foolishly,  in  this  confidence  of  boasting," 
ihap  xi.  17. 

"  I  am  become  a  fool  in  glorying;  ye  have  compelled 
me,"  chap.  iii.  11. 


sure,  through  the  abundance  of  revelations,  there 
was  given  to  me  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  the  messen- 
ger of  Satan  to  buflet  me." 

1  hus  then,  in  both  epistles,  the  notice  of  his 
infirmity  is  siiilid  to  the  place  in  which  it  is  found. 
In  the  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  the  train  of 
thought  draws  up  to  the  circumstance  by  a  regu- 
lar approximation.  In  this  epistle,  it  is  suggested 
by  the  subject  and  occasion  of  the  epistle  itself 
Which  obser\ation  we  ofi'er  as  an  argument  to 
[irovethat  it  is  not,  in  either  epistle,  a  circumstance 
industriously  brought  forward  for  tlie  sake  ot  pro- 
curing credit  to  an  imposture. 

A  reader  will  be  taught  to  perceive  the  force  of 
this  argument,  who  shall  attempt  to  introduce  a 
given  circumstance  into  the  body  of  a  writing. 
'l"o  do  this  without  abruptness,  or  without  betray- 
ing marks  of  design  in  the  transition,  requires,  he 
will  find,  more  art  than  he  expected  to  be  neces- 
sary, certainly  more  than  any  one  can  believe  to 
have  been  exercised  in  the  composition  of  these 
epistles. 

No.  V. 

Chap.  iv.  29.  "  But  as  then  he  that  was  born 
after  the  flesh  persecuted  him  that  was  born  after 
the  spirit,  eveti  so  it  is  now." 

Chap.  V.  11.  "  And  I,  brethren,  if  I  yet  preach 
circumcision,  why  do  I  yet  sufier  persecution'? 
Then  is  the  oflence  of  the  cross  ceased." 

Chap.  vi.  17.  "  From  henceforth,  let  no  man 
trouble  nie,  for  I  bear  in  my  body  the  marks  of  the 
Lord  Jesus." 

From  these  several  texts,  it  is  apparent  that  the 
persecutions  which  our  apostle  had  undergone, 
were  from  the  hands  or  by  the  instigation  of  the 
Jews ;  that  it  was  not  for  preaching  Christianity 
in  opposition  to  heathenism,  but  it  was  for  preach- 
ing it  as  distinct  from  Judaism,  that  he  had  brought 
upon  himself  the  sufl'erings  which  had  attended 
his  ministry.  And  this  representation  perfectly 
coincides  with  that  which  results  from  the  detail 
of  St.  Paul's  history,  as  delivered  in  the  Acts.  At 
Antioch,  in  Pisidia,  the  "word  of  the  Lord  was 
published  throughout  all  the  region :  but  the  Jews 
stirred  up  the  devout  and  honourable  women  and 
the  chief  men  of  the  city,  and  raised  persecution 
against  Paul  and  Barnabas,  and  expelled  them 
out  of  their  coasts,"  Acts,  chap.  xiii.  50.  Not 
long  after,  at  Iconium,  "  a  great  multitude  of  the 
Jews  and  also  of  the  Greeks  believed  ;  but  the  un- 
beUering  Jews  stirred  up  the  Gentiles,  and  made 
their  minds  evil  afl'ected  against  the  brethren," 
chap.  xiv.  1,  2.  "  At  Lystra  there  came  certain 
Jews  from  Antioch  and  Iconium,  who  persuaded 
the  people;  and  having  stoned  Paul,  drew  him  out 
of  the  city,  supposing  he  had  been  dead,"  chaj).  xiv. 
19.  The  same  enmity,  and  from  the  same  quar- 
ter, our  apostle  experienced  in  Greece :  "  At  I'hes- 
salonica,  some  of  them  (the  Jews)  believed,  and 
consorted  with  Paul  and  Silas :  and  of  the  devout 
Greeks  a  great  multitude,  and  of  the  chief  women 
not  a  few:  hut  the  Jews  which  believed  not,  moved 
with  envy,  took  unto  them  certain  lewd  fellows  of 
the  baser  sort,  and  gathered  a  company,  and  set 
all  the  city  in  an  uproar,  and  assaulted  the  house 
of  Jason,  and  sought  to  bring  them  out  to  the  peo- 
ple," Acts,  chap.  xvii.  4,  5.  Their  persecutcirs 
follow  them  to  Berea:  "When  the  Jeirs  of  Thes- 
salonica  had  knowledge  that  the  word  of  Gcyl  was 
preached  of  Paul  at  Berea,  they  came  thithf  also, 
and  stirred  up  the  people,"  chap.  xxii.  13.     And 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  GALATIANS. 


195 


lastly  at  Corinth,  when  Gallic  was  deputy  of 
Achaia,  "  the  Jews  made  insurrection  with  one 
accord  against  Paul,  and  brought  him  to  the  judg- 
ment-seat." I  think  it  does  not  appear  that  our 
apostle  was  ever  set  upon  by  the  Gentiles,  unless 
they  were  first  stirred  up  by  the  Jews,  except  in 
two  instances ;  in  both  which  the  jjersons  who  be- 
gan the  assault  were  immediately  interested  in  his 
expulsion  from  the  place.  Once  this  happened  at 
Philippi,  after  the  cure  of  the  Pythoness:  "When 
the  masters  saw  the  hope  of  their  gains  was  gone, 
they  caught  Paul  and  Silas,  and  drew  them  into 
the  market-place  unto  the  rulers,"  chap.  xvi.  19. 
And  a  second  time  at  Ephesus,  at  the  instance 
of  Demetrius,  a  silversmith  which  made  silver 
shrines  for  Diana,  "  who  called  together  workmen 
of  like  occupation,  and  said.  Sirs,  ye  know  that 
by  this  craft  we  have  our  wealth ;  moreover  ye  see 
and  hear,  that  not  only  at  Ephesus,  but  alrno-st 
throughout  all  Asia,  this  Paul  hath  persuaded 
away  much  people,  saying,  that  they  be  no  gods 
which  are  made  with  hands ;  so  that  not  only  this 
our  craft  is  in  danger  to  be  set  at  nought,  but  also 
that  the  temple  of  the  great  goddess  Diana  should 
be  despised,  and  her  magnificence  should  be  de- 
stroyed, whom  all  Asia  and  the  world  worshippeth." 

No.  VI. 

I  observe  an  agreement  in  a  somewhat  peculiar 
rule  of  Christian  conduct,  as  laid  down  in  this 
epistle,  and  as  exemplified  in  the  Second  Epistle 
to  the  Corinthians.  It  is  not  the  repetition  of  the 
same  general  precept,  which  would  have  been  a 
coincidence  of  little  value ;  but  it  is  the  general 
precept  in  one  place,  and  the  application  of  that 
precept  to  an  actual  occurrence  in  the  other.  In 
the  sixth  chapter  and  first  verse  of  this  epistle,  our 
apostle  gives  the  following  direction  :  "  Brethren, 
if  a  man  be  overtaken  in  a  fault,  ye  which  are 
spiritual  restore  such  a  one  in  the  spirit  of  meek- 
ness." In  2  Cor.  chap.  ii.  6 — 8,  he  writes  thus  : 
"Sufficient  to  such  a  man"  (the  incestuous  per- 
son mentioned  in  the  First  Epistle,)  "is this  pu- 
nishment, which  was  indicted  of  many:  so  that, 
contrariwise,  ye  ought  rather  to  forgive  him  and 
comfort  him,  lest  perhaps  such  a  one  should  be 
swallowed  up  with  over-nmch  sorrow  ;  wherefore 
I  beseech  you.  that  ye  would  confirm  your  love 
towards  him."  I  have  little  doubt  but  that  it  was 
the  same  mind  which  dictated  these  two  passages. 

No.  VII. 

Our  epistle  goes  farther  than  any  of  St.  Paul's 
epistles ;  for  it  avows,  in  direct  terms,  the  super- 
session of  the  Jewish  law,  as  an  instrument  of 
salvation,  even  to  the  Jews  themselves.  Not  only 
were  the  Gentiles  exempt  from  its  authority,  but 
even  the  Jews  were  no  longer  either  to  place  any 
dependency  upon  it,  or  consider  themselves  as 
subject  to  it  on  a  religious  account.  Before  faith 
came,  we  were  ke])t  under  the  law,  shut  up  unto 
the  faith  which  should  afterwards  be  revealed  ; 
wh(  refore  the  law  was  our  schoolmaster  to  bring 
us  unto  Christ,  that  we  might  be  justified  by  faith  ; 
but,  after  that  faith  is  come,  ire  are  no  longer 
under  a  schoolmaster,"  chap.  iii.  23 — 25.  This 
was  undoubtedly  spoken  of  Jews,  and  to  Jews. 
In  like  manner,  chap.  iv.  1 — b  :  "  Now  I  say  that 
the  heir,  as  long  as  he  is  a  child,  differeth  nothing 
from  a  servant,  thoui^h  he  be  lord  of  all ;  but  is 


under  tutors  and  governors  until  the  time  appoint- 
ed  of  the  lather  :  even  so  we,  when  wo  were  ciiil- 
drcn,  were  in  bondage  under  the  elements  of  the 
world ;  but  when  the  fulness  of  time  was  come, 
God  sent  forth  his  Son,  made  of  a  woman,  made 
under  the  law,  to  redeem  them  that  vcre  xinder 
the  law,  that  we  might  receive  the  adoption  of 
sons  "  These  passages  are  nothing  short  of  a 
declaration,  that  the  obligation  of  the  Jewish  law, 
I  considered  as  a  religious  dispensation,  the  efiects 
of  which  were  to  take  place  in  another  life,  had 
ceased,  with  respect  even  to  the  Jews  tht'mselves. 
What  then  should  be  the  conduct  of  a  Jew,  (lor 
such  St.  Paul  was,)  who  preached  this  doctrine  1 
To  be  consistent  with  himself,  either  he  would  no 
longer  comply,  in  liis  own  person,  with  the  direc- 
tions of  the  law;  or,  if  he  did  comply,  it  would  be 
for  some  other  reason  than  any  confidence  which 
he  placed  in  its  efficacy,  as  a  religious  institutiun. 
Now  so  it  happens,  that  whenever  St.  Paul's  com- 
pliance with  the  Jewish  law  is  mentioned  in  the 
history,  it  is  mentioned  in  connexion  with  circum- 
stances which  point  out  the  motive  from  which 
it  proceeded  ;  and  this  motive  appears  to  have  been 
always  exoteric,  namely,  a  love  of  order  and  tran- 
quillity, or  an  unwillingness  to  give  unnecessary 
offence.  Thus,  Acts,  chap.  xvi.  3:  "Him  (Ti- 
mothy,) would  Paul  have  to  go  forth  with  him, 
and  took  and  circumcised  him,  because  of  the 
Jews  which  were  in  those  quarters.  Again,  Acts, 
chap.  XXI.  2t),  when  Paul  consented  to  exhibit  an 
exam])le  of  public  compliance  with  a  Jewish  rite 
by  purifying  himself  in  the  temple,  it  is  plainly 
intimated  that  he  did  this  to  satisfy  "  many  thou- 
sands of  Jews  who  believed,  and  who  were  all 
zealous  of  the  law."  So  far  the  instances  related 
in  one  book,  correspond  with  the  doctrine  deliver- 
ed in  another. 

No.  VIII. 

Chap.  i.  18.  "Then,  after  three  years,  I  went 
up  to  Jerusalem  to  see  Peter,  and  abode  with  him 
fiileen  days." 

The  shortness  of  St.  Paul's  stay  at  Jerusalem 
is  what  I  desire  the  reader  to  remark.  The  direct 
account  of  the  same  journey  in  the  Acts,  chap.  ix. 
28,  determines  nothing  concerning  the  time  of  his 
continuance  there :  "  And  he  was  with  them  (the 
apostles)  coming  in,  and  going  out,  at  Jerusalem ; 
and  he  spake  boldly  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus, 
and  disputed  against  the  Grecians :  but  they  went 
about  to  slay  him ;  which  when  the  brethren  knew, 
they  brought  him  down  to  Csesarea."  Or  rather 
this  account,  taken  by  itself,  would  lead  a  reader 
to  suppose  that  St.  Paul's  abode  at  Jerusalem  had 
been  longer  than  fifteen  days.  But  turn  to  the 
twenty-second  chapter  of  the  Acts,  and  you  will 
find  a  reference  to  this  visit  to  Jerusalem,  which 
plainly  indicates  that  Paul's  continuance  in  that 
city  had  been  of  short  duration  :  "  And  it  came 
to  pass,  that  when  I  was  come  again  to  Jerusalem, 
even  while  I  prayed  in  the  temple,  I  was  in  a 
trance,  and  saw  him  saying  unto  me.  Make  haste, 
get  thee  quickly  out  of  Jerusalem,  for  they  will  not 
receive  thy  testimony  concerning  me."  Here  we 
have  the  general  terms  of  one  text  so  explained  by 
a  distant  text  in  the  same  book,  as  to  bring  an  in- 
determinate expression  into  a  close  conformity 
with  a  specification  delivered  in  another  book  :  a 
species  of  consistency  not,  I  think,  usually  foinid 
in  fabulous  relations. 


196 


HORjE  PAULINA. 


No.  IX. 

Chap.  vi.  11.  "Ye  see  how  large  a  letter  I  have 
written  unto  you  with  mine  own  hand." 

These  words  imply  that  he  did  not  alwaj's  write 
with  his  own  hand ;  which  is  consonant  to  what 
we  find  intiraatctl  in  some  other  of  the  epistles. 
The  Epistle  to  the  Romans  was  written  by  Ter- 
tius:  "1,  Tcrtius,  who  wrote  this  epistle,  salute 
you  in  the  Lord,"  chap.  xvi.  23.  The  First  Epis- 
tle to  the  Corinthians,  the  Epistle  to  the  Colos- 
sians,  and  the  Second  to  the  Thessalonians,  have 
all,  near  the  conclusion,  this  clause,  "  The  salu- 
tation of  me,  Paul,  with  mine  own  hand  ;"  which 
must  be  understood,  and  is  universally  understood 
to  import,  that  the  rest  of  the  epistle  was  written 
by  another  hand.  I  do  not  think  it  improbable 
that  an  unpostor,  who  had  remarked  this  subscrip- 
tion in  some  other  epistle,  should  invent  the  same 
in  a  forgery ;  but  that  is  not  done  here.  The 
author  of  this  epistle  does  not  imitate  the  manner 
of  giving  St.  Paul's  signature;  he  only  bids  the 
Galatians  observe  how  large  a  letter  hehad  writ- 
ten to  them  with  his  own  hand.  He  does  not  say 
this  was  different  from  his  ordinary  usage  ;  that 
is  left  to  implication.  Now  to  suppose  that  this 
was  an  artifice  to  procure  credit  to  ah  imposture, 
is  to  suppose  that  the  author  of  the  forgery,  be- 
cause he  knew  that  others  of  St.  Paul's  were  not 
written  by  himself,  therefore  made  the  apostle  say 
that  this  was  :  which  seems  an  odd  turn  to  give  to 
the  circumstance,  and  to  be  given  for  a  purpose 
which  would  more  naturally  and  more  directly  have 
been  answered,  by  subjoining  the  salutation  or 
signature  in  the  form  in  which  it  is  found  in  other 
epistles.* 

No.  X. 

An  exact  conformity  appears  in  the  manner 
in  which  a  certain  apostle  or  eminent  Christian, 
whose  name  was  James,  is  spoken  of  in  the  epistle 
and  in  the  history.  Both  writings  refer  to  a  situa- 
tion of  his  at  Jerusalem,  somewhat  different  from 
that  of  the  other  apostles ;  a  kind  of  eminence  or 
presidency  in  the  church  there,  or  at  least  a  more 
fixed  and  stationary  residence.  Chap.  ii.  12: 
"  When  Peter  was  at  Antioch,  before  that  certain 
came  from  James,  he  did  eat  with  the  Gentiles." 
This  text  plainly  attributes  a  kind  of  pre-eminency 
to  James :  and,  as  we  hear  of  him  twice  in  the  same 
epistle  dweUing  at  Jerusalem,  chap.  i.  19,  and  ii. 
9,  we  must  apply  it  to  the  situation  which  he  held 
in  that  church.  In  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  divers 
intimations  occur,  conveying  the  same  idea  of 
James's  situation.  When  Peter  was  miraculously 
delivered  from  prison,  and  had  surprised  his  friends 
by  his  appearance  among  them,  after  declaring 
unto  them  how  the  Lord  had  brought  him  out  of 
prison,  "Go  show,"  says  he,  "these  things  unto 
James,  and  to  the  brethren,"  Acts,  chap.  xii.  17. 

Here  James  is  manifestly  spoken  of  in  terms  of 
distinction.  He  appears  again  with  like  distinc- 
tion in  the  twenty-first  chapter  and  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  verses :  "  And  when  we  (Paul  and 
his  company)  were  come  to  Jerusalem,  the  day 


*  The  words  3-1,^1x01;  yfn^u^sto-n'  may  probably  be 
meant  to  describe  the  character  in  which  he  wrote,  and 
not  the  length  of  the  letter.  But  this  will  not  alter  the 
truth  of  our  observation.  I  think,  however,  that  as  St. 
Paul,  by  the  mention  of  his  own  hand,  designed  to  ex- 
press to  the  Galatians  the  great  concern  which  he  felt 
for  them,  the  words,  whatever  thev  signify,  belong  to 
the  whole  of  the  epistle  ;  and  not,  as  Grotius,  after  St. 
.Jeionie,  interprets  it,  to  the  few  verses  which  follow. 


following,  Paul  went  in  with  us  unto  Jaiues  and 
all  the  elders  were  present."  In  the  debate  which 
took  place  upon  the  business  of  the  Gentile  con- 
verts, in  the  council  at  Jerusalem,  this  same  per- 
son seems  to  have  taken  the  lead.  It  was  he  who 
closed  the  debate,  and  proposed  the  resolution  in 
which  the  council  ultimately  concurred :  "  Where- 
fore my  sentence  is,  that  we  trouble  not  them 
which  from  among  the  Gentiles  are  turned  to  God." 

Upon  the  whole,  that  there  exists  a  conformity 
in  the  expressions  used  concerning  James  through- 
out the  history,  and  in  the  epistle,  is  unquestion- 
able. But  admitting  tliis  conformity,  and  admit- 
ting also  the  undesignedness  of  it,  what  does  it 
prove  1  It  proves  that  the  circumstance  itself  is 
founded  in  truth  ;  that  is,  that  James  was  a  real 
person,  who  held  a  situation  of  eminence  in  a  real 
society  of  Christians  at  Jerusalem.  It  confirms 
also  those  parts  of  the  narrative  which  are  con- 
nected with  this  circumstance.  Suppose,  for  in- 
stance, the  truth  of  the  account  of  Peter's  escape 
from  prison  was  to  be  tried  upon  the  testimony  of 
a  witness  who,  among  other  things,  made  Peter, 
after  his  deliverance,  say,  "  Go  show  these  things 
to  James  and  to  the  brethren ;"  would  it  not  be 
material,  in  such  a  trial,  to  make  out  by  other  in- 
dependent proofs,  or  by  a  comparison  of  proofs, 
drawn  from  independent  sources,  that  there  was 
actually  at  that  time,  living  at  Jerusalem,  such  a 
person  as  James;  that  this  person  held  such  a 
situation  in  the  society  amongst  whom  these  things 
were  transacted,  as  to  render  the  words  which 
Peter  is  said  to  have  used  concerning  him,  proper 
and  natural  for  him  to  have  used  %  if  this  would 
be  pertinent  in  the  discussion  of  oral  testimony,  it 
is  still  more  so  in  appreciating  the  credit  of  remote 
history. 

It  must  not  be  dissembled,  that  the  comparison 
of  our  epistle  with  the  history  presents  some  dif- 
ficulties, or,  to  say  the  least,  some  questions  of 
considerable  magnitude.  It  may  be  doubted,  in 
the  first  place,  to  what  journey  the  words  which 
open  the  second  chapter  of  the  epistle,  "then, 
fourteen  years  afterwards,  I  went  unto  Jerusa- 
lem," relate.  That  which  best  corresponds  with 
the  date,  and  that  to  which  most  interpreters  ap- 
ply the  passage,  is  the  journey  of  Paul  and  Bar- 
nabas to  Jerusalem  when  they  went  thither  from 
Antioch  upon  the  business  of  the  Gentile  con- 
verts; and  which  journey  produced  the  famous 
council  and  decree  recorded  in  the  fifteenth  chap- 
ter of  Acts.  To  me  this  opinion  appears  to  be 
encumbered  with  strong  objections.  In  the  epis- 
tle Paul  tells  us  that  "  he  went  up  by  revelation," 
chap.  ii.  2.  In  the  Acts,  we  read  that  he  was 
sent  by  the  church  of  Antioch :  "  after  no  small 
dissension  and  disputation,  they  determined  that 
Paul  and  Barnabas,  and  certain  other  of  them, 
should  go  up  to  the  apostles  and  elders  about 
this  question,"  Acts,  chap.  xv.  2.  This  is  not 
very  reconcileable.  In  the  epistle,  St.  Paul  writes 
that,  when  he  came  to  Jerusalem,  "he  com- 
municated that  Gospel  which  he  preached  among 
the  Gentiles,  but  privately  to  them  which  were  of 
reputation,"  chap.  ii.  2.  If  by  "  that  Gospel"  he 
meant  the  immunity  of  the  Gentile  Christians 
from  the  Jewish  law,  (and  I  know  not  what  else 
it  can  mean,)  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive  how  he 
should  communicate  that  privately,  which  was 
the  object  of  his  public  message.  But  a  yet 
greater  difficulty  remains,  viz.  that  in  the  account 
wliich  the  epistle  gives  of  what  passed  upon  this 


EPISTLE  To   THE  GALATIANS. 


197 


visit  at  Jemsalem,  no  notice  is  taken  of  the  de- 
liberation and  decree  wliich  are  recorded  in  the 
Acts,  and  which,  according  to  that  history,  formed 
the  business  for  the  sake  of  which  the  journey- 
was  undertaken.  The  mention  of  the  council  and 
of  its  determination,  whilst  the  apostle  was  re- 
lating his  proceedings  at  Jerusalem,  could  hardly 
have  been  avoided,  if  in  truth  the  narrative  be- 
long to  the  same  journey.  To  me  it  appears 
more  probable  that  Paul  and  Barnabas  had  taken 
some  journey  to  Jerusalem,  the  mention  of  which 
is  omitted  in  the  Acts.  Prior  to  the  apostolic  de- 
cree, we  read  that  "  Paul  and  Barnabas  abode  at 
Antioch  a  long  time  with  the  disciples,"  Acts 
chap.  xiv.  28.  Is  it  unlikely  that,  during  this 
long  abode,  they  might  go  up  to  Jerusalem  and 
return  to  Antioch  1  Or  would  the  omission  of 
such  a  journey  be  unsuitable  to  the  general  bre- 
vity with  which  these  memoirs  are  written,  es- 
pecially of  those  parts  of  St.  Paul's  history  which 
took  ])iace  before  the  historian  joined  his  society  1 
But,  again,  the  first  account  we  find  in  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles  of  St.  Paul's  visiting  Ga- 
latia,  is  in  the  sixteenth  chapter  and  the  sixth 
verse :  "  Now  when  they  had  gone  through  Phry- 
gia  and  the  region  of  Galatia,  they  assayed  to  go 
mto  Eithynia."  The  progress  here  recorded  was 
subsequent  to  the  apostolic  decree ;  therefore  that 
decree  must  have  been  extant  when  our  epistle 
was  written.  Now,  as  the  professed  design  of  the 
epistle  was  to  establish  the  exemption  of  the  Gen- 
tile converts  from  the  law  of  Moses,  and  as  the 
decree  pronounced  and  confirmed  that  exemption, 
it  may  seem  extraordinary  that  no  notice  whatever 
is  taken  of  that  detennination,  nor  any  appeal 
made  to  itj  authority.  Much  however  of  the 
weight  of  this  objection,  which  applies  also  to 
some  other  of  St.  Paul's  epistles,  is  removed  by 
the  following  reflections.  . 

1.  It  was  not  St.  Paul's  manner,  nor  agreeable 
to  it,  to  resort  or  defer  much  to  the  authority  of 
the  other  apostles,  especially  whilst  he  was  in- 
sisting, as  he  does  strenuously  throughout  this 
epistle  insist,  upon  his  own  original  inspiration. 
He  who  could  speak  of  the  very  chiefest  of  the 
apostles  in  such  terms  as  the  following — "of  those 
who  seemed  to  be  somewhat,  (whatsoever  they 
were  it  maketh  no  matter  to  me,  God  accepteth 
no  man's  person.)  for  they  who  seemed  to  be 
somewhat  in  conference  added  nothing  to  me," — 
he,  I  say,  was  not  lilvely  to  support  himself  by 
their  decision. 

2.  The  epistle  argiies  the  point  upon  principle : 
and  it  is  not  perhaps  more  to  be  wondered  at,  that 
in  such  an  argument  St.  Paul  should  not  cite  the 
apostolic  decree,  than  it  would  be  that,  in  a  dis- 
course designed  to  prove  the  moral  and  religious 
duty  of  observing  the  Sabbath,  the  writer  should 
not  quote  the  thirteenth  canon. 

3.  The  decree  did  not  go  the  length  of  the  po- 
sition maintained  in  the  epistle ;  the  decree  only 
declares  that  the  apostles  and  elders  at  Jerusalem 
did  not  impose  the  observance  of  the  Mosaic  law 
upon  the  Gentile  converts,  as  a  condition  of  their 
being  admitted  into  the  Christian  church.  Our 
epistle  argues  that  the  Mosaic  institution  itself 
was  at  an  end,  as  to  all  effects  upon  a  future 
state,  even  with  respect  to  the  Jews  themselves. 

4.  They  whose  error  St.  Paul  combated,  were 
not  persons  who  submitted  to  the  Jewish  law, 
because  it  was  imposed  by  the  authority,  or 
becti'ise  it  was  made  part  of  the  law  of  the  Chris- 


tian church ;  but  they  were  persons  who,  having 
already  become  Christians,  afterwards  voluntarily 
took  upon  themselves  the  observance  of  the  Mo- 
saic code,  under  a  notion  of  attaining  thereby  to 
a  greater  perfection.  This,  I  think,  is  precisely 
the  oj)inion  which  St.  Paul  opposes  in  this  epis- 
tle. Many  of  his  expressions  apply  exactly  to  it: 
"  Are  ye  so  foolish  1  having  begun  in  the  spirit, 
are  ye  now  made  perfect  in  the  flesh '?"  chap, 
iii.  3.  "  Tell  me,  ye  that  desire  to  be  under  the 
law,  do  ye  not  hear  the  lawT'  chap.  iv.  21. 
"  How  turn  ye  agaui  to  the  weak  and  beggarly 
elements,  whereunto  ye  desire  again  to  be  in 
bondage  V  cha]).  iv.  9.  It  cannot  be  thought 
extraordinary  that  St.  Paul  should  resist  tliis 
opinion  with  earnestness ;  for  it  both  changed 
the  character  of  the  Christian  dispensation,  and 
derogated  expressly  from  the  completeness  of  that 
redemption  which  Jesus  Christ  had  wrought  for 
them  that  believed  in  him.  But  it  was  to  no  purpose 
to  allege  to  such  persons  the  decision  at  Jerusa- 
lem ;  for  that  only  showed  that  they  were  not 
bound  to  these  observances  by  any  law  of  the 
Christian  church ;  they  did  not  pretehd  to  be  so 
bound ;  nevertheless  they  imagined  that  there  was 
an  efficacy  in  these  observances,  a  merit,  a  recom- 
mendation to  favour,  and  a  ground  of  acceptance 
with  God  for  those  who  complied  with  them.  This 
was  a  situation  of  thought  to  which  the  tenor  of 
the  decree  did  not  apply.  Accordingly,  St.  Paul's 
address  to  the  Galatians,  which  is  throughout 
adapted  to  this  situation,  runs  in  a  strain  widely 
different  from  the  laniruage  of  the  decree :  "  Christ 
is  become  of  no  efli?ct  unto  you,  whosoever  of  you 
are  justified  by  the  law;"  chap.  v.  4;  i.  e.  who- 
soever places  his  dependence  upon  any  merit  he 
may  apprehend  there  to  be  in  legal  observances. 
The  decree  had  said  nothing  like  this;  therefore 
it  would  ha^•e  been  useless  to  have  produced  the 
decree  in  an  argument  of  which  this  was  the 
burden.  In  hke  manner  as  in  contending  with 
an  anchorite,  who  should  insist  upon  the  superior 
holiness  of  a  recluse,  ascetic  life,  and  the  value  of 
such  mortifications  in  the  sight  of  God,  it  would 
be  to  no  purpose  to  prove  that  the  laws  of  the 
church  did  not  require  these  vows,  or  even  to 
prove  that  the  laws  of  the  church  expressly  left 
every  Christian  to  his  liberty.  This  would  avail 
little  towards  abating  his  estimation  of  their  merit, 
or  towards  settling  the  point  in  controversy.* 


*  Mr.  Locke's  solution  of  this  difficulty  is  by  no  means 
satisfactory.  "  St.  Paul,"  he  says,  "  did  not  remind  the 
Galatians  of  the  apostolic  decree,  because  they  already 
hafl  it."  In  the  first  place,  it  does  not  appear  with  cer- 
tainty that  thpy  had  it ;  in  the  second  place,  if  they  had 
it,  this  was  rather  a  reason,  than  otherwise,  for  refer- 
ring them  to  it.  The  passaj^e  in  tlie  Acts,  from  which 
Mr.  Locke  concludes  that  the  Galatic  churches  were  in 
possession  of  the  decree,  is  the  fourth  ver-v:  of  the  six- 
teenth chapter:  "And  as  they"  (Paul  and  Timothy) 
"went  throuch  the  cities,  they  delivered  them  the  de- 
crees for  to  keep,  that  were  ordained  of  the  apostles 
and  elders  which  were  at  Jerusalem."  In  my  opinion, 
this  delivery  of  the  decree  was  confined  to  the  churches 
to  which  St.  Paul  came,  in  pursuance  of  the  plan  ujion 
which  he  set  out,  "of  visiting  the  brethren  in  every 
city  where  he  had  preached  the  word  of  the  Lord  ;"  the 
history  of  which  progress,  and  (.f  all  that  pertained  to 
it,  is  closed  in  the  fifth  verse,  when  the  history  informs 
that,  "so  were  the  churclies  established  in  the  faith, 
and  increased  in  number  daily."  Then  the  history  pro- 
ceeds upon  a  new  section  of  tiie  narrative,  by  telling  us 
that  "when  they  had  gone  throughout  Phrygia  and  the 
recion  of  Galatia,  they  assayed  to  go  into  Bithynia." 
The  decree  itself  is  directed  to  "the  brethren  which 
17* 


lyy 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


Another  difficulty  arises  from  the  account  of 
Peter's  conduct  towards  the  Gentile  converts  at 
Antioch,  as  given  in  the  epistle,  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  second  chapter ;  which  conduct,  it  is  said, 
is  consistent  neither  with  the  revelation  commu- 
nicated to  him  upon  the  conversion  of  Cornehus, 
nor'with  the  part  he  took  in  the  debate  at  Jeru- 
salem. But,  in  order  to  understand  either  the 
didiculty  or  the  solution,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
state  and  explain  the  passage  itself  "  When 
Peter  was  come  to  Antioch,  1  withstood  him  to 
the  face,  because  he  was  to  be  blamed ;  for,  be- 
fore that  certain  came  from  James,  he  did  eat 
vvitli  the  Gentiles ;  but  when  they  were  come,  he 
withdrew  and  separated  himself,  fearing  them 
which  were  of  the  circumcision ;  and  the  other 
Jews  dissembled  likewise  with  him,  insomuch 
that  Barnabas  also  was  carried  away  with  their 
dissimulation  ;  but  when  I  saw  they  walked  not 
uprightly,  according  to  the  truth  of  the  Gospel,  I 
said  unto  Peter,  before  them  all,  If  thou,  being  a 
Jew,  livest  after  the  manner  of  the  Gentiles,  and 
not  as  do  the  Jews,  why  compellest  thou  the  Gen- 
tiles to  live  as  do  the  Jews  ?"  Now  the  question 
that  produced  the  dispute  to  which  these  words 
relate,  was  not  whether  the  Gentiles  were  capable 
of  being  admitted  into  the  Christian  covenant ; 
that  had  been  fully  settled :  nor  was  it  whether  it 
should  be  accounted  essential  to  the  profession  of 
Christianity  that  they  should  conform  themselves 
to  the  law  of  Moses ;  that  was  the  question  at 
Jerusalem:  but  it  was,  whether,  upon  the  Gen- 
tiles becoming  Christians,  the  Jews  might  hence- 
forth eat  and  drink  with  them,  as  with  their  own 
brethren.  Upon  this  point  St.  Peter  betrayed 
some  inconstancy;  and  so  he  might,  agreeably 
enough  to  his  history. — He  might  consider  the 
vision  at  Joppa  as  a  direction  for  the  occasion,  ra- 
ther than  as  universally  abolishing  the  distinction 
between  Jew  and  Gentile;  I  do  not  mean  with 
respect  to  final  acceptance  with  God.  but  as  to  the 
manner  of  their  living  together  in  society :  at  least 


are  of  the  Gentiles  in  Autiocli,  Syria,  and  (Jilicia,  tliat 
is,  to  clnirclies  already  foiuuied,  and  in  wliicli  this 
question  had  been  stirred.  And  I  think  the  observation 
of  the  noble  author  of  the  Miscellanea  Sacra  is  not  only 
injrenious  but  highly  probable,  viz  that  there  is,  in  this 
place  adislocation  of  the  text,  and  that  the  fourth  and 
fifth  verses  of  the  sixteenth  chapter  ought  to  follow  the 
last  verse  of  the  lifteenth,  so  as  to  make  the  entire  pas- 
sage run  thus:  "  And  they  went  through  Syria  and  Ci- 
licia,"  (to  the  Christians  of  which  country  the  decree 
was  addressed)  "  confirming  the  churches  ;  and  as  they 
went  through  the  cities,  they  delivered  them  the  decrees 
for  to  keep,  that  were  ordained  of  the  apostles  and  el- 
ders which  were  at  Jerusalem  ;  and  so  were  the  churches 
establisheil  in  the  faith,  and  increased  in  numberdaily.'" 
And  then  the  sixteenth  chapter  takes  up  a  new  and  un- 
broken paragraph:  "'Then  came  he  toDerbe  and  Lystra, 
iStc."  When  St.  Paul  came,  as  he  did  into  Galatia,  to 
preach  the  Gospel,  for  the  first  time,  in  a  new  place,  it  is 
not  probable  that  he  would  make  mention  of  the  de- 
cree, or  rather  letter,  of  the  church  of  .lerusalem,  which 
presupposed  Christianity  to  be  known,  and  which  re- 
lated to  certain  doubts  that  liad  arisen  in  some  esta- 
blished Christian  communities. 

The  second  reason  which  Mr.  Locke  assigns  for  the 
omission  of  the  decree,  viz.  "  that  St.  Pauls  sole  object 
in  the  epistle  was  to  acquit  himself  of  the  imputation 
that  had  been  charged  upon  him  of  actually  pn;acliing 
circumcision,"  does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  strictly  true. 
It  was  not  the  sole  object.  The  epistle  is  written  in 
general  opposition  to  the  Judaizing  inclinations  which 
he  found  to  prevail  among  his  converts.  The  avowal  of 
his  own  doctrine,  and  of  his  steadfast  adherence  to  that 
ductriue,  formed  a  necessary  part  of  the  design  of  his 
letter,  but  was  not  the  whole  of  it. 


he  might  not  have  comprehended  this  point  with, 
such  clearness  and  certainty,  as  to  stand  out  upon 
it  against  the  fear  of  bringing  upon  himself  the 
censure  and  complaint  of  his  brethren  in  the 
church  of  Jerusalem,  who  still  adhered  to  their 
ancient  prejudices.  But  Peter,  it  is  said,  com- 
pelled the  Gentiles  isSai^'siv — "Why  compellest 
thou  the  Gentiles  to  live  as  do  the  Jews  ?"  How 
did  he  do  that  ]  The  only  way  in  which  Peter 
appears  to  have  compelled  the  Gentiles  to  comply 
with  the  Jewish  institution,  was  by  withdrawing 
himself  from  their  society.  By  which  he  may  be 
understood  to  have  made  this  declaration;  "We 
do  not  deny  your  right  to  be  considered  as  Chris- 
tians; we  do  not  deny  your  title  in  the  promises 
of  the  Gospel,  even  without  compliance  with  our 
law:  but  if  you  would  have  us  Jews  live  with 
you  as  we  do  with  one  another ;  that  is,  if  you 
would  in  all  respects  be  treated  by  us  as  Jews, 
you  must  live  as  such  yourselves."  This,  I  think, 
was  the  compulsion  which  St.  Peter's  conduct 
imposed  upon  the  Gentiles,  and  for  which  St. 
Paul  reproved  him. 

As  to  the  part  which  the  historian  ascribes  to 
St.  Peter  in  the  debate  at  Jerusalem,  besides  that 
it  was  a  diliiBrent  question  which  was  there  agita- 
ted from  that  which  produced  the  dispute  at  An- 
tioch, there  is  nothing  to  hinder  us  from  sup- 
posing that  the  dispute  at  Antioch  was  prior  to 
the  consultation  at  Jerusalem ;  or  that  Peter,  in 
consequence  of  this  rebuke,  might  have  afterwards 
maintained  firmer  sentiments. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians, 

No.  I. 

This  epistle,  and  the  Epistle  to  the  Colossians, 
appear  to  have  been  transmitted  to  their  respect- 
ive churches  by  the  same  messenger :  "  But  that 
ye  also  may  know  my  affairs,  and  how  I  do, 
Tychicus,  a  beloved  brother  and  faithful  minister 
in  the  Lord,  shall  make  known  to  you  all  things ; 
whom  I  have  sent  unto  you  for  the  same  purpose, 
that  ye  might  know  our  affairs,  and  that  he  might 
comfort  your  hearts,"  Ephes.  chap.  vi.  21,  33. 
This  text,  if  it  do  not  expressly  declare,  clearly  I 
think  intimates,  that  the  letter  was  sent  by  Ty- 
chicus. The  words  made  use  of  in  the  Epistle  to 
the  Colossians  are  very  similar  to  these,  and  af- 
ford the  same  implication  that  Tychicus,  in  con- 
junction with  Onesimus,  was  the  bearer  of  the 
letter  to  that  church ;  "  All  my  state  shall  Ty- 
chicus declare  unto  you,  who  is  a  beloved  brother, 
and  a  faithful  minister,  and  fellow  servant  in  the 
Lord ;  whom  I  have  sent  unto  you  for  the  same  pur- 
pose, that  he  might  know  your  estate,  and  comfort 
your  hearts ;  with  Onesimus,  a  faithful  and  be- 
loved brother,  who  is  one  of  you.  They  shall 
make  known  unto  you  all  things  which  are  done 
here,"  Colos.  chap.  iv.  7 — 9.  Both  epistles  re- 
present the  writer  as  under  imprisonment  for  the 
Gospel ;  and  both  treat  of  the  same  general  sub- 
ject. The  Epistle  therefore  to  the  Ephesians,  and 
the  Epistle  to  the  Colossians,  import  to  be  two 
letters  written  by  the  same  person,  at  or  nearly  at 
the  same  time,  and  upon  the  same  sitbject,  and  to 
have  been  sent  by  the  same  messenger.  Now, 
every  thing  in  the  sentiments,  order,  and  diction 


EFISTLE  TO  THE  EPHESIANS. 


199 


of  the  two  writings,  correspond  with  what  miglit 
be  expected  from  this  circumstance  of  identity  or 
cognation  in  their  original.  The  leading  doctrine 
of  both  epistles  is  the  union  of  Jews  and  Gentiles 
under  the  Christian  dispensation ;  and  that  doc- 
trine in  Ijoth  is  estabhslied  by  the  same  arguments 
or,  more  properly  speaking,  illustrated  by  the 
same  similitudes:  *  "one  head,"  "one  body,"  "one 
new  man,"  "one  temple,"  are  in  both  epistles  the 
figures  under  which  the  society  of  believers  in 
Chi'ist,  and  their  common  relation  to  him  as  such, 
is  represented,  t  The  ancient,  and,  as  had  been 
thought,  the  indelible  distinction  lietween  Jew 
and  Gentile,  in  both  epistles,  is  declared  to  be 
"  now  abohshed  by  Ms  cross."  Besides  this  con- 
sent in  the  general  tenor  of  the  two  epistles,  and 
in  the  run  also  and  warmth  of  thought  with  which 
they  are  composed,  we  may  naturally  expect  in 
letters  produced  under  the  circumstances  in  which 
these  appear  to  have  been  written,  a  closer  resem- 
blance of  style  and  diction,  than  between  other 
letters  of  the  same  person  but  of  distant  dates,  or 
between  letters  adapted  to  different  occasions. 
In  particular,  we  may  look  for  many  of  the  same 
expressions,  and  sometimes  lor  whole  sentences 
being  alike ;  since  such  expressions  and  sentences 
would  be  repeated  in  the  second  letter  (whichever 
that  was)  as  yet  fresh  in  the  author's  mind  from 
the  writing  of  the  first.  This  repetition  occurs  in 
the  following  examples :  t 

Ephes.  ch. .  i.  7.  "  In  whom  we  have  re- 
demj)tion  through  his  blood,  the  forgiveness  of 
siris."§ 

Colos.  ch.  i.  14.  "  In  whom  we  have  redemp- 
tion through  his  blood,  the  forgiveness  of  sins."  II 

Besides  the  sameness  of  the  words,  it  is  farther 
remarkable  that  the  sentence  is.  in  both  places, 
preceded  by  the  same  introductory  idea.  In  the 
Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  it  is  the  "  beloved'' 
(>,j.^;r>)^£i/(u);  in  that  to  the  Colossians  it  is  "his 
dear  Son"  (yiov  t>i;  ce>  x^r^i;  «utou,)  "  in  whom  we 
have  redemption." — The  sentence  appears  to  have 
been  suggested  to  the  mind  of  the  writer  by  the 
idea  which  had  accompanied  it  before. 

Ephes.  ch.  i.  10.     "  All  things  both  which  are 


*  St.  Paul,  I  am  apt  to  believe,  has  been  sometimes 
accused  of  inconclusive  reasoning,  by  our  mistaking 
that  for  reasoning  which  was  only  intended  for  illus- 
tration. He  is  not  to  be  read  as  a  man,  whose  own 
P'-rsuasion  of  the  truth  of  what  he  taught  always  or 
solely  depended  upon  the  views  under  which  he  repre- 
sents it  in  his  writings.  Taking  for  granted  tlie  cer- 
tainty of  his  doctrine,  as  resting  upon  the  revelation 
that  had  been  imparted  to  him,  lie  e.thibits  it  frequently 
to  the  conception  of  his  readers  under  images  and  alle- 
gories, in  which  if  an  analogy  may  be  perceived,  or  even 
sometimes  a  poetic  resemblance  be  found,  it  is  all  per- 
haps that  is  required. 


Ephes.  i.  52. 

T  Compare  J>  iv.  15, 

ii.  15, 


with 


Colos.   i.    18. 
ii.  v.). 
iii.  10, 11. 


(  Ephes.  ii.  14,  15, 
Iso  I  ii.  It), 

i  ii.  20, 


with 


Colos.  ii.  14. 
i.  18- 


-21 


J  When  7-C!-&«?  comparisons  are  relied  upon,  it  becomes 
necessary  to  state  the  original;  but  that  the  English 
reader  may  be  interrupted  as  little  as  may  be,  I  shall  in 
general  do  this  in  the  notes. 

§  Ephes.    ch.   i.   7       S.v   m   s%o^sv  mv   aTroKuTcun-tv   Six 

TC-J    U,i/^-ATO^    liUTOU,   TflV    W^SlTtV   TWV  TTCi^XTTT'M/AXT jjV . 

II   Colos   ch.  i.   14.      Ev    a>   £'/,0/iiV    rviv    x-n-oX\ir gMtriv    ifJ. 

TO-J    Kl/XXTO,-    XUTOU,   TUV    *  5  <  (T  1  V     TjJV      XUHDT  fj^V  . HOWBVer 

It  must  be  observed,  that  in  this  latter  text  many  copies 

.■nave  not  Six,  tou  ai^-STo;  S4UT0U. 


in  heaven  and  which  are  in  earth,  even  in 
him."* 

Colos.  ch.  i.  20.  "  All  things  by  him,  whether 
they  be  things  in  earth,  or  things  in  heaven."  t 

This  quotation  is  the  more  observable,  because 
the  connecting  of  things  in  earth  with  things  in 
heaven  is  a  very  singular  sentiment,  and  lound 
no  where  else  but  in  these  two  epistles.  Tlie 
words  also  are  introduced  and  followed  by  a  train 
of  thought  nearly  alike.  They  are  introduced  by 
describing  the  union  which  Christ  had  eliccted, 
and  they  are  followed  by  telling  the  Gentile 
churches  that  they  were  incorporated  into  it. 

Ephes.  ch.  iii.  2.  "  The  dispensation  of  the 
grace  of  God,  which  is  given  me  to  you  ward."? 

Colos.  ch.  i.  23.  "  The  dispensation  of  God 
which  is  given  to  me  for  you."  § 

Of  these  sentences  it  may  likewise  be  observed 
that  the  accompanying  ideas  are  similar.  In  both 
places  they  are  immediately  preceded  by  the  men- 
tion of  his  present  sutierings  ;  in  both  places  they 
are  immediately  followed  by  the  mention  of  the 
mystery  which  was  the  great  subject  of  liis 
preaching. 

Ephes.  ch.  v.  19.  "  In  psalms  and  hynms  and 
spiritual  songs,  singing  and  making  melody  in 
your  heart  to  the  Lord.'  II 

Colos.  ch.  iii.  16.  "  In  psalms  and  hymns  and 
spiritual  songs,  singing  with  grace  in  your  hearts 
to  the  Lord."  IT 

Ephes.  ch.  vi.  22.  "  Wliom  I  have  sent  unto 
you  for  the  sanre  purpose,  that  ye  might  know 
our  atiairs,  and  that  he  might  coniibrt  your 
hearts."  *  * 

Colos.  ch.  iv.  8.  "  Whom  I  have  sent  unto 
you  for  the  same  purpose,  that  he  might  know 
your  estate  and  comfort  your  hearts."  tt 

In  these  examples,  we  do  not  perceive  a  cento 
of  phrases  gatluered  from  one  compf^sition,  and 
strung  together  in  the  other ;  but  the  occasional 
occurrence  of  the  same  expression  to  a  mind  a 
second  time  revolving  the  same  ideas. 

2.  Whoever  writes  two  letters,  or  two  dis- 
courses, nearly  upon  the  same  subject,  and  at  no 
great  distance  of  time,  but  without  any  express 
recollection  of  what  he  had  written  before,  will 
find  himself  repeating  some  sentences,  in  the  very 
order  of  the  words  in  which  he  had  already  used 
them ;  but  he  will  more  frequently  find  himself 
employing  some  principal  terms,  with  the  order 
inadvt-rtently  changed,  or  with  the  order  disturbed 
by  the  intermixture  of  other  words  atid  phrases 
expressive  of  ideas  rising  up  at  the  time ;  or  in 
many  instances  repeating  not  single  words,  nor 
yet  whole  sentences,  but  parts  and  fragments  of 


*  Ephes   ch.  i.    10.      Tx  ts  ev    toi;    ou^avoig   xxi  T^siri 

f  Colos.  ch.   i.    20.       Al    aurOU,    £<T£   TC6   S^l    TViq     J- 1)4,    ilT6 

Tj.  ev  T015  o-JS»voi,-. 

I  Ephes  ch.  iii.  2.    T>,i/  outoKO/iixv  xx^ito?  tou  e.'ou  Tjjf 

Soitio-*!;  ^01  £i;  Vfixf. 

§  Colos.  ch.  i.  25.  Tlf  oixovo/ii»v  tou  ©sou,  t^v 
S-.iiia-xv  fici  £15  vfix;. 

II  Ephes.  ch.  v.  19.  ^rxX/iai;  xat  vfivm,  XXI  aiSxt; 
TViyjfixrixxi;  uSovrtg  xxi  \)/»XXovt£;  £n  T>;  x:i^ijiss  \i/j.jit, 
tu)  K-J^tju, 

IT  Colos.  ch.  iii.  16.  f»^,tiOi;  x«i  u^voi;   xai  uiJxi;57i£u 

f£XT  l-AXt^^    £V    yyXQiTl    :6lOl'T55    £  V    T  JJ    XXoSlX   \J  [X'MV   "7  JJ    Ku  (J  i  OJ . 

*  *  Ephes.  ch.  vi.  22.     Ov  iTrtn-^x  57^0;  u/»a;  £i;  auTO  ts  • 

TO,    1V34   yVM-Xl    T«   TTl^i    (Ji^wV,    XC«i    TTX^XXA'Ki^V^    TCif   XX^StX-^ 

1 1  Colos.  ch.  1 V.  8.   Ov  lyrifi^x  ^gzg  v/mg  itg  auTO  touto 

IVX     yvji      TX     TTS^l     V/iMV,     XXI      TT  X  ^XX  Xy  i  (T '^      TX;     XXfSiXi 


200 


HOR^  PAULINyE. 


sentences.  Of  all  these  varieties  the  examination 
of  our  two  epistles  will  furnish  plain  examples : 
and  I  should  rely  upon  this  class  of  instances  more 
than  upon  the  last ;  because,  although  an  impostor 
might  transcribe  into  a  forgery  entire  sentences 
and  phrases,  yet  the  dislocation  of  words,  the  par- 
tial recollection  of  phrases  and  sentences,  the  in- 
termixture of  new  terms  and  new  ideas  with  terms 
and  ideas  before  used,  which  will  appear  in  the 
examples  that  follow,  and  which  are  the  natural 
properties  of  writings  produced  under  the  circum- 
stances in  which  these  epistles  are  represented  to 
have  been  composed — would  not,  I  think,  have 
occurred  to  the  invention  of  a  forger ;  nor,  if  they 
had  occurred,  would  they  have  been  so  easily  ex- 
ecuted. This  studied  variation  was  a  refinement 
in  forgery  which  I  believe  did  not  exist ;  or  if  we 
can  suppose  it  to  have  been  practised  in  the  in- 
stances adduced  below,  why,  it  may  be  asked,  was 
not  the  same  art  exercised  upon  those  wliich  we 
have  collected  in  the  preceding  class  ] 

Ephes.  chap.  i.  19;ch.  ii.  5.  "Towards  us  who 
believe  according  to  the  working  of  his  might}' 
power,  which  he  wrought  in  Christ  when  he 
raised  him  from  the  dead  (anti  set  him  at  his  own 
rijjht  hand  in  the  heavenly  places,  far  above  all 
principality,  and  power,  and  might,  and  dominion, 
and  every  name  that  is  named,  not  only  in  this 
world,  but  in  that  which  is  to  come.  And  hath  put 
all  things  under  his  feet:  and  gave  him  to  be  the 
head  over  all  things,  to  the  church,  which  is  his 
body,  the  fulness  of  all  things,  that  fillcth  all  in  all ;) 
and  you  hath  he  quickened,  who  were  dead  in 
trespasses  and  sins  (wherein  in  time  past  ye 
walked  according  to  the  course  of  this  world,  ac- 
cording to  the  prince  of  the  pov.'er  of  the  air,  the 
spirit  that  now  worketh  in  the  children  of  disobe- 
dience ;  among  whom  also  we  all  had  our  conver- 
sation, in  times  past,  in  the  lusts  of  our  flesh,  ful- 
filling the  desires  of  the  flesh  and  of  the  mind, 
and  were  by  nature  the  children  of  wrath,  even  as 
others,  But  God,  who  is  rich  in  mercy,  for  his 
great  love  wherewith  he  loved  us,)  even  when  we 
were  dead  in  sins,  hath  quickened  us  together 
with  Clirist."  * 

Colos.  ch.  ii.  12,  13.  "  Through  the  faith  of 
the  operation  of  God,  who  hath  raised  him  from 
the  dead  :  and  you,  being  dead  in  your  sins  and 
the  uncircumcision  of  the  flesh,  hath  he  quickened 
together  with  him."+ 

Out  of  the  long  quotation  from  the  Ephesians, 
take  away  the  parentheses,  and  you  have  left  a 
sentence  almost  in  terms  the  same  as  the  short 
quotation  from  the  Colossians.  The  resemblance 
is  more  visible  in  the  original  than  in  our  transla- 
tion; for  what  is  rendered  in  one  place,  "the 
working,"  and  in  another  the  "operation,"  is  the 
same  Greek  term  svs^ysi*;  in  one  place  it  is,   tov,; 

jTirTEuovxas  xKT^Tiii/  £v£(ytia.v  ;  in  the  Other,  Six    Tij; 

TTia-Ti'^i  T>,{  £v£fy£,st;.  Hcrc,  thcreforc,  we  have  the 
same  sentiment,  and  nearly  in  the  same  words ; 
but,  in  the  Ephesians,  twice  broken  or  interrupted 
by  incidental  thoughts,  which  St.  Paul,  as  his 


*  Ephes.  ch.  i.  ]9,  20;  ii.  1,  5.     Tou;  jrio-Tsuovras  xxt» 

tv  T'M\eio-T„,,Eyiiexs  auToi/  ill  v-EXf^uvxai  ixcciia-iviv  S'-t"^ 
auTOu  i[/  TOi;  i^ongxviCig — xxi  \ifxg  ovrag  i/£Xf  ou;  xoi;  ttx- 
eXTTTwy-xTi  XXI  Tiii;  UfixgTixii — xxi  oi'tk;  >i^«s  vnxfOvg 
Toi;  ^xgx^TTwy.xm,  Tvvt^j,t,?TOiyi(rs  -vj,  X<"o-Tt«. 

t  Coins,  ch.  ii.  12,  13.  ^ix  t>,;  :rio-T£u,;  t;,,  ivteydxg  T8 
0£iu  Tou  syuexvroi  kutov  ex  t-jv  vixg-^v.  K.oi  Vfcx;  vixgag 
VTxg  £i/TOi;  Txgx7ntofixa-i  xxi  Tij  xx^OaM<mx  t>is  (tx^xo; 


manner  was,  enlarges  upon  by  the  way,*  and  then 
returns  to  the  thread  of  his  discourse.  It  is  inter 
rupted  the  first  time  by  a  view  which  breaks  in 
upon  his  mind  of  the  exaltation  of  Christ ;  and 
the  second  time  by  a  description  of  heathen  de- 
pravity. I  have  only  to  remark  that  Griesliach, 
in  his  very  accurate  edition,  gives  the  parenthesis 
very  nearly  in  the  same  manner  in  which  they  are 
here  placed ;  and  that  without  any  respect  to  the 
comparison  which  we  are  proposing. 

Ephes.  ch.  iv.  2 — i.  "With  all  lowliness  and 
meekness,  with  long-suiTcring,  forbearing  one  an- 
other in  love ;  endeavouring  to  keep  the  unity  of 
the  Spirit  in  the  bond  of  peace.  There  is  one 
body  and  one  Spirit,  even  as  ye  are  called  in  one 
hope  of  your  caning."t 

Colos.  ch.  iii.  12 — 15.  "Futon  therefore,  as  the 
elect  of  God,  holy  and  beloved,  bowels  of  mercies, 
kindness,  humbleness  of  mind,  meekness,  long- 
suflering,  forbearing  one  another  and  forgiving  one 
another ;  if  any  man  have  a  quarrel  against  any, 
even  as  Christ  forgave  you,  so  also  do  ye ;  and, 
above  all  these  things,  put  on  charity,  which  is  the 
bond  of  perfectness;  and  let  the  peace  of  God 
rule  in  your  hearts,  to  the  which  also  ye  arc  called 
in  one  body."t 

In  these  two  quotations  the  words  Txyrnvotf^cic-vuif, 
TTfx^Ttig,  fixxfoSufiix,  tcv£-/,ofi£vai,xKKyiKaiv,  occur  in  ex- 
actly the  same  order:  xyxTrn  is  also  found  in  both, 
but  in  a difiercnt  connexion;  trwha-z^og  -r,,;  £(f>ivi)s 

answers  to  <nJvj£<r^o;  t)I5  t£?^£ioti)toj  :   £X^>i9^T£   tv  Hit 

B-MliXTt   to     if    (ra)/K«    XaSiu;     XXI     £!IX>IJ>)T£     £1/    /iiX    tXTTiSi; 

yet  is  this  similitude  found  in  the  midst  of  sen- 
tences otherwise  very  dillerent. 

Ephes.  ch.  iv.  16  "  From  whom  the  whole 
body  fitly  joined  together,  and  compacted  by  that 
which  every  joint  supplieth,  according  to  the  ef- 
fectual working  in  the  measure  of  every  part, 
maketh  increase  of  the  body.'S 

Colos.  ch.  ii.  19.  "  From  which  all  the  body, 
by  joints  and  bands,  having  nourishment  minis- 
tered and  knit  together,  increaseth  with  the  in- 
crease of  God. "II 

In  these  quotations  are  read  sj  ou  ttxv  to  o-^u^a 
c-vy.Ziix'Qciiivtiv  in  both  places:  i'n-i%o^n'yiti//.ivav  an- 
swering  to    £^'%oei1J"='s:  ^'«   Tcov  a^soi;   to    SiXTrxa-yig 

«9>is:  ctu^si  Ti)i/ aujjjTiv  to  ^oi£>TMi  rvtv  Kugijo-iv:  and 
yet  the  sentences  are  considerably  diversified  in 
other  parts. 

Ephes.  ch.  iv.  32.  "  And  be  kind  one  to  another, 
tender-hearted,  forgiving  one  another,  even  as 
God,  for  Christ's  sake,  hath  forgiven  you. "IT 


*  Vide  Locke  in  loc. 

t  Ephes.  ch.  iv.  2 — 4.  MiTX  Trxtrtig  rxTTitvtlfeixrtjviig  xxl 
j7faOTi)TO;,  uiTX  fiXxgiiiMy-Lxg,  x\>iy^t>iitvo>  xKKYtki^v  £V 
xyXTTVi'  (Tjroii  Ja^0VT£5  tv^qhv  Ty\v  evOTyjrx  TOu   irrvtujuXTOg  =v 

TO)  (TUvJsO-^Ul  tij;  £lf>ll'>15.  Ev  G-'x'fiX.  xxl  BV  !7Vi\lliXjXxiMi 
XXI    £XX>j6>)T£    iV  I/.IX   i'KTTiSl    Tl(5    X.  ^^I)  (Ti  CU  ?    U^tUV. 

\  Colos.  ch.  iii.  12 — 15.    Ei/Suo-airaE    Ouk,   «u;  £XA.£xtoi  -, 
0£Ou  xyitiixxi  ■,fyx77->ifts^oi,iT7rkxy'/,vx  '>ixTig/tj:v,  xena-vn 

TJJTa,  T»!r£ll/Olf fOO-UV^V,   -n-gXHTViTX^    fiXX^aW/ilxV   XVi-jCCtfis 

vol  xKXt^Xjiv,  XXI  Y,x(ii^Sfii\ioi  $xuTOig-ixv  Tig  TTgog  itvx 
£%j)  fiQfjL(pv\\i^  xx^wg  xxl  0  XpiirTOg  exxgiTxro  v/^iVjCVT(xi  xxi 

VfJlBig'  i'TTl  TTXC-l  Ss  TOVTOig  Ti\V  XyXTTVjV^  JJTiJ  StTTl  ITUvSsa-jUOg 
TVig  T£X.£10T>)TOS-  XXI  1)  £<f>ll'>l  TOU  fc)£OU  figxisVSTl^  £1/  TXig 
XXgSlXig  O^a'V,  £i?    ilV   XXI    £xKiibviT£    tV   iVl    tTMfJLXTl, 

§  Ephes.  ch.  iv.  16.  Es  ""  "^i"  to  c;j.-/ix  a-uvxe/ucKny  ou 
y«£vov  xxl  o-u/ibiSw^c.MSVOv  Slx  TTXo-^g  x^-^g  T>]5  t-TTiy^r^gv^y  ixg 
xxt'  ivigyitxv  IV  i^irgijs  ivog  ixxo-tom  [>.i^mgiyiv  Ku^ijrivTs 

11  Colos.  ch.  ii.  19.  EJ  ou  wav  to  o-oo^k  ^i»  Tuiv  xt^'j^v  xx. 
<r\)vSi<rf^aiv  i:Tixc^'iyo\ifiBvov  XXI  (TvfiSiSx'Co/zivoVjXM^ii  -ivit 

XufyiFlV   TOU    tJSCU. 

TT  Eph.  ch.  iv.  32.  r.v£0-«E  Ss  ng  xr.l.yM^g  Xf>;o-TOi 
i\jr!-7rKxy%v(,i,    Y^xgi'Ct:,iJ.ivoi    ekutoi;,    xxSiuj   xxi   o  Ksoj  sn 

Xf  lO-Tco   £Ji»^l(r»TO  V/ilV, 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  EPHESIANS. 


201 


Colos.  ch.  iii.  13.  "  Forbearing  one  another  and 
forgiving  one  another;  if  any  man  have  a  quarrel 
against  any,  even  as  Christ  forgave  you,  so  also 
do  ye.'* 

Here  we  have  "Toraiving  one  another,  even  as 
God,  for  Christ's  sake  (sv  Xf  jo-to.)  hath  forgiven 
you,"  in  the  lirst  quotation,  substantially  repeated 
in  the  second.  But  in  the  second,  the  sentence  is 
broken  by  the  interposition  of  a  new  clause,  "  if 
any  man  have  a  quarrel  against  any,"  and  the 
latter  part  is  a  little  varied ;  instead  of  "  God  in 
Christ,"  it  is  "  Christ  hath  forgiven  you." 

Ephcs.  ch.  iv.  22 — 24.  "  That  ye  put  off  con- 
cerning the  former  conversation  the  old  man, 
which  is  corrupt  according  to  the  deceitful  lusts, 
and  be  renewed  in  the  spirit  of  your  mind  ;  and 
that  ye  put  on  the  new  man,  which,  after  God,  is 
created  in  righteousness  and  true  holiness. "t 

Colos.  ch.  hi.  9,  10.  "  Seeing  that  ye  have  put 
off  the  old  man  with  his  deeds,  and  have  put  on 
the  now  man,  which  is  renewed  in  knowledge,  af- 
ter the  image  of  him  that  created  him."t 

In  these  quotations,  "  putting  off  the  old  man, 
and  jmtting  on  the  new,"  appears  in  both.  The 
idea  is  further  explained  by  calling  it  a  renewal ; 
in  the  one,  "  renewed  in  the  spirit  of  your  mind ;" 
in  the  other,  "  renewed  in  knowledge."  In  both, 
the  new  man  is  said  to  be  formed  according  to  the 
same  model ;  in  the  one  he  is,  "  after  God,  created 
in  righteousness  and  true  holiness;"  in  the  other, 
"  he  is  renewed  after  the  image  of  him  that  created 
him."  In  a  word,  it  is  the  same  person  writing 
upon  a  kindred  subject,  with  the  terms  and  ideas 
which  he  had  before  employed  still  floating  in  his 
memory. § 

Ephes.  ch.  v.  6 — 8.  "  Because  of  these  things 
Cometh  the  wrath  of  God  upon  the  children  of 
disobedience :  be  not  j'e  therefore  partakers  with 
them  ;  for  ye  were  sometimes  darkness,  but  now 
are  ve  light  in  the  Lord :  walk  as  children  of 
light."ll 

Colos.  ch.  iii.  6 — 8.  "  For  which  thing^s  sake 
the  icraih  of  God  cometh  on  the  children  of  dis- 
obedience ;  in  the  which  ye  also  walked  some 
time,  when  ye  lived  in  them.  But  now  ye  also 
put  oft"  all  these. '"IF 

These  verses  aflbrd  a  specimen  of  that  partial 

*   Colos.  ch.  iii.  13.    Avs%o/i£v5»  a\x.iiA.!ov,  x»i  x»e'i'>- 

I  Ephes.  ch.  iv.  22 — 24.    A^oinrixi  vftx;  xxtx  ry[v  sTgn- 

X.XTX  rxi  i^iS\jfiixg  rug  XTrxTvig'  xvxvsoua-jxi  Ss  tm  ttvsjj. 
^xr(  Tsu  voo;  u/i-jivjxxt  svSfjtrxtrixi  Toi/x«ivoi'  xvjf  cottovjTov 
icxTx    Qiov    iCTttrssvTX   tv    Sixxia<rvvi\     xxt    oriOTijT*    tjij 

J.  Colos   ch.  iii.  9,  30.     A^sx^uo-xAiiroi  tov  ^xXxmv  xv- 

^gJiTTCV   <r\JV    XXig  TT^X^STtV   X'JTQV'  XXt    iVOVTXfJiSVil    TOf  V£SV, 

rzv  xvx-/.xtvox)fji=vov  sig  smyvjiiTiv  kxt*  £ixzvx  tov  xTttrxvTOg 

§  In  these  comparisons,  we  often  perceive  the  reason 
why  the  writer,  though  expres^sing  the  same  idea,  uses 
a  (litliTent  term  ;  namely,  because  the  term  before  used 
is  employed  in  the  sentence  under  a  different  form: 
thus,  in  the  quotations  under  our  eye,  the  new  man  is 
xxMO,-  xi/5f i-3,-  in  the  Ephesians,  and  tcv  viot/  in  the 
Colossians ;  but  tiien  it  is  because  tov  xxiv^v  is  used  in 
the  next  word,  xixzxuij.aii'oi'. 

II  Ephes.  ch.  v.  6 — 8.   ^'=»  txut«  yxg  ifxtrxi  >i  oe>  1)  ts 

TO%oi  xuTjiv.    Hr£  yxcrr'^ti  crxo-ro;,  vuv  St  ?ao;  iv  Kmoui-  aij 

IT  Colos.  ch.  iii.  6 — 8.    Ai  x  igxirxi  n  oeyA   Q^'.-j  t^' 

TOu;  utov;  Tn;  x^ainx;'  iv   ei;  xxi   u,«:i?  Trig iS7rxTv.^»r' 

^0T  =  ,  0T£    £^*JT£  £V    XVTOig,        N'Jl'i    Ss    XTTf^^itT^i    XXt    VfiSi;   TX 

sravTx, 

2C 


resemblance  which  is  only  to  be  met  witli  when 
no  imitation  is  designed,  when  no  studied  recol- 
lection is  employed,  hut  when  the  mind,  exercised 
upon  the  same  subject,  is  left  to  the  spontaneous 
return  of  such  terms  and  phrases,  as,  having  been 
used  before,  may  happen  to  present  themselves 
again.  The  sentiment  of  both  passages  is  through- 
out alike:  half  of  that  sentiment,  the  denunciation 
of  Gods  wrath,  is  expressed  in  identical  words; 
the  other  half,  viz.  the  admonition  to  quit  their 
former  conversation,  in  words  entirely  diftbrent. 

Ephes.  ch.  v.  15,  16.  "  See  then  that  ye  walk 
circumspectly  ;  not  as  fools,  but  as  wise,  redeem- 
ing the  time.'"* 

Colos.  ch.  iv.  5.  "  Walk  in  wisdom  towards 
them  that  are  without,  redeeming  the  time.'t 

This  is  another  example  of  that  mixture,  which 
we  remarked  of  sameness  and  variety  in  the  lan- 
guage of  one  writer.  "  Redeeming  the  time" 
(i^xj.  ofx^cu'voi  TOV  xxifov,)  is  a  literal  repetition. 
"  Walk  not  as  fools,  but  as  wise,"  (jrsenrxrEiTs  /<i| 
ojf  ao-o?c<,  xKK'  «s  1P0901)  answers  exactly  in  sense, 
and  nearly  in  terms,  to  "walk  in  wisdom,"  (iv 
(7o:;tx  TTigtrrxTiirs.)  Hsj i.-txtsits  xy.^iSxg  IS  a  Very  dif- 
ferent phrase,  hut  is  intended  to  convey  precisely 
the  same  idea  as  -=f  irrxTsiT-  ^r^ 0,-  tous  il^.  A^f 'Sa.5 
is  not  well  rendered  '•  circumspectly."  It  means 
what  in  modern  speech  we  should  call  "  correctly," 
and  when  we  advise  a  person  to  behave  "  correct- 
ly," our  advice  is  always  given  with  a  reference 
"  to  the  opinion  of  others,"  ^j o?  touj  e^u..  "  Walk 
correctly,  redeeming  the  time,"  i.  e.  suiting  your- 
selves to  the  difficulty  and  ticklishness  of  the  times 
in  which  we  hve,  "  because  the  days  are  evil." 

Ephes.  ch.  vi.  19,  20.  '^And  (praying)  for  me, 
that  utterance  may  be  given  unto  me,  that  I  may 
open  my  mouth  boldly  to  make  known  the  myste- 
ry of  the  Gospel,  for  which  I  am  an  ambassador 
in  bonds,  that  therein  I  may  speak  boldly,  as  I 
ought  to  speak. "t 

Colos.  ch.  iv.  3,  4.  "  Withal  praying  also  for 
us  that  God  would  open  unto  us  a  door  of  utter- 
ance to  speak  the  mystery  of  Christ,  lor  which  T 
am  also  in  bonds,  that  I  may  make  it  manifest  as  I 
ought  to  spealv."§ 

In  these  quotations,  the  phrase,  "  as  I  ought  to 
speak"  ((.■,•  Ji'  fi  Kx\-^n-xi,)  the  words  "  utterance" 
(xcj-o,-,) '-a  mystery"  (/^uo-Tvitiov,)  "open"  (xvn^x 
andsv  xvoije.,)  are  the  same.  "  To  make  known 
the  mystery  of  the  Gospel"  (yvopio-ai  to  /.turT>;piov,^ 
answers  to  "make  it  manifest"  (ax  (^xvtpujo-t.-  x-jt:  ;) 
"  for  which  I  am  an  ambassador  in  bonds" ("-=?  "<> 
rrfso-Siuaj  .V  x?Lu(j-£.,)  to  "  for  whicli  I  am  also  m 
bonds"  (Ji  oxxi  Sihpxi.) 

Ephes.  ch.  v.  22.  "  Jl'ircs,  submit  yourselves 
to  your  oirn  husbands,  as  -unto  the  Lord,  for  the 
husband  is  the  head  of  the  wife,  even  as  Christ  is 
the  head  of  the  church,  and  he  is  the  saviour  of 
the  body.     Therefore,  as  the  church  is  subject 


*  Ephes.  ch.  v.  15,  16.  B^e.tets  ouv  v^g  xzfiba.;  57£fi. 
— xr£tT£'  ^s;  xg  xtro^Oij  xKK^  Mg  trOyO*,  s^xy-cgxC^^svoi  tov 
■Axig-.v. 

t  Colos.  ch.  iv.  5.     Er  (r:Jix^£f<-xT£iT£  n-^e;  touj  i^-^, 

X  Eplies.  cil.  vi.  19,  20.  Kx<  u^tej  £/iOu,  ivx  liot.  Jo:£i^ 
^•y-g  £v  xvoij£<  Ta-j  o-TOjCiXTOj  .kou  £v  TXff/a-ix,   yvx<ct'7xi 

to   jtiyC-T'^diOV   TCU   £UX>'y£^*2U,  tl^5^  OU   !Tf£(ro£U(jO   SV   X>.UT£lj 
(I'X  SV  X'JTU)  ?7Xppv;0-iX(ra.'.wxi,  lug  5"£*  /*£  KxXviTXl, 

§  Colos.  ch.  iv.  3,  4.     n^ oir£u;iO^£vo<  xftx  XXI  ^.=  01  Ji.UiU', 

iVX   0   0:0;   XVOi^;i   JljW'V    ^UQXV  TOU    \o^ou,   Xx'Kv^TXi    TO    /^'J. 
TTV^tZV    TOV   X^ITTOU    5"*    0    XXt     SiSi^Xt     IVX    ^XVi^MtTJi      XUTO 

x-i  Js<  .u£  i.xKv.iyxi. 


202 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


unto  Christ,  so  let  the  wives  be  to  their  own  hus- 
bands in  every  thing.  Husbands,  love  your  wives, 
even  as  Christ  also  loved  the  church,  and  gave 
himself  for  it,  that  he  might  sanctify  and  cleanse 
it  with  the  washing  of  water  by  the  word ;  that  he 
might  present  it  to  himself  a  glorious  church,  not 
having  spot  or  wrinkle,  or  any  such  thing ;  but 
that  it  should  be  holy  and  without  bicmisli.  So 
ought  men  to  love  their  v*'ives  as  their  own  bodies. 
Ht!  that  loveth  his  wife,  loveth  himself;  for  no  man 
ever  yet  hated  his  own  tlesh,  but  nourisheth  and 
cherisheth  it,  even  as  the  Lord  the  church  ;  for  we 
are  members  of  his  body,  of  his  flesh,  and  of  his 
bones.  For  this  cause  shall  a  man  leave  his  fa- 
ther and  his  mother  and  be  joined  unto  his  wife, 
and  they  two  shall  be  one  llesh.  This  is  a  great 
mystery ;  but  1  speak  concerning  Christ  and  the 
church.  Nevertheless,  let  every  one  of  you  in 
particular,  so  love  his  wife  even  as  himself;  and 
the  wife  see  that  she  reverence  her  husband. 
Children,  obey  your  parents  in  the  Lord,  for  this 
is  right.  Honour  thy  father  and  thy  mother 
(which  is  the  first  commandment  with  promise,) 
that  it  may  be  well  with  thee,  and  that  thou  may- 
est  live  long  on  the  earth.  And  ye  fathers,  pro- 
voke not  your  children  to  wrath,  but  bring  them 
up  in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord. 
Servants,  be  obedient  to  them  that  are  your  nuis- 
ters  according  to  the  flesh,  icith  fear  and  trem- 
bling, in  singleness  of  your  heart,  as  unto  Christ  ; 
not  until  eye-service,  as  men-pleasers,  but  as  the 
servants  of  Christ,  doing  the  will  of  God  from 
the  heart ;  with  good  will  doing  service,  as  to  the 
Lord,  and  not  to  men;  knowing  that  whatsoever 
good  thing  any  vian  doeth,  the  same  shall  he  re- 
ceive of  the  Lord,  whether  he  be  bond  or  free. 
And,  ye  masters,  do  the  same  things  unto  them, 
forbearing  threatening :  knowing  that  your  mas- 
ter also  is  in  heaven,  neither  is  there  respect  of 
persons  with  him.*" 

t  Coles,  ch.  iii.  18.  "  Wives,  submit  yourselves 
unto  your  own  huslwnds,  as  it  is  fit  in  the  Lord. 
Husbands,  love  your  wives,  and  be  not  bitter 
against  them.  Children,  obey  your  parents  in  all 
things,  for  this  is  well  pleasing  unto  the  Lord. 
Fathers,  provoke  not  your  children  to  anger,  lest 
they  be  discouraged.  Servants,  obey  in  all  things 
your  masters  according  to  the  flesh :  not  with  eye- 
service  as  men-pleasers,  but  in  singleness  of  heart, 
fearing  God ;  and  whatever  ye  do,  do  it  heartily 

*  Eplies.  ch.  v.  22.  Ai  j-ui/a.xEs,  to.j  <Jio.s  avS^x<r,v 
U3rOT:4c-o-=(r5£,  w?  to  Kuf  i'jj, 

t  Colos.  ch.  iii.  18.     Ai  yuvxixig^vTrOTXa-c-ic-St  -roig  idi- 

Ephes.    Oi  avj£i£;,  xyXTTXTi  Txg  ■yvvxixx;  tauTcui/. 

C<)los.     Oi  xvSffeiy  uyxTTXTS  TXg   y-vvxi/.xg. 

Ephes.     Ta  T£xv^,  -j^axouSTE  TOi;  ■}  oviua-m  v/hmv  iv  Kv- 

Colns.  Tx  TSivx,  u^axouETE  TOi;  yov£\j<ri  xxtx  :t«i'T«- 
TOUTO  yx^  5crriv  evx^sttov  tuj  Kue*w. 

Ephes.  Kxi  01  jraTEfs;,  ^n   jrctf Of yiiC^Ta  rx  rtxvx  u/ioji/. 

Coins.     0»    JT-CtrCji;,  ^>)    £f£3l^£T£    *Tf,    TtlLVX   V/.iMV. 
Ephes.    Ol     SoVKHi,    U7r»X0U£T£    T0<;    XUpiOi;    XXTX    <rxg-Ax 
l^iTX    (poSoU    V.al    TfOy-OU,    £V    XTTKOTViTi    T>]5     Y-X^^lXg   U/tU)l',   UJ? 

Toj  Xf  icTTu)' /ill  x»t'  \i^ixKlitiSa\j'KSixv,  to;  «v5f  jj!7ae£0-xo<, 

aXX'  (US  Jo-UAOl  TOO  Xf  10-TOU,;rolOul/T£;  TO  3-£/.l)/i«  TOU  0£OU 
ex  iu%li;-/*£T'  £Ol>01XS  'JoU^-SUOKTE;  cog  toj  Kvpix>,XXl  OUX  XV- 
SftlTTOti-  ItSon;  OTl  0  £»VTI  EXSS0-T05  TTOlltO-^  Cl^  K  5  0  1',  T  0  UTO 
X0/it£*T56t    TTxpX    TOU    KupfOU,   £*T£    SovKOg,  fitTg    £^£u3;pOg. 

Colos.        Ol      So\JKCI,    U7ritX0U£T£     XMTCt    TTXVTX     TO. 5     XO!T» 

trxp/.x  xupioig,  /iV]  iv  QOjxKft^ShuKsixig,  oig  «i'Sp-^— xp£(rxot, 

«/.X'   6V  X7:-KlTyiTt    XXp^'Xg,    eoSoU//;V01    TOV    ©£0V  X.XI  7TXV    0, 

Ti  £X1/  :7-oiiiT£,  £X  >J/u;^v|5  tpyaiTsfSs,  co;  ruj  Kupioj,  xal  oux 
KvSpjjroi;"  f  iJoT£5  OTl  K-o  Kupiou  K!roXi)-4'£ir3£  t-^v  avTKjro. 

JotTM'    TVJh     H\-/ip^VfifJHXg'  rw    yxp  KupiUJ   Xp(0-TU>  5ou\£OsT£, 

•  n-xe»ej''v-'^''  lectio  noil  spernenda.    Griesb.vch. 


as  to  the  Lord,  and  not  unto  men,  knowing  tha; 
of  the  Lord  ye  shall  receive  the  reward  of  the  in- 
heritance: for  ye  serve  the  Lord  Christ. — But  he 
that  doeth  wrong  shall  receive  for  the  wrong  wjiich 
he  hath  done ;  and  there  is  no  respect  of  persons. 
Masters,  give  unto  your  servants  that  which  is 
just  and  equal,  knowing  that  ye  also  have  a  mas- 
ter in  heaven."' 

The  passages  marked  by  Italics  in  the  quota- 
tion from  the  E))liesians,  bear  a  strict  resemlilance, 
not  only  in  signiiication  but  in  terms,  to  the  quo- 
tation from  the  Colossians.  Both  the  words  and 
the  order  of  the  words  are  in  many  clauses  a  du- 
plicate of  one  another.  In  the  Epistle  to  the  Co- 
lossians, these  passages  are  laid  together ;  in  that 
to  the  Ephesians,  they  are  divided  by  intermediate 
matter,  especially  by  a  long  digressive  allusion  to 
the  mysterious  union  between  Christ  and  his 
church ;  which  possessing,  as  Mr.  Locke  hath  well 
observed,  the  mind  of  the  apostle,  from  being  an 
incidental  thought,  grows  up  into  the  principal 
subject.  The  affinity  between  these  two  passages 
in  signification,  in  terms,  and  in  the  order  of  the 
words,  is  closer  than  can  be  pointed  out  between 
any  parts  of  any  two  epistles  in  the  volume. 

If  the  reader  would  see  how  the  same  subject 
is  treated  by  a  dill'erent  hand,  and  how  distinguish- 
able it  is  from  the  production  of  the  same  pen,  let 
him  turn  to  the  second  and  third  chapters  of  the 
First  Epistle  of  St.  Peter.  The  duties  of  servants, 
of  wives,  and  of  husbands,  are  enlarged  upon  in 
that  t'pistle,  asthe}^  are  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephe- 
sians but  the  subjects  both  occur  in  a-difierent 
order,  and  the  train  of  sentiment  subjoined  to  each 
is  totally  unlike. 

3.  In  two  letters  issuing  from  the  same  person, 
nearly  at  the  same  time,  and  upon  the  same  gene- 
ral occasion,  we  may  expect  to  trace  the  influence 
of  association  in  the  order  in  which  the  topics  fol- 
low one  another.  Certain  ideas  universally  or 
usually  suggest  others.  Here  the  order  is  what 
we  call  natural,  and  from  such  an  order  nothing 
can  be  concluded.  But  when  the  order  is  arbi- 
trary, yet  alike,  the  concurrence  indicates  the  ef- 
fect of  that  princi[)Ie,  by  which  ideas,  which  have 
been  once  joined,  commonly  revisit  the  thoughts 
together.  The  epistles  under  consideration  fur- 
nish the  two  following  remarkable  instances  of 
this  species  of  agreement. 

Ephes.  ch.  iv.  24.  "  And  that  ye  put  on  the 
new  man,  which  after  God  is  created  in  righteous- 
ness and  true  holiness ;  wherefore  putting  away 
lying,  speak  every  man  truth  with  his  neighbour, 
for  we  are  members  one  of  another."* 

Colos.  ch.  iii.  9.  "  Lie  not  to  one  another;  see- 
ing that  ye  have  put  oil'  the  old  man  with  his 
deeds ;  and  have  put  on  the  new  man,  which  is 
renewed  in  knowledge. "+ 

The  vice  of  "  lying,"  or  a  correction  of  that  vice, 
docs  not  seem  to  bear  any  nearer  relation  to  the 
"  putting  on  the  new  man,"  than  a  leformation  in 
any  other  article  of  morals.  Yet  these  two  ideas, 
we  see,  stand  in  both  epistles  in  immediate  con- 
nexion. 

Ephes.  ch.  v.  20,  21,  22.     "  Giving  thanks  al- 


*  Ephes.  ch.  iv.  24,  25.      K«.  EvJutrao-Sa.  toi/  xa.vov  xv. 

ti  Til!  ceXviSsix;  <Tia  XTToii/^ivoi  to  iJ'iuJo?,  kxXeiTS  a>.>|5£i«i' 
fiXseiTTOc  f^STX  TOU  ?rK>]o-(Oy  auTOu  OTt  £rf.tsv  xXkijK'MV  ^sK^. 
t  Colos.  ch.  iii.  9.  Mi)  ^t^jSi^h  stg  x\K)iKc,Mg,  at^ixJu- 
(rx[/.;vai  TOV  ^xkxtov  av^fjiTTOv,  a-vv  TXig  Trfxiitriv  xurov, 
•/.'xt  svSvff-Xf^ivOi  TOf  viov  ^T'fV  xvxxxlvov^ivov  Big  imy  vj'O-iv, 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  EPHESIANS. 


203 


ways  for  all  things  unto  God  and  the  Father,  in 
the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ;  submitting 
yourselves  one  to  another,  in  the  fear  of  God. 
Wives,  submit  yourselves  unto  your  own  hus- 
bands, as  unto  the  Lord.'* 

Colos.  ch.  iii.  17.  "  Whatsoever  ye  do,  in 
word  or  deed,  do  all  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus, 
giving  thanks  to  God  and  the  Father  by  him. 
Wives,  submit  yourselves  unto  your  own  husbands, 
as  it  is  lit,  in  the  Lord."t 

In  both  these  passages,  submission  follows  giv- 
ing of  thanks,  without  any  similitude  in  the  ideas 
which  should  account  for  the  transition. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  pursue  the  comparison  be- 
tween the  two  epistles  farther.  The  argument 
which  results  from  it  stands  thus  :  Xo  two  other 
epistles  contain  a  circumstance  which  indicates 
that  they  were  written  at  the  same,  or  nearly  at 
the  same  time.  No  two  other  epistles  exhibit  so 
many  marks  of  correspondency  and  resemblance, 
[f  the  original  which  we  ascribe  to  these  two  ejns- 
tles  be  the  true  one,  that  is,  if  they  were  both 
really  written  by  St.  Paul,  and  both  sent  to  their 
res[)cctive  destination  by  the  same  messenger,  the 
similitude  is,  in  all  points,  what  should  be  expect- 
ed to  take  place.  If  they  were  forgeries,  then  the 
mention  of  Tychicus  in  both  epistles,  and  in  a 
manner  which  shows  that  he  either  carried  or  ac- 
companied both  epistles,  was  inserted  for  the  pur- 
pose of  accounting  for  their  similitude :  or  else  the 
structure  of  the  epistles  was  designedly  adapted  to 
the  circumstance :  or  lastly,  the  conformity  between 
the  contents  of  the  forgeries,  and  what  is  thus  di- 
rectly intimated  concerning  their  date,  was  only  a 
happy  accident.  Not  one  of  these  three  supposi- 
tions will  gain  credit  with  a  reader  who  peruses 
the  ejjistles  with  attention,  and  who  reviews  the 
several  examples  we  have  pointed  out,  and  the  ob- 
servations with  which  they  were  accompanied. 

No.  II. 

There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  peculiar  word  or 
phrase  cleaving,  as  it  were,  to  the  memory  of  a 
writer  or  speaker,  and  presenting  itself  to  his  utter- 
ance at  every  turn.  When  we  observe  this,  we 
call  it  a  cant  word,  or  ncant  phrase.  It  is  a  natu- 
ral effect  of  habit :  and  would  appear  more  fi-e- 
quently  than  it  does,  had  not  the  rules  of  good 
writing  taught  the  ear  to  be  olfended  with  the  iter- 
ati')n  of  the  same  sound,  and  oftentimes  caused 
us  to  reject,  on  that  account,  the  word  which  ofler- 
ed  itself  lirst  to  our  recollection.  With  a  writer 
who,  like  St.  Paul,  either  knew  not  these  rules,  or 
disregarded  thera,  such  words  will  not  be  avoided. 
The  truth  is,  an  example  of  tliis  kind  runs  through 
.several  of  his  epistles,  and  in  the  epistle  before  us 
abounds ;  and  that  is  in  the  word  riches,  (s-;^outo?) 
used  metaphorically  as  an  argumentative  of  the 
idea  to  which  it  happens  to  be  subjoined.  Thus, 
"  the  riches  of  his  glory,"  "  his  riches  in  glory," 
"  riches  of  the  glory  of  his  inheritance,"  "  riches  of 
the  glory  of  this  mystery,"  Rom.  ch.  ix.  23.  Ephes. 
ch.  iii.  16.  Ephes.  ch.  i.  18.  Colos.  ch.  i.  27 : 
'•  riches  of  his  grace,"  twice  in  the  Ephesians,  ch. 


i.  7,  and  ch.  ii.  7 ;  "  riches  of  the  full  assurance  of 
understanding,"  Colos.  ch.  ii.  2:  "riches  of  hia 
goodness,"  Rom.  ch.  ii.  4 ;  "  riches  of  the  wisdom 
of  God,"  Rom.  ch.  xi.  33;  "riches  of  Christ," 
Ephes.  ch.  iii.  8.  In  a  like  sense  the  adjective, 
Rom.  ch.  X.  12,  "  rich  unto  all  that  call  upon  him ;" 
Ephes.  ch.  ii.  4,  "  rich  in  mercy ;"  1  Tim.  ch.  vi. 
18,  rich  in  good  works."  Also  the  adverb,  Colos. 
ch.  iii.  16,  "let  the  word  of  Christ  dwell  in  yon 
richly."  This  figurative  use  of  the  word,  though 
so  familiar  to  St.  Paul,  does  not  occur  in  any  jiart 
of  the  New  Testament,  except  once  in  the  Epistle 
of  St.  James,  ch.  ii.  5.  "  Hath  not  God  chosen 
the  poor  of  this  world,  rich  in  faith  ]  where  it  is 
manifestly  suggested  by  the  antithesis.  I  propose 
the  frequent,  yet  seemingly  unaJiected  use  of  this 
phrase,  in  the  epistle  before  us,  as  one  internal 
mark  of  its  genuineness. 

No.  III. 
There  is  another  singularity  in  St.  Paul's  style, 
which,  wherever  it  is  found,  may  be  deemed  a 
badge  of  authenticity  ;  because,  if  it  were  noticed, 
it  would  not,  I  think,  be  imitated,  inasmuch  as  it 
almost  always  produces  embarrassment  and  inter- 
ruption in  the  reasoning.  This  singularity  is  a 
species  of  digression  which  may  properly,  I  think, 
be  denominated  going  off  at  a  word.  It  is  turn- 
ing aside  from  the  subject  upon  the  occurrence  of 
some  particular  word,  forsaking  the  train  of  thought 
then  in  hand,  and  entering  upon  a  parenthetic 
sentence  in  which  that  word  is  the  prevailing 
term.  I  shall  lay  before  the  reader  some  examples 
of  this,  collected  from  the  other  epistles,  and  then 
propose  two  examples  of  it  which  are  found  in  the 
Epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  2  Cor.  ch.  ii.  14,  at  the 
word  savour:  "Now  thanks  be  unto  God,  which 
always  causeth  us  to  trimnph  in  Christ,  and  mak- 
eth  manifest  the  savour  of  his  knowledge  by  us  in 
every  place,  (for  we  are  unto  God  a  sweet  savour 
of  Christ,  in  them  that  are  saved,  and  in  them 
that  perish;  to  the  one  we  are  the  savour  of  death 
unto  death,  and  to  the  other  the  savour  of  life  unto 
life ;  and  who  is  sufficient  for  these  things  1)  For 
we  are  not  as  many  which  corrupt  the  word  of 
God,  but  as  of  sincerity,  but  as  of  God :  in  the 
si'Tht  of  God,  speak  we  in  Christ."  Again,  2  Cor. 
ch.  iii.  1,  at  the  word  epistle :  "  Need  we,  as  some 
others,  epistles  of  commendation  to  j^ou,  or  of  com- 
mendation from  youl  (ye  are  our  epistle  written 
in  our  hearts,  known  and  read  of  all  men ;  foras- 
much as  ye  are  manifestly  declared  to  be  the  epis- 
tle of  Christ,  ministered  by  us,  ^vritten  not  with 
ink.  but  with  the  Spirit  of  the  hving  God;  not  in 
tables  of  stone,  but  in  the  fleshly  tables  of  the 
heart.' )  The  position  of  the  words  in  the  origi- 
nal, shows  more  strongly  than  in  the  translation, 
that  it  was  the  occurrence  of  the  word  £77,^r:».-^ 
wliich  gave  birth  to  the  sentence  that  follows :  2 

Cor.  chap.  iii.  I.      £<  /t-,  %pvi^o^£v,  o);Tii'£?,<ru(rT:iT.x^v 
yyiyfxu/i=i"t  sv  rai;  xxpSixi;  y.^^iv,  yi. 


*  Ephes.  ch.  v.  20,  21,  22     Eux«(>«rT5ui.T!5  b-»vtoti 

u:r;j  tt-xvtjcv,  =v  ci'C.y.:tT*  TOy  K-jp»cu  v.^t-nv  V^fTCv  Xp»{rTOu,  Tju 

yu'.'xtzf;,  T5«$  »^*Oic  xvSpxfrtv  v^0TXT<r£a-is^  -jjg  tou  Kyp*u^. 

t  Colos.  ch.   iii.  17.      K:l<  ^xv  o,t.  xv   jto.^te,    sk  ^oyu,, 

>1  £'.■  £p7'u,  -xvrx  £v  ov5f(«Ti  Kvpiou    I'/io-ou,  £-j%xpic-TCui'T£; 

Tvo   0=0    xxt    TTXTfi   Ji    x'JTo'j.      Ai   yvvxixif  MTT ax xtTtTitri i 

TOt;   »JiO»i  XV^^XTtV^  J-'i   X'jy.KsV  EV-XuplaJ. 


i5/i^vu/i£i; 
vjitrx::/iS\'>l  XXI  xvxy 

Jiftuiv,  tyyiyfx/ifiivn  oo  fiiKxvi,  «XX»  ,rvj<ifcxTi  0S6.,  j.»k. 
TO?'  oox  £11  a^^xii  Kii'uxii,  xKk'  £v  3r\»Ji  x»pji»;  (r»pxi- 

Again,  2  Cor.  ch.  iii.  12,  &c.  at  the  word  vail  j 
"  Seeincr'  then  that  we  have  such  hope,  we  use 
great  pFainness  of  speech:  and  not  as  JNloses, 
which  put  a  vail  over  his  face,  that  the  children 
of  Israel  could  not  steadfastly  look  to  the  end  of 
that  which  is  abolished.  But  their  minds  were 
bhnded ;  for  until  this  day  remauieth  the  same  vail 


iL. 


•204 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


Liiitakcn  away  in  the  reading  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, which  vail  is  done  away  in  Christ :  but  even 
unto  this  day,  wJien  Moses  is  read,  the  vail  is 
upon  their  heart ;  nevertheless,  when  it  shall  turn 
to  the  Lord,  the  vail  shall  be  taken  away  (now 
the  Lord  is  that  Spirit ;  and  where  the  Spirit  of  the 
Lord  is,  there  is  liberty.)  But  we  all  with  open 
face,  beholdincr  as  in  a  glass  the  glory  of  the  Lord, 
are  changed  into  the  same  image  lirom  glory  to 
glory,  even  as  by  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord.  There- 
fore, seeing  we  have  this  ministry,  as  we  have  re- 
ceived mercy,  we  faint  not." 

Who  sees  not  that  this  whole  allegory  of  the 
vail  arises  entirely  out  of  the  occurrence  of  the 
word,  in  teUing  us  that  "  Moses  put  a  vail  over 
his  face,"  and  that  it  drew  the  apostle  away  from 
the  proper  subject  of  his  discourse,  the  dignity  of 
the  office  in  which  he  was  engaged  ?  which  sub- 
ject he  fetches  up  again  almost  in  the  words  with 
which  he  had  left  it :  "  therefore,  seeing  we  have 
this  ministry,  as  we  have  received  mercy,  we  faint 
not."  The  sentence  which  he  had  before  been 
going  on  with,  and  in  which  he  had  been  inter- 
rupted by  the  vail,  was,  "  Seeing  then  that  we 
have  such  hope,  we  use  great  plainness  of 
speech." 

In  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  the  reader  will 
remark  two  nistances  in  which  the  same  habit  of 
composition  obtains  ;  he  will  recognise  the  same 
pen.  One  he  will  find,  chap.  iv.  8 — 11,  at  the 
word  ascended  :  "  Wherefore  he  saith.  When  he 
ascended  up  on  high,  he  led  captivity  captive,  and 
gave  gifts  unto  men. — (Now  that  he  ascended, 
what  is  it  but  that  he  also  descended  first  unto  the 
lower  parts  of  the  earth "?  He  that  descended  i.s 
the  same  also  that  ascended  up  far  above  all 
heavens,  that  he  might  fill  all  things.)  And  he 
gave  some,  apostles,"  &c. 

The  other  appears,  chap.  v.  12 — 15,  at  the  word 
light :  "  For  it  is  a  shame  even  to  speak  of  those 
things  which  are  done  of  them  in  secret:  but  all 
things  that  are  reproved,  are  made  manifest  by  the 
ligld ;  (for  whatsoever  doth  make  manifest,  is 
ligiit ;  wherefore  he  saith,  Awake,  thou  that 
slcepest,  and  arise  from  the  dead,  and  Christ  shall 
give  thee  light ;)  see  then  that  ye  walk  circum- 
spectly." 

No.  IV. 

Although  it  does  not  appear  to  have  ever  been 
disputed  that  the  epistle  before  us  was  written  by 
St.  Paul,  yet  it  is  well  known  that  a  doubt  has  long 
been  entertained  concerning  the  persons  to  whom 
it  was  addressed.  The  question  is  founded  partly 
in  some  ambiguity  in  the  external  evidence.  Mar- 
cion,  a  heretic  of  the  second  century,  as  quoted 
by  TertuUian,  a  father  in  the  beginning  of  the 
third,  calls  it  the  Epistle  to  the  Laodiceans.  From 
what  we  know  of  Marcion,  his  judgnient  is  little 
to  be  relied  upon;  nor  is  it  perfectly  clear  that 
Marcion  was  rightly  understood  by  TertuUian. 
If,  however.  Marcion  be  brought  to  prove  tiiat 
some  copies  in  his  time  gave  £v  AkoJixei^  in  the 
superscription,  his  testimony,  if  it  be  truly  inter- 
preted, is  not  diminished  by  his  heresy ;  for  as 
Grotius  observes,  "  cur  mea  re  mentiretur  nihil 
erat  causx."  The  name  iv  zpic-a,,  in  the  first 
verse,  upon  which  word  singly  depends  the  proof 
that  the  epi.^tle  was  written  to  the  Ephesians,  is 
not  read  in  all  tlie  manuscripts  now  extant.  I  ad- 
mit, however,  that  the  external  evidence  prepon- 
■Jerates  with  a  manifest  excess  on  the  side  of  the 


received  reading.  The  objection  therefore  prin- 
cipally arises  from  the  contents  of  the  epistle  itself, 
which,  in  many  respects,  militate  with  the  suppo- 
sition that  it  was  written  to  the  church  of  Ephe- 
sus.  According  to  the  history,  St.  Paul  had  pass- 
ed two  whole  years  at  Ephesus,  Acts,  chap.  xix. 
10.  And  in  this  point,  viz.  of  St.  Paul  having 
preached  for  a  considerable  length  of  time  at  Ephe- 
sus, the  history  is  confirmed  by  the  two  Epistles 
to  the  Corinthians,  and  by  the  two  Epistles  to 
Timothy :  "  I  will  tarry  at  Ephesus  until  Pente- 
cost," 1  Cor.  ch.  xvi.  ver.  8.  "  We  would  not 
have  you  ignorant  of  our  trouble  which  came  to 
us  in  Asia,"  2  Cor.  ch.  i.  8.  "  As  I  besought 
thee  to  abide  still  at  Ephesus,  when  I  went  into 
Macedonia,"  1  Tim.  chap.  1.3.  "And  in  how 
many  things  he  ministered  to  me  at  Ephesus  thou 
knowest  well,"  2  Tim.  ch.  i.  18.  I  adduce  these 
testimonies,  because,  had  it  been  a  competition  of 
credit  between  the  history  and  the  epistle,  I 
should  have  thought  myself  bound  to  have  prefer- 
red the  epistle.  Now,  every  epistle  which  St. 
Paul  wrote  to  churches  which  he  himself  had 
founded,  or  which  he  had  visited,  abounds  with 
references,  and  appeals  to  what  had  passed  during 
the  time  that  he  was  present  amongst  them ; 
whereas  there  is  not  a  text  in  the  Epistle  to  the 
Ephesians,  from  which  we  can  collect  that  he  had 
ever  been  at  Ephesus  at  all.  The  two  Epistles  to 
the  Corinthians,  the  Epistle  to  the  Galatians,  the 
Epistle  to  the  Pliilippians,  and  the  two  Epistles 
to  the  Thessalonians,  are  of  this  class ;  and  they 
are  full  of  allusions  to  the  apostle's  history,  his  re- 
ception, and  his  conduct  whilst  amongst  them ; 
the  total  want  of  which,  in  the  epistle  before  us, 
is  very  difficult  to  account  for,  if  it  was  in  truth 
written  to  the  church  of  Ephesus,  in  which  city 
he  had  resided  for  so  long  a  time.  This  is  the  first 
and  strongest  objection.  But  farther,  the  Epistle 
to  the  Colossians  was  addressed  to  a  church,  in 
which  St.  Paul  had  never  been.  This  we  infer 
from  the  first  verse  of  the  second  chapter:  "  For 
I  would  that  )'e  knew  what  great  conflict  I  have 
for  you  and  for  them  at  Laodicea,  and  for  as  many 
as  have  not  seen  my  face  in  the  flesh."  There 
could  be  no  propriety  in  thus  joining  the  Colos- 
sians and  Laodiceans  with  those  "  who  had  not 
seen  his  face  in  the  flesh,"  if  they  did  not  also  be- 
long to  the  same  description.  *  Now,  his  address 
to  the  Colossians,  whom  he  had  not  visited,  is 
precisely  the  same  as  his  address  to  the  Christians, 
to  whom  he  wrote  in  the  efjistle  which  we  are  now 
considering  :  "  We  give  thanks  to  God  and  the 
Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  praying  always 
for  you,  since  we  heard  of  your  faith  in  Christ  Je- 
sus, and  of  the  love  which  ye  have  to  all  the  saints," 
Col.  ch.  i.  3.  Thus,  he  speaks  to  the  Ephesians, 
in  the  epistle  before  us,  as  follows :  "  Wherefore  I 
also,  cfter  I  heard  of  your  faith  in  the  Lord  Je- 
sus, and  love  unto  all  the  saints,  cease  not  to  give 
thanks  for  you  in  my  prayers,"  chap.  i.  15.  I'he 
terms  of  this  address  are  observable.  The  words 
"  having  heard  of  your  faith  and  love,"  are  the  very 
words,  we  see,  which  he  uses  towards  strangers ; 
and  it  is  not  probable  that  he  should  employ  the 
same  in  accosting  a  church  in  which  he  had  long 
exercised  his  ministry,  and  whose  "  faith  and  love" 


■*  Dr.  Lardner  coiUends  asainst  tho  validity  of  this 
conclLision;  Imt,  I  tliiiik,  without  success.  Lardner, 
vol.  xiv.  p.  473,  eilit.  1757. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE    EPHESIANS. 


205 


he  must  have  personally  known.  *  The  Epistle 
to  the  Romans  was  written  before  St.  Paul  had 
been  at  Rome ;  and  Ids  address  to  them  runs  in 
the  same  strain  with  that  just  now  quoted;  "I 
thank  my  God,  through  Jesus  Christ,  for  you  all, 
that  your  faith  is  spoken  of  throughout  the  whole 
world:"  Rom.  ch.  i.  8.  Let  us  now  see  what  was 
the  form  in  which  our  apostle  was  accustomed  to 
introduce  his  epistles,  when  he  wrote  to  those  with 
whom  he  was  already  acquainted.  To  the  Co- 
rintliians  it  was  this :  "I  thank  my  God  always 
on  your  behalf,  for  the  grace  of  God  which  is 
given  you  by  Christ  Jesus,"  1  Cor.  ch.  i.  4.  To 
the  Philippians :  "  I  thank  my  God  upon  every 
remembrance  of  you,"  Phil.  ch.  i.  3.  To  the 
Thessalonians :  "  We  give  thanks  to  God,  always 
for  you  all,  making  mention  of  you  in  our  prayers, 
remembering,  without  ceasing,  your  work  of  faith, 
and  labour  of  love,''  1  Thess.  ch.  i.  3.  To  Timo- 
thy: "  I  thank  God,  whom  I  serve  from  my  fore- 
fathers with  pure  conscience,  that  without  ceasing 
I  have  remembrance  of  thee  in  my  prayers,  night 
and  day,"  2  Tim.  ch.  i.  3.  Li  these  quotations, 
it  is  usually  his  remembrance,  and  never  his 
hearing  of  them,  which  he  makes  the  subject  of 
his  thankfulness  to  God. 

As  great  difficulties  stand  in  the  way  supposing 
the  epistle  before  us  to  have  been  written  to  the 
church  of  Ephesus,  so  I  tliink  it  probable  that  it 
is  actually  the  Epistle  to  the  Laodiceans,  referred 
to  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Co- 
lossians.  The  text  which  contains  that  reference 
is  this  ;  "  When  this  epistle  is  read  among  you, 
cause  that  it  be  read  also  in  the  church  of  the  Lao- 
diceans, and  that  ye  likewise  read  the  epistle  from 
Laodicea,"  ch.  iv.  16.  The  "  epistle /roni  Lao- 
dicea  was  an  epistle  sent  by  St.  Paul  to  that 
church,  and  by  them  transmitted  to  Colosse.  The 
two  churches  were  mutually  to  coimnunicate  the 
epistles  they  had  received.  This  is  the  way  m 
which  the  direction  is  explained  by  the  g  'eater 
part  of  commentators,  and  is  the  most  prooable 
sense  that  can  be  given  to  it.  It  is  also  probable 
that  the  epistle  alluded  to  was  an  epistle  which 
had  been  received  by  the  church  of  Laodicea 
lately.  It  appears  then,  with  a  considerable  de- 
gree of  evidence,  that  there  existed  an  epistle  of 
St.  Paul's  nearly  of  the  same  date  with  the  Epis- 
tle to  the  Colossians,  and  an  epistle  directed  to  a 
church  (for  such  the  church  of  Laodicea  was)  m 
which  St.  Paul  had  never  been.  What  has  been 
observed  concerning  the  epistle  before  us,  shows 
that  it  answers  perfectly  to  that  character. 

Nor  does  the  mistake  seem  very  difficult  to 
account  for.  Whoever  inspects  the  map  of  Asia 
Minor  will  see,  that  a  person  proceeding  from 
Rome  to  Laodicea,  would  probably  land  at  Ephe- 
sus, as  the  nearest  frequented  sea-port  in  that 
direction.  Might  not  Tychicus  then,  in  passing 
through  Ephesus,  communicate  to  the  Christians 


*  Mr.  Locke  endeavours  to  avoid  this  difficulty,  by 
explaining  "  their  faith,  of  which  St.  Paul  had  heard," 
to  mean  the  steadfastness  of  their  persuasion  that  they 
were  called  into  the  kingdom  of  God,  without  subjection 
to  the  Mosaic  institution.  But  this  interpretation 
seems  to  me  e.xtremely  hard;  for,  in  the  manner  in 
which  faith  is  here  joined  with  love,  in  the  e.\pression 
"  your  faith  and  love,"  it  could  not  be  meant  to  denote 
any  particular  tenet  which  distinguished  one  set  of 
Christians  from  others;  forasmuch  as  the  e.xpression 
describes  the  general  virtues  of  the  Christian  profession. 
yide  Locke  in  lor 


of  that  place,  the  letter  with  which  he  was 
charged  1  And  might  not  copies  of  that  letter  be 
multiplied  and  preserved  at  Ephesus  1  Might  not 
some  of  the  copies  drop  the  words  of  designation 
iv  Ti)  A«oJi«£iK,*  which  it  was  of  no  consequence 
to  an  Ephesian  to  retain  1  M  ight  not  copies  of 
the  letter  come  out  into  the  Cliristian  church  at 
large  from  Ephesus ;  and  might  not  this  gi\  e  oc- 
casion to  a  belief  that  the  letter  was  written  to  that 
church  1  And,  lastly,  might  not  tliis  belief  pro- 
duce the  error  which  we  suppose  to  have  crept 
into  the  uiscription'? 

No.V. 

As  our  epistle  purports  to  have  been  written 
during  St.  Paul's  imprisonment  at  Ptome,  which 
lies  beyond  the  period  to  which  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles  brings  up  liis  history ;  and  as  we  have 
seen  and  acknowledged  that  the  epistle  contains 
no  reference  to  any  transaction  at  Ephesus,  during 
the  apostle's  residence  in  that  city,  we  cannot  ex- 
pect that  it  should  supply  many  marks  of  agree- 
ment with  the  narrative.  One  coincidence  how- 
ever occurs,  and  a  coincidence  of  that  minute  and 
less  obvious  kind,  which,  as  hath  been  repeatedly 
observed,  is  of  all  others  the  most  to  be  relied 
upon. 

Chap.  vi.  19,  20,  we  read,  "  praying  for  me, 
that  I  may  open  my  mouth  boldly,  to  make  known 
the  mystery  of  the  Gospel,  for  which  I  am  an  am- 
bassador in  bonds."  "  In  bonds,"  iv  axoo-si,  in  a 
chain.  In  the  twent3'-eighth  chapter  of  the  Acts 
we  are  informed,  that  Paul,  alter  liis  arrival  at 
Rome,  was  suffered  to  dwell  by  himself  with  a 
soldier  that  kept  him.  Dr.  Lardner  has  shown 
that  this  mode  of  custody  was  in  use  amongst  the 
Romans,  and  that  whenever  it  was  adopted,  the 
prisoner  was  bound  to  the  soldier  by  a  single 
chain :  in  reference  to  which  St.  Paul,  in  the 
twentieth  verse  of  this  chapter,  tells  the  Jews 
whom  he  had  assembled,  "  For  this  cause  there- 
fore, have  I  called  for  you  to  see  you,  and  to  speak 
with  you,  because  that  for  the  hope  of  Israel  I 
am  bound  WiY/i  this  chain,"  tijv  xxunv  TctuTtfv  tt-s^ixsi- 
IJ.XI.  It  is  in  exact  conformity  therefore  with  the 
truth  of  St.  Paul's  situation  at  the  time,  that  he 
declares  of  himself  in  the  epistle,  sr^to-S^u^  tv  xKvtra 
And  the  exactness  is  the  more  remarkable,  as 
xKva-i;  (a  chain)  is  no  where  used  in  the  singular 
number  to  express  any  other  kind  of  custody. 
When  the  prisoner's  hands  or  feet  were  bound 
together,  the  word  was  Surficn  (bonds,)  as  in  the 
twenty-sixth  chapter  of  the  Acts,  where  Paul  re- 


*  And  it  is  remarkable  that  there  seem  to  have  been 
some  ancient  copies  without  the  words  of  designation, 
either  the  words  in  Ephesus,  or  the  words  in  Laodicea. 
St.  Basil,  a  writer  of  the  fourth  century,  speaking  of  the 
present  epistle,  has  this  very  singular  passage  :  "  And 
writing  to  the  Ephesians,  as  truly  united  to  him  who  is 
through  knowledge,  he  (Paul)  calleth  them  in  a  peculiar 
sense  sJich  who  are;  saying,  to  the  saints  Kho  are  and  (or 
even)  the  faithful  in  Christ  Jesus ;  for  so  those  before  us 
have  transmitted  it,  and  we  have  found  it  in  ancient 
copies."  Dr.  Mill  interprets  (and,  notwithstanding  sonte 
objections  that  have  been  made  to  him,  in  my  opinion 
rightly  interprets)  these  words  of  Basil,  as  declaring 
that  this  father  had  seen  certain  copies  of  the  epistle 
in  which  the  words  "  in  Ephesus"  were  wanting.  And 
the  passage,  I  think,  must  be  considered  as  Basil's  fan- 
ciful way  of  explaining  what  was  really  a  corrupt  and 
defective  reading ;  for  I  do  not  believe  it  possible  that 
the  author  of  the  epistle  could  have  originally  written 
Kj-ioi;  Toi;  ouo-ii/,  without  any  name  of  place  to  fol- 
low it. 

18 


206 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


plies  to  Agrippa,  "  I  would  to  God  that  not  only 
llioii,  hut  also  all  that  he;}r  me  this  day,  wore  both 
almost  and  altogether  such  as  I  am,  except  Ihcse 
bunds,"  rrxguiTog  twv  S:<!-/^',iv  TouToof.  When  the 
prisoner  was  confined  between  two  soldiers,  as  in 
the  case  of  Peter,  Acts,  chap.  xii.  6,  two  chains 
were  employed ;  and  it  is  said  upon  his  miracu- 
lous deliverance,  that  the  "chains"  (ciKijimi,  in 
the  plural)  "fell  from  his  hands."  Asir/ios,  the 
noun,  and  Sst/hxi  the  verb,  being  general  terms, 
were  apjjlicable  to  this  in  common  with  any  other 
species  of  personal  coercion ;  but  aKxia-ii,  in  the 
singular  number,  to  none  but  this. 

If  it  can  be  suspected  that  the  writer  of  the 
present  epistle,  who  in  no  other  particular  ap- 
pears to  have  availed  himself  of  the  information 
concerning  St.  Paul,  delivered  in  the  Acts,  had, 
111  this  verse,  borrowed  the  word  which  he  read 
in  that  book,  and  had  adapted  his  expression  to 
what  he  found  there  recorded  of  St.  Paul's  treat- 
ment at  Rome ;  in  short,  that  the  coincidence  here 
noted  was  etiected  by  craft  and  design ;  I  think  it 
a  strong  reply  to  remark,  that,  in  the  parallel  pas- 
sage of  the  Epistle  to  the  Colossians,  the  same 
allusion  is  not  preserved;  the  words  there  are, 
"praying  also  for  us,  that  God  would  open  unto 
us  a  door  of  utterance  to  speak  the  mystery  of 
Christ,  for  which  /  am  also  in  bonds"  J.  o  x«i 
SiTMxt.  After  what  has  been  shown  in  a  preceding 
number,  there  can  be  little  doubt  but  that  these 
two  epistles  were  written  by  the  same  person.  If 
the  writer,  therefore,  sought  for,  and  fraudulently 
inserted,  the  correspondency  into  one  epistle,  why 
did  he  not  do  it  in  the  other  ]  A  real  prisoner 
might  use  either  general  words  which  compre- 
hended this  amongst  many  other  modes  of  cus- 
tody; or  might  use  appropriate  words  which  spe- 
cilied  this,  and  distinguished  it  from  any  other 
mode.  It  would  be  accidental  which  form  of  ex- 
pression he  fell  upon.  But  an  impostor,  who  had 
the  art,  in  one  place,  to  employ  the  appropriate 
term  for  the  purpose  of  fraud,  would  have  used 
it  in  both  places. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Epistle  to  the  Philippians, 

No.  I. 

When  a  transaction  is  referred  to  in  such  a 
manner,  as  that  the  reference  is  easily  and  im- 
mediately understood  by  those  who  are  before- 
hand, or  from  other  quarters,  acquainted  with  the 
fact,  but  is  obscure,  or  imperfect,  or  requires  in- 
vestigation, or  a  comparison  of  different  parts,  in 
order  to  be  made  clear  to  other  readers,  the  trans- 
action so  referred  to  is  probably  real ;  because, 
had  it  been  fictitious,  the  writer  would  have  set 
forth  his  story  more  fully  and  plainly,  not  merely 
as  conscious  of  the  fiction,  but  as  conscious  that 
his  readers  could  have  no  other  knowledge  of  the 
subject  of  his  allusion  than  from  the  information 
of  which  he  put  them  in  possession. 

The  account  of  Epaphroditus,  in  the  Epistle  to 
the  Philippians,  of  his  journey  to  Rome,  and  of  the 
business  which  brought  him  thither,  is  the  article 
\o  which  I  mean  to  apply  this  observation.  There 
are  three  passages  in  the  epistle  which  relate  to 
this  subject.  The  first,  chap.  i.  7,  "  Even  as  it  is 
meet  for  me  to  think  this  of  you  all,  because  I 
lave  you  in  my  heart,  inasmuch  as  both  in  my 


bonds,  and  in  the  defence  and  confinnation  of  the 
Gospel,  ye  all  are  irvyxaiv^voi  f^ov  t«5  ^Kfiro;,  joint 
contributors  to  the  gift  which  I  have  received."* 
Nothing  more  is  said  in  this  place.  In  the  latter 
part  of  the  second  chapter,  and  at  the  distance  of 
half  the  epistle  from  the  last  quotation,  the  sulycct 
appears  again  :  "  Yet  I  supposed  it  necessary  to 
send  to  you  Epaphroditus.  my  brother  and  com- 
panion in  labour,  and  fellow-soldier,  but  your 
messenger,  and  he  that  ministered  to  my  ican/s: 
for  he  longed  after  you  all,  and  was  full  of  heavi- 
ness, because  that  ye  had  heard  that  he  had  been 
sick:  for  indeed  he  was  sick  nigh  unto  death;  but 
God  had  mercy  on  him,  and  not  on  him  only,  but 
on  me  also,  lest  I  should  have  sorrow  upon  sor- 
row. I  sent  him  therefore  the  more  carefully, 
that  when  ye  see  him  again  ye  may  rejoice,  and 
that  I  may  be  the  less  sorrowful.  Receive  him 
therefore  in  the  Lord  with  all  gladness ;  and  hold 
such  in  reputation  :  because  for  the  work  of  Christ 
he  was  nigh  unto  death,  not  regarding  his  life  to 
supply  your  lack  of  service  toward  me"  chap, 
ii.  25 — 30.  The  matter  is  here  dropped,  and  no 
farther  mention  made  of  it  till  it  is  taken  up  near 
the  conclusion  of  the  epistle  as  follows:  "  But  I 
rejoice  in  the  Lord  greatly,  that  now  at  the  last 
your  care  of  me  hath  flourished  again,  wherein  ye 
were  also  careful,  but  ye  lacked  opportunity.  Not 
that  I  speak  in  respect  of  want ;  for  I  have  learned 
in  whatsoever  state  I  am,  therewith  to  be  content. 
I  know  both  how  to  be  abased,  and  I  know  how 
to  abound ;  every  where  and  in  all  things,  I  am 
instructed  both  to  be  full  and  to  be  hungry,  both 
to  abound  and  to  suffer  need.  I  can  do  all  things 
through  Christ  which  strengtheneth  me.  Notwith- 
standing, ye  have  well  done  that  ye  did  communi- 
cate with  my  affliction.  Now,  ye  Philippians, 
know  also,  that  in  the  beginning  of  the  Gospel, 
when  I  departed  from  Macedonia,  no  church  com- 
municated with  me,  as  concerning  giving  and  re- 
ceiving, but  ye  only.  For  even  in  Thessalonica 
ye  sent  once  and  again  unto  my  necessity.  Not 
because  I  desire  a  gift :  but  I  desire  fruit  that  may 
abound  to  your  account.  But  I  have  all,  and 
abound :  I  am  full,  having  received  of  Epa])hro- 
ditus  the  things  which  were  sent  from  you," 
chap.  iv.  10 — 18.  To  the  Philippian  reader,  who 
knew  that  contributions  were  wont  to  be  made  in 
that  church  for  the  apostle's  subsistence  and  re- 
lief, that  the  supply  which  they  were  accustomed 
to  send  to  him  had  been  delayed  by  the  want  of 
opportunity,  that  Epaphroditus  had  undertaken 
the  charge  of  conveying  their  liberality  to  the 
hands  of  the  apostle,  that  he  had  acquitted  him- 
self of  this  commission  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  by 
hastening  to  Rome  under  the  oppression  of  a 
grievous  sickness;  to  a  reader  who  knew  all  this 
beforehand,  every  line  in  the  above  quotations 
would  be  plain  and  clear.  But  how  is  it  with  a 
stranger  1  The  knowledge  of  these  several  par- 
ticulars is  necessary  to  the  perception  and  ex- 
planation of  the  references  ;  yet  that  knowledge 
must  be  gathered  from  a  comparison  of  passages 
lying  at  a  great  distance  from  one  another.  Texts 
must  be  interpreted  by  texts  long  subsequent  to 


♦  Pearce,  I  believe,  was  the  first  commentator,  who 
gave  this  sense  to  the  expression  ;  and  I  believe  also 
that  his  e,xposition  is  now  generally  assented  to.  He 
interprets  in  the  same  sense  the  phrase  in  the  fifth 
verse,  which  our  translation  renders  "your  fellowship 
in  the  Gospel ;"  but  which  in  the  original  is  not  koivjovi» 

Tou  £ux>  >-fAiou,orxiiiviuvia£i/Ta>  iuxyyiXtijs  ;  but  xoiv^jvi* 
Ji;  TO  ivxy  j-fZ-ioi/. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  PHILIPPIANS. 


20* 


them,  which  necessarily  produces  embarrassment 
and  suspense.  The  passage  quoted  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  epistle  contains  an  aclcnowledg- 
ment,  on  the  part  of  the  apostle,  of  the  liberality 
which  the  Philii)pians  had  exercised  towards 
him ;  but  the  allusion  is  so  general  and  indeter- 
minate, that  had  nothing  more  been  said  in  the 
sequel  of  the  epistle,  it  would  hardly  have  been 
applied  to  this  occasion  at  all.  In  the  second 
quotation,  Epaphroditus  is  declared  to  have  "mi- 
nistered to  the  apostle's  wants,"  and  "to  have 
supplied  their  lack  of  service  towards  him ;"  but 
Iwuy  that  is,  at  whose  expense,  or  from  what 
fund  he  "  ministered,"  or  what  was  "  the  lack  of 
service"  which  he  supplied,  are  left  very  much 
unexplained,  till  we  arrive  at  the  third  quota- 
tion, where  we  find  that  Epaphrotlitus  "minis- 
tered to  St.  Paul's  wants"  only  by  conveying  to 
his  bauds  the  contributions  of  the  Philippians : 
"  I  am  full,  having  received  of  Epaphroditus  the 
things  which  were  sent  from  you :"  and  thai 
"  the  lack  of  service  which  he  supplied"  was  a 
delay  or  interruption  of  their  accustomed  bounty, 
occasioned  by  the  want  of  op[)ortunity :  "  I  re- 
joiced in  the  Lord  greatly,  that  now  at  the  last 
your  care  of  me  hath  flourished  again;  wherein 
ye  were  also  careful,  but  ye  lacked  opportunity."' 
The  afi'iir  at  length  comes  out  clear;  but  it  comes 
out  bv  piecemeal.  The  clearness  is  the  result  of 
the  reciprocal  illustration  of  divided  texts.  Should 
any  one  choose  therefore  to  insinuate,  that  this 
whole  story  of  Epaphroditus.  or  his  journey,  his 
errand,  his  sickness,  or  even  his  existence,  might, 
for  what  we  know,  have  no  other  foundation  than 
in  the  invention  of  the  forger  of  the  epistle ;  I  an- 
swer, that  a  forger  would  have  set  forth  his  story 
connectedly,  and  also  more  fully  and  more  per- 
spicuously. If  the  epistle  be  authentic,  and  the 
transaction  real,  then  every  thing  which  is  said 
concerning  Epaphroditus,  and  his  commission, 
would  be  clear  to  those  into  whose  hands  the 
epistle  was  exiiected  to  come.  Considering  the 
Philippians  as  his  readers,  a  person  might  na- 
turally write  upon  the  subject,  as  the  author  of 
the  e[)istle  has  written:  but  there  is  no  supposition 
of  forgery  with  which  it  will  suit. 

No.  II. 

The  history  of  Epaphroditus  supplies  another 
observation :  "  Indeed  he  was  sick,  nigh  unto 
death :  but  God  had  mercy  on  him,  and  not  on 
him  only,  but  on  me  also,  lest  I  should  have  sorrow 
upon  sorrow."  In  this  passage,  no  intimation  is 
given  that  Epaphroditus's  recovery  was  miracu- 
lous. It  is  plainly,  I  think,  spoken  of  as  a  natu- 
ral event.  This  instance,  together  with  one  in 
the  Second  Epistle  to  Timothy  ("  Trophimushave 
I  left  at  Miletum  sick,")  aflbrds  a  proof  that  the 
power  of  performing  cures,  and,  by  parity  of 
reason,  of  working  other  miracles,  was  a  power 
which  onlv  visited  the  ajjostles  occasionally,  and 
di  I  not  at  all  depend  upon  their  own  will.  Paul 
undoubtedly  would  have  healed  Epaphroditus  if  he 
could.  Nor.  if  the  power  of  working  cures  had 
awaited  his  disposal,  would  he  have  left  his  fellow- 
traveller  at  Miletum  sick.  This,  I  think,  is  a  fair 
observation  upon  the  instances  adduced ;  but  it  is 
not  the  observation  I  am  concerned  to  make.  It 
is  more  for  the  purpose  of  my  argument  to  remark, 
that  forgery,  upon  such  an  occasion,  would  not 
have  spareil  a  miracle  ;  much  less  would  it  have 
introduced  St.  Paul  professing  the  utmost  anxiety 


for  the  safety  of  his  friend,  yet  acknowledging 
himself  unable  to  help  him ;  which  he  does,  almost 
expressly,  in  the  case  of  Trophimus,  for  he  ''  left 
him  sick ;"  anil  virtually  in  the  passage  before  us, 
in  which  he  felicitates  himself  upon  the  recovery 
of  Epaphroditus,  in  terms  which  almost  exclude 
the  supposition  of  any  supernatural  means  being 
employed  to  etlect  it.  This  is  a  reserve  which 
nothing  but  truth  would  have  imposed. 

No.  III. 

Chap.  iv.  15.  16.  "Now,  ye  Philippians,  know 
also,  that  in  the  beginning  of  the  Gospel,  when  I 
departed  from  Macedonia,  no  church  communicat- 
ed with  me,  as  concerning  giving  and  receiving, 
but  ye  only.  For  even  in  Thessalonica  ye  sent 
once  and  again  unto  my  necessity." 

It  will  be  necessary  to  state  the  Greek  of  this 
passage,  because  our  translation  does  not,  I  think, 
give  the  sense  of  it  accurately. 

Euxy-ysKtov^  ote  t£>iA.30v  xtt-o  Maxe^oviaj,  av^iutx  fiot 
vfitsi^  fjLZvoi'  OT*    -AXi  sv    0t(r(r*\oi/lX(j    %xi  xttx^  y.xi   Si;  fij 

TijV    Xe^'XV   f"    i-^if^i/XTi. 

The  reader  will  })lease  to  direct  his  attention 
to  the  corresponding  particulars  on  and  on  kx<, 
which  connect  the  words  (v  x(xi  rou  ivxyyiKio-j,  ot. 
il-^Kinv  XTTO  Mkx£^ovix5.  with  the  words  cv  ©io-o-x^ci  ix>i, 
and  denote,  as  1  interpret  the  passage,  two  distinct 
donations,  or  rather  donations  at  two  distinct  pe- 
riods, one  at  Thes.salonica,  x^rxi  y.xi  J.?,  the  other 
after  his  departure  from  Macedonia,  ox.  eJ^ixjov  xtto 
UxxiSovLx:.*  I  would  render  the  passage,  .so  as  to 
mark  these  diflerent  periods,  thus:  "Now,  ye 
Philippians,  know  also,  that  in  the  beginning  of 
the.  Gospel,  when  I  was  departed  from  Macedonia, 
no  church  communicated  with  me,  as  concerning 
giving  and  receiving,  but  ye  only.  And  that  also 
in  Thessalonica  ye  sent  once  and  again  unto  mv 
necessity."  Now  with  this  exposition  of  the  pas- 
sage compare  2  Cor.  chap,  xi,  8.  9 :  "I  robbed 
other  churches,  taking  wages  of  them  to  do  you 
service.  And  when  I  was  present  with  you  and 
wanted,  I  was  chargeable  to  no  man;  lor  that 
which  was  lacking  to  me,  the  brethren  which 
came  from  Macedonia  supplied." 

It  appears  from  St.  Paul's  history,  as  related  in 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  that  upon  leaving  Ma- 
cedonia he  passed,  after  a  very  short  stay  at  Athens, 
into  Achaia.  It  appears,  secondly,  from  the  quo- 
tation out  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  that 
in  Achaia  he  accepted  no  pecuniary  assistance 
from  the  converts  of  that  country ;  but  that  he 
drew  a  supply  for  his  wants  from  the  Macedonian 
Christians.  "Agreeably  whereunto  it  ajipears,  in 
the  third  place,  from  the  text  which  is  the  subject 
of  the  present  number,  that  the  brethren  in  Phi- 
lippi,  a  citv  of  Macedonia,  had  followed  him  with 
their  munificence,  ots  i^t-.K^ov  x^m  M^xeJok*;,  when 
he  was  departed  from  Macedonia,  that  is,  when 
he  was  come  into  Achaia. 

The  passage  under  consideration  affords  another 
circumstance  of  agreement  deserving  of  our  notice. 

*    Luke,  Ch.  ii.  15.    K»t    e^eveto,  »;    XTry.Kiav  xrr'   auTiii- 

Ei;  T51'  sfxvcv  01  xyysKii,  "  as  the  angels  were  gone 
away,"  i.  e.  n/^er  their  departure,  oi  jroi/^Evst  e.jxov  ^pc; 

X^A>l\0U,-.   Matt.   ch.   Xii.  43.    Ot»V    Si    to  XV.xixfTOV   ^1SV|U56 

iliKiv,  xtt:^  T'.v  ■j.vif.i-TT'.M,  "when  the  unclean  spirit  is 
ffone,"  i.  e.  after  his  departure,  JUpxetki.  John,  ch.  xiii. 
30.  Ote  '.'tr.Kii  {l:\jSxi)  "  when  he  was  gone,"  i.  e.  after 
his  departure,  >>£j-s"  Ijio-ouc,  Acts,  ch.  x.  7,  ^s  Je  x-r;i.i'.v 

j  -,  :t>>s>.o?  0  KxK'^v  T-j  Kofi'>i?vi,',  "  and  when  tlie  an^el 
wliich  spake  unto  him  was  departed,"  i.  e.  after  his  de- 

j  parture,  fujv^fo-xj  Juo  nov  oixet.uv,  &c. 


208 


HOR^  PAULIN.E. 


The  gift  alluded  to  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Philip- 
pians  is  stated  to  have  been  made  "in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  gospel."  This  phrase  is  most  natu- 
rally explainetl  to  signify  the  lirst  preaching  of  the 
Gospel  in  these  parts,  viz.  on  that  side  of  the 
^gean  sea.  The  succours  referred  to  in  the 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  as  received  from  Ma- 
ceilonia,  are  stated  to  have  been  received  by  him 
upon  his  first  visit  to  the  peninsula  of  Greece. 
1'he  dates  therefore  assigned  to  the  donation  in 
the  two  epistles  agree ;  yet  is  the  date  in  one  as- 
certained very  incidentally,  namely,  by  the  consi- 
derations which  fix  the  date  of  the  epistle  itself; 
and  in  the  other,  by  an  expression  ("the  begin- 
niniT  of  the  Gospel")  much  too  general  to  have 
been  used  if  the  text  had  been  penned  with  any 
view  to  the  correspondency  we  are  remarking. 

Farther,  the  phrase,  "  in  the  beginning  of  the 
Gospel,"  raises  an  idea  in  the  reader's  mind  that 
the  Gospel  had  been  preached  there  more  than 
once.  The  writer  would  hardly  have  called  the 
visit  to  which  he  refers,  the  "beginning  of  the 
Gospel,"  if  he  had  not  also  visited  them  in  some 
other  stage  of  it.  The  fact  corresponds  with  this 
idea.  If  we  consult  the  sixteenth  and  twentieth 
chapters  of  the  Acts,  we  shall  find,  that  St.  Paul, 
before  his  imprisonment  at  Rome,  during  which 
this  epistle  purports  to  have  been  written,  had  been 
tivice  in  Macedonia,  and  each  tune  at  Philippi. 

No.  IV. 

That  Timothy  had  been  long  with  St.  Paul  at 
Philippi,  is  a  fact  which  seems  to  be  implied  in 
this  epistle  twice.  First,  he  joins  in  the  saluta- 
tion with  which  the  epistle  opens :  "  Paul  and 
Timotheus,  the  servants  of  Jesus  Christ,  to  all  the 
saints  in  Christ  Jesus  which  are  at  Philippi."  Se- 
condly, and  more  directly,  the  point  is  inferred 
from  what  is  said  concerning  him,  chap.  ii.  19 : 
"  But  I  trust  in  the  Lord  Jesus  to  send  Timotheus 
shortly  unto  you,  that  I  also  may  be  of  good  com- 
Tort  when  I  know  your  state  ;  for  1  have  no  man 
like  minded,  who  will  naturally  care  for  your 
state ;  for  all  seek  their  own,  not  the  things  which 
are  Jesus  Christ's;  but  ye  know  the  proof  of  him, 
that  as  a  son  with  the  father,  he  hath  served  with 
me  in  the  Gospel."  tiad  Timothy's  presence  with 
St.  Paul  at  Philippi,  when  he  preached  the  Gospel 
there,  been  expressly  remarked  in  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  this  quotation  might  be  thought  to  con- 
tain a  contrived  adaptation  to  the  history ;  although, 
even  in  that  case,  the  averment,  or  rather,  the  allu- 
sion in  the  epistle,  is  too  oblique  to  alTord  much 
room  for  such  suspicion.  But  the  truth  is,  that  in 
the  history  of  St.  Paul's  transactions  at  Phdippi, 
which  occupies  the  greatest  part  of  the  sixteenth 
chapter  of  the  Acts,  no  mention  is  made  of  Timo- 
thy at  all.  What  appears  concerning  Timothy  in 
the  history,  so  far  as  relates  to  the  present  subject, 
is  this:  "  When  Paul  came  to  Derbe  and  Lystra, 
iiehold  a  certain  disciple  was  there  named  Timo- 
theus, whom  Paul  would  have  to  go  forth  with 
him."  The  narrative  then  proceeds  with  the  ac- 
count of  St.  Paul's  progress  through  various  pro- 
vinces of  the  Lesser  Asia,  till  it  brings  him  down 
to  Troas.  At  Troas  he  was  warned  in  a  vision 
to  pass  over  into  Macedonia.  In  obedience  to 
which  he  crossed  the  ^gean  sea  to  Samothracia, 
the  next  day  to  Neapolis,  and  from  thence  to  Phi- 
lippi. His  preaching,  miracles,  and  persecutions 
at  Philippi,  follow  next ;  after  which  Paul  and  his 
company,  when  they  had  passed  through  Amphi- 


polis  and  ApoUonia,  came  to  Thessalonica,  and  from 
Thessalonica  to  Berea.  From  Berea  the  brethren 
sent  away  Paul ;  "  but  Silas  and  Timotheus  abode 
there  still."  The  itinerary,  of  which  the  above  is  an 
abstract,  is  undoubtedly  sufficient  to  support  an  in- 
ference that  Timothy  was  along  with  St.  Paul  at 
Philippi.  We  find  them  setting  out  together  upon 
this  progress  from  Derbe,  in  Lycaonia;  v,c  laid  tlii'in 
together  near  the  conclusion  of  it,  at  Berea  in  Ma- 
cedonia. It  is  highly  probable,  therefore,  that  they 
came  together  to  Philippi,  through  which  their  route 
between  these  two  places  lay.  If  this  be  thought 
probable,  it  is  sufficient.  For  wliat  I  wish  to  be 
observed  is,  that  in  comparing,  upon  this  su'oject, 
the  epistle  with  the  history,  we  do  not  find  a  reci- 
tal in  one  place  of  what  is  related  in  another ;  but 
that  we  find,  what  is  much  more  to  be  relied  upon, 
an  oblique  allusion  to  an  implied  fact. 

No.  V. 

Our  epistle  purports  to  have  been  written  near 
the  conclusion  of  St.  Paul's  imprisonment  at 
Rome,  and  after  a  residence  in  that  city  of  consi- 
derable duration.  These  circumstances  are  made 
out  by  dilFerent  intimations,  and  the  intimations 
upon  the  subject  preserve  among  themselves  a  just 
consistency,  and  a  consistency  certainly  unmedita- 
ted. First,  the  apostle  had  already  been  a  prisoner  at 
Rome  so  long,  as  that  the  reputation  of  his  bonds, 
and  of  his  constancy  under  them,  had  contributed  to 
advance  the  success  of  the  Gospel :  "  But  1  would 
ye  should  understand,  brethren,  that  the  things 
which  happened  unto  me  have  fallen  out  rather 
unto  the  furtherance  of  the  Gospel ;  so  that  my 
bonds  in  Christ  are  manifest  in  all  the  palace,  and 
in  all  other  places ;  and  many  of  the  brethren  in 
the  Lord  waxing  confident  by  my  bonds,  are  much 
more  bold  to  speak  the  word  without  fear."  Se- 
condly, the  account  given  of  Epaphroditus  imports, 
that  St.  Paul,  when  he  wrote  the  epistle,  had  been 
in  Rome  a  considerable  time :  "  He  longed  after 
you  all,  and  was  full  of  heaviness,  because  that  ye 
had  heard  that  he  had  been  sick."  Epaphroditus 
was  with  St.  Paul  at  Rome.  Lie  had  been  sick. 
The  Philippians  had  heard  of  his  sickness,  and  he 
again  had  received  an  account  how  much  they  had 
been  afiected  by  the  intelligence.  The  passing 
and  repassing  of  these  advices  must  necessarily 
have  occupied  a  large  portion  of  time,  and  must 
have  all  taken  place  during  St.  Paul's  residence  at 
Rome.  Thirdly,  after  a  residence  at  Rome  thus 
proved  to  have  been  of  considerable  duration,  he 
now  regards  the  decision  of  his  fate  as  nigh  at 
hand.  He  contemplates  either  alternative,  that  of 
his  deliverance,  ch.  ii.  23.  "Him  therefore  (Ti- 
mothy) I  hope  to  send  presently,  so  soon  as  I  shall 
see  how  it  will  go  with  me ;  but  I  trust  in  the 
Lord  that  I  also  myself  shall  come  shortly :"  that 
of  his  condemnation,  ver.  17.  "  Yea,  and  if  I  be 
offered*  upon  the  sacrifice  and  service  of  your 
faith,  I  joy  and  rejoice  with  you  all."  This  con- 
sistency is  material,  if  the  consideration  of  it  be 
confined  to  the  epistle.  It  is  farther  material,  as 
it  agrees  with  respect  to  the  duration  of  St.  Paul's 
first  imprisonment  at  Rome,  with  the  account  de- 
livered in  the  Acts,  which,  having  brouglit  the 
apostle  to  Rome,  closes  the  history  by  telling  us 
"  that  he  dwelt  there  two  whole  years  in  liis  own 
hired  house." 


if  my  blood  be  poured  out  as  a  libation  upon  the  sacri 
flee  of  your  faitli. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  COLOSSIANS. 


209 


No.  VI. 

Chap.  i.  23.  "  For  I  am  in  a  strait  betwixt 
(wo,  ha\ing  a  desire  to  depart,  and  to  be  with 
<  Jhrist ;  which  is  tar  better." 

With  this  compare  2  Cor.  chap.  v.  8 :  "  We  are 
confident  and  willing  rather  to  be  absent  from  the 
body,  and  to  be  present  with  the  Lord." 

The  sameness  of  sentiment  in  these  two  quota- 
tions is  obvious.  I  rely  however  not  so  much 
upon  that,  as  upon  the  similitude  in  the  train  of 
thought  which  in  each  epistle  leads  up  to  this  sen- 
timent, and  upon  the  suitableness  of  that  train  of 
thought  to  the  circumstances  under  which  the 
pjjistles  purport  to  have  been  written.  This,  I 
conceive,  bespeaks  the  production  of  the  same 
mind,  and  of  a  mind  operating  upon  real  circum- 
stances. The  sentiment  is  in  both  places  preced- 
ed by  the  contemplation  of  imminent  personal  dan- 
ger. To  the  Philippians  he  writes,  in  the  twentieth 
verse  of  this  chapter,  "  According  to  my  earnest 
expectation  and  my  hope,  that  in  nothing  1  shall 
be  ashamed,  but  that  with  all  boldness,  as  always, 
so  nmc  also,  Christ  shall  be  magnified  in  my  body, 
whether  it  be  by  life  or  by  death."  To  the  Co- 
rinthians, "  Troubled  on  every  side,  yet  not  dis- 
tressed; perplexed,  but  not  in  despair;  persecuted, 
but  not  forsaken;  cast  down,  but  not  destroyed  ; 
always  bearing  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of  the 
Lord  Jesus."  This  train  of  reflection  is  continued 
to  the  place  from  whence  the  words  which  we 
compare  are  taken.  The  two  epistles,  though 
written  at  different  times,  from  different  places, 
and  to  different  churches,  were  both  written  under 
circumstances  which  would  naturally  recall  to  the 
author's  mind  the  precarious  condition  of  his  life, 
and  the  perils  which  constantly  awaited  him. 
When  the  Epistle  to  the  Philippians  was  written, 
the  author  was  a  prisoner  at  Rome,  expecting  his 
trial.  When  the  Second  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians was  written,  he  had  lately  escaped  a  danger 
in  which  he  had  given  himself  over  for  lost.  The 
epistle  opens  with  a  recollection  of  this  subject, 
and  the  impression  accompanied  the  writer's 
thoughts  throughout. 

I  know  that  nothing  is  easier  than  to  transplant 
into  a  forged  epistle  a  sentiment  or  expression 
which  is  found  in  a  true  one ;  or,  supposing  both 
epistles  to  be  forged  by  the  same  hand,  to  msert 
the  same  sentiment  or  expression  in  both.  But 
the  difficulty  is  to  introduce  it  in  just  and  close 
connexion  with  a  train  of  thought  going  before, 
and  with  a  train  of  thought  apparenth^  generated 
by  the  circumstances  under  which  the  epistle  is 
written.  In  two  epistles,  purporting  to  be  writ- 
ten on  different  occasions,  and  in  difierenS  periods 
of  the  author's  history,  this  propriety  would  not 
easily  be  managed. 

No.  VII. 

Chap.  i.  29, 30 ;  ii.  1,  2.  "  For  unto  you  is  given, 
in  the  behalf  of  Christ,  not  only  to  believe  on  him, 
but  also  to  suffer  for  his  sake ;  having  the  same 
confhct  which  ye  saw  in  me,  and  now  hear  to  be 
in  me.  If  there  be,  therefore,  any  consolation  in 
Christ,  if  any  comfort  of  love,  if  any  fellowship  of 
the  Spirit,  if  any  bowels  and  mercies ;  fulfil  ye  my 
joy,  that  ye  be  like  minded,  having  the  .same  love, 
being  of  one  accord,  of  one  mind." 

With  this  compare  Acts,  xvi.  22:  "  And  the 
multitude  (at  Philippi)  rose  up  against  them  (  Paul 
and  Silas  n  and  the  magistrates  rent  off  their 
^  2l5 


clothes,  and  commanded  to  beat  them ;  and  when 
they-  had  laid  many  stripes  upon  them,  they  cast 
them  into  prison,  charging  the  jailor  to  keep  them 
safely ;  who,  having  received  such  a  charge,  thrust 
them  into  the  inner  prison,  and  made  their  feet 
fast  in  the  stocks." 

The  passage  in  the  epistle  is  very  remarkable. 
I  know  not  an  example  in  any  writing  of  a  juster 
pathos,  or  which  more  truly  represents  the  work- 
ings of^a  warm  and  aflectionate  mind,  than  what 
is  exhibited  in  the  quotation  before  us.*  The 
apostle  reminds  his  Pliilippians  of  their  being 
joined  with  himself  in  the  endurance  of  persecu- 
tion for  the  sake  of  Christ.  He  conjures  them  by 
the  ties  of  their  common  profession  and  their  com- 
mon sufferings,  ''■  to  fulfil  his  joy ;"  to  complete,  by 
the  unity  of  their  faith,  and  by  their  mutual  love, 
that  joy  with  which  the  instances  he  had  received 
of  their  zeal  and  attachment  had  inspired  his  breast. 
Nowif  this  was  the  real  effusion  of  St.  Paul's  mind, 
of  which  it  bears  the  strongest  internal  character, 
then  we  have  in  the  words  "the  same  conflict 
which  ye  saw  in  me,"  an  authentic  confirmation 
of  so  much  of  the  apostle's  historj-  in  the  Acts,  as 
relates  to  his  transactions  at  Philippi;  and,  through 
that,  of  the  mteUigence  and  general  fidelity  of  the 
historian. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Epistle  to  the  Colossians. 

No.L 

There  is  a  circumstance  of  conformity  between 
St.  Paul's  history  and  his  letters,  especially  those 
which  were  written  during  his  first  imprisonment 
at  Rome,  and  more  especially  the  epistles  to  the 
Colossians  and  Ephesians,  which  being  too  close 
to  be  accounted  for  from  accident,  yet  too  indirect 
and  latent  to  be  imputed  to  design,  cannot  easily 
be  resolved  into  any  other  original  than  truth. 
Which  circumstance  is  this,  that  St.  Paul  in  these 
epistles  attributes  his  imprisonment  not  to  his 
preaching  of  Christianity,  but  to  liis  asserting  the 
right  of  the  Gentiles  to  be  admitted  into  it  with- 
out confoniiing  themselves  to  the  Jewish  law. 
Tliis  was  the  doctrine  to  which  he  considered 
himself  as  a  martyr.  Thus,  in  the  epistle  before 
us,  chap.  i.  24 :  (I  Paul)  "  who  now  rejoice  in  my 
sufferings  for  you" — ^"for  you,"  i.  e.  for  those 
whom  he  had  never  seen ;  for  a  few  verses  after- 
wards he  adds,  "  I  would  that  ye  knew  what  great 
conflict  I  have  for  you  and  for  them  in  Laodicea, 
and  for  as  many  as  have  not  seen  my  face  in  the 
flesh."  His  suffering  therefore  for  them  was,  in 
their  general  capacity  of  Gentile  Christians,  agree- 
ably to  what  he  explicitly  declares  in  his  Epistle 
to  the  Ephesians,  iv.  1  :  "  For  this  cause,  I  Paul, 
the  prisoner  of  Jesus  Christ,  for  you  Gentiles." 
Again,  in  the  epistle  now  under  consideration,  iv. 
3 :  "  Withal  praying  also  for  us,  that  God  would 
open  unto  us  a  door  of  utterance  to  speak  the  mys- 
tery of  Christ,  for  which  I  am  also  in  bonds." 
What  that  "  mystery  of  Christ"  was,  the  Epistle 
to  the  Ephesians  distinctly  informs  us :  "  Whereby 


*  The  original  is  very  spirited  : 

iv'S.fiiTT'j,,  SI  Ti  5rKp!(^u9i9v  ny :t.7Ty\ 


210 


HORiE  PAULINA. 


when  ye  read,  ye  may  understand  my  knowledge 
in  the  mystery  of  Christ,  which  in  other  ages, 
was  not  made  known  unto  the  sons  of  men,  as  it 
is  now  revealed  unto  his  holy  apostles  and  pro- 
phets by  the  Spirit,  that  the  Gentiles  should  be 
Jelluw-'heirs,  and  of  the  same  body,  and  partak- 
ers of  hi^ promise  in  Christ  by  the  Gospel."  This, 
therefore,  was  the  con/essio?i  for  which  he  declares 
himself  to  be  in  bonds.  Now  let  us  inquire  how 
the  occasion  of  St.  Paul's  imprisonment  is  repre- 
sented in  the  history.  The  apostle  had  not  long 
returned  to  Jerusalem  from  his  second  visit  into 
Greece,  when  an  uproar  was  excited  in  that  city 
by  the  clamour  of  certain  Asiatic  Jews,  who, 
"having  seen  Paul  in  the  temple,  stirred  up  all 
the  people,  and  laid  hands  on  him."  The  charge 
advanced  against  him  was,  that  "he  taught  all 
men  every  where  against  the  people,  and  the  law, 
and  this  place ;  and  farther  brought  Greeks  also 
into  the  temple,  and  polluted  that  holy  place." 
The  former  part  of  the  charge  seems  to  point  at 
the  doctrine,  which  he  maintained,  of  the  admis- 
sion of  the  Gentiles,  under  the  new  dispensation, 
to  an  indiscriminate  participation  of  God's  favour 
with  the  Jews.  But  what  follows  makes  the  mat- 
ter clear.  "When,  by  the  interference  of  the  chief 
captain,  Paul  had  been  rescued  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  populace,  and  was  permitted  to  address  the 
multitude  who  had  followed  him  to  the  stairs  of 
the  castle,  he  delivered  a  brief  account  of  his  birth, 
of  the  early  course  of  his  life,  of  his  miraculous 
conversion;  and  is  proceeding  in  this  narrative, 
until  he  comes  to  describe  a  vision  which  was 
presented  to  him,  as  he  was  praying  in  the  tem- 
ple ;  and  which  bid  him  depart  out  of  Jerusalem, 
"  fori  will  send  thee  far  hence  u7ito  the  Gentiles," 
Acts,  xxii.  21.  "  They  gave  him  audience,"  says 
the  historian,  "  unto  this  word  ;  and  then  lift  up 
their  voices,  and  said,  Away  with  such  a  fellow 
from  the  earth!"  Nothing  can  show  more  strongly 
than  this  account  does,  what  was  the  offence 
which  drew  down  upon  St.  Paul  the  vengeance  of 
his  countrymen.  His  mission  to  the  Gentiles, 
and  his  open  avowal  of  that  mission,  was  the  in- 
tolerable part  of  the  apostle's  crime.  But  although 
the  real  motive  of  the  prosecution  appears  to  have 
been  the  apostle's  conduct  towards  the  Gentiles; 
yet,  when  his  accusers  came  before  a  Roman 
magistrate,  a  charge  was  to  be  framed  of  a  more 
legal  form.  The  profanation  of  the  temple  was 
the  article  they  chose  to  rely  upon.  This,  there- 
fore, became  the  immediate  subject  of  Tertullus's 
oration  before  Felix,  and  of  Paul's  defence.  But 
that  he  all  along  considered  his  ministry  amongst 
the  Gentiles  as  the  actual  source  of  the  enmity 
that  had  been  exercised  against  him,  and  in  par- 
ticular as  the  cause  of  the  insurrection  in  which 
his  person  had  been  seized,  is  apparent  from  the 
conclusion  of  his  discourse  before  Agrippa:  "I 
have  appeared  unto  thee,"  says  he,  describing  what 
p;issed  upon  his  journey  to  Damascus,  "  for  this 
purpose,  to  make  thee  a  minister  and  a  witness, 
both  of  these  things  which  thou  hast  seen,  and  of 
those  things  in  the  which  I  will  appear  unto  thee, 
delivering  thee  from  the  people  and  from  the  Gen- 
tiles, unto  whom  now  I  send  thee,  to  open  their 
eyes,  and  to  turn  them  from  darkness  to  Ught, 
and  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto  God,  that  tney 
may  receive  forgiveness  of  sins,  and  inheritance 
among  them  which  are  sanctified  by  faith  that  is 
in  me.  Whereupon,  O  king  Agrippa,  I  was  not 
disobedient  unto  the  heavenly  vision  ;  but  showed 


first  unto  them  of  Damascus,  and  of  Jerusalem, 
and  throughout  all  the  coasts  of  Judea,  and  then 
to  the  Gentiles,  that  they  should  repent  and  turn 
to  God,  and  do  works  meet  tor  repentance,  i-br 
these  causes  the  Jews  caught  me  in  the  temple, 
and  went  about  to  kill  me."  The  seizing,  there- 
fore, of  St.  Paul's  person,  from  which  he  was 
never  discharged  till  his  final  liberation  at  Rome ; 
and  of  which,  therefore,  his  imprisonment  at  Rome 
was  the  continuation  and  effect,  was  not  in  con- 
sequence of  any  general  persecution  set  on  foot 
against  Christianity  ;  nor  did  it  befall  him  simply 
as  professing  or  teaching  Christ's  religion,  which 
James  and  the  elders  at  Jerusalem  did  as  well  as 
he  (and  yet,  for  any  thing  that  ajjpears,  remained 
at  that  time  unmolested  ;)  but  it  was  distinctly  and 
specifically  brought  upon  him  by  his  activity  in 
preaching  to  the  Gentiles,  and  by  his  boldly  placing 
them  upon  a  level  with  the  once-favoured  and  still 
self-flattered  posterity  of  Abraham.  How  well  St. 
Paul's  letters,  purporting  to  be  written  during  this 
imprisonment,  agree  w  ith  this  account  of  its  cause 
and  origin,  we  have  already  seen. 

No.  11. 

Chap.  iv.  10.  "  Aristarchus  my  fellow-prisoner 
saluteth  you,  and  Marcus,  sister's  son  to  Barna- 
bas, (touching  whom  ye  received  commandments: 
If  he  come  unto  you,  receive  him ;)  and  Jesus, 
which  is  called  Justus,  who  are  of  the  circum- 
cision." 

We  find  Aristarchus  as  a  companion  of  our 
apostle  in  the  nineteenth  chapter  of  the  Acts,  and 
the  twenty-ninth  verse :  "  And  the  whole  city  of 
Ephesus  was  filled  with  confusion ;  and  having 
caught  Gains  and  Aristarchus,  men  of  Macedonia, 
Paid's  companions  in  travel,  they  rushed  with 
one  accord  into  the  theatre."  And  we  find  him 
upon  his  journey  with  St.  Paul  to  Rome,  in  the 
twenty-seventh  chapter,  and  the  second  verse: 
"  And  when  it  was  determined  that  we  should 
sail  into  Italy,  they  delivered  Paul  and  certain 
other  prisoners  unto  one  named  Julius,  a  centurion 
of  Augustus's  band :  and,  entering  into  a  ship  of 
Adramyttium,  we  launched,  meaning  to  sail  by 
the  coast  of  Asia ;  one  Aristarchus,  a  Macedo- 
nian of  Thessalonica,  being  with  us."  But  might 
not  the  author  of  the  epistle  have  consulted  the 
history ;  and,  observing  that  the  historian  had 
brought  Aristarchus  along  with  Paul  to  Rome, 
might  he  not  for  that  reason,  and  without  any 
other  foundation,  have  put  down  his  name 
amongst  the  salutations  of  an  epistle  purporting 
to  be  written  by  the  ajjostle  from  that  jjlacel  1 
allow  so  much  of  possibility  to  this  objection,  that 
I  should  not  have  proposed  this  in  the  number  of 
coincidences  clearly  undesigned,  had  Aristarchus 
stood  alone.  The  observation  that  strikes  me  in 
reading  the  passage  is,  that  together  with  Aris- 
tarchus, whose  journey  to  Rome  we  trace  in  the 
history,  are  joined  Marcus  and  Justus,  of  whose 
coming  to  Rome  the  history  says  nothing.  Aris- 
tarchus alone  appears  in  the  history,  a]id  Aristar- 
chus alone  would  have  appeared  in  the  epistle, 
if  the  author  had  regulated  himself  by  that  con- 
formity. Or  if  you  take  it  the  other  way ;  if  you 
suppose  the  history  to  have  been  made  out  of  the 
epistle,  why  the  journey  of  Aristarchus  to  Rome 
should  be  recorded,  and  not  that  of  Marcus  and 
Justus,  if  the  groimd-work  of  the  narrative  was 
the  appearance  of  Aristarchus's  name  in  the  epis- 
tle, seems  to  be  unaccountable. 


FIRST  EPISTLE  TO  THE  THESSALOMANS. 


211 


"Marcus,  suter's  son  to  Barnabas."  Does  not 
this  hint  account  for  Barnabas's  adherence  to  Mark 
in  the  contest  that  arose  with  our  apstle  concern- 
ing him]  "  And  some  daj's  after,  Paul  said  unto 
Barnabas,  Let  us  go  again  and  visit  our  brethren 
in  every  city  where  we  have  preached  the  word  of 
the  Lord,  and  see  how  they  do;  and  Barnabas 
determined  to  take  uith  them  John, -whose  sur- 
name was  Mark  ;  but  Paul  thought  not  good  to 
take  him  ^ath  them,  who  departed  from  Pamphy- 
lia,  and  went  not  with  them  to  the  work ;  and  the 
contention  was  so  sharp  between  them,  that  they 
departed  asunder  one  from  the  other:  and  so  Bar- 
nabas took  Mark  and  sailed  unto  Cyprus."  The 
history  which  records  the  dispute  has  not  pre- 
served the  circumstance  of  Mark's  relationship  to 
Barnabas.  It  is  no  where  noticed  but  in  the  text 
before  us.  As  far,  therefore,  as  it  applies,  the  ap- 
plication is  certainly  undesigned. 

"  Sister's  son  to  Barnabas."  This  woman,  the 
mother  of  Mark,  and  the  sister  of  Barnabas,  was, 
as  might  be  expected,  a  person  of  some  eminence 
amongst  the  Christians  of  Jerusalem.  It  so  hap- 
pens that  we  hear  of  her  in  the  history.  "  When 
Peter  was  delivered  from  prison,  he  came  to  the 
house  of  Mary,  the  mother  of  John,  irhose  sur- 
name was  Mark,  where  many  were  gathered  to- 
gether praying,"  Acts,  xii.  12.  There  is  some- 
what of  coincidence  in  this  :  somewliat  bespeaking 
real  transactions  amongst  real  persons. 

No.  III. 

The  following  coincidence,  though  it  bear  the 
appearance  of  great  nicety  and  refinement,  ought 
not,  perhaps,  to  be  deemed  imaginary.  In  the  salu- 
tations with  which  this,  like  most  of  St.  Paul's 
epistles,  concludes,  "we  have  Aristarchus  and 
Marcus,  and  Jesus,  which  is  called  Justus,  tcho 
are  of  the  circumcision,'''  \y.  10,  11.  Then  follow 
also,  "  Epaphras,  Luke  the  beloved  physician,  and 
Demas."  Now,  as  this  description,  "  who  are  of 
the  circumcision,"  is  added  after  the  first  three 
names,  it  is  inferred,  not  without  great  appearance 
of  probability,  that  the  rest,  amongst  whom  is 
Luke,  were  not  of  the  circumcision.  Now,  can 
we  discover  any  expression  in  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  which  ascertains  whether  the  author  of 
the  book  was  a  Jew  or  noti  If  we  can  discover 
that  he  was  not  a  Jew,  we  fix  a  circumstance  in 
his  character,  which  coincides  with  what  is  here, 
indirectly  indeed,  but  not  very  uncertainly,  in- 
timated concerning  Luke:  and  we  so  far  confinn 
both  the  testimony  of  the  primitive  church,  that 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  was  written  by  St.  Luke, 
and  the  genera!  reality  of  the  persons  and  circum- 
stances brought  together  in  this  epistle.  The 
text  in  the  Acts,  which  has  been  construed  to 
show  that  the  writer  was  not  a  Jew,  is  the  nine- 
teenth verse  of  the  first  chapter,  where,  in  de- 
scribing the  field  which  had  been  purchased  with 
the  reward  of  Judas's  iniquity,  it  is  said,  "  That 
it  was  known  unto  all  the  dwellers  at  Jerusalem; 
insomuch  as  that  field  is  called  in  their  proper 
tongue,  Aceldama,  that  is  to  say.  The  field  of 
blood."  These  words  are  by  most  commentators 
taken  to  be  the  words  and  observation  of  the  his- 
torian, and  not  a  part  of  St.  Peter's  speech,  in  the 
midst  of  which  they  are  found.  If  this  be  admitted, 
then  it  is  argued  that  the  expression,  "in  their 
proper  tongue,"  would  not  have  been  used  by  a 
Jew,  but  is  suitable  to  the  pen  of  a  Gentile  writing 


concerning  Jews.*  The  reader  will  judge  of  the 
probability  of  this  conclusion,  and  we  urge  the 
coincidence  no  farther  than  that  proliability  ex- 
tends. The  coincidence,  if  it  be  one,  is  so  remote 
from  all  possibility  of  design,  that  nothing  need  be 
added  to  satisfy  the  reader  upon  that  part  of  the 
argument. 

No.  IV. 

Chap.  iv.  9.  "  Witli  Onesimus,  a  faithful  and 
beloved  brother,  who  is  one  of  you." 

Observe  how  it  may  be  made  out  that  Onesi- 
mus was  a  Colossian.  Turn  to  the  Epistle  to 
Philemon,  and  you  will  find  that  Onesimus  was 
the  servant  or  slave  of  Philemon.  The  question 
therefore  will  be,  to  what  city  Philemon  belonged. 
In  the  epistle  addressed  to  him  this  is  not  dcclareil. 
It  appears  only  that  he  was  of  the  same  place, 
whatever  that  place  was,  with  an  eminent  Chris- 
tian named  Archippus.  "  Paul,  a  prisoner  of  Je- 
sus Christ,  and  Timothy  our  brother,  unto  Phile- 
mon our  dearly  beloved  and  fellow-labourer;  and 
to  our  beloved  Apphia,  and  Archippus  our  fel- 
low-soldier, and  to  the  church  in  thy  house." 
Now  turn  back  to  the  Ejiistle  to  the  Colossians, 
and  you  will  find  Arcluppus  saluted  by  name 
amongst  the  Christians  of  that  church.  "  Say 
to  Archippus,  Take  heed  to  the  mini-stry  which 
thou  hast  received  in  the  Lord,  that  thou  fulfil  it," 
iv.  17.  The  necessary  result  is,  that  Onesimus 
also  was  of  the  same  city,  agreeably  to  what  is  said 
of  him,  "he  is  one  of  you."  And  this  result  is 
the  effect  either  of  truth  which  produces  con- 
sistency without  the  writer's  thought  or  care,  or 
of  a  contexture  of  forgeries  confirming  and  fall- 
ing in  with  one  another  by  a  species  of  fortuity 
of  which  I  know  no  example.  The  supposition 
of  design,  I  think,  is  excluded,  not  only  because 
the  purpose  to  which  the  design  must  have  been 
directed,  viz.  the  verification  of  the  passage  in  our 
epistle,  in  which  it  is  said  concerning  Onesimus, 
"  he  is  one  of  you,"  is  a  purpose,  which  would  be 
lost  upon  ninety-nine  readers  out  of  a  hundred ; 
but  because  the  means  made  use  of  are  too  cir- 
cuitous to  have  been  the  subject  of  alTectation  and 
contrivance.  Would  a  forger,  who  had  this  pur- 
pose in  view,  have  left  his  readers  to  hunt  it  out, 
liy  going  forward  and  backward  from  one  epistle 
to  another,  in  order  to  connect  Onesinms  with 
Philemon,  Philemon  with  Archippus,  and  Ar- 
chippus with  Colosse  1  all  which  he  must  do  be- 
fore he  arrives  at  his  discovery,  that  it  was  truly 
said  of  Onesimus,  "  he  is  one  of  you." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  First  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians. 

No.  I. 

It  is  known  to  every  reader  of  Scripture,  that 
the  First  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians  speaks  of 
the  coming  of  Christ  in  terms  which  indicate  an 
expectiition  of  his  speedy  appearance  :  "  For  this 
we  say  unto  you  by  the  word  of  the  Lord,  that 
we  which  are  alive  and  remain  unto  the  coming 
of  the  Lord,  shall  not  prevent  them  which 
are  asleep.  For  the  Lord  himself  shall  descend 
from  heaven  with  a  shout,  with  the  voice  of  the 


*  Vide  Ben,son"s  Dissertation,  vol.  i.  p.  318,.  of  hifl 
works,  ed.  1756. 


212 


HORiE  PAULINA. 


archangel,  and  with  the  trump  of  God ;  and  the 
dead  in  Christ  shall  rise  first ;  then  ice  which  are 
alive  and  remain,  shall  be  caught  up  together 
with  them  in  the  clouds — But  ye,  brethren,  are 
not  in  darkness,  that  that  day  should  overtake  you 
as  a  thief,"  chap.  iv.  15,  IG,  17;  ch.v.  4. 

Whatever  other  construction  these  texts  may 
bear,  the  idea  they  leave  upon  the  mind  of  an 
ordinary  reader,  is  that  of  the  author  of  the  epis- 
tle looking  for  the  day  of  judgment  to  take  place 
in  his  own  tune,  or  near  to  it.  Now  the  use  whicli 
I  make  of  this  circumstance,  is  to  deduce  from  it  a 
proof  that  the  epistle  itself  was  not  the  production 
of  a  subsequent  age.  Would  an  impostor  have 
given  this  expectation  to  St.  Paul,  after  experience 
had  proved  it  to  be  erroneous  l  or  would  he  have 
put  into  the  apostle's  mouth,  or  which  is  the  same 
thing,  into  writings  purporting  to  come  from  his 
hand,  expressions,  if  not  necessarily  conveying, 
at  least  easily  interpreted  to  convey,  an  opinion 
which  was  then  known  to  be  founded  in  mistake  'I 
I  state  this  as  an  argument  to  show  that  the  epis- 
tle was  contemporary  with  St.  Paul,  which  is  lit- 
tle less  than  to  show  that  it  actually  proceeded 
from  his  pen.  For  I  question  whether  any  an- 
cient forgeries  were  executed  in  the  life-time  of 
the  person  whose  name  they  bear ;  nor  was  tlie 
primitive  situation  of  the  church  likely  to  give 
birth  to  such  an  attempt. 

No.  II. 

Our  epistle  concludes  with  a  direction  that  it 
should  be  publicly  read  in  the  church  to  which  it 
was  addressed  :  "  1  charge  you  by  the  Lord,  that 
this  epistle  be  read  unto  all  the  holy  brethren." 
The  existence  of  this  clause  in  the  body  of  the 
epistle  is  an  evidence  of  its  authenticity  ;  because 
to  produce  a  letter  purporting  to  have  been  publicly 
read  in  the  church  of  Thessalonica,  when  no  such 
letter  in  truth  had  been  read  or  heard  of  in  that 
church,  would  be  to  produce  an  imposture  destruc- 
tive of  itself  At  least,  it  seems  unlikely  that  the 
author  of  an  imposture  would  voluntarily,  and  even 
officiously,  afford  a  handle  to  so  plain  an  objection. 
— Either  the  epistle  was  publicly  read  in  the 
church  of  Thessalonica  during  St.  Paul's  hfe-time, 
or  it  was  not.  If  it  was,  no  publication  could  be 
more  authentic,  no  species  of  notoriety  more  un- 
questionable, no  method  of  preserving  the  integrity 
of  the  copy  more  secure.  If  it  was  not,  the  clause 
we  produce  would  remain  a  standing  condemna- 
tion of  the  forgery,  and  one  would  suppose,  an 
invincible  impediment  to  its  success. 

If  we  connect  this  article  with  the  preceding, 
we  shall  perceive  that  they  combine  into  one 
strong  proof  of  the  genuineness  of  the  epistle. 
The  preceding  article  carries  up  the  date  of  the 
epistle  to  the  tmie  of  St.  Paul ;  the  present  article 
fixes  the  publication  of  it  to  the  church  of  Thes- 
salonica. Either  therefore  the  church  of  Thessa- 
lonica was  imposed  upon  by  a  false  epistle,  which 
in  St.  Paul's  life-time  they  received  and  read  pub- 
licly as  his,  carrying  on  a  communication  with 
him  all  the  while,  and  the  epistle  referring  to  the 
continuance  of  that  communication ;  or  other 
Christian  churches,  in  the  same  life-time  of  the 
aiwstle,  received  an  epistle  purporting  to  have  been 
publicly  read  in  the  church  of  Thessalonica,  which 
nevertheless  had  not  been  heard  of  in  that  church ; 
or,  lastly,  the  conclusion  remains,  that  the  epistle 
now  m  our  hands  is  genuine. 


No.  III. 

Between  our  epistle  and  the  liistory  the  accord- 
ancy  in  many  points  is  circumstantial  and  com- 
plete. The  history  relates,  that  after  Paul  and 
Silas  had  been  beaten  with  many  stripes  at  Phi- 
lii)pi,  shut  up  in  the  inner  prison,  and  their  leet 
made  fast  in  the  stocks,  as  soon  as  they  were  dis- 
charged from  their  confinement  they  departed  from 
thence,  and,  when  they  had  passed  through  Am- 
phipolis  and  Apollonia,  came  to  Thessalonica, 
where  Paul  opened  and  alleged  that  Jesus  was 
the  Christ,  Acts,  xvi.  23,  &c.  The  epistle  writ- 
ten in  the  name  of  Paul  and  Sylvanus  (Silas,)  and 
of  Timotheus,  who  also  appears  to  have  been 
along  with  them  at  Philippi,  (vide  Phil.  No.  iv.) 
speaks  to  the  church  of  Thessalonica  thus  :  "  Even 
after  that  we  had  suffered  before,  and  were  shame- 
fully entreated,  as  ye  know,  at  Philippi,  we  were 
bold  in  our  God  to  speak  unto  you  the  Gospel  of 
God  with  much  contention,"  ii.  2. 

The  liistory  relates,  that  after  they  had  been 
some  tune  at  Thessalonica,  "  the  Jews  who  be- 
lieved not,  set  all  the  city  in  an  uproar,  and  as- 
saulted the  house  of  Jason  where  Paul  and  Silas 
were,  and  sought  to  bring  them  out  to  the  people," 
Acts,  xvii.  5.  The  epistle  declares,  "  when  we 
were  with  you,  we  told  you  before  that  we  should 
sufi'er  tribulation;  even  as  it  came  to  pass,  and  ye 
knoic,"  iii.  4. 

The  history  brings  Paul  and  Silas  and  Timo- 
th}'  together  at  Corinth,  soon  after  the  preaching 
of  the  Gospel  at  Thessalonica : — "  And  when 
Silas  and  Timotheus  were  come  from  Macedonia, 
(to  Corinth,)  Paul  was  pressed  in  spirit,"  Acts, 
xviii.  5.  The  epistle  is  written  in  the  name  of 
these  three  persons,  who  consequent!}'  nmst  have 
been  together  at  the  time,  and  speaks  throughout 
of  their  ministry  at  Thessalonica  as  a  recent  trans- 
action :  "  We,  brethren,  being  taken  from  you 
for  a  short  time,  in  presence,  not  in  heart,  endea- 
voured the  more  abundantly  to  see  your  face,  with 
great  desire,"  ii.  17. 

The  harmony  is  indubitable;  but  the  points  of 
history  in  which  it  consists,  are  so  expressly  set 
Ibrth  in  the  narrative,  and  so  directly  referred  to 
in  the  epistle,  that  it  becomes  necessary  for  us  to 
show  that  the  facts  in  one  writing  were  not  copied 
from  the  other.  Now,  amidst  some  minuter  dis- 
crepancies, which  will  be  noticed  below,  there  is 
one  circumstance  which  mixes  itself  with  all  the 
allusions  in  the  epistle,  but  does  not  appear  in  the 
history  any  where  ;  and  that  is  of  a  visit  which  St. 
Paul  had  intended  to  pay  to  the  Thessalonians 
during  the  time  of  his  residing  at  Corinth : — 
"  Wherefore  we  would  have  come  unto  you  (even 
I  Paul)  once  and  again;  but  Satan  hindered  us," 
u.  18.  "  Night  and  day  praying  exceedingly  that 
we  might  see  your  face,  and  might  perlect  that 
which  is  lacking  in  your  faith.  Now  God  himself 
and  our  Father,  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  direct 
our  way  unto  you,"  iu.  10,  11.  Concerning  a  de- 
sign which  was  not  executed,  although  the  person 
liimself,  who  was  conscious  of  his  own  purpose, 
should  make  mention  in  his  letters,  nothing  is 
more  probable  than  that  his  historian  should  be 
silent,  if  not  ignorant.  The  author  of  the  epistle 
could  not,  however,  have  learnt  this  circumstance 
from  the  history,  for  it  is  not  there  to  be  met  with ; 
nor,  if  the  historian  had  drawn  his  materials  from 
the  epistle,  is  it  likely  that  he  would  have  passed 
over  a  urcumstance,  which  is  amongst  the  most 


FIRST  EPISTLE  TO  THE  THESSALOMANS. 


213 


obvious  and  prominent  of  the  facts  to  be  collected 
from  that  source  of  information. 

No.  IV. 

Chap.  iii.  I — 7.  "  Wherefore  when  we  could 
no  longer  forbear,  we  thought  it  good  to  he  left  at 
Athens  alone,  and  sent  Timotheus,  our  brother 
and  minister  of  God,  to  establish  you,  and  to  com- 
fort you  concerning  your  faith ; — but  now  when 
Timotheus  came  from  you  unto  us,  and  brought 
us  good  tidings  of  your  faith  and  charity,  we  were 
comforted  over  you  in  all  our  affliction  and  distress 
by  your  faith." 

Tiie  history  relates,  that  when  Paul  came  out 
of  JMacedonia  to  Athens,  Silas  and  Timothy  staid 
behind  at  Berea :  "  The  brethren  sent  away  Paul 
to  go  as  it  were  to  the  sea ;  but  Silas  and  Timo- 
theus abode  there  still;  and  they  that  conducted 
Paul  brought  liim  to  Athens,"  Acts,  ch.  xvii. 
11,  15.  The  history  fiirther  relates,  that  after 
Paul  had  tarried  some  time  at  Athens,  and  had 
proceeded  from  thence  to  Corinth,  whilst  he  was 
exercising  his  ministry  in  that  city,  Silas  and 
Timothy  came  to  him  from  Macedonia,  Acts, 
ch.  xvni.  5.  But  to  reconcile  the  liistory  with  the 
clause  in  the  epistle,  which  makes  St.  Paul  say. 
"  I  thought  it  good  to  be  left  at  Athens  alone,  and 
to  send  Timothy  unto  you,"  it  is  necessary  to  sup- 
pose that  Timothy  had  come  up  with  St.  Paul  at 
Athens;  a  circumstance  which  the  history  docs 
not  mention.  I  remark,  therefore,  that  although 
t!ie  history  does  not  expressly  notice  this  arrival, 
yet  it  contains  intimations  which  render  it  ex- 
tremely probable  that  the  fact  took  place.  First, 
as  soon  as  Paul  had  reached  Athens,  he  sent  a 
message  back  to  Silas  and  Timothy  "  for  to  come 
to  him  with  all  speed,"  Acts,  ch.  xvii.  15.  Se- 
condly, his  stay  at  Athens  was  on  purpose  that 
they  might  join  him  there:  "Now  whilst  Paul 
waited  for  them  at  Athens,  his  spirit  was  stirred  in 
him,"  Acts,  ch.  xvii.  16.  Thirdly,  his  departure 
from  Athens  does  not  appear  to  have  been  in  any 
sort  hastened  or  abrupt.  It  is  said,  "  After  these 
things,"  viz.  his  disputation  with  the  Jews,  his 
conferences  with  the  philo.sopliers,  his  discourse  at 
Areopagus,  and  the  gaining  of  some  converts,  "he 
departed  from  Athens  and  came  to  Corinth."  It 
is  not  liiiited  that  he  quitted  Athens  before  the 
time  th;it  he  had  intended  to  leave  it ;  it  is  not  sug- 
gested that  he  was  driven  from  thence,  as  he  was 
from  many  cities,  by  tumults  or  persecutions,  or 
because  his  life  was  no  longer  safe.  Observe  then 
the  particulars  which  the  history  does  notice — 
that  Paul  had  ordered  Timothy  to  follow  him  with- 
out delay,  that  he  waited  at  Athens  on  purpose 
that  Timotli}'  might  come  up  with  him,  that  he 
staid  there  as  long  as  his  own  choice  led  him  to 
contiime.  Laying  these  circumstances  which  the 
liistory  does  disclose  together,  it  is  highly  probable 
tliat  Timotliy  came  to  the  apostle  at  Athens,  a 
fact  which  the  epistle,  we  have  seen,  virtually  as- 
serts when  it  makes  Paul  send  Timothy  back 
from  Athens  to  Thessalonica.  The  sending 
back  of  Timothtj  into  jMacedonia  accounts  also 
for  his  not  coming  to  Corinth  till  after  Paul  had 
been  fixed  in  that  city  for  some  considerable  time. 
Paul  had  found  out  Aquila  and  Priscilla,  abode 
witli  them  and  wrought,  being  of  the  same  craft ; 
and  reasoned  in  the  synasro^ue  every  SaVibatli  dav. 
and  persuaded  the  .Tews  and  the  Greeks,  Ai'ts,  ch. 
xviii.  1 — 5.  All  this  passed  at  Corinth  before  Si- 
las and  Timotheus  were  come  from  Macedonia, 


Acts,  ch.  xviii.  5.  If  this  was  the  first  time  of 
their  coming  up  with  him  after  their  separation  at 
Berea,  there  is  nothing  to  account  for  a  delay  so 
contrary  to  what  appears  from  the  history  itself  to 
have  been  St,  Paufs  plan  and  expectation.  This 
is  a  conformity  of  a  peculiar  species.  The  epistle 
discloses  a  fact  wlxich  is  not  preserved  in  the  his- 
tory ;  but  which  makes  what  is  said  in  the  history 
more  significant,  probable,  and  consistent.  The 
history  bears  marks  of  an  omission  ;  the  epistle  by 
reference  furnishes  a  circumstance  which  supplies 
that  omission. 

No.  V. 

Chap.  ii.  14.  "  For  ye,  brethren,  became  fol- 
lowers of  the  churches  of  God  which  in  Judea  are 
in  Christ  Jesus;  for  ye  also  have  sufl'ered  like 
things  of  your  own  countrymen,  even  as  the}' 
have  of  the  Jews."' 

To  a  reader  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  it 
might  seem,  at  first  sight,  that  the  persecutions 
which  the  preachers  and  converts  of  Christianity 
underwent,  were  suffered  at  the  hands  of  their  old 
adversaries  the  Jews.  But  if  we  attend  carefully 
to  the  accounts  there  delivered,  we  shall  observe, 
that,  though  the  opposition  made  to  the  Gospel 
usually  originated  from  the  enmity  of  the  Jews, 
yet  in  almost  all  places  the  Jews  went  about  to 
accomplish  their  purpose,  by  stirring  up  the  Gen- 
tile inhabitants  against  their  converted  country- 
men. Out  of  Judea  they  had  not  power  to  do 
much  mischief  in  any  other  way.  1'his  was  the 
ca.se  at  Thessalonica  in  particular :  "  The  Jews 
which  believed  not,  moved  with  envy,  set  all  the 
city  in  an  uproar,"  Acts,  ch.  xvii.  ver.  5.  It  wis 
the  same  a  short  time  afterwards  at  Berea :  "  When 
the  Jews  of  Thessalonica  had  knowledge  that  the 
word  of  God  was  preached  of  Paul  at  Berea,  they 
came  thither  also,  and  stirred  up  the  people,"  Acts, 
ch.  xvii.  13.  And  before  this  our  apostle  had  met 
with  a  like  species  of  persecution,  in  his  progress 
through  the  Lesser  Asia :  in  every  city  "  the  unbe- 
lieving Jews  stirred  up  the  CTcntiles,  and  made 
their  minds  evil-affected  against  the  brethren," 
Acts,  ch.  xiv.  2.  The  epistle  therefore  represents 
the  case  accurately  as  the  liistory  states  it.  It  was 
the  Jews  always  who  set  on  foot  the  persecutions 
against  the  apostles  and  their  followers.  He  speaks 
truly  therefore  of  them,  when  he  says  in  this  epis- 
tle, "  the}'  both  killed  the  Lord  Jesus  and  their 
own  prophets,  and  have  persecuted  us — forbidding 
us  to  speak  unto  the  Gentiles,"  ii.  15.  16.  But 
out  of  Judea  it  was  at  the  hands  of  the  Gentiles, 
it  was  "  of  their  own  countrymen,"  that  the  inju- 
ries they  underwent  were  immediately  sustained  : 
"  Ye  have  suffered  like  things  of  your  own  coun- 
trymen, even  as  they  have  of  the  Jews." 

No.  VI. 

The  apparent  discrepancies  between  our  epistle 
and  the  history,  though  of  magnitude  suflicicnt  to 
re]3el  the  imputation  of  confederacy  or  transcrip- 
tion (in  which  view  they  form  a  part  of  our  argu- 
ment.) are  neither  numerous,  nor  very  difficult  to 
reconcile.  One  of  these  may  be  observed  in  the 
ninth  and  tenth  verses  of  the  second  chapter: 
"  For  ye  remember,  brethren,  our  labour  and 
travail ;  for  labouring  night  and  day,  because  we 
would  not  be  chargeable  unto  any  of  you,  we 
jireached  unto  you  the  Gospel  of  God.  Ye  are 
witnesses,  and  God  also,  how  holily,  and  justlv, 
and  unblameably  we   behaved  ourselves  among 


•214 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


you  that  believe."  A  person  who  reads  this  pas- 
sage is  naturally  led  by  it  to  suppose,  that  the 
writer  had  dwelt  at  Thessalonica  for  some  con- 
siderable time  :  yet  of  St.  Paul's  ministry  in  that 
city,  the  history  gives  no  other  account  than  the 
tbllowing  :  that  he  came  to  Thessalonica,  where 
was  a  synagogue  of  the  Jews :  that,  as  his  man- 
ner was,  he  went  in  unto  them,  and  three  Sabbath 
days  reasoned  with  them  out  of  the  scriptures : 
that  some  of  them  believed,  and  cansorted  with 
Paul  and  Silas."  The  history  then  proceeds  to 
tell  us,  that  the  Jews  which  believed  not,  set  the  city 
in  an  u})roar,  and  assaulted  the  house  of  Jason, 
where  Paul  and  his  companions  lodged ;  that  the 
consequence  of  this  outrage  was,  that  "  the  bre- 
thren immediately  sent  away  Paul  and  Silas  by 
night  unto  Berea,"  Acts,  ch.  xvii.  1—10.  From 
the  mention  of  his  preaching  three  Sabbath  days 
in  the  Jewish  synagogue,  and  from  the  want  of 
any  farther  specification  of  his  ministry,  it  has 
usuidly  been  taken  for  granted  that  Paul  did  not 
continue  at  Thessalonica  more  than  three  weeks. 
This,  however,  is  inferred  without  necessity.  It 
appears  to  have  been  St.  Paul's  practice,  in  al- 
most every  place  that  he  came  to,  upon  his  first 
arrival  to  repair  to  the  synagogue.  He  thought 
himself  bound  to  propose  the  Gospel  to  the  Jews 
first,  agreeably  to  what  he  declared  at  Antioch  in 
Pisidia ;  "  it  was  necessary  that  the  word  of  God 
should  first  have  been  spoken  to  you,"  Acts.  ch. 
xiii.  46.  If  the  Jews  rejected  his  ministry,  he 
quitted  the  synagogue,  and  betook  himself  to  a 
Gentile  audience.  At  Corinth,  upon  his  first 
coming  thither,  he  reasoned  in  the  synagogue  every 
Sabbath ;  "  but  when  the  Jews  opposed  themselves, 
and  blasphemed,  he  departed  thence,  expressly 
telling  them,  "  from  henceforth  I  will  go  unto  the 
Gentiles  ;  and  he  remained  in  that  city  a  year  and 
six  months,"  Acts,  ch.  xviii.  6 — 11.  At  Ephe- 
sus,  in  like  manner,  for  the  space  of  three  months 
he  went  into  the  synagogue;  but  "when  divers 
were  hardened  and  believed  not,  but  spake  evil  of 
that  way,  he  departed  from  them  and  separated 
the  disciples,  disputing  daily  in  the  school  of  one 
Tyrannus ;  and  this  continued  by  the  space  of  two 
years,"  Acts,  ch.  xix.  9,  10.  Upon  inspecting 
the  history,  I  see  nothing  in  it  which  negatives 
the  supposition,  that  St.  Paul  pursued  the  same 
plan  at  Thessalonica  wliich  he  adopted  in  other 
places  ;  and  that  though  he  resorted  to  the  syna- 
gogue only  three  Sabbath  days,  yet  he  remained 
in  the  city,  and  in  the  exercise  of  his  ministry 
amongst  the  Gentile  citizens,  much  longer;  and 
until  the  success  of  his  i)reaching  had  provoked 
the  Jews  to  excite  the  tumult  and  insurrection  by 
which  he  was  driven  away. 

Another  seeming  discrepancy  is  found  in  the 
ninth  verse  of  the  first  chapter  of  the  epistle ; 
"  For  they  themselves  show  of  us  what  manner  of 
entering  in  we  had  unto  you,  and  how  ye  turned 
to  God  from  idols  to  serve  the  living  and  true 
God."  This  text  contains  an  assertion,  that,  by 
means  of  St.  Paul's  ministry  at  Thessalonica, 
many  idolatrous  Gentiles  had  been  brought  over  to 
Christianity.  Yet  the  history,  in  describing  the 
effects  of  that  ministry,  only  sa3's,  that  "some  of 
the  Jews  believed,  and  of  the  devout  Greeks  a 
great  multitude,  and  of  the  chief  women  not  a 
few,"  ch.  xvii.  4.  The  devout  Greeks  were  those 
wlio  already  worshipped  the  one  true  God  ;  and 
therefore  could  not  be  said,  by  embracing  Chris- 
tianity, "  to  be  turned  to  God  from  idols." 


This  is  the  difficulty.  The  answer  may  be 
assisted  by  the  following  observations :  The 
Alexandrian  and  Cambridge  manuscripts  read  (for 

Kxi  E/:f.y,v,^v  jroKu  ^;^>i3os-  iu  which  reading  they  are 
also  confirmed  by  the  Vulgate  Latin.  And  this 
reading  is,  in  my  opinion,  strongly  supported  by 
the  considerations,  first,  that  01  a-B^oysvoi  alone,  i.  e. 
without  Exxiii's,-,  is  used  in  this  sense  in  the  same 
chapter — Paul  being  come  to  Athens,  SnKiyiTo  tr 

r^      o-uvxyMy^     roig      lov^xtoig     jcat      to*?     trsZo/^svoig  : 

secondly,  that  (nCo/iivm  and  'E\/^-^vig  no  where 
come  together.  The  expression  is  redundant. 
The  01  o-aSo^ioi  must  be  'E/.x>iv£s.  Thirdly,  that 
the  XXI  is  much  more  likely  to  have  been  left  out 
incuria,  mantis  than  to  have  been  put  in.  t  )r 
after  all,  if  we  be  not  allowed  to  change  the 
present  reading,  which  is  undoubtedly  retained 
by  a  great  plurality  of  copies,  may  not  the  pas- 
sage in  the  history  be  considered  as  describ- 
ing only  the  effects  of  St.  Paul's  discourses  dur- 
ing the  three  Sabbath  days  in  which  he  preached 
in  the  synagogue "?  and  may  it  not  be  true,  as  we 
have  remarked  above,  that  his  application  to  the 
Gentiles  at  large,  and  his  success  amongst  them, 
was  posterior  to  this  ] 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  Second  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians. 

No.  I. 

It  may  seem  odd  to  allege  obscurity  itself  as  an 
argument,  or  to  draw  a  proof  in  favour  of  a  writ- 
ing from  that  which  is  naturally  considered  as  the 
principal  defect  in  its  composition.  The  present 
epistle,  however,  furnishes  a  passage,  hitherto 
unexplained,  anol  probably  inexplicable  by  us,  the 
existence  of  which,  under  the  darkness  and  dif- 
ficulties that  attend  it,  can  be  accoimted  for  only 
by  the  supposition  of  the  epistle  being  genuine  ; 
and  upon  that  supposition  is  accounted  for  with 
great  ease.  The  passage  which  1  allude  to  is 
ibund  in  the  second  chapter:  "That  day  shall 
not  come,  except  there  come  a  falling  away  first, 
and  that  man  of  sin  be  revealed,  tlie  son  of  perdi- 
tion, who  op[)oseth  and  exalted  himself  above  all 
that  is  called  God,  or  that  is  worshipped ;  so  that 
he  as  God,  sitteth  in  the  temple  of  God,  showing 
himself  that  he  is  God.     E,emember  ye  not  tliat 

WHEN    I   WAS    YET    WITH    YOU  I  TOI,D  YOU  THESE 

things'?  And  now  ye  know  what  uithholdeth 
that  he  might  be  revealed  in  his  time ;  i'ov  the 
mystery  of  iniquity  doth  already  work,  only  he  that 
now  letteth  icill  let,  until  he  be  taken  out  of  tite 
way;  and  then  shall  that  wicked  be  revealed, 
whom  the  Lord  shall  consume  with  the  spirit  of 
his  mouth,  and  shall  destroy  with  the  brightness 
of  his  coming."  It  were  superfluous  to  prove, 
because  it  is  in  vain  to  den)',  that  this  passage  is 
involved  in  great  obscurity,  more  especially  the 
clauses  distinguished  by  Italics.  Now  the  obser- 
vation I  have  to  offi;r  is  founded  upon  this,  that 
the  passage  expressly  refers  to  a  con\ersation 
which  the  author  had  previously  holden  with  the 
Thessalonians  upon  the  same  subject:  "Remem- 
ber ye  not,  that  when  I  was  yet  with  you  /  told 
you  these  things?  And  now  ye  A-now  what  with- 
holdeth."  If  such  conversation  actually  passed  ; 
if,  whilst  "he  was  yet  with  them,  he  laid  them 
those  things,"  then  it  follows  that  the  epistle  is 


SECOND  EPISTLE  THE  THESSALONIANS. 


21 5 


authentic.  And  of  the  reality  of  this  conversa- 
tion it  appears  to  be  a  proof,  that  what  is  said  in 
the  epistle  might  be  understood  by  those  who  had 
been  present  to  such  conversation,  and  yet  be  in- 
capable of  being  explained  by  any  other.  No 
man  writes  unintelligibly  on  purpose.  But  it  may 
easily  hapi)en,  that  a  part  of  a  letter  which  relates 
to  a  subject,  upon  wliich  the  parties  had  conversed 
together  before,  which  refers  to  what  had  been 
before  said,  which  is  in  truth  a  portion  or  continu- 
ation of  a  former  discourse,  may  be  utterly  with- 
out meaning  to  a  stranger  who  should  pick  up 
the  letter  upon  the  road,  and  yet  he  perfectly  clear 
to  the  person  to  whom  it  is  directed,  and  with 
whom  the  previous  communication  had  passed. 
And  if,  in  a  letter  which  thus  accidentally  fell 
into  my  hands,  I  found  a  passage  exjjressly  refer- 
ring to  a  former  conversation,  and  difficult  to  be 
explained  without  knowing  that  conversation,  I 
should  consider  this  very  difficulty  as  a  proof  that 
the  conversation  had  actually  passed,  and  conse- 
quently that  the  letter  contained  the  real  corres- 
pondence of  real  persons. 

No.  II. 

Chap.  iii.  8.  "Neither  did  we  eat  any  man's 
bread  for  nought,  but  wrought  with  labour  night 
and  day,  that  we  might  not  be  chargeable  to  any 
of  you :  not  because  we  have  no  power,  but  to 
make  ourselves  an  ensample  unto  you  to  fol- 
low." 

In  a  letter,  purporting  to  have  been  wiitten  to 
another  of  the  Macedonian  churches,  we  find  the 
following  declaration : 

"  Now,  ye  PhUippians,  know  also  that  in  the 
beginning  of  the  Gospel,  wlien  1  departed  from 
Macedonia^  no  church,  communicated  with  vie 
as  concerning  giving  and  receiving  but  ye 
only." 

The  conformity  between  these  two  passages  is 
strong  and  plain.  They  confine  the  transaction 
to  the  same  period.  The  Epistle  to  the  Philip- 
pians  refers  to  what  passed  "in  the  beginning  of 
the  Gospel,"'  that  is  to  say,  during  the  first  preach- 
ing of  the  Gospel  on  that  side  of  the  ^gean  sea. 
The  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians  speaks  of  the 
apostle's  conduct  in  that  city  upon  "his  first 
entrance  in  unto  them,"  which  the  history  informs 
us  was  in  the  course  of  Ills  first  visit  to  the  penin- 
sula of  Greece. 

As  St.  Paul  tells  the  Philippians,  "  that  no 
church  communicated  with  him,  as  concerning 
giving  and  receiving,  but  they  only,"  he  could  not, 
consistently  with  the  truth  of  this  declaration, 
have  received  any  thing  from  the  neighbouring 
church  of  Thessalonica.  What  thus  appears  by 
general  implication  in  an  epistle  to  another  church, 
when  he  v.rites  to  the  Thessalonians  tliemselves, 
is  noticed  expressly  and  particularly  ;  "  neither  did 
we  eat  any  man's  bread  for  nought,  but  wrought 
night  and  day,  that  we  might  not  be  chargeable 
to  any  of  you." 

The  texts  here  cited  further  also  exhibit  a  mark 
of  couformity  with  what  St.  Paul  is  made  to  say  of 
hijnself  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  The  apostle 
not  only  reminds  the  Thessalonians  that  he  had 
not  been  chargeable  to  any  of  them,  but  he  states 
likewise  the  motive  which  dictated  this  reserve : 
"not  because  we  have  not  power,  but  to  make 
ourselves  an  ensample  unto  you  to  follow  us," 
ch.  iii.  9.  This  conduct,  and,  what  is  much 
more  precise,  the  end  wliich  he  had  in  view  by  it, 


was  the  very  same  as  that  which  the  history  at- 
tributes to  St.  Paul  in  a  discourse,  which  it  repri  - 
sents  him  to  have  addressed  to  the  elders  of  the 
church  of  Ephesus:  "Yea,  ye  yourselves  also 
know  that  these  hands  have  ministered  unto  my 
necessities,  and  to  them  that  were  with  me.  I 
have  showed  you  all  things,  how,  that  so  labour- 
ing ye  ought  to  support  the  iceak,"'  Acts,  ch.  xx. 
34.  The  sentiment  in  the  epistle  and  in  the 
speech  is  in  both  parts  of  it  so  much  alike,  and 
yet  the  words  which  convey  it  show  so  little  of 
imitation  or  even  of  resenililance,  that  the  agree- 
ment cannot  well  be  explained  without  supposing 
the  speech  and  the  letter  to  have  really  proceeded 
from  the  same  person. 

No.  III. 

Our  reader  remembers  the  passage  in  the  Fir^t 
Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians,  in  which  St.  Palil 
spoke  of  the  coming  of  Christ:  "  This  we  say 
unto  you  by  the  word  of  the  Lord,  that  we  which 
are  alive,  and  remain  unto  the  coming  of  the  Lord, 
shall  not  prevent  them  which  are  asleep :  for  the 
Lord  himself  shall  descend  from  heaven,  and  the 
dead  in  Christ  shall  rise  first;  then  we  which  are 
alive  and  remain,  shall  be  caught  up  together  with 
them  in  the  clouds,  and  so  shall  we  be  ever  with  the 
Lord.  But  ye,  brethren,  are  not  in  darkness,  that 
that  day  should  overtake  you  as  a  tliief,"  1  Thess. 
iv.  15 — 17.  and  ch.  v.  4.  It  should  seem  that  the 
Thessalonians,  or  some  however  amongst  them, 
had  from  this  passage  conceived  an  opinion  (and 
that  not  very  unnaturally)  that  the  coming  of 
Christ  was  to  take  place  instantly,  ox.  svio-T^jtiv  ;* 
and  that  this  persuasion  had  produced,  as  it  well 
might,  much  agitation  in  the  church.  The  apos- 
tle therefore  now  writes,  amongst  other  jiurposes, 
to  quiet  this  alarm,  and  to  rectify  the  misconstruc- 
tion that  had  been  put  upon  his  words: — "Now 
we  beseech  you,  brethren,  by  the  coming  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  by  our  gathering  together 
unto  him,  that  ye  be  not  soon  shaken  in  mind,  or 
be  troubled,  neither  by  spirit,  nor  by  word,  Tior  by 
letter  as  from  us,  as  that  the  day  of  Christ  is  at 
hand."  If  the  allusion  which  we  contend  for  be 
admitted,  namely,  if  it  be  admitted,  that  the  pas- 
sage in  the  second  epistle  relates  to  the  passage  in 
the  first,  it  amounts  to  a  considerable  proof  of  the 
genuineness  of  both  epistles.  I  have  no  concep- 
tion, because  I  know  no  example,  of  such  a  device 
in  a  forgery,  as  first  to  frame  an  ambiguous  passage 
in  a  letfer,  then  to  represent  the  persons  to  whom 
the  letter  is  addressed  as  mistaking  the  meaning 
of  the  passage,  and  lastly,  to  write  a  second  letter 
in  order  to  correct  tiiis  mistake. 

I  have  said  that  this  argument  arises  out  of  the 
text,  ifthe  allusion  be  admitted  ;  for  I  am  not  ig- 
norant that  many  expositors  understand  the  pas- 
sage in  the  second  epistle,  as  referrmg  to  some 
forged  letters,  v/hich  had  been  produced  in  St. 
Paul's  name,  and  in  which  the  apostle  had  been 
made  to  say  that  the  coming  of  Christ  was  then  at 
hand.  In  defence,  however,  of  the  explanation 
which  we  propose,  the  reader  is  desired  to  observe, 

1.  The  strong  fact,  that  there  exists  a  passage 
in  the  first  epistle,  to  which  that  in  the  second  is 
capable  of  being  referred,  i.  e.  which  accounts  foi 
the  error  the  writer  is  solicitous  to  remove.  Had 
no  other  epistle  than  the  second  been  extant,  and 

*  On  £iEirTw/.!i>,  nenipe  hoc  anno,  says  Grotius,  tvur. 
T>)z£v  his  dicitur  de  re  pia'senti,  ut  Rom.  viii.  38.  1  Cor 
iii.  2-2.    Gal.  i.  4.    Heb.  ix.9. 


216 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


had  it  under  these  circumstances  come  to  be  con- 
sidered, whether  the  text  before  us  related  to  a 
forged  epistle  or  to  some  misconstruction  of  a  true 
one,  many  conjectures  and  many  probabilities 
might  have  been  admitted  in  the  inquiry,  which 
can  have  little  weight  when  an  epistle  is  produced, 
containing  the  very  sort  of  passage  we  were  seek- 
ing, that  IS,  a  passage  liable  to  the  misinterpreta- 
tion which  the  apostle  protests  against. 

2.  That  the  clause  which  introduces  the  pas- 
sage in  the  second  epistle  bears  a  particular  affinity 
to  what  is  found  in  the  passage  cited  from  the  first 
epistle.  The  clause  is  this:  "  We  beseech  you, 
brethren,  by  the  coming  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  by  our  gathering  together  unto  him."  Now, 
in  the  first  epistle,  the  description  of  the  coming  of 
Christ  is  accompanied  with  the  mention  of  this 
very  circumstance  of  his  saints  being  collected 
round  him.  "  The  Lord  himself  shall  descend 
from  heaven  with  a  shout,  with  the  voice  of  the 
archangel  and  with  the  trump  of  God,  and  the 
dead  in  Christ  shall  rise  first ;  then  we  which  are 
alive  and  remain,  shall  be  caught  up  together  with 
them  in  the  clouds,  to  vieet  the  Lord  in  the  air," 
1  Thess.  chap.  iv.  16,  17.  This  I  suppose  to  be 
the  "  gathering  together  unto  him"  intended  in 
the  second  epistle :  and  that  the  author,  when  he 
used  these  words,  retained  in  his  thoughts  what 
he  had  written  on  the  subject  before. 

3.  The  second  epistle  is  written  in  the  joint 
name  of  Paul,  Silvanus,  and  Timotheus,  and  it 
cautions  the  Thessalonians  against  being  misled 
"  by  letter  as  from  us"  (lu;  j<  viix.<jiv.)  Do  not  these 
words,  Ji  y,y.mv,  appropriate  the  reference  to  some 
writing  which  bore  the  name  of  these  three  teach- 
ers ■]  Now  this  circumstance,  which  is  a  very 
close  one,  belongs  to  the  epistle  at  present  in  our 
hands ;  for  the  epistle  which  we  call  the  First 
Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians  contains  these  names 
in  its  superscription. 

4.  The  words  in  the  original,  as  far  as  they  are 
material  to  be  stated,  are  these:  ei?  to  /«>)  ra.%i^i  o-*- 

KiV^i\VXi  Vf^Xg    XTTO  TOU    VOO;,  /Xi^TS    ^pO£  1  (rSc6i  , /«>!  T£   StX    TTVSV- 

oTi  £v£o-T))X£v  n  >)^£()a  Tou  XpKTTou.  Undcr  thc  weight 
of  the  preceding  observations,  may  not  the  words 
^>)T£  Stx  Koyov,  juyjTE  Si  ETTiTToKi^g^  o)?  Si  Ji^oji',  be  con- 
strued to  signify  quasi  nos  quid  tale  aid  dixeri- 
mus  aut  scripserimus*  intimating  that  their  words 
had  been  mistaken,  and  that  they  had  in  truth 
said  or  written  no  such  thing  % 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  First  Epistle  to  Timothy. 

From  the  third  verse  of  the  first  chapter,  "  as  I 
besought  thee  to  abide  still  at  Ephesus  when  I 


*  Should  a  contrary  interpretation  be  preferred,  I  do 
not  think  that  it  implies  the  conclusion  that  a  false 
epistle  had  then  been  published  in  the  apostle's  name.  It 
will  completely  satisfy  the  allusion  in  the  text  to  allow, 
that  some  one  or  other  at  Thessalonica  had  pretended 
to  have  been  told  by  St.  Paul  and  his  companions,  or  to 
have  seen  a  letter  from  them,  in  which  they  had  said, 
that  the  day  of  Christ  was  at  hand.  In  like  manner  as. 
Acts,  XV.  1, 24,  it  is  recorded  that  some  had  pretended  to 
have  received  instructions  from  the  church  at  Jerusa- 
lem, which  had  been  received,  "  to  whom  they  gave  no 
such  commandment."    And  thus  Dr.  Benson  interpreted 

the  passage  A<iiT£  5pO£i(r6cti, /<>|T£  Sm  jt^-u^xto;,  ij.y,Ts  Six 

xoyou,  ^>iT£  Si  f^Tio-To^nf,  005  Si  sifi'jiii,  "nor  be  dismayed 
by  any  revelation,  or  discourse,  or  epistle,  which  any 
one  shall  pretend  to  have  heard  or  received  from  us." 


went  into  Macedonia,"  it  is  evident  that  this  epis 
tie  was  written  soon  after  St.  Paul  had  gone  to 
Macedonia  from  Ephesus.  Dr.  Benson  fixes  its 
date  to  the  time  of  St.  Paul's  journey  recorded  in 
the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  chapter  of  the  Acts : 
"  And  after  the  uproar  (excited  by  Demetrius  at 
Ephesus)  was  ceased,  Paul  called  unto  him  the 
disciples,  and  embraced  them,  and  departed  for  to 
go  into  Macedonia."  And  m  this  opinion  Dr. 
Benson  is  followed  by  Michaclis,  as  he  was  pre- 
ceded by  the  greater  part  of  the  commentators  who 
have  considered  the  question.  There  is,  however, 
one  objection  to  the  hypothesis,  which  these  learn- 
ed men  appear  to  me  to  have  overlooked ;  and  it  is 
no  other  than  this,  that  the  superscription  of  the 
Second  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  seems  to  prove, 
that  at  the  time  St.  Paul  is  supposed  by  them  to 
have  written  this  epistle  to  Timothy,  Timothy  in 
truth  was  with  St.  Paul  in  Macedonia.  Paul,  as 
it  is  related  in  the  Acts,  left  Ephesus  "  for  to  go 
into  Macedonia."  When  he  had  got  into  Mace- 
donia, he  wrote  his  Second  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians. Concerning  this  point  there  exists  little 
variety  of  opinion.  It  is  plainly  indicated  by  the 
contents  of  the  epistle.  It  is  also  strongly  implied 
that  the  epistle  was  written  soon  after  the  apostle's 
arrival  in  Macedonia ;  for  he  begins  his  letter  by  a 
train  of  reflection,  referring  to  his  persecutions  in 
Asia  as  to  recent  transactions,  as  to  dangers  from 
which  he  had  lately  been  delivered.  But  in  the 
salutation  with  which  the  epistle  opens,  Timothy 
was  joined  with  St.  Paul,  and  consequently  could 
not  at  that  time  be  "  left  behind  at  Ephesus." 
And  as  to  the  only  solution  of  the  difficulty  which 
can  be  thought  of,  viz.  that  Tnnothy,  though  he 
was  left  behind  at  Ephesus  upon  St.  Paul's  de- 
parture from  Asia,  yet  might  follow  him  so  soon 
after,  as  to  come  up  with  the  apostle  in  Macedo- 
nia, before  he  wrote  his  Epistle  to  the  Corintlaans ; 
that  supposition  is  inconsistent  with  the  terms  and 
tenor  of  the  epistle  throughout.  For  the  writer 
speaks  uniformly  of  his  intention  to  return  to 
■Timothy  at  Ephesus,  and  not  of  his  expecting 
Timothy  to  come  to  him  in  Macedonia :  "  These 
things  write  I  unto  thee,  hoping  to  come  unto  thee 
shortly ;  but  if  I  tarry  long,  that  thou  mayest  know 
how  thou  oughtest  to  behave  thyself,"  ch.  iii.  14, 
15.  "  Till  I  come,  give  attendance  to  reading,  to 
exhortation,  to  doctrine,"  ch.  iv.  13. 

Since,  therefore,  the  leaving  of  Timothy  behind 
at  Ephesus,  when  Paul  went  into  Macedonia, 
suits  not  with  any  journey  into  Macedonia,  re- 
corded in  the  Acts,  1  concur  with  Bishop  Pearson, 
in  placing  the  date  of  this  epistle,  and  the  journey 
referred  to  in  it,  at  a  period  subsequent  to  St. 
Paul's  first  imprisonment  at  Rome,  and  conse- 
quently subsequent  to  the  sera  up  to  which  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles  brings  his  history.  The 
only  difficulty  which  attends  our  opinion  is,  that 
St.  Paul  must,  according  to  us,  have  come  to  Ephe- 
sus after  his  liberation  at  Rome,  contrary  as  it 
should  seem,  to  what  he  foretold  to  the  Ephcsian 
elders,  "  that  they  should  see  his  face  no  more." 
And  it  is  to  save  the  infallibility  of  this  prediction, 
and  for  no  other  reason  of  weight,  that  an  earlier 
date  is  assigned  to  this  epistle.  The  prediction 
itself,  however,  when  considered  in  connexion 
with  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  de- 
livered, does  not  seem  to  demand  so  much  anxiety. 
The  words  in  question  are  found  in  the  twenty- 
fifth  verse  of  the  twentieth  chapter  of  the  Acts: 
"  And  now,  behold,  I  know  that  ye  all,  among 


FIRST  EPISTLE  TO  TIMOTHY. 


217 


whom  I  have  gone  preacHng  the  kingdom  of  God, 
shall  see  my  face  no  more."  In  the  twenty-second 
and  twenty-third  verses  of  the  same  chapter,  i.  e. 
two  verses  before,  the  apostle  makes  this  declara- 
tion :  "  And  now,  behold,  I  go  bound  in  the  spirit 
unto  Jerusalem,  not  knowing  the  things  that  shall 
befall  me  there :  save  that  the  Holy  Ghost  witness- 
etli  in  every  city,  saying  that  bonds  and  afflictions 
abide  me."  This  "witnessmg  of  the  Holy  Ghost" 
was  undoubtedly  prophetic  and  supernatural.  But 
it  went  no  farther  than  to  foretell  that  bonds  and 
afflictions  awaited  him.  And  I  can  very  well  con- 
ceive, that  tliis  might  be  all  which  was  communi- 
cated to  the  apostle  by  extraordinary  revelation, 
and  that  the  rest  was  the  conclusion  of  his  own 
mind,  the  desponding  inference  which  he  drew 
from  strong  and  repeated  intimations  of  approach- 
ing danger.  And  the  expression  "  I  know,"  which 
St.  Paul  here  uses,  does  not,  perhaps,  when  ap- 
plied to  future  events  affecting  liimself,  convey  an 
assertion  so  positive  and  absolute  as  we  may  at 
first  sight  apprehend.  In  the  first  chapter  of  the 
Epistle  to  the  Philippians,  and  the  twenty-fifth 
verse,  "  I  know,"  says  he,  "  that  I  shall  abide  and 
continue  with  you  all,  for  your  furtherance  and 
joy  of  faith."  Notwithstanding  this  strong  decla- 
ration, in  the  second  chapter  and  twenty-third 
verse  of  this  same  epistle,  and  speaking  also  of  the 
very  same  event,  he  is  content  to  use  a  language 
of  some  doubt  and  uncertainty  :  "  Him  therefore  I 
hope  to  send  presently,  so  soon  as  I  shall  see  how 
it  ic'dl  go  icith  vie.  But  I  trust  in  the  Lord  that 
I  also  myself  shall  come  shortly."  And  a  few 
verses  preceding  these,  he  not  only  seems  to  doubt 
of  his  safety,  but  almost  to  despair ;  to  contemplate 
the  possibility  at  least  of  his  condemnation  and 
martyrdom :  "  Yea.  and  if  I  be  offered  upon  the 
sacrifice  and  service  of  your  faith,  I  joy  and  rejoice 
with  you  all." 

No.  I. 

But  can  we  show  that  St.  Paul  visited  Ephesus 
after  his  liberation  at  Rome  1  or  rather,  can  we 
collect  any  hints  from  his  other  letters  which  make 
it  probable  that  he  did  ■?  If  we  can,  then  we  have 
a  coincidence.  If  we  cannot,  we  have  only  an 
unauthorised  supposition,  to  which  the  exigency 
of  the  case  compels  us  to  resort.  Now,  for  this 
purpose,  let  us  examine  the  Epistle  to  the  Philip- 
pians and  the  Epistle  to  Pliilemon.  These  two 
epistles  purport  to  be  written  whilst  St.  Paul  was 
yet  a  prisoner  at  Rome.  To  the  Philippians  he 
writes  as  follows:  "  I  trust  in  the  Lord  that  I  also 
myself  shall  come  shortly."  To  Philemon,  who 
was  a  Colossian,  he  gives  this  direction :  "  But 
withal,  prepare  me  also  a  lodging,  for  I  trust  that 
through  your  pra3'ers  I  shall  be  given  unto  you." 
An  inspection  of  the  map  will  snow  us  that  Co- 
losse  was  a  city  of  the  Lesser  Asia,  lying  eastward, 
and  at  no  great  distance  from  Ephesus.  Philippi 
was  on  the  other,  i.  e.  the  western  side  of  the 
-iEgean  sea.  If  the  apostle  executed  his  purpose ; 
if,  in  pursuance  of  the  intention  expressed  in  his 
letter  to  Philemon,  he  came  to  Colosse  soon  after 
he  was  set  at  liberty  at  Rome,  it  is  very  improba- 
ble that  he  would  omit  to  visit  Ephesus,  wliich  lay 
so  near  to  it,  and  where  he  had  spent  three  years 
of  his  ministry.  As  he  was  also  under  a  promise 
to  the  church  of  Philippi  to  see  them  "  shortly ;" 
if  he  passed  from  Colosse  to  Philippi,  or  from 
Pliilippi  to  Colosse,  he  could  hardly  avoid  taking 
Ephesus  in  Ms  way. 

2E 


No.  II. 

Chap.  V.  9.  "  Let  not  a  widow  be  taken  into 
the  number  under  threescore  years  old." 

This  accords  with  the  account  delivered  in  the 
sixth  chapter  of  the  Acts.  "  And  in  those  days, 
when  the  number  of  the  disciples  was  multiplied, 
there  arose  a  murmuring  of  the  Grecians  against 
the  Hebrews,  because  their  widows  uerc  neglected 
in  the  daily  ministration."  It  appears  that,  from 
the  first  formation  of  tlie  Christian  church,  provi- 
sion was  made  out  of  the  [)ublic  funds  of  tlie  socie- 
ty for  the  indigent  widows  who  belonged  to  it. 
The  history,  we  have  seen,  distinctly  records  the 
existence  of  such  an  institution  at  Jerusalem,  a 
few  years  after  our  Lord's  ascension ;  and  is  led 
to  the  mention  of  it  very  incidentally,  viz.  by  a 
dispute,  of  which  it  was  the  occasion,  and  which 
produced  important  consequences  to  the  Christian 
community.  The  epistle,  without  being  suspected 
of  borrowing  from  the  history,  refers,  brieily  in- 
deed, but  decisively,  to  a  similar  establishment, 
subsisting  some  years  afterwards  at  E|jhesus. 
This  agreement  indicates  tliat  both  writings  were 
founded  upon  real  circumstances. 

But.  in  this  article,  the  material  thing  to  be  no- 
ticed is  the  mode  of  expression :  ''  Let  not  a  widow 
be  taken  into  the  number." — No  previous  account 
or  explanation  is  given,  to  which  these  words, 
"into  the  number,"  can  refer;  but  the  direction 
comes  concisely  and  unpreparedly.  "  Let  not  a 
wi<low  be  taken  into  the  number."  Now  this  is 
the  way  in  which  a  man  writes,  who  is  conscious 
that  he  is  writing  to  persons  already  acquainted 
with  the  subject  of  his  letter ;  and  who,  he  knows, 
will  readily  apprehend  and  apjily  what  he  says  by 
virtue  of  their  being  so  acquainted  ;  but  it  is  not 
the  way  in  which  a  man  writes  upon  any  other 
occasion ;  and  least  of  all,  in  which  a  man  would 
draw  up  a  feigned  letter,  or  introduce  a  supposi- 
tious fact.* 

No.  in. 

Chapter  iii.  2,  3.     "  A   bishop   then   must   be 


*  It  is  not  altogether  unconnected  with  our  general 
purpose  to  remark,  in  the  passage  before  us,  the  selection 
and  reserve  which  St.  Paul  recommends  to  the  gover- 
nors of  the  church  of  Ephesus  in  the  bestowing  relief 
upon  the  poor,  because  it  refutes  a  calumny  which  hag 
been  insinuated,  that  the  liberality  of  the  first  Christians 
was  an  artifice  to  catch  converts  ;  or  one  of  the  tempta- 
tions, however,  by  which  the  idle  and  mendicant  were 
drawn  into  this  society:  "Let not  a  widow  be  taken  iu- 
to  the  number  under  threescore  years  old,  having  been 
the  wife  of  one  man,  well  reported  of  for  good  works  ; 
if  she  have  brouglit  up  children,  if  she  have  lodged 
strangers,  if  she  have  washed  the  saints'  feet,  if  she  have 
relieved  the  afflicted,  if  she  have  diligently  followed 
every  good  work.  But  the  younger  widows  refuse," 
v.  9,  10,  11.  And  in  anotlier  place,  "  If  any  man  or 
woman  that  btlieveth  have  widows,  let  th;'m  relieve 
them,  and  let  not  the  church  be  charged  ;  that  it  may 
relieve  them  that  are  widows  indeed."  And  to  the  same 
effect,  or  rather  more  to  our  present  purpose,  the  apostle 
writes  in  tlie  Sucond  Epistle  to  the  Tliessalonians: 
"  Even  wlien  we  were  with  you,  this  we  commanded 
you,  that  if  any  would  not  work,  neither  should  he  eat," 
i.  e.  at  the  public  expense.  "  For  we  hear  that  there  are 
some  wliich  walk  among  you  disorderly,  icorlcing  not  at 
all,  but  are  busy  bodies.  Now  them  that  are  such  we 
command  and  e.vhort  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  that 
with  quietness  they  work,  and  eat  their  own  bread." 
Could  a  designing  or  dissolute  poor  take  advantage  of 
bounty  regulated  with  so  much  caution  ;  or  could  the 
mind  which  dictated  those  sober  and  prudent  directions 
be  influeiiced  in  his  recommendations  of  public  charitv 
by  any  other  than  tlie  properest  motives  of  beneficence  ? 
19 


218 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


blameless,  the  husband  of  one  wife,  vigiliint,  sober, 
of  good  behaviour,  given  to  hospitality,  apt  to 
teach;  not  given  to  wine,  no  striker,  not  greedy  of 
filthy  lucre ;  but  patient,  not  a  brawler,  not  covet- 
ous; one  that  ruleth  well  his  own  house." 

"  No  striker :"  That  is  the  article  which  I  single 
out  from  the  colleciion  as  evincing  the  antiquity 
at  least,  if  not  the  genuineness,  of  the  epistle ; 
because  it  is  an  article  which  no  man  would  have 
made  the  subject  of  caution  who  lived  in  an  ad- 
vanced ffira  of  the  church.  It  agreed  with  the  in- 
fancy of  the  society,  and  with  no  other  state  of  it. 
Alter  the  government  of  the  church  had  acquired 
the  dignified  form  which  it  soon  and  naturally 
assumed,  this  injunction  could  have  no  place. 
Would  a  person  who  lived  under  a  hierarchy,  such 
as  the  Christian  hierarchy  became  when  it  had 
settled  into  a  regular  estabhshnient,  have  thought 
it  necessary  to  prescribe  concerning  the  qualilica- 
tion  of  a  bishop,  "  that  he  should  be  no  striker  T' 
And  this  injunction  would  be  equally  alien  from 
the  imagination  of  the  writer,  whether  he  wrote 
in  his  own  character,  or  personated  that  of  an 
apostle. 

No.  IV. 

Chap.  V.  23.  "  Drink  no  longer  water,  but  use 
a  little  wine  for  thy  stomach's  sake  and  thine  often 
infirmities." 

Imagine  an  impostor  sitting  down  to  forge  an 
epistle  in  the  name  of  St.  Paul.  Is  it  credible  that 
it  should  come  into  his  head  to  give  such  a  direc- 
tion as  this ;  so  remote  from  every  thing  of  doc- 
trine or  discipline,  every  thing  of  public  concern 
to  the  religion  or  the  church,  or  to  any  sect,  order, 
or  party  in  it,  and  from  every  purpose  with  which 
such  an  epistle  could  be  written  ]  It  seems  to  me 
that  nothing  but  reality,  that  is,  the  real  valetudi- 
nary situation  of  a  real  person,  could  have  sug- 
gested a  thought  of  so  domestic  a  nature. 

But  if  the  peculiarity  Of  the  advice  be  observable, 
the  place  in  which  it  stands  is  more  so.  The  con- 
text is  this :  "  Lay  hands  suddenly  on  no  man, 
neither  be  partaker  of  other  men's  sins :  keep  thy- 
self pure.  Drink  no  longer  water,  liut  use  a  httle 
wine  for  thy  stomach's  sake  and  thine  otlcn  in- 
firmities. Some  men's  sins  are  open  beforehand, 
going  before  to  judgment;  and  some  men  they 
follow  after."  The  direction  to  Timothy  about 
his  diet  stands  between  two  sentences,  as  wide 
from  the  subject  as  possible.  The  train  of  thought 
seems  to  be  broken  to  let  it  in.  Now  when  does 
this  hajipen  1  It  happens  when  a  man  writes  as 
he  remembers ;  when  he  puts  down  an  article  that 
occurs  the  moment  it  occurs,  lest  he  should  after- 
wards forget  it.  Of  this  the  passage  before  us 
bears  strongly  the  appearance.  In  actual  letters, 
in  the  negligence  of  real  correspondence,  examples 
of  this  kind  freciuently  take  jjlace ;  seldom,  I  be- 
lieve, in  any  other  production.  For  the  moment 
a  man  regards  what  he  writes  as  a  composition, 
which  the  author  of  a  forgery  would,  of  all  others, 
be  the  first  to  do,  notions  of  order,  in  tlie  arrange- 
ment and  succession  of  his  thoughts,  present 
themselves  to  his  judgment,  and  guide  his  pen. 

No.  V. 

Chap.  i.  1.5,  IG.  "This  is  a  faithful  saying, 
and  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that  Christ  Jesus 
came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners;  of  whom  I 
am  chief  Howbeit,  for  this  cause  I  obtained  mer- 
cy, that  in  me  first  Jesus  Christ  might  show  forth 


all  long-suflering,  for  a  pattern  to  them  whic;. 
should  hereafter  believe  in  him  to  life  everlasting." 
What  was  the  mercy  which  St.  Paul  here  com- 
memorates, and  what  was  the  crime  of  which  he 
accuses  himself,  is  apparent  from  the  verses  im- 
mediately preceding:  "I  thank  Christ  Jesus  our 
Lord,  who  hath  enabled  me,  for  that  he  counted 
me  faithful,  putting  me  into  the  ministry ;  who 
was  before  a  blasphemer,  and  a  persecutor,  and 
injurious :  but  I  obtained  viercy,  because  I  did  it 
igiiorantly  in  unbelief,"  ch.  i.  12,  13.  The  whole 
quotation  plainly  refers  to  St.  Paul's  original  en- 
mity to  the  Christian  name,  the  interposition  of 
Providence  in  his  conversion,  and  his  subsequent 
designation  to  the  ministry  of  the  Gospel ;  and  by 
this  reference  affirms  indeed  the  substance  of  the 
apostle's  history  delivered  in  the  Acts.  But  what 
in  the  passage  strikes  my  mind  most  powerfully, 
is  the  observation  that  is  raised  out  of  the  fact. 
"  For  this  cause  I  obtained  mercy,  that  in  me  first 
Jesus  Christ  might  show  forth  all  long-suffering, 
for  a  pattern  to  them  which  should  hereafter  be- 
lieve on  him  to  life  everlasting."  It  is  a  just  and 
solemn  reflection,  springing  from  the  circumstances 
of  the  author's  conversion,  or  rather  from  the  im- 
pression which  that  great  event  had  left  upon  his 
memory.  It  will  be  said,  perhaps,  that  an  impos- 
tor acquainted  with  St.  Paul's  history,  may  have 
put  such  a  sentiment  into  his  mouth ;  or,  what  is 
the  same  thing,  into  a  letter  drawn  up  in  his  name. 
But  where,  we  may  ask,  is  such  an  impostor  to  be 
found '?  The  jiiety,  the  truth,  the  benevolence  of  the 
thought,  ought  to  protect  it  from  this  imputation. 
For,  though  we  should  allow  that  one  of  the  great 
masters  of  the  ancient  tragedy  could  have  given  to 
his  scene  a  sentiment  as  virtuous  and  as  elevated 
as  this  is,  and  at  the  same  time  as  approjjriate,  and 
as  well  suited  to  the  particular  situation  of  the 
person  who  delivers  it ;  yet  whoever  is  conversant 
in  these  inquiries  will  acknowledge,  that  to  do 
this  in  a  fictitious  jjroduction  is  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  understandings  which  have  been  employed 
upon  2iYiy  fabrications  that  have  come  down  to  us 
under  Christian  names. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  Second  Epistle  to  Timothy. 

No.  I. 

It  was  the  uniform  tradition  of  the  primitive 
church,  that  St.  Paul  visited  Rome  twice,  and 
twice  there  sufiered  imprisonment ;  and  that  he 
was  put  to  death  at  Rome  at  the  conclusion  of  his 
second  imprisonment.  This  opinion  concerning 
St.  Paul's  two  journeys  to  Rome  is  confirmed  by 
a  great  variety  of  hints  and  allusions  in  the  epistle 
before  us,  compared  with  what  tell  from  the  apos- 
tle's pen  in  other  letters  purporting  to  have  been 
written  from  Rome.  That  our  present  epistle  was 
written  whilst  St.  Paul  was  a  prisoner,  is  dis- 
tinctly intimated  l)y  the  eighth  verse  of  the  first 
chapter:  "  Ee  not  thou  therefore  ashamed  of  the 
testimony  of  our  Lord,  nor  of  me  his  prisoner "' 
And  whilst  he  was  a  jjrisoner  at  Rome,  by  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  verses  of  the  same 
chapter;  ''The  Lord  give  mercy  unto  the  house 
of  Onesiphorus ;  for  he  oft  refreshed  me,  and  was 
not  ashamed  of  my  chain :  but  when  he  was  in 
Rome  he  sought  me  out  very  diligently  and  found 


SECOND  EPISTLE  TO  TIMOTHY. 


219 


me."  Since  it  appears  from  the  former  quotation 
that  St.  Paul  wrote  this  epistle  in  continemcnt,  it 
will  hardly  admit  of  doubt  that  the  word  chain,  in 
the  latter  quotation,  refers  to  that  confinement ; 
the  chain  by  which  he  was  then  bound,  the  custo- 
dy in  which  he  was  then  kept.  And  if  the  word 
"  chain"  designate  the  author's  confinement  at  the 
tune  of  writing  the  epistle,  the  next  words  deter- 
mine it  to  have  been  written  from  Rome;  "He 
was  not  ashamed  of  my  chain  ;  but  wlien  he  was 
in  Rome  he  sought  me  out  very  diligently."  Now 
that  it  was  not  written  during  the  ajjostle's  first 
im[)risonment  at  Rome,  or  during  the  same  im- 
prisonment in  which  the  epistles  to  the  Ephesians, 
the  Colo.ssians,  the  Philippians,  and  Philemon, 
were  written,  may  be  gathered,  with  considerable 
evidence,  from  a  comparison  of  these  several  epis- 
tles with  the  present. 

I.  In  the  former  epistles  the  author  confidently 
looked  forward  to  his  liberation  from  confinement, 
and  his  speedy  departure  froin  Rome.  He  tells 
the  Philippians  (ch.  ii.  i-l,)  "  I  trust  in  the  Lord 
that  I  also  myself  shall  come  shortly."  Philemon 
he  bids  to  prepare  for  him  a  lodging :  "  for  1  trust," 
says  he,  "  that  through  your  prayers  I  shall  be 
given  unto  you,"  ver.  2'2.  In  the  epistle  betbre  us 
he  holds  a  language  extremely  different :  "  I  am 
now  ready  to  be  offered,  and  the  time  of  my  de- 

Farture  is  at  hand.  I  have  fought  a  good  fight, 
have  finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith : 
henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of 
righteousness,  which  the  Lord,  the  righteous 
Judge,  shall  give  me  at  that  day,"  ch.  iv.  6 — 8. 

II.  When  the  former  epist:les,  were  written 
from  Rome,  Timothy  was  with  St.  Paul ;  and  is 
joined  with  him  in  writing  to  the  Colossians,  the 
Philippians,  and  to  Philemon.  The  present  epis- 
tle implies  that  he  was  absent. 

III.  In  the  former  epistles,  Deraas  was  with 
St.  Paul  at  Rome :  "  Luke,  the  beloved  physician, 
and  Deinas,  greet  5'ou."  In  the  epistle  now  before 
us:  "  Demas  hath  forsaken  me,  having  lo^•ed  this 
present  world,  and  is  gone  to  Thessalonica." 

IV.  In  the  former  epistles,  Mark  was  with  St. 
Paul,  and'  joins  in  saluting  the  Colossians.  In 
the  present  epistle,  Timothy  is  ordered  to  bring 
him  with  him,  "  for  he  is  profitable  to  me  for  the 
ministry,"  ch.  iv.  11. 

The  case  of  Timothy  and  of  Mark  might  be 
very  well  accounted  for,  by  supposing  the  present 
epistle  to  have  been  written  before  the  others;  so 
that  Timothy,  who  is  here  exhorted  "  to  come 
shortly  unto  him,"  ch.  iv.  9,  might  have  arrived, 
and  that  Mark,  "whom  he  was  to  bring  with 
him,"  ch.  iv.  11,  might  have  also  reached  Rome 
in  sufficient  time  to  have  been  with  St.  Paul  when 
the  four  epistles  were  written ;  but  then  such  a 
supposition  is  inconsistent  with  what  is  said  of 
Deans,  by  which  the  posteriority  of  this  to  the  other 
epistles  is  strongly  indicated ;  for  in  the  other  epis- 
tles Demas  was  with  St.  Paul,  in  the  present  he 
hath  "  forsaken  him,  and  is  gone  to  Thessalo- 
nica." The  oppo.sition  also  of  sentiment,  with 
respect  to  the  event  of  the  persecution,  is  hardly 
reconcileable  to  tlie  same  iniprisoimient. 

The  two  following  considerations,  which  were 
first  suggested  upon  tliis  question  by  Ludovicus 
Capellus,  are  still  more  conclusive. 

1.  In  the  twentieth  verse  of  the  fourth  chapter, 
St.  Paul  informs  Timothy,  "  that  Erastus  abode 
at  Corinth,"  Ej;:<rTOf  it^tiviv  tv  KoeivS^^.  The  form 
of  expression  implies,  that  Erastus  had  staid  be- 


hind at  Corinth,  when  St.  Paul  left  it.  But  this 
could  not  be  meant  of  any  journey  from  Corinth 
which  St.  Paul  took  prior  to  his  first  im])rison- 
nicnt  at  Rome ;  for  when  Paul  departed  from  Co- 
rinth, as  related  in  the  twentieth  chapter  of  the 
Acts,  Timothy  was  with  him:  and  this  was  the 
last  time  the  apostle  left  Corinth  before  his  coming 
to  Rome  ;  because  he  left  it  to  proceed  on  his  way 
to  Jerusalem ;  soon  after  his  arrival  at  which 
place  he  was  taken  into  cust(xly,  and  continued 
in  that  custody  till  he  was  carried  to  Cfesar's  tri- 
bunal. There  could  be  no  need  therefore  to  in- 
form Timothy  that  "  Erastus  staid  behind  at  Co- 
rinth" upon  this  occasion,  because  if  the  iiact  was 
so,  it  must  have  been  known  to  Timothy,  who  was 
present,  as  well  as  to  St.  Paul. 

2.  In  the  same  verse  our  epistle  also  states  the 
following  article:  "  Trophinms  have  I  left  at  Mi- 
letum  sick."  When  St.  Paul  passed  through  Mi- 
Ictum  on  his  way  to  Jerusalem,  as  related  Acts 
XX,  Trophimus  was  not  Icit  behind,  but  accom- 
panied him  to  that  city.  He  was  indeed  the  oc- 
casion of  the  uproar  at  Jerusalem,  in  consequence 
of  which  St.  Paul  wa.s  apprehended ;  for  "  they 
had  seen,"  says  the  historian,  "  before  with  him 
in  the  city,  Trophimus  an  Ephesian,  whom  they 
suppo.sed  that  Paul  had  brought  into  the  temple." 
This  was  evidently  the  last  time  of  Paul's  being 
at  Miletus  before  his  first  imprisonment ;  for,  as 
hath  been  said,  after  his  apprehension  at  Jerusa- 
lem, he  remained  in  custody  till  he  was  sent  to 
Rome. 

In  these  two  articles  we  have  a  journey  re- 
ferred to,  which  must  have  taken  yjlace  subse- 
quent to  the  conclusion  of  St.  Luke's  history,  and 
of  course  after  St.  Paul's  liberation  from  his  first 
imprisonment.  The  epistle,  therefore,  which  con- 
tains this  reference,  since  it  appears  from  other 
parts  of  it  to  have  been  written  while  St.  Paul  was 
a  prisoner  at  Rome,  proves  that  he  had  returned 
to  that  city  again,  and  undergone  there  a  second 
imprisonment. 

I  do  not  produce  these  particulars  for  the  sake 
of  the  support  which  they  lend  to  the  testimony 
of  the  fathers  concerning  St.  Paul's  second  im- 
prisonment, but  to  remark  their  consistency  and 
agreement  with  one  another. — They  are  all  re- 
solvable into  one  supposition :  and  although  the 
supposition  itself  be  in  some  sort  only  negative, 
viz.  that  the  epistle  was  not  written  during  St. 
Paul's  first  residence  at  Rome,  but  in  some  future 
imprisonment  in  that  city ;  yet  is  the  consistency 
not  less  worthy  of  observation:  for  the  epistle 
touches  upon  names  and  circumstances  connect- 
ed with  the  date  and  with  the  history  of  the  first 
imprisonment,  and  mentioned  in  letters  written 
during  that  imprisonment,  and  so  touches  upon 
them,  as  to  leave  what  is  said  of  one  consistent 
with  what  is  said  of  others,  and  consistent  also 
with  what  is  said  of  them  in  different  epistles. 
Had  one  of  these  circumstances  been  so  described 
as  to  have  fixed  the  date  of  the  e]iistle  to  the  first 
imprisonment,  it  would  have  involved  the  rest  in 
contradiction.  And  when  the  number  and  par- 
ticularity of  the  articles  which  have  been  brought 
together  under  this  head  are  considered;  and 
when  it  is  considered  also,  that  the  comparisons 
we  have  formed  amongst  them,  were  in  all  proba- 
bility neither  provided  for,  nor  thought  of,  by  the 
writer  of  the  epistle,  it  will  be  deemed  something 
very  like  the  elfect  of  truth,  that  no  invincible  re- 
pugnancy is  perceived  between  them. 


220 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


No.  II. 

In  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  in  the  sixteenth 
chapter,  and  at  the  first  verse,  we  are  told  that 
Paul  "  came  to  Derbe  and  Lystra,  and  behold  a 
certain  disciple  was  there  named  Timotheus,  the 
son  of  a  certain  woman  which  was  a  Jewess,  and 
believed ;  but  his  lather  was  a  Greek."  In  the 
epistle  before  us,  in  the  first  chapter  and  at  the 
fourth  verse,  St.  Paul  writes  to  Timothy  thus : 
"  Greatly  desiring  to  see  thee,  being  mindful  of 
thy  tears,  that  I  may  be  filled  with  joy,  when  I 
call  to  remembrance  the  unfeigned  faith  that  is  in 
thee,  which  dwelt  first  in  thy  grandmother  Lois, 
and  thy  mother  Eunice ;  and  I  am  persuaded  that 
in  thee  also.''  Here  we  have  a  fair  unforced  ex- 
ample of  coincidence.  In  the  history,  Timothy  was 
the  "  son  of  a  Jewess  that  believed :"  in  the  epi.s- 
tle,  St.  Paul  applauds  "the faith  which  dwelt  in 
his  mother  EunicQ."  In  the  history  it  is  said  of 
the  mother,  "that  she  was  a  Jewess,  and  be- 
heved:"  of  the  father,  "that  he  was  a  Greek." 
Now,  when  it  is  said  of  the  mother  alone  "  that 
she  believed,"  the  father  being  nevertheless  men- 
tioned in  the  same  sentence,  we  are  led  to  sup- 
pose of  the  father  that  he  did  not  believe,  i.  e. 
either  that  he  was  deatl,  or  that  he  remained  un- 
converted. Agreeably  hereunto,  whilst  praise 
is  bestowed  in  the  epistle  upon  one  parent,  and 
upon  her  sincerity  in  the  faith,  no  notice  is  taken 
of  the  other.  The  mention  of  the  grandmother 
is  the  addition  of  a  circumstance  not  found  in  the 
history  ;  but  it  is  a  circumstance  which,  as  well  as 
the  names  of  the  parties,  might  naturally  be  ex- 
pected to  be  known  to  the  apostle,  though  over- 
looked by  his  historian. 

No.  III. 

Chap.  iii.  15.  "  And  that  from  a  child  thou 
hast  known  the  Holy  Scriptures,  which  are  able 
to  make  thee  wise  unto  salvation." 

This  verse  discloses  a  circumstance  which 
agrees  exactly  with  what  is  intimated  in  the 
quotation  from  the  Acts,  adduced  in  the  last 
number.  In  that  quotation  it  is  recorded  of  Timo- 
thy's mother,  "  that  she  was  a  Jewess."  This 
description  is  virtually,  though,  I  am  satisfied,  un- 
designedly, recognized  in  the  epistle,  when  Timo- 
thy is  reminded  in  it,  "  that  from  a  child  he  had 
known  the  Holy  Scriptures."  "  The  Holy  Scrip- 
tures," undoubtedly  meant  the  Scriptures  of  the 
Old  Testament.  The  expression  bears  that  sense 
in  every  place  in  which  it  occurs.  Those  of  the 
New  had  not  yet  acquired  the  name ;  not  to  men- 
tion, that  in  Timothy's  childhood,  probably,  none 
of  them  existed.  In  what  manner  then  could 
Timothy  have  known  "  from  a  child,"  the  Jew- 
ish Scrii)tures,  had  he  not  been  born,  on  one  side 
or  on  both,  of  Jewish  parentage!  Perhaps  he 
was  not  less  likely  to  be  carefully  instructed  in 
them,  for  that  his  mother  alone  professed  that  re- 
ligion. 

No.  IV. 

Chap.  ii.  9-3.  "  Flee  also  yoidhfitl  lusts ;  but 
follow  righteousness,  fiith,  charity,  peace,  with 
them  that  call  on  the  Lord  out  of  a  pure  heart." 

"  Plee  also  youthful  lusts."  The  suitableness 
of  this  precept  to  the  age  of  the  person  to  whom 
it  is  addressed,  is  gathered  from  1  Tim.  chap.  iv. 
12:  "  Let  no  man  despise  thy  youth."  Nor  do  I 
deem  the  less  of  this  coincidence,  because  the  pro- 
jiriety  resides  in  a  single  epithet:  or  because  this 


one  precept  is  joined  with,  and  followed  by  a  train 
of  others,  not  more  applicable  to  Timothy  than  to 
any  ordinary  convert.  It  is  in  these  transient 
and  cursory  allusions  that  the  argument  is  best 
founded.  When  a  writer  dwells  and  rests  upon 
a  point  in  which  some  coincidence  is  discerned,  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  he  himself  had  not  fa- 
bricated the  conformity,  and  was  endeavouring  to 
display  and  set  it  off.  But  when  the  reference  is 
contained  in  a  single  word,  unobserved  perhaps 
by  most  readers,  the  writer  passing  on  to  other 
subjects,  as  unconscious  that  he  had  hit  upon  a 
correspondency,  or  unsolicitous  whether  it  were 
remarked  or  not,  we  may  be  pretty  well  assured 
that  no  fraud  was  exercised,  no  imposition  in- 
tended. 

No.  V. 

Chap.  iii.  10, 11.  "  But  thou  hast  fully  known 
my  doctrine,  manner  of  life,  purjwse,  faith,  long- 
suffering,  charity,  patience,  persecutions,  afflic- 
tions, which  came  unto  me  at  Antioch,  at  Iconium, 
at  Lystra ;  what  persecutions  I  endured ;  but  out 
of  them  all  the  Lord  delivered  me." 

The  Antioch  here  mentioned  was  not  Antioch 
the  capital  of  Syria,  where  Paul  and  Barnabas 
resided  "a  long  time;"  but  Antioch  in  Pisidia,  to 
which  place  Paul  and  Barnabas  came  in  their  first 
apostolic  progress,  and  where  Paul  delivered  a 
memorable  discourse,  which  is  preserved  in  the 
thirteenth  chapter  of  the  Acts.  At  this  Antioch 
the  history  relates,  that  the  "  Jews  stirred  up  the 
devout  and  honourable  women,  and  the  chief  men 
of  the  city,  and  raised  persecution  against  Paul 
and  Barnabas,  and  expelled  them  out  of  their 
coasts.  But  they  shook  off  the  dust  of  their  feet 
against  them,  and  came  into  Iconium ....  And 
it  came  to  pass  in  Iconium,  that  they  went  both 
together  into  the  synagogue  of  the  Jews,  and  so 
spake,  that  a  great  multitude  both  of  the  Jews 
and  also  of  the  Greeks  believed ;  but  the  un- 
believing Jews  stirred  up  the  Gentiles,  and  made 
their  minds  evil-affected  against  the  brethren. 
Long  time  therefore  abode  they  speaking  boldly 
in  the  Lord,  which  gave  testimony  unto  the  word 
of  his  grace,  and  granted  signs  and  wonders  to 
be  done  by  their  hands.  But  the  multitude  of  the 
city  was  divided ;  and  part  held  with  the  Jews, 
and  part  with  the  apostles.  And  when  there  was 
an  assault  made  both  of  the  Gentiles  and  also  of 
the  Jews,  with  their  rulers,  to  use  them  despitefully 
and  to  stone  thevi,  they  were  aware  of  it,  and 
fled  unto  Lystra  and  Derbe,  cities  of  Lycaonia. 
and  unto  the  region  that  lieth  round  about,  and 
there  they  preached  the  Gospel ....  And  there 
came  thither  certain  Jews  from  Antioch  and 
Iconium,  who  persuaded  the  people,  and  having 
stoned  Paul,  drew  him  out  of  the  city,  supposing 
he  had  been  dead.  Howbeit,  as  the  disciples  stood 
round  about  him,  he  rose  up  and  came  into  the 
city :  and  the  next  day  he  departed  with  Barnabas 
to  Derbe  :  ami  when  they  had  preached  the  Gos- 
pel to  that  city,  and  had  taught  many,  they  re- 
turned again  to  Lystra,  and  to  Iconium,  and  to 
Antioch."  This  account  comprises  the  period  io 
which  the  allusion  in  the  epistle  is  to  he  referred. 
We  have  so  far  therefore  a  conformity  between 
the  history  and  the  epistle,  that  St.  Paul  is  asserted 
in  the  history  to  have  sulTered  persecutions  in  the 
three  cities,  his  persecutions  at  which  are  appealed 
to  in  the  epistle ;  and  not  only  so,  but  to  have  suf- 
fered these  persecutions  both  in  immediate  sue- 


EPISTLE  TO  TITUS. 


221 


cession,  and  in  the  order  in  which  the  cities  are 
mentioned  in  the  epistle.  The  conformity  also 
extends  to  another  circumstance.  In  the  apostolic 
history,  Lystra  and  Derbe  are  commonly  men- 
tioned together :  in  the  quotation  from  the  epistle 
Lystra  is  mentioned,  and  not  Derbe.  And  the 
distinction  will  appear  on  this  occasion  to  be  ac- 
curate ;  for  St.  Paul  is  here  enumerating  his  per- 
secutions :  and  although  he  underwent  grievous 
persecutions  in  each  of  the  three  cities  through 
wliich  he  passed  to  Derbe,  at  Derbe  itself  he  met 
with  none :  "  The  next  day  he  departed,"  says 
the  historian,  "to  Derbe;  and  when  they  had 
preached  the  Gospel  to  that  city,  and  had  taught 
many,  they  returned  again  to  Lystra."  The  epis- 
tle, therefore,  in  the  names  of  the  cities,  in  the 
order  in  which  they  are  enmnerated,  and  in  the 
place  at  which  the  enumeration  stops,  corresponds 
exactly  with  the  liistory. 

But  a  second  question  remains,  namely,  how 
these  persecutions  were  "  known"  to  Timothy, 
or  why  the  apostle  should  recall  these  in  particu- 
lar to  liis  remembrance,  rather  than  many  other 
persecutions  with  which  his  ministry  had  been 
attended.  When  some  time,  probably  three  years, 
afterwards,  (ride  Pearson's  Annales  Paulinas,) 
St.  Paul  made  a  second  journey  through  the  same 
country,  "  in  order  to  go  again  and  visit  the  bre- 
thren in  every  city  where  he  had  preached  the 
word  of  the  Lord,"  we  read.  Acts,  chap.  xvi.  1, 
that,  "  when  he  came  to  Derbe  and  Lystra,  be- 
hold a  certain  disciple  was  there  named  Timo- 
theus."  One  or  other,  therefore,  of  these  cities, 
was  the  place  of  Timothy's  abode.  We  read 
moreover  that  he  was  well  reported  of  by  the  bre- 
thren that  were  at  Lystra  and  Iconium ;  so  that 
he  must  have  been  well  acquainted  with  these 
places.  Also  again,  when  Paul  came  to  Derbe 
and  Lystra,  Timothy  was  already  a  disciple : 
"  Behold,  a  certain  disciple  was  there  named 
Timotheus."  He  must  therefore  have  been  con- 
verted before.  But  since  it  is  expressly  stated  in 
the  epistle,  that  Timothy  was  converted  by  St. 
Paul  himself,  that  he  was  "  his  own  son  in  the 
taith;"  it  follows  that  he  must  have  been  con- 
verted by  liim  upon  his  former  journey  into  those 
parts ;  which  was  the  very  time  when  the  apostle 
iniderwent  the  persecutions  referred  to  in  the  epis- 
tle. Upon  the  whole,  then,  persecutions  at  the 
several  cities  named  in  the  epistle  are  expressly 
recorded  in  the  Acts :  and  Timothy's  knowledge 
of  this  part  of  St.  Paul's  history,  which  knowledge 
is  appealed  to  in  the  epistle,  is  fairly  deduced  from 
the  place  of  his  abode,  and  the  time  of  his  con- 
version. It  may  farther  be  observed,  that  it  is 
probable  from  this  account,  that  St.  Paul  was  in 
the  midst  of  those  persecutions  when  Timothy 
became  known  to  him.  No  wonder  then  that  the 
apostle,  though  in  a  letter  written  long  afterwards, 
should  remind  his  favourite  convert  of  those 
scenes  of  affliction  and  distress  under  which  they 
first  met. 

Although  this  coincidence,  as  to  the  names  of 
the  cities,  be  more  specific  and  direct  than  many 
which  we  have  pointed  out,  yet  I  apprehend  there 
is  no  just  reason  for  thinking  it  to  be  artificial :  for 
had  the  writer  of  the  epistle  sought  a  coincidence 
with  the  history  upon  this  head,  and  searched  the 
Act:*  of  the  Apostles  for  the  purpose,  I  conceive 
he  would  have  sent  us  at  once  to  Philippi  and 
ThessaUvnica,  where  Paul  suffered  persecution, 
and  wltfive,  from  what  is  stated,  it  may  easily  be 


gathered  that  Timothy  accompanied  hun,  rather 
than  have  appealed  to  persecutions  as  known  to 
Timothy,  in  the  account  of  which  persecutions 
Timothy's  presence  is  not  mentioned ;  it  not  be- 
ing till  after  one  entire  chapter,  and  in  the  history 
of  a  journey  three  years  future  to  this,  that  Timo- 
thy's name  occurs  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  foi 
the  first  time. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 
The  Epistle  to  Titus. 

No.  I. 

A  VERY  characteristic  circumstance  in  this 
epistle,  is  the  quotation  from  Epimenides,  chap, 
i.  12 :  "  One  of  themselves,  even  a  prophet  of 
their  own,  said.  The  Cretans  are  always  liars, 
evil  beasts,  slow  bellies." 

K^jjte;  «£i  tJ/suo-tx*,  xcexx  fi/j^ ice,  yxTTs^eg  x^yett, 

I  call  this  quotation  characteristic,  because  no 
writer  in  the  New  Testament,  except  St.  Paul, 
appealed  to  heathen  testimony ;  and  because  St. 
Paul  repeatedly  did  so.  In  his  celebrated  speech 
at  Athens,  preserved  in  the  seventeenth  chapter 
of  the  Acts,  he  tells  his  audience,  that  "in  God 
we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being ;  as  certain 
also  of  your  own  poets  have  said,  For  we  are  also 
liis  ofl'spring." 

— Tou  yoc^  y.xi  yevog  fo-^ev. 

The  reader  will  perceive  much  similarity  of 
manner  in  these  two  passages.  The  reference  in 
the  speech  is  to  a  heathen  poet ;  it  is  the  same  m 
the  epistle.  In  the  speech,  the  apostle  urges  his 
hearers  with  the  authority  of  a  poet  of  their  oxen ; 
in  the  epistle  he  avails  himself  of  the  same  ad- 
vantage. Yet  there  is  a  variation,  which  shows 
that  the  hint  of  inserting  a  quotation  in  the  epis- 
tle was  not,  as  it  may  be  expected,  borrowed  from 
seeing  the  like  practice  attributed  to  St.  Paul  in 
the  history ;  and  it  is  this,  that  in  the  epistle  the 
author  cited  is  called  a.  prophet,  "  one  of  them- 
selves, even  a  prophet  of  their  own."  Whatever 
might  be  the  reason  for  calling  Epimenides  a  pro- 
phet :  whether  the  names  of  poet  and  prophet 
were  occasionally  convertible;  whether  Epime- 
nides in  particular  had  obtained  that  title,  as  Gro- 
tius  seems  to  have  proved;  or  whether  the  ap- 
pellation was  given  to  him,  in  this  instance  as 
having  delivered  a  description  of  the  Cretan  cha- 
racter, which  the  future  state  of  morals  among 
them  verified :  whatever  was  the  reason  (and  any 
of  these  reasons  will  accomit  for  the  variation, 
supposing  St.  Paul  to  have  been  the  author,)  one 
point  is  plain,  namely,  if  the  epistle  had  been 
forged,  and  the  author  had  inserted  a  quotation 
in  it  merely  from  having  seen  an  example  of  the 
same  kind  in  a  speech  ascribed  to  St.  Paul,  he 
would  so  far  have  imitated  his  original,  as  to  have 
introduced  his  quotation  in  the  same  manner; 
that  is,  he  would  have  given  to  Epimenides  the 
title  which  he  saw  there  given  to  Aratus.  The 
other  side  of  the  alternative  is,  that  the  history 
took  the  hint  from  the  epistle.  But  that  the  au- 
thor of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  had  not  the  Epis- 
tle to  Titus  before  liim,  at  least  that  he  (fid  not 
use  it  as  one  of  the  documents  or  materials  of  his 
narrative,  is  rendered  nearly  certain  by  the  obser- 
19* 


222 


HOR^  PAULINA. 


vation.  that  the  name  of  Titus  does  not  once  oc- 
cur in  this  book. 

It  is  well  known,  and  was  remarked  by  St.  Je- 
rome, tiiat  the  apophthegm  in  the  fifteenth  chap- 
ter of  the  Corinthians,  "  Evil  communications 
corrupt  good  manners,"  is  an  iambic  of  Menan- 
der's : 

4>5i<fOuo"iv  >i9>)  x^n"'^'  o,«i\i«t  X.XX.X.I, 

Here  we  have  another  unaffected  instance  of 
the  same  turn  and  habit  of  com|)osition. — Proba- 
bly there  are  some  hitherto  unnoticed ;  and  more, 
which  the  loss  of  the  original  authors  renders 
impossible  to  be  now  ascertained. 

No.  II. 

There  exists  a  visible  affinity  between  the 
Epistle  to  Titus  and  the  First  Epistle  to  Timo- 
thy. Both  letters  were  addressed  to  persons  left 
by  the  writer  to  preside  in  their  respective  churches 
during  his  absence.  Both  letters  are  principally 
occupied  in  describing  the  qualifications  to  be 
sought  for,  in  those  whom  they  should  appoint  to 
offices  in  the  church  ;  and  the  ingredients  of  this 
description  are  in  both  letters  nearly  the  same. 
Timothy  and  Titus  are  likewise  cautioned  against 
the  same  prevailing  corruptions,  and  in  particular, 
against  the  same  misdirection  of  their  cares  and 
studies.  This  affinity  obtains,  not  only  in  the 
subject  of  the  letters,  which  from  the  similarity 
if  situation  in  the  persons  to  whom  they  were 
addressed,  might  be  expected  to  be  somewhat 
alike,  but  extends,  in  a  great  variety  of  instances, 
to  the  phrases  and  expressions.  The  writer  ac- 
costs his  two  friends  with  the  same  salutation, 
and  passes  on  to  the  business  of  his  letter  by  the 
same  transition. 

"Unto  Timothy,  my  oicn  son  in  the  faith: 
Grace,  mercy,  and  peace,  from  God  our  Father 
and  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.  As  I  besought  thee 
to  abide  still  at  Ephesus,  when  I  went  into  Ma- 
cedonia" &.C.  1  Tim.  chap.  i.  2,  3. 

"To  Titus,  vilne  own  son  after  the  common 
faith :  Grace,  mercy,  and  peace,  from  God  the 
Father  and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  our  Saviour. 
For  this  cause  left  I  thee  in  Crete,"  Tit.  chap, 
i.  4,  5. 

If  Timothy  was  not  to  "give  heed  to  fables 
and  endless  genealogies,  which  minister  ques- 
tions," 1  Tim.  chap.  i.  4,  Titus  also  was  to 
"  avoid  foolish  questions,  and  genealogies,  and 
contentions,"  chap.  iii.  9;  and  was  to  "rebuke 
them  sharply,  not  giving  heed  to  Jewish  fables," 
chap.  i.  14.  If  Timothy  was  to  he  a  pattern,  (tujto;,) 
I  Tim.  ch.  iv.  12,  so  was  Titus,  chap.  ii.  7.  If 
Timothy  was  to  "let  no  man  despise  his  youth," 
1  Tim.  ch.  iv.  12,  Titus  also  was  to  let  "  no 
man  despise  him,"  chap.  ii.  15.  This  verbal 
consent  is  also  observable  in  some  very  peculiar 
expressions,  which  have  no  relation  to  the  par- 
ticular character  of  Timothy  or  Titu.s. 

The  phrase,  "  it  is  a  faithful  saying"  (n-irro;  o 
xoyo;)  made  use  of  to  preface  some  sentence  upon 
which  the  writer  lays  a  more  than  ordinary  stress, 
occurs  three  times  in  the  First  Epistle  to  Timothy, 
once  in  the  Second,  and  once  in  the  epistle  before 
us,  and  in  no  other  part  of  St.  Paul's  writings ; 
and  it  is  remarkable  that  these  three  epistles  were 
])robably  all  written  towards  the  conclusion  of  his 
life;  and  that  they  are  the  only  epistles  which 
were  written  after  his  first  imprisonment  at 
Rome 


The  same  observation  belongs  to  another  singu- 
larity of  expression,  and  that  is  in  the  epithet 
"  sound"  (■jj.is^.vogv,}  as  applied  to  words  or  doctrine. 
It  is  thus  used,  twice  in  the  First  Epistle  to  Ti- 
mothy, twice  in  the  Second,  and  three  times  in  the 
Epistle  to  Titus,  besides  two  cognate  expressions, 
uj-ixivovT«s  TV,  jrio-Tsi  and  xoyou  vym  ;  and  it  is 
found,  in  the  same  sense,  in  no  other  part  of  the 
New  Testament. 

The  phrase,  "  God  our  Saviour,"  stands  in 
nearly  the  same  predicament.  It  is  repeated  three 
times  in  the  First  Epistle  to  Timothy,  as  many 
in  the  Epistle  to  Titus,  and  in  no  other  book  of 
the  New  Testament  occurs  at  all,  except  once  in 
the  Epistle  of  Jude. 

Similar  terms,  intermixed  indeed  with  others, 
are  employed  in  the  two  epistles,  in  enumerating 
the  qualifications  required  in  those  who  should  be 
advanced  to  stations  of  authority  in  the  church. 

"  A  bi.shop  must  be  blameless,  the  husband  of 
one  wife,  vigilant,  sober,  of  good  behaviour,  given 
to  hospitality,  apt  to  teach,  710/  given  to  wine,  no 
striker,  not  greedy  of  filthy  lucre  ;  but  patient, 
not  a  brawler,  not  covetous  ;  one  that  ruleth  well 
his  own  house,  having  his  children  in  subjection 
with  all  gra\dty,"  *  1  Tim.  chap,  iii  2 — 4. 

"  If  any  be  blameless,  the  husband  of  one  wife, 
having  faithful  children,  not  accused  of  riot,  or 
unruly.  For  a  bishop  must  be  blameless,  as  the 
steward  of  God ;  not  self-willed,  not  soon  angr}^, 
not  given  to  wine,  no  striker,  not  given  to  filthy 
lucre  ;  but  a  lover  of  hospitality,  a  lover  of  good 
men.  sober,  just,  holy,  temperate,"  t  Titus,  chap, 
i.  6—8. 

The  most  natural  account  which  can  be  given 
of  these  resemblances,  is  to  suppose  that  the  two 
ejiistles  were  written  nearly  at  the  same  time,  and 
whilst  the  same  ideas  and  phrases  dwelt  in  the 
writer's  mind.  Let  us  inquire,  therefore,  whether 
the  notes  of  time,  extant  in  the  two  epistles,  in 
any  manner  favour  this  supposition. 

We  have  seen  that  it  was  necessary  to  refer  the 
First  Epistle  to  Timothy  to  a  date  subsequent  to 
St.  Paul's  first  imprisonment  at  Rome,  because 
there  was  no  journey  into  Macedonia  prior  to  that 
event,  which  accorded  with  the  circumstance  of 
leaving  "  Timothy  behind  at  Ephcsus."  The 
journey  of  St.  Paul  from  Crete,  alluded  to  in  the 
epistle  before  us,  and  in  which  "Titus  "  was  left  in 
Crete  to  set  in  order  the  things  that  were  want- 
ing," must  in  like  manner,  be  carried  to  the  period 
which  intervened  between  his  first  and  second 
imprisonment.  For  the  history,  which  reaches, 
we  know,  to  the  time  of  St.  Paul's  first  imprison- 
ment, contains  no  account  of  his  going  to  Crete, 
except  upon  his  voyage  as  a  prisoner  to  Rome ; 
and  that  this  could  not  be  the  occasion  referred  to 
in  our  epistle  is  evident  from  hence,  that  when 
St.  Paul  wrote  this  epistle  he  appears  to  have 
been  at  liberty :  whereas  after  that  voyage,  he  con- 


ic "  Aei     oui/ 


STrikHTTTOV 


■■',     /"'«? 
^'tJV«(X05   av5fC6,  V^^KKtOV,    (TaJlp^'MVX,  KDir/>ttov,     <ptK0>_iVQV 

7r4>oiirT«^£i/oi>,  Texvot  exO''T«  «"  Mirarxyviftcra,  7rxa-y\i 
o-e/iKOTtiTOj." 

■f   "    El   Ti;   fO-TlH    aV£ynXl|TO{,   ;"'«!   yuVXlXO;   «V>Jf,   T£X1'« 

iX'jiV    TTitncA,  ixvt   ev   nxrv^yo^tst    xtrwTtxg^    >J    xvvTrorxxToi, 

Ae*  yx^  TOv  STTKTi^QTrOV  XveyiCKtJT Ov  Etvxtt  t«?  ©£0U  OiJtOVO- 
/iOv,fi>f  xvixSif,  fin  o^yiKHv^  /iif  TrXfOivov,  fitf  7r\lfx.T>tv,  yUl| 
aia-xsOKs^Si)*  xWx  ^iXc^svov,  ifiKxyx^ov,  cruj^^ovw,  St» 
xitiov,  oo-tov,  iyn^xTH." 


EPISTLE  TO  PHILEMON. 


223 


tinned  for  two  years  at  least  in  confinement. 
Agnifi,  it  is  agreed  that  St.  Paul  wrote  his  First 
Epiotle  to  Timothy  from  Macedonia:  "As  I  be- 
souirht  thee  to  abide  still  at  Ephesus,  when  I 
went  (or  came)  into  Macedonia."  And  that 
he  was  in  these  parts,  i.  e.  in  this  peninsula, 
when  he  wrote  the  Epistle  to  Titus,  is  rendered 
probable  by  his  directing  Titus  to  come  to  him 
to  Nicopolis:  "When  I  shall  send  Artemas  unto 
thee,  or  Tychicus,  be  diligent  (make  haste)  to 
come  unto  me  to  Nicopolis  :  for  I  have  detennined 
there  to  winter."  The  most  noted  city  of  that 
name  was  in  Epirus.  near  to  Actium.  And  1 
think  the  form  of  speaking,  as  well  as  the  nature 
of  the  case,  renders  it  probable  tliat  the  writer  was 
at  Nicopolis,  or  in  the  neighbourhood  thereof, 
when  he  dictated  this  direction  to  Titus. 

Upon  the  whole,  if  we  may  be  allowed  to  suppose 
that  St.  Paul,  after  his  liberation  at  Rome,  sailed 
into  Asia,  taking  Crete  in  his  way;  that  from 
Asia  and  from  Ephesus,  the  capital  of  that  country, 
he  proceeded  into  Macedonia,  and  crossing  the 
peninsula  in  his  progress,  came  into  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Nicopolis ;  we  have  a  route  which 
falls  in  with  every  thing.  It  executes  the  inten- 
tion expressed  by  the  Apostle  of  visiting  Colosse 
and  Philippi  as  soon  as  he  should  be  set  at  liberty 
at  Rome.  It  allows  him  to  leave  "  Titus  at  Crete," 
a;id  "  Timothy  at  Ephesus,  as  he  went  into  Mace- 
donia :"  and  to  write  to  both  not  long  after  from  the 
peninsula  of  Greece,  and  probably  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Nicopolis :  thus  bringing  together  the 
dates  of  these  two  letters,  and  thereby  accounting 
for  that  affinity  between  them,  both  in  subject  and 
language,  which  our  remarks  have  pointed  out. 
I  confess  that  the  journey  which  we  have  thus 
traced  out  for  St.  Paul,  is,  in  a  great  measure,  hy- 
pothetic :  but  it  should  be  observed,  that  it  is  a 
species  of  consistency,  which  seldom  belongs  to 
falsehood,  to  admit  of  an  hypothesis,  which  in- 
cludes a  great  number  of  independent  circum- 
stances without  contradiction. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

TJie  Epistle  to  Philemon. 

No.  I. 

The  singular  correspondency  between  this 
epistle  and  that  to  the  Colossians  has  been  remark- 
ed already.  An  assertion  in  the  Epistle  to  the 
Colossians,  viz.  that  "  Onesimus  was  one  of  them," 
is  verified,  not  by  any  mention  of  Colosse,  any 
the  most  distant  intimation  concerning  the  place 
of  Philemon's  abode,  but  singly  by  stating  Onesi- 
mus to  be  Philemon's  servant,  and  by  joining  in 
tlie  salutation  Philemon  with  Archippus  ;  for  tliis 
Archippus,  when  we  go  back  to  the  Epistle  to  the 
Colossians,  appears  to  have  heen  an  inhabitant  of 
that  city,  and,  as  it  should  seem,  to  have  held  an 
office  of  authority  in  that  church.  The  case 
stands  thus.  Take  the  Epistle  to  the  Colossians 
alone,  and  no  circumstance  is  discoverable  which 
makes  out  the  assertion,  that  Onesimus  was  "one 
of  them."  Take  the  Epistle  to  Philemon  alone, 
and  nothing  at  all  appears  concerning  the  place  to 
which  Philemon  or  his  servant  Onesimus  belong- 
ed.     For  any  thing  that  is  said  in  the  epistle, 


Philemon  might  have  been  a  Thessalonian,  a 
Philippian,  or  an  Ephesian,  as  well  as  a  Colos- 
sian.  Put  the  two  epistles  together,  and  the 
matter  is  clear.  The  reader  perceives  a  junction 
of  circumstances,  which  ascertains  the  conclusion 
at  once.  Now,  all  that  is  necessary  to  be  added  in 
this  place  is,  that  this  correspondency  evinces  the 
genuineness  of  one  epistle,  as  well  as  of  the  other, 
it  is  like  comparing  the  two  parts  of  a  cloven  tally. 
Comcidcnce  proves  the  authenticity  of  both. 

No.  11. 

And  this  coincidence  is  perfect ;  not  only  in  the 
main  article  of  showing,  by  implication,  Onesi- 
mus to  be  a  Colossian,  but  in  many  dependent 
circumstances. 

1.  "I  beseech  thee  for  my  son  Onesimus,  whom 
I  have  sent  again,"  ver.  10 — 12.  It  appears  Irom 
the  Epistle  to  the  Colossians,  that,  in  truth,  One- 
simus was  sent  at  that  time  to  Colosse  :  "  All  my 
state  shall  Tychicus  declare,  whom  I  have  sent 
unto  you  for  the  same  purpose,  with  Onesimus,  a. 
faithful  and  beloved  brother,"  Colos.  chap.  iv.  7 — 9, 

2.  "  I  beseech  thee  for  my  son  Onesimus, 
vjhom  I  have  begotten  in  my  bonds,"  ver.  10.  It 
appears  from  the  preceding  quotation,  that  Onesi- 
mus was  with  St.  Paul  when  he  wrote  the  Epistle 
to  the  Colossians ;  and  that  he  wrote  that  epistle 
in  imprisomnent  is  evident  from  his  declaration 
in  the  fourth  chapter  and  third  verse  :  "  Prayuig 
also  for  us,  that  Ood  would  open  unto  us  a  door 
of  utterance,  to  speak  the  mystery  of  ChriNf.  for 
which  I  am  also  in  bonds. 

3.  St.  Paul  bids  Philemon  prepare  for  h.im  a 
lodging :  "  For  I  trust,"  says  he, "  that  through  your 
prayers  I  shall  be  given  unto  you."  This  agrees 
with  the  expectation  of  speedy  deliverance,  which 
he  expressed  in  another  epistle  written  during  the 
same  imprisonment:  "Him"  (Timothy)  "I  hope 
to  send  presently,  so  soon  as  I  shall  see  how  it 
will  go  with  me ;  but  I  trust  in  tlte  Lord  that  x 
also  myself  shall  come  shortly,"  Phil.  chap.  ii. 
23,  24. 

4.  As  the  letter  to  Philemon,  and  that  to  the 
Colossians,  were  written  at  the  same  time,  and 
sent  by  the  same  messenger,  the  one  to  a  [larticu- 
lar  inhabitant,  the  other  to  the  church  of  Colosse, 
it  may  be  expected  that  the  same  or  nearly  the 
same  persons  would  be  about  St.  Paul,  and  join 
with  him,  as  was  the  practice,  in  the  salutations 
of  the  epistle.  Accordingly  we  find  the  names 
of  Aristarchus,  Marcus,  Epaphras,  Luke,  and 
Demas,  in  both  epistles.  Timothy,  who  is  joined 
with  St.  Paul  in  the  superscription  of  the  Epistle 
to  the  Colossians,  is  joined  with  him  in  this. 
Tychicus  did  not  salute  Philemon,  because  he  ac- 
companied the  epistle  to  Colosse,  and  would  un- 
doubtedly there  see  him.  Yet  the  reader  of  the 
Epistle  to  Philemon  will  remark  one  considerable 
diversity  in  the  catalogue  of  saluting  friends,  and 
which  shows  that  the  catalogue  was  not  copied 
from  that  to  the  Colossians.  In  the  Epistle  to  the 
Colossians,  Aristarchus  is  called  by  St.  Paul  his 
fellow-prisoner,  Colos.  chap.  iv.  10;  in  the  Epistle 
to  Philemon,  Aristarchus  is  mentioned  without 
any  addition,  and  the  title  of  fellow-prisoner  is 
given  to  Epaphras.  * 


*  Dr.  Benson  observes,  and  perhaps  truly,  that  the 
appellation  of  fellow-prisoner,  as  applied  by  St.  Paul 
to  Epaphras,  did  not  imply  that  they  were  imprisoned 
together  at  the  time ;  any  more  than  your  calling  a  per- 


221 


HOR^  PAULlNiE. 


And  let  it  also  be  observed,  that  notwithstanding 
the  close  and  circumstantial  agreement  between 
the  two  epistles,  this  is  not  the  case  of  an  opening 
left  in  a  genuine  writing,  which  an  impostor  is 
induced  to  fill  up;  nor  of  a  reference  to  some 
writing  not  extant,  which  sets  a  sophist  at  work 
to  supply  the  loss,  in  like  manner  as,  because  St. 
Paul  was  supposed,  Colos.  chap.  iv.  16,  to  allude 
to  an  epistle  written  by  him  to  the  Laodiceans, 
some  person  has  from  thence  taken  the  hint  of 
uttering  a  forgery  under  that  title.  The  present, 
I  say,  is  not  that  case ;  for  Philemon's  name  is  not 
mentioned  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Colossians ;  Onc- 
simus'  servile  condition  is  no  where  hinted  at,  any 
more  than  his  crime,  his  flight,  or  the  place  or 
time  of  his  conversion.  The  story,  therefore,  of 
t];e  epistle,  if  it  be  a  fiction,  is  a  fiction  to  which 
the  author  could  not  have  been  guided  by  any 
thing  he  had  read  in  St.  Paul's  genuine  writings. 

No.  III. 

Ver.  4,  5.  "  I  thank  my  God,  making  mention 
of  thee  always  in  my  prayers,  hearing  of  thy  love 
and  faith,  which  thou  hast  toward  the  Lord  Je- 
sus, and  toward  all  saints." 

"  Hearing  of  thy  love  and  faith.'"  This  is  the 
form  of  speech  which  St.  Paul  was  wont  to  use 
towards  those  churches  which  he  had  not  seen,  or 
then  visited  :  see  Rom.  chap.  i.  8  ;  Ephes.  chap.  i. 
15;  Col.  chap.  i.  3,  4.  Toward  those  churches 
and  persons,  with  whom  he  was  previously  ac- 
quainted, lie  employed  a  different  phrase  ;  as,  "  I 
thank  my  God  always  on  your  behalf,"  1  Cor. 
chap.  i.  4;  2  Thess.  chap.  i.  3;  or,  "upon  every 
remembrance  of  you,"  Phil.  chap.  i.  3 ;  1  Thess. 
chap.  i.  2,  3;  2  Tim.  chap.  i.  3;  and  never  speaks 
of  hearing  of  them.  Yet  I  think  it  must  be  con- 
cluded, from  the  nineteenth  verse  of  this  epistle, 
that  Philemon  had  been  converted  by  St.  Paul 
himself:  "  Albeit,  I  do  not  say  to  thee  how  thou 
owest  unto  me  even  thine  own  self  besides."  Here 
then  is  a  peculiarity.  Let  us  inquire  whether  the 
epistle  supplies  any  circumstance  which  will  ac- 
count for  it.  We  have  seen  that  it  may  be  made 
out,  not  from  the  epistle  itself,  but  from  a  compa- 
rison of  the  epistle  with  that  to  the  Colossians, 
that  Philemon  was  an  inhabitant  of  Colosse  :  and 
it  farther  appears,  from  the  Epistle  to  the  Colos- 
sians, that  St.  Paul  had  never  been  in  that  city : 
"  I  wcidd  that  ye  knew  what  great  conflict  I  have 
for  you  and  for  them  at  Laodicea,  and  for  as  many 
as  have  not  seen  my  face  in  the  flesh,"  Col.  ch. 
ii.  1.  Although,  therefore,  St.  Paul  had  formerly 
met  with  Philemon  at  some  other  place,  and  had 
been  the  immediate  instrument  of  his  conversion, 
yet  Philemon's  fliith  and  conduct  afterwards,  in- 
asmuch as  he  lived  in  a  city  which  St.  Paul  had 
never  visited,  could  only  be  known  to  him  by  fame 
and  reputation. 

No.  IV. 

The  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  this  epistle  have 
long  been  admired  :  "  Though  I  might  be  much 
bold  in  Christ  to  enjoin  thee  that  which  is  conve- 
nient, yet  for  love's  sake  I  rather  beseech  thee, 
being  such  an  one  as  Paul  the  aged,  and  now  also 
a  prisoner  of  Jesus  Christ ;  I  beseech  thee  for  my 


«on  your  fellow-traveller  imports  that  you  are  then  upon 
your  travels.  If  he  had,  upon  any  former  occasion, 
travelled  with  you,  you  mi?ht  afterwards  speak  of  him 
under  that  title.  It  is  just  so  with  the  term  fellow- 
prisoner. 


son  Onesimus,  whom  I  have  begotten  in  mv 
bonds."  There  is  something  certainly  very  melting 
and  persuasive  in  this,  and  every  part  of  the  epis- 
tle. Yet,  in  my  opinion,  the  character  of  St.  Pau 
prevails  in  it  throughout.  The  warm,  affectionate, 
authoritative  teacher  is  interceding  with  an  absent 
friend  for  a  beloved  convert.  He  urges  his  suit 
with  an  earnestness,  befitting  perhaps  not  so  much 
the  occasion,  as  the  ardour  and  sensibility  of  his 
own  mind,  tiere  also,  as  every  where,  he  shows 
himself  conscious  of  the  weight  and  dignity  of  his 
mission ;  nor  does  he  suffer  Philemon  for  a  mo- 
ment to  forget  it :  "I  miglit  be  much  bold  in 
Christ  to  enjoin  thee  that  which  is  convenient." 
He  is  careful  also  to  recall,  though  oliliqucly,  to 
Philemon's  memory,  the  sacred  obligation  under 
which  he  had  laid  him,  by  bringing  to  him  the 
knowledge  of  Jesus  Christ:  "  I  do  not  say  to  thee 
how  thou  owest  to  me  even  thine  own  self  be- 
sides." Without  laying  aside,  therefore,  the  apos- 
tolic character,  our  author  softens  the  imperative 
style  of  his  address,  by  mixing  with  it  every  sen- 
timent and  consideration  that  could  move  the  lieart 
of  his  correspondent.  Aged  and  in  prison,  he  is 
content  to  supplicate  and  entreat.  Onesimus  was 
rendered  dear  to  him  by  his  conversion  and  his 
services :  the  child  of  his  affliction,  and  "  minis- 
tering unto  him  in  the  bonds  of  the  Gospel."  This 
ought  to  recommend  him,  whatever  had  been  his 
fault,  to  Philemon's  forgiveness :  "  Receive  him 
as  myself,  as  my  own  bowels."  Every  thing, 
however,  should  be  voluntary.  St.  Paul  was  de- 
termined that  Philemon's  compliance  sliould  flow 
from  his  own  bounty :  "  Without  thy  mind  would 
I  do  nothing,  that  thy  benefit  should  not  be  as  it 
were  of  necessity,  but  willingly;"  trusting  never- 
theless to  his  gratitude  and  attachment  for  the 
perfonnance  of  all  that  he  requested,  and  for  more : 
"  Having  confidence  in  thy  obedience,  I  wrote 
unto  thee,  knowing  that  thou  wilt  also  do  more 
than  I  say." 

St.  Paul's  discourse  at  Miletus ;  his  speech  be- 
fore Agrippa ;  his  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  as  hath 
been  remarked,  (No.  VIII.)  that  to  the  Galatians, 
chap.  iv.  1 1 — 20 ;  to  the  Philippians,  chap.  i.  29- 
chap.  ii.  2;  the  Second  to  the  Corinthians,  chap, 
vi.  1 — 13;  and  indeed  some  part  or  other  of  al- 
most every  epistle,  exhibit  examples  of  a  similar 
application  to  the  feelings  and  affections  of  the 
persons  whom  he  addresses.  And  it  is  observable, 
that  these  pathetic  effusions,  drawn  for  the  most 
part  from  his  own  sufferings  and  situation,  usually 
precede  a  command,  soften  a  rebuke,  or  mitigate 
the  harshness  of  some  disagreeable  truth. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Subscriptions  of  the  Epistles. 

Six  of  these  subscriptions  are  false  or  improba- 
ble ;  that  is,  they  are  either  absolutely  contradicted 
by  the  contents  of  the  epi.stle,  or  are  difficult  to  be 
reconciled  with  them. 

I.  The  subscription  of  the  First  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians  states  that  it  was  written  from  Phi- 
lippi,  notwithstanding  that,  in  the  sixteenth  chap- 
ter and  the  eighth  verse  of  the  epistle,  St.  Paul 
informs  the  Corinthians  that  he  will  "tarry  at 
Ephesus  until  Pentecost ;"  and  notwithstanding 
that  he  begins  the  salutations  in  the  epistle  by 


SUBSCRIPTIONS  OF  THE  EPISTLES. 


225 


telling  them  "  the  churches  of  Asia  salute  you ;" 
Q  pretty  evident  indication  that  he  himself  was  m 
Asia  at  this  time. 

II.  The  Epistle  to  the  Galatians  is  by  the  sub- 
scription dated  from  Rome ;  yet,  in  the  epistle 
itself,  St.  Paul  expresses  liis  surprise  "that  they 
were  so  soo7i  removing  from  him  that  called  them;" 
whereas  his  joiurney  to  Rome  was  ten  years  pos- 
terior to  the  conversion  of  the  Galatians.  And 
what,  I  think,  is  more  conclusive,  the  author, 
though  speakiiig  of  himself  in  this  more  than  any 
other  epistle,  does  not  once  mention  his  bonds,  or 
call  himself  a  prisoner ;  which  he  had  not  failed 
to  do  in  every  one  of  the  four  epistles  written  from 
that  city,  and  during  that  imprisonment. 

III.  The  First  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians 
was  written,  the  subscription  teUs  us,  from  Athens ; 
yet  the  epistle  refers  expressly  to  the  coming  of 
Tiiuotheus  from  Thessalonica,  ch.  iii.  6,  and  the 
liistory  informs  us.  Acts  xviii.  5,  that  Tunothy 
came  out  of  Macedonia  to  St.  Paul  at  Corinth. 

IV.  The  Second  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians 
is  dated,  and  without  any  discoverable  reason, 
from  Athens  also.  If  it  be  truly  the  second ;  if  it 
refer,  as  it  appears  to  do,  ch.  ii.  2,  to  the  first,  and 
the  first  was  written  from  Corinth,  the  place  must 
be  erroneously  assigned,  for  the  history  does  not 
allow  us  to  suppose  that  St.  Paul,  after  he  had 
reached  Corinth,  went  back  to  Athens. 

V.  The  First  Epistle  to  Timothy  the  subscrip- 
tion asserts  to  have  been  sent  from  Laodicea ;  yet, 
when  St.  Paul  writes,  "  I  besought  thee  to  abide 
still  at  Ephesus,  :7-i;fiu(3/i£i'os£.;  M;txsJovi»v(when  I 
set  out  for  Macedonia,")  the  reader  is  naturally 
led  to  conclude,  that  he  wrote  the  letter  upon  his 
arrival  in  that  country. 

VI.  The  Epistle  to  Titus  is  dated  from  Nico- 
polis  in  jNlacedonia,  whilst  no  city  of  that  name  is 
known  to  have  existed  in  that  province. 

The  use,  and  the  only  use,  which  I  make  of 
these  observations,  is  to  show  how  easily  errors 
and  contradictions  steal  in  where  the  writer  is  not 
guided  by  original  knowledge.  There  are  only 
eleven  distinct  assignments  of  date  to  St.  Paul's 
Epistles  (for  the  four  written  from  Rome  may  be 
considered  as  plainly  contemporary  ;)  and  of  these, 
six  seem  to  be  erroneous.  I  do  not  attribute  any 
authority  to  these  subscriptions.  I  believe  them 
lo  have  been  conjectures  founded  sometimes  upon 
loose  traditions,  but  more  generally  upon  a  con- 
sideration of  some  particular  text,  without  sufli- 
ciently  comparing  it  with  other  parts  of  the 
epistle,  with  dillerent  epistles,  or  with  the  history. 
Suppose  then  that  the  subscriptions  had  come 
down  to  us  as  authentic  parts  of  the  epistles,  there 
would  have  been  more  contrarieties  and  dithcultics 
arising  out  of  these  final  verses,  than  from  all  the 
rest  of  the  volume.  Yet,  if  the  epistles  had  been 
forged,  the  whole  must  have  been  made  up  of  the 
same  elements  as  those  of  wMch  the  subscriptions 
are  composed,  viz.  tradition,  conjecture,  and  infer- 
ence :  and  it  would  have  remained  to  be  accounted 
for  how,  whilst  so  many  errors  were  crowded  into 
the  concluding  clauses  of  the  letters,  so  much  con- 
sistency should  be  preserved  in  other  parts. 

The  same  reflection  arises  from  observing  the 
oversights  and  mistakes  which  learned  men  have 
committed,  when  arguing  upon  allusions  which 
relate  to  time  and  place,  or  when  endeavouring  to 
digest  scattered  circumstances  into  a  continued 
story.  It  is  indeed  the  same  case ;  for  these  sub- 
scriptions must  be  regarded  as  ancient  schoha,  and 
2F 


as  nothing  more.  Of  tliis  liability  to  error  I  can 
present  the  reader  with  a  notable  instance ;  and 
which  I  bring  forward  for  no  other  purpose  than 
that  to  which  I  apply  the  erroneous  subscriptions. 
Ludovicus  Capellus,  in  that  part  of  his  Historia 
Apostohca  Illustrata,  wliich  is  entitled  De  Ordine 
Epist.  Paul.,  writing  upon  the  Second  Epistle  to 
the  Corinthians,  triumphs  unmerciful!}'  over  the 
want  of  sagacity  in  Baronius,  who,  it  seems, 
makes  St.  Paul  write  his  Epistle  to  Titus  from 
Macedonia  upon  his  second  visit  mto  that  pro- 
vince ;  whereas  it  appears  from  the  history,  that 
Titus,  instead  of  being  at  Crete,  where  theepi-stje 
places  him,  was  at  that  time  sent  by  the  apostle 
from  Macedonia  to  Corinth. — "  Animadvertere 
est,"  says  Capellus,  "  magnam  hominis  illius 
xSK£ii/txv,  qui  vult  Titum  a  Paulo  in  Cretam  ab- 
ductum,  illicque  rehctum,  cum  inde  Nicopolim 
navigaret,  qucm  tamen  agnoscit  a  Paulo  ex  Mace- 
donia, missum  esse  Corinthum."  Tliis  probably 
will  be  thought  a  detection  of  inconsistency  in  Ba- 
ronius. But  what  is  the  most  remarkable  is,  that 
in  the  same  chapter  m  which  he  thus  indulges  his 
contempt  of  Baronius's  judgment,  Capellus  liimself 
falls  into  an  error  of  the  same  kind,  and  more  gross 
and  palpable  than  that  which  he  reproves.  For 
he  begins  the  chapter  by  stating  the  Second  Epis- 
tle to  the  Corinthians  and  the  First  Epistle  to  Ti- 
mothy to  be  nearly  contemporary :  to  have  been 
both  written  during  the  apostle's  second  visit  into 
iMacedonia ;  and  that  a  doubt  subsisted  concerning 
the  iimuediate  priority  of  their  dates ;  "  Posterior 
ad  eosdem  Corinthios  Epistola,  et  Prior  ad  Timo- 
theum  certant  de  prioritate,  et  sub  judice  lis  est; 
utraque  autem  scripta  est  paulo  postquam  Paulus 
Epheso  discessisset,  adeoque  dum  Macedoniam 
peragraret,  sed  utra  tempore  praeccdat,  nonliquct." 
Now,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  liighly  improbable 
that  the  two  epistles  should  have  been  written 
cither  nearl}'  together,  or  during  the  same  journey 
through  jNlacedonia;  for,  in  the  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians,  Timothy  appears  to  have  been  icith 
St.  Paul ;  in  the  epistle  addressed  to  him,  to  have 
been  left  behind  at  Ephesus,  and  not  only  left  be- 
hind, but  directed  to  continue  there  till  St.  Paul 
should  return  to  that  city.  In  the  second  place  it  is 
inconceivable,  that  a  question  should  be  proposed 
concerning  the  priority  of  date  of  the  two  epistles  ; 
for,  when  St.  Paul,  in  his  Epistle  to  Timothy, 
opens  his  address  to  him  by  saying,  "  as  I  besought 
thee  to  aljide  still  at  Ephesus  when  I  went  into 
Macedonia,"  no  reader  can  doubt  but  that  he  here 
refers  to  the  last  interview  which  had  passed  be- 
tween them ;  that  he  had  not  seen  him  since ; 
whereas  if  the  epistle  be  posterior  to  that  to  the 
Corinthians,  yet  written  upon  the  same  visit  into 
Macedonia,  tliis  could  not  be  true  ;  for  as  Timothy 
was  along  with  St.  Paul  when  he  wrote  to  the  Co- 
rinthians, he  must,  upon  this  supposition,  have 
passed  over  to  St.  Paul  in  Macedonia  after  he  had 
been  left  by  him  at  Ephesus,  and  must  have  re- 
turned to  Ephesus  again  before  the  epistle  was  writ- 
ten. What  misled  Ludovicus  Capellus  was  simply 
this, — that  he  had  entirely  overlooked  Timothy's 
name  in  the  superscription  of  the  Second  Epistle  to 
the  Corinthians.  Which  oversight  appears  not 
only  in  the  quotation  which  we  have  given,  hut 
from  his  telling  us,  as  he  does,  that  Timothy  came 
from  Ephesus  to  St.  Paul  at  Corinth,  whereas  the 
superscription  proves  that  Timothy  was  already 
with  St.  Paul  when  he  wrote  to  the  Corinthians 
from  Macedonia. 


226 


HORiE  PAULINA. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Conclusion. 

In  the  outset  of  tliis  inquiry,  the  reader  was  di- 
rected to  consider  tlie  Acts  of  tlie  Apostles  and  tlie 
thirteen  epistles  of  St.  Paul  as  certain  ancient 
manuscripts  lately  discovered  in  the  closet  of  some 
celebrated  library.  We  have  adhered  to  this  view 
af  tlie  subject.  External  evidence  of  every  kind 
has  been  removed  out  of  sight ;  and  our  endeavours 
have  been  employed  to  collect  the  indication.s  of 
truth  and  authenticity,  which  appeared  to  exist  in 
the  writings  themselves,  and  to  result  from  a  com- 
parison of  their  different  partfe.  It  is  not  however 
necessary  to  continue  this  supposition  longer. 
The  testimony  which  other  remains  of  contempo- 
rary, or  the  monuments  of  adjoining  ages  afford  to 
the  reception,  notoriety,  and  public  estimation  of  a 
book,  form,  no  doubt,  the  first  proof  of  its  genuine- 
ness. And  in  no  books  whatever  is  this  jjroof 
more  complete,  than  in  those  at  present  under  our 
consideration.  The  inquiries  of  learned  men,  and, 
above  all,  of  the  excellent  Lardner,  who  never 
overstates  a  point  of  evidence,  and  whose  fidelity 
in  citing  his  authorities  has  in  no  one  instance 
been  impeached,  have  established,  concerning 
these  writings,  the  following  propositions: 

I.  That  in  tlie  age  immediately  posterior  to  that 
in  whicli  St.  Paul  lived,  his  letters  were  publicly 
read  and  acknowledged. 

Some  of  them  are  quoted  or  alluded  to  by  almost 
every  Christian  writer  that  followed,  by  Clement 
of  Rome,  by  Hernias,  by  Ignatius,  by  Polycarp, 
disciples  or  contemporaries  of  the  apostles ;  by  Jus- 
tin Martyr,  by  the  churches  of  Gaul,  by  Irenfeus, 
by  Athenagoras,  by  Theophilus,  by  Clement  of 
Alexandria,  by  Hermias,  by  TertuUian,  who  oc- 
cupied the  succeeding  a^e.  Now  when  we  find  a 
book  quoted  or  referretito  by  an  ancient  author, 
we  are  entitled  to  conclude,  that  it  was  read  and 
received  in  the  age  and  country  in  which  that  au- 
thor lived.  And  this  conclusion  does  not,  in  any 
degree,  rest  upon  the  judgment  or  character  of  the 
author  making  such  reference.  Proceeding  by  this 
rule,  we  have,  concerning  the  First  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians  in  particular,  within  forty  years  after 
the  epistle  was  written,  evidence,  not  only  of  its 
being  extant  at  Corinth,  but  of  its  being  known 
and  read  at  Rome. — Clement,  bishop  of  that  city, 
writing  to  the  church  of  Corinth,  uses  these  words : 
"  Take  into  your  hands  the  epistle  of  the  blessed 
Paul  the  ajiostle.  What  did  he  at  first  write  unto 
you  in  the  hcfriiinirig  of  the  Gospel  1  Verily  he 
did  by  the  Spirit  admonish  you  concerning  him- 
self, and  Cephas,  and  Apollos,  because  that  even 
then  you  did  form  parties."*  This  was  written  at 
a  time  when  probably  some  must  have  been  living 
at  Corinth,  who  remembered  St.  Paul's  ministry 
there  and  the  receipt  of  the  epistle.  The  testimony 
is  still  more  valuable,  as  it  shows  that  the  epistles 
were  preserved  in  the  churches  to  which  they 
were  sent,  and  that  they  were  spread  and  propa- 
gated from  them  to  the  rest  of  the  Christian  com- 
munity. Agreeably  to  which  natural  mode  and 
order  of  their  publication,  TertuUian,  a  century 
atterwards,  for  proof  of  the  integrity  and  genuine- 
ness of  the  apostolic  writings,  bids  "<any  one,  who 
is  vyilling  to  exercise  his  curiosity  profitably  in  the 
business  of  their  salvation,  to  visit  the  apostolical 

*  See  Lardner,  vol.  xii.  p.  22. 


churches,  in  which  their  very  authentic  letters  aie 
recited,  ijjsse  autheiitica;  literjE  eoruin  rocitantur." 
Then  he  goes  on :  "  Is  Achaia  near  you  7  You 
have  Corinth.  If  you  are  not  far  from  Macedonia, 
you  have  Philippi,  you  have  Thessalonica.  If  you 
can  go  to  Asia,  you  have  Ephesus;  but  if  you  are 
near  to  Italy,  you  have  Rome."*  I  adduce  this 
passage  to  show,  that  the  distinct  churches  or 
Christian  societies,  to  which  St.  Paul's  epistles 
were  sent,  subsisted  for  some  ages  afterwards; 
that  his  several  epistles  were  all  along  rcsjiectively 
read  in  those  churches ;  that  Christians  at  large 
received  them  from  those  churches,  and  appealed 
to  those  churches  for  their  originality  and  authen- 
ticity. 

Arguing  in  like  manner  from  citations  and  al- 
lusions, we  have,  within  the  space  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years  from  the  time  that  the  first  of  St. 
Paul's  epistles  was  written,  proofs  of  almost  all  of 
them  being  read,  in  Palestine,  Syria,  the  countries 
of  Asia  Minor,  in  Egypt,  in  that  part  of  Al'rica 
which  used  the  Latin  tongue,  in  Greece,  Italy,  and 
Gaul.T  I  do  not  mean  simply  to  assert,  that  with- 
in the  space  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  St.  Paul's 
epistles  were  read  in  those  countries,  for  I  believe 
that  they  were  read  and  circulated  from  the  begin- 
ning; but  that  proofs  of  their  being  so  read  occur 
within  that  period.  And  when  it  is  considered 
how  few  of  the  primitive  Christians  wrote,  and  of 
what  was  written  how  much  is  lost,  we  are  to  ac- 
count it  extraordinary,  or  rather  as  a  sure  proof 
of  the  extensiveness  of  the  reputation  of  these 
writings,  and  of  the  general  respect  in  which  they 
were  held,  that  so  many  testimonies,  and  of  such 
antiquity,  are  still  extant.  "  In  the  remaining 
works  of  Irenffius,  Clement  of  Alexandria,  and 
TertuUian,  there  are  perhaps  more  and  larger  quo- 
tations of  the  small  volume  of  the  New  Testament, 
than  of  all  the  works  of  Cicero,  in  the  writings  of 
all  characters  for  several  ages."t  We  must  add, 
that  all  the  epistles  of  Paul  come  in  for  their  full 
share  of  this  observation ;  and  that  all  the  thirteen 
epistles,  except  that  to  Philemon,  which  is  not 
quoted  by  Irenagus  or  Clement,  and  which  proba- 
bly escaped  notice  merely  by  its  brevity,  are  seve- 
rally cited,  and  expressly  recognised  as  St.  Paul's 
by  each  of  these  Christian  writers.  The  Ebion- 
ites,  tan  early  though  inconsiderable  Christian  sect, 
rejected  St.  Paul  and  his  epistles  ;§  that  is,  they 
rejected  these  epistles,  not  because  they  were  not, 
but  because  they  were  St.  Paul's ;  and  because, 
adhering  to  the  obligation  of  the  Jewish  law,  they 
chose  to  dispute  his  doctrine  and  authorit}'.  Their 
suffrage  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the  epistles  does 
not  contradict  that  of  other  Christians.  Marcion, 
an  heretical  writer  in  the  former  part  of  the  second 
century,  is  said  by  TertuUian  to  have  rejected 
three  of  the  epistles  which  we  now  receive,  viz.  the 
two  Epistles  to  Timothy  and  the  Epistle  to  Titus. 
It  appears  to  me  not  improbable,  that  Marcion 
might  make  some  such  distinction  as  this,  that  no 
apostolic  epistle  was  to  be  admitted  which  was  not 
read  or  attested  by  the  church  to  which  it  was 
sent ;  for  it  is  remarkable  that,  together  with  these 
epistles  to  private  persons,  he  rejected  also  the 
catholic  epistles.  Now  the  catholic  epistles  and 
the  epistles  to  private  persons  agree  in  the  circum- 
stances of  wanting  this  particular  species  of  attest- 


*  Larflner,  vol.  ii.  p.  595. 

t  See  Lariiiipr's  Recapitulation,  vol.  xii.  p.  53. 

t  Ilud.  vol.  ,\ii.  p.  53. 

^  Lardner,  vol.  ii.  p.  808. 


THE  CuNCLUSION. 


2*27 


ation.  Mareion,  it  seems,  acknowledged  the 
Epistle  to  Philemon,  and  is  upbraided  lor  his  in- 
consistency in  doing  so  by  Tertullian,*  who  asks 
"  why  when  he  received  a  letter  written  to  a  sin- 
gle person,  he  should  refuse  two  to  Tinjothy  and 
one  to  Titus  composed  upon  the  afiairs  of  the 
church  1"  This  passage  so  far  favours  our  account 
of  Marcion's  objection,  as  it  shows  that  the  objec- 
tion was  supposed  by  TertulUan  to  have  been 
founded  in  something  which  belonged  to  the  na- 
ture of  a  private  letter. 

Nothing  of  the  works  of  Mareion  remains.  Pro- 
bably he  was,  after  all,  a  rash,  arbitrary,  licentious 
critic,  (if  he  deserved  indeed  the  name  of  critic,) 
and  who  otlered  no  reason  for  his  determination. 
What  St.  Jerome  says  of  hmi  intimates  this,  and 
is  besides  founded  in  good  sense :  Speaking  of  him 
and  Basihdes,  "  If  they  assigned  any  reasons," 
says  he,  '•  why  they  did  not  reckon  these  epistles," 
viz.  the  First  and  Second  to  Timothy,  and  the 
Epistle  to  Titus,  "  to  be  the  apostle's,  we  would 
have  endeavoured  to  have  answered  them,  and 
perhaps  might  have  satisfied  the  reader :  but  when 
they  take  upon  them,  by  their  own  authority,  to 
pronounce  one  epistle  to  be  Pauls  and  another 
not.  they  can  only  be  replied  to  in  the  same  man- 
ner."t  Let  it  be  remembered,  however,  that  Mar- 
eion received  ten  of  these  epistles.  His  authority, 
therefore,  even  if  his  credit  had  been  better  than 
it  is,  forms  a  very  small  exception  to  the  uniformity 
of  the  e\-idence.  Of  Basilidcs  we  know  still  less 
than  we  do  of  Mareion.  The  same  observation, 
however,  belongs  to  him,  viz.  that  his  objection,  as 
far  as  appears  from  this  passage  of  St.  Jerome,  was 
confined  to  the  three  private  epistles.  Yet  is  this 
the  only  opinion  which  can  be  said  to  disturb  the 
consent  of  the  first  two  centuries  of  the  Christian 
era :  for  as  to  Tatian,  who  is  reported  by  Jerozne 
alone  to  have  rejected  some  of  St.  Paul's  epistles, 
the  extravagant  or  rather  delirious  notions  into 
which  he  fell,  take  away  all  weight  and  credit  from 

his  judgment. If,  indeed,  Jerome's  account  of 

this  circumstance  be  correct ;  for  it  appears  from 
much  older  writers  than  Jerome,  that  Tatian 
owned  and  used  man\'  of  these  epistles. t 

II.  They,  who  in  those  ages  disputed  about 
so  man}"  other  points,  agreed  in  acknowledging 
the  Scriptures  now  before  us.  Contending  sects 
appealed  to  them  in  their  controversies  with  equal 
and  unreserved  submission.  When  they  were 
urged  by  one  side,  however  they  might  be  inter- 
preted or  misinterpreted  by  the  other,  their  autho- 
rity was  not  questioned.  "  Rehqui  omnes,"  says 
Irenceus,  speaking  of  Mareion,  "  falso  scientiae 
nomine  infiati,  scripturas  quidera  confitentur,  in- 
terpret ationes  vero  convertunt."§ 

III.  When  the  genuineness  of  some  other 
vrritings  which  were  in  circulation,  and  even  of  a 
few  which  are  now  received  into  the  canon,  was 
contested,  these  were  never  called  into  dispute. 
W^hatever  was  the  objection,  or  whether  in  truth 
there  ever  was  any  real  objection,  to  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  Second  Epistle  of  Peter,  the  Second 
and  Third  of  John,  the  Epistle  of  James,  or  that 
of  Jude,  or  to  the  book  of  the  Revelation  of  St. 
John ;  the  doubts  tliat  appeared  to  have  been  en- 
tertained concerning  them,  exceedingly  strengthen 
the  force  of  the  testimony  as  to  those  writings 
about  which  there  was  no  doubt ;  because  it  shows. 


*  Lardner,  vol.  jiiv.  p  455.         f  Ibid.  vol.  xiv.  p.  458. 

I  Ibid.  vol.  i.  p.  r!i:?. 

§  Ireii.  advers.  Haer.  quoted  by  Lardner,  vol.  ,xv.  p.  425. 


that  the  matter  was  a  subject,  amongst  the  early 
Christians,  of  examination  and  discu-ssicm;  and 
that  where  there  was  any  room  to  doubt,  they  did 
doubt. 

What  Eusebius  hath  left  upon  the  subject  is 
directly  to  the  purpose  of  this  observation.  Euse- 
bius, it  is  well  known,  divided  the  ecclesiastical 
writings  which  were  extant  in  his  time  into  three 
classes:  the  '•  »vcevTipp.ii«,  uncontradicted,"  as  he 
calls  them  in  one  chapter;  or,  " scriptures  uni- 
versally acknowledged,"  as  he  calls  them  in  ano- 
ther ;  the  "  controverted,  yet  well  known  and  ap- 
proved by  many;"  and  the  "spurious."  What 
were  the  shades  of  difference  in  the  books  of  the 
second,  or  of  those  in  the  third  class;  or  what  it 
was  precisely  that  he  meant  by  the  term  spurious, 
it  is  not  necessary  in  this  place  to  inquire.  It  is 
sufficient  for  us  to  find,  that  the  thirteen  epistles 
of  St.  Paul  are  placed  by  him  in  the  first  class 
without  any  sort  of  hesitation  or  doubt. 

It  is  farther  also  to  be  collected  from  the  chap- 
ter in  which  this  distinction  is  laid  down,  "that 
the  method  made  use  of  by  Eusebius,  and  by  the 
Christians  of  his  time,  viz.  the  close  of  the  thiid 
century,  in  judging  concerning  the  sacred  au- 
thority of  any  books,  was  to  inquire  after  and 
consider  the  testimony  of  those  who  hved  near 
the  age  of  the  Apostles."* 

IV.  That  no  ancient  writing,  which  is  attested 
as  these  epistles  are,  hath  had  its  authenticity  dis- 
proved, or  is  in  fact  questioned.  The  controver- 
sies which  have  been  moved  concerning  suspected 
writings,  as  the  epistles,  for  instance,  of  Phalaris, 
or  the  eighteen  epistles  of  Cicero,  begin  by  show- 
ing that  this  attestation  is  wanting.  That  being 
proved,  the  question  is  thrown  back  upon  internal 
marks  of  spuriousness,  or  authenticity ;  and  in 
these  the  dispute  is  occupied.  In  which  disputes 
it  is  to  be  observed,  that  the  contested  writings 
are  commonly  attacked  by  arguments  drawn  from 
some  opposition  which  they  betray  to  "  authentic 
history,"  to  "true  epistles,"  to  the  "real  senti- 
ments or  circumstances  of  the  author  whom  they 
personate  ;"t  which  authentic  history,  which  true 
epistles,  which  real  sentiments  themselves,  are  no 
other  than  ancient  documents,  whose  earl}-  ex- 
istence and  reception  can  be  proved,  in  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  writings  before  us  are  traced  up 
to  the  age  of  their  reputed  author,  or  to  ages  near 
to  his.  A  modern  who  sits  down  to  compose  the 
history  of  some  ancient  period,  has  no  stronger 
evidence  to  appeal  to  for  the  most  confident  asser- 
tion, or  the  most  undisputed  fact  that  he  delivers, 
than  writings,  whose  genuineness  is  proved  by 
the  same  medium  through  which  we  evince  the 
authenticity  of  ours.  Nor,  whilst  he  can  have  re- 
course to  such  authorities  as  these,  does  he  appre- 
hend any  uncertainty  in  his  accounts,  from  the 
suspicion  of  spuriousness  or  imposture  in  his  ma- 
terials. 

V.  It  cannot  be  shown  that  any  forgeries,  pro- 
perly so  called,?  that  is,  writings  published  under 
the  name  of  the  person  who  did  not  compose  them, 
made  their  appearance  in  the  first  century  of  the 


*  Lardner,  vol.  viii.  p.  106. 

t  See  the  tracts  written  in  the  controversy  between 
Tunstal  and  Middleton  upon  certain  suspected  epistles 
ascribed  to  Cicero. 

I  I  believe  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  Dr. 
Lardner's  observation,  that  comparatively  few  of  those 
books  which  we  call  apocryphal  were  strictly  and  origi- 
nally  forgeries. — See  Lardner,  vol  .\ii.  p.  1(57. 


228 


HOR^  PAULINiE. 


Christian  era,  in  which  century  these  epistles  un- 
doubtedly existed. — I  shall  set  down  under  tliis 
proposition  the  guarded  words  of  Lardner  him- 
self: "There  are  no  quotations  of  any  books  of 
them  (spurious  and  apocryphal  books)  in  tlie 
apostolical  fathers,  by  whom  I  mean  Barnabas, 
Clement  of  Rome,  Hernias,  Ignatius,  and  Poly- 
carp,  whose  writings  reach  from  the  year  of  our 
Lord  70  to  the  year  108.  /  say  this  confidently, 
because  I  think  it  has  been  proved." — Lardner, 
vol.  xii.  p.  158. 

Nor  when  they  did  appear  were  they  much 
used  by  the  primitive  Christians.  "  Irenteus 
quotes  not  any  of  these  books.  He  mentions  some 
of  them,  but  he  never  quotes  them.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  Tertullian :  he  has  mentioned  a 
book  called  '  Acts  of  Paul  and  Thecla  :'  but  it  is 
only  to  condemn  it.  Clement  of  Alexandria  and 
Origen  have  mentioned  and  quoted  several  such 
books,  but  never  as  authority,  and  sometimes  with 
express  marks  of  dislike.  Eusebius  quoted  no  such 
books  in  any  of  his  works.  He  has  mentioned 
them  indeed,  but  how  1  Not  by  way  of  approba- 
tion, but  to  show  that  they  were  of  little  or  no 
value  ;  and  that  they  never  were  received  by  the 
sounder  part  of  Christians."  Now  if  with  this, 
which  is  advanced  after  the  most  minute  and  dili- 
gent examination,  we  compare  what  the  same  cau- 
tious writer  had  before  said  of  our  received  Scrip- 
tures, "  that  in  the  works  of  three  only  of  the 
above-mentioned  fathers,  there  are  more  and  larger 
quotations  of  the  small  volume  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, than  of  all  the  works  of  Cicero  in  the 
writers  of  all  characters  for  several  ages;"  and  if 
with  the  marks  of  obscurity  or  condemnation, 
which  accompanied  the  mention  of  the  several 
apocryphal  Christian  writings,  when  they  hap- 
pened to  be  mentioned  at  all,  we  contrast  what 
Dr.  Lardner's  work  completely  and  in  detail 
makes  out  concerning  the  writings  which  we  de- 
fend, and  what,  having  so  made  out,  he  thouglit 
himself  authorized  in  his  conclusion  to  assert, 
that  these  books  were  not  only  received  from 
the  beginning,  but  received  with  the  greatest 
respect;  have  been  publicly  and  solemnly  read 
in  the  assemblies  of  Christians  throughout  the 
world,  in  every  age  from  that  time  to  this;  earl3' 
translated  into  the  languages  of  divers  countries 
and  people;  commentaries  writ  to  explain  and  il- 
Uistrate  them ;  quoted  by  way  of  proof  in  all  ar- 
guments of  a  religious  nature ;  recommended  to 
the  perusal  of  unbelievers,  as  containing  the  au- 
thentic account  of  the  Christian  doctrine ;  when 
we  attend,  I  say,  to  this  representation,  we  per- 
ceive in  it  not  only  full  proof  of  the  early  no- 
toriety of  these  books,  but  a  clear  and  sensible 
line  of  discrimination,  which  separates  these  from 
the  pretensions  of  any  others. 

The  epistles  of  St.  Paul  stand  particularly  free 
of  any  doubt  or  confusion  that  might  arise  from 
this  source.  Until  the  conclusion  of  the  fourth 
century,  no  intimation  appears  of  any  attempt 
whatever  being  made  to  counterfeit  these  writings ; 
and  then  it  appears  only  of  a  single  and  obscure 
instance.  Jerome,  who  flourished  in  the  year 392, 
has  this  expression  :  "  Legunt  quidam  et  ad  Lao- 
dicenses ;  sed  ab  omnibus  exploditur ;"  there  is  also 
an  Epistle  to  the  Laodiceans,  but  it  is  rejected  by 
every  body.*  Theodoret,  who  wrote  in  the  year 
423,  speaks  of  this  epistle  in  the  same  terms. t 


*  Ijardner,  vol.  x.  p.  103. 


t  Ibid.  vol.  xi.  p.  88. 


Beside  these,  I  know  not  wjiether  any  ancient 
writer  mentions  it.  It  was  certainly  unnoticed 
during  the  first  three  centuries  of  the  church ;  and 
when  it  came  afterwards  to  be  mentioned,  it  was 
mentioned  only  to  show,  that,  though  such  a 
writing  did  exist,  it  obtained  no  credit.  It  is  pro- 
bable that  the  forgery  to  which  Jerome  alludes,  is 
the  epistle  which  we  now  have  under  that  title. 
If  so,  as  hath  been  already  observed,  it  is  nothing 
more  than  a  collection  of  sentences  from  the 
genuine  epistles ;  and  was  perhaps,  at  first,  rather 
the  exercise  of  some  idle  pen,  than  any  serious  at- 
tempt to  impose  a  forgery  upon  the  jiublic.  Of 
an  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  under  St.  Paul's 
name,  which  was  brought  into  Europe  in  the 
present  century,  antiquity  is  entirely  silent.  It 
was  unheard  of  for  sixteen  centuries ;  and  at  this 
day,  though  it  be  extant,  and  was  first  found  in 
the  Armenian  language,  it  is  not,  by  the  Chris- 
tians of  that  country,  received  into  their  Scrip- 
tures. I  hope,  after  this,  that  there  is  no  reader 
who  will  think  there  is  any  competition  of  crecht, 
or  of  external  proof,  between  these  and  the  re- 
ceived Epistles  ;  or  rather,  who  will  not  acknow- 
ledge the  evidence  of  authenticity  to  be  con- 
firmed by  the  want  of  success  wliich  attended  im- 
posture. 

When  we  take  into  our  hands  the  letters 
which  the  suffrage  and  consent  of  antiquity 
hath  thus  transmitted  to  us,  the  first  thing  that 
strikes  our  attention  is  the  air  of  reality  and  bu- 
siness, as  well  as  of  seriousness  and  conviction, 
wliich  pervades  the  whole.  Let  the  sceptic  read 
them.  If  he  be  not  sensible  of  these  qualities  in 
them,  the  argument  can  have  no  weight  with 
him.  If  he  be ;  if  he  perceive  in  almost  every 
page  the  language  of  a  mind  actuated  by  real 
occasions,  and  operating  upon  real  circumstances,' 
I  would  wish  it  to  he  observed,  that  the  proof 
which  arises  from  this  perception  is  not  to  be 
deemed  occult  or  imaginary,  because  it  is  incapa- 
ble of  being  drawn  out  in  words,  or  of  being  con- 
veyed to  the  apprehension  of  the  reader  in  any 
other  way,  than  by  sending  hun  to  the  books 
themselves. 

And  here,  in  its  proper  place,  comes  in  the  ar- 
gument which  it  has  been  the  office  of  these  pages 
to  unfold.  St.  Paul's  epistles  are  connected  with 
the  history  by  their  particularity,  and  by  the  nu- 
merous circumstances  which  are  found  in  them. 
When  we  descend  to  an  examination  and  com- 
parison of  these  circumstances,  we  not  only  ob- 
serve the  history  and  the  epistles  to  be  indepen- 
dent documents  unknown  to,  or  at  least  uncon- 
sulted  by,  each  other,  but  we  find  the  substance, 
and  oftentimes  very  minute  articles,  of  the  history, 
recognized  in  the  epistles,  by  allusions  and  re- 
ferences, which  can  neither  be  imputed  to  design. 
nor,  without  a  foundation  in  truth,  be  accounted 
for  by  accident ;  by  hints  and  expressions,  and 
single  words  dropping  as  it  were  fortuitously  from 
the  pen  of  the  writer,  or  drawn  forth,  each  by  some 
occasion  proper  to  the  place  in  which  it  occurs, 
but  widely  removed  from  any  view  to  consistency 
or  agreement.  These,  we  know,  are  efl'ects  which 
reality  naturally  produces,  but  which,  without 
reality  at  the  bottom,  can  hardly  be  conceived  tc 
exist. 

When  therefore,  with  a  body  of  external  evi- 
dence, which  is  relied  upon,  and  which  experience 
proves  may  safely  be  relied  upon,  in  appreciating 
the  credit  of  ancient  writings,  we  combine  charac- 


THE  CONCLUSIOIS. 


229 


ters  of  genuineness  and  originality  wiiich  are  not 
found,  and  whicli,  in  the  nature  and  order  of 
things,  cannot  be  expected  to  be  tband  in  spurious 
compositions ;  wliatevcr  difficulties  we  may  meet 
with  in  other  topics  of  the  Christian  evidence,  we 
can  have  little  in  yielding  our  assent  to  the  fol- 
lowing conclusions:  That  there  was  such  a  per- 
son as  St.  Paul ;  that  he  lived  in  the  age  which 
we  ascribe  to  him ;  that  he  went  about  preaching 
the  religion  of  which  Jesus  Christ  was  the  tbunder ; 
and  that  the  letters  which  we  now  read  were  ac- 
tually written  by  him  upon  tlie  subject,  and  in  the 
course  of  that  his  ministry. 

And  if  it  be  true  that  we  are  in  possession  of 
the  very  letters  which  St.  Paul  wrote,  let  us  con- 
sider what  confirmation  they  afford  to  the  Chris- 
tian history.  In  my  opinion  they  substantiate  the 
whole  transaction.  The  great  object  of  modern  re- 
search is  to  come  at  the  epistolary  correspondence 
of  the  times.  Amidst  the  obscurities,  the  silence, 
or  the  contradictions  of  history,  if  a  letter  can  be 
finnid,  we  regard  it  as  the  discovery  of  a  land- 
mark ;  as  that  by  which  we  can  correct,  adjust,  or 
supply  the  imperfections  and  uncertainties  of  other 
accounts.  One  cause  of  the  superior  credit  wliich 
is  attributed  to  letters  is  this,  that  the  facts  which 
they  disclose  generally  come  out  incidentally,  and 
therefore  without  design  to  mislead  the  public  by 
false  or  exaggerated  accounts.  This  reason  may 
be  applied  to  St.  Paul's  epistles  with  as  much  jus- 
tice as  to  any  letters  whatever.  Nothing  could  be 
farther  from  the  intention  of  the  writer  than  to 
record  any  part  of  his  history.  That  his  history 
was  in  fact  made  public  by  these  letters,  and  has 
by  the  same  means  been  transmitted  to  future  ages, 
is  a  secondary  and  unthought-of  effect.  The  sin- 
cerity therefore  of  the  apostle's  declarations  cannot 
reasonably  be  disputed ;  at  least  we  are  sure  that 
it  was  not  vitiated  by  any  desire  of  setting  himself 
off  to  the  public  at  large.  But  these  letters  form 
a  part  of  the  muniments  of  Christianity,  as  much 
to  be  valued  for  their  contents,  as  for  their  origi- 
nality. A  more  inestimable  treasure  the  care  of 
antiquity  could  not  have  sent  down  to  us.  Beside 
the  proof  they  afford  of  the  general  reality  of  St. 
Paul's  history,  of  the  knowledge  which  the  author 
of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  had  obtained  of  that 
history,  and  the  consequent  probability  that  he 
was,  what  he  professes  himself  to  have  been,  a 
companion  of  the  apostles ;  beside  the  support  they 
lend  to  these  important  inferences,  they  meet  spe- 
cilically  some  of  the  principal  objections  upon 
which  the  adversaries  of  Christianity  have  thought 
proper  to  rely.     In  particular  they  show, — 

I.  That  Christianity  was  not  a  story  set  on  foot 
amidst  the  confusions  which  attended  and  imme- 
diately preceded  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem ; 
when  many  extravagant  reports  were  circulated, 
when  men's  mimls  were  broken  by  terror  and  dis- 
tress, when  amidst  the  tumults  that  surrounded 
them  inquiry  was  impracticable.  These  letters 
show  incontestably  that  the  religion  had  fixed  and 
established  itself  before  this  state  of  things  took 
place. 

II.  Whereas  it  hath  been  insinuated,  that  our 
Gosj>els  may  have  been  made  up  of  reports  and 
stories,  which  were  current  at  the  time,  we  may 
observe  that,  with  respect  to  the  Epistles,  this  is 
impossible.  A  man  cannot  write  the  history  of  his 
own  life  from  re[>orts;  no; ,  what  is  the  same  thing, 
be  led  by  reports  to  refer  to  passages  and  transac- 
tions in  which  he  states  himself  to  have  been  im- 


mediately present  and  active.  I  do  not  allow  that 
this  insinuation  is  applied  to  the  historical  part  of 
the  New  Testament  with  any  colour  of  justice  or 
probability;  but  I  sa}',  that  to  the  Epistles  it  is  not 
applicable  at  all. 

III.  These  letters  prove  that  the  converts  to 
Christianity  were  not  drawn  from  the  barbarous, 
the  mean,  or  the  ignorant  set  of  men  which  the  re- 
presentations of  infidelity  would  sometimes  make 
them.  We  learn  from  letters  the  character  not 
only  of  the  writer,  but,  in  some  measure,  of  the 
persons  to  whom  they  are  written.  To  suppose 
that  these  letters  were  addressed  to  a  rude  tribe, 
incapable  of  thought  or  reflection,  is  just  as  rea- 
sonable as  to  suppose  Locke's  Essay  on  the  Hu- 
man Understanding  to  have  been  written  for  the 
instruction  of  savages.  Whatever  may  be  thought 
of  these  letters  in  other  respects,  either  of  diction 
or  argument,  they  are  certainly  removed  as  far  as 
possible  from  the  habits  and  comprehension  of  a 
barbarous  people. 

IV.  St.  Paul's  history,  I  mean  so  much  of  it  as 
may  be  collected  from  his  letters,  is  so  implicated 
with  that  of  the  other  apostles,  and  with  the  sub- 
stance indeed  of  the  Christian  history  itself,  that 
I  apprehend  it  will  be  found  impossible  to  admit 
St.  Paul's  story  (I  do  not  speak  of  the  miraculous 
part  of  it)  to  be  true,  and  yet  to  reject  the  rest  as 
fabulous.  For  instance,  can  any  one  believe  that 
there  was  such  a  man  as  Paul,  a  preacher  of  Chris- 
tianity in  the  age  which  we  assign  to  him,  and 
not  believe  that  there  was  also  at  the  same  time 
such  a  man  as  Peter  and  James,  and  other  apos- 
tles, who  had  been  companions  of  Christ  daring 
his  life,  and  who  after  his  death  published  and 
avowed  the  same  things  concerning  him  which 
Paul  taught"?  Judea,  and  especially  Jerusalem, 
was  the  scene  of  Christ's  ministry.  The  witnesses 
of  his  miracles  lived  there.  St.  Paul,  by  his  own 
account,  as  well  as  that  of  his  historian,  appears 
to  have  frequently  visited  that  city  ;  to  have  car- 
ried on  a  communication  with  the  church  there ; 
to  have  associated  with  the  rulers  and  elders  of 
that  church,  who  were  some  of  them  apostles ;  to 
have  acted,  as  occasions  offered,  in  correspondence, 
and  sometimes  in  conjunction  with  them.  Can 
it,  after  this,  be  doubted,  but  that  the  religion  and 
the  general  facts  relating  to  it,  which  St.  Paul  ap- 
pears by  his  letters  to  have  delivered  to  the  seve- 
ral churches  which  he  established  at  a  distance, 
were  at  the  same  time  taught  and  published  at  Je- 
rusalem itself,  the  place  where  the  business  was 
transacted  ;  and  taught  and  published  by  those 
who  had  attended  the  founder  of  the  institution  in 
his  miraculous,  or  pretendedly  miraculous,  minis- 

It  is  ohsen'able,  for  so  it  appears  both  in  the 
Epistles  and  from  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  that 
Jerusalem,  and  the  society  of  believers  in  that  city, 
long  continued  the  centre  from  which  the  mission- 
aries of  the  religion  issued,  with  which  all  other 
churches  maintained  a  correspondence  and  con- 
nexion, to  which  they  referred  their  doubts,  and 
to  whose  relief,  in  times  of  public  distress,  they 
remitted  their  charitable  assistance.  This  obser- 
vation I  think  material,  because  it  proves  that  this 
was  not  the  case  of  giving  our  accounts  in  one 
country  of  what  is  transacted  in  another,  without 
affording  the  hearers  an  opportunity  of  knowing 
whether  the  things  related  were  credited  by  any, 
or  even  published,  in  the  place  where  they  are  re- 
ported to  have  passed. 

20 


^30 


HORiE  PAULINA. 


V.  St.  Paul's  letters  furnish  evidence  (and  what 
better  evidence  than  a  man's  own  letttTs  can  be 
desired  1)  of  the  soundness  and  sobriety  of  his 
judgment.  His  caution  in  distinguishing  between 
tlie  occasional  suggestions  of  inspiration,  and  the 
ordinary  exercise  of  his  natural  understanding,  is 
without  example  in  the  history  of  human  enthu- 
siasm. His  morality  is  every  where  calm,  pure, 
and  rational ;  adapted  to  the  condition,  the  activity, 
and  the  business  of  social  life,  and  of  its  various 
relations;  free  from  the  overscru{)ulousness  and 
austerities  of  superstition,  and  from  what  was 
more  perhaps  to  be  apprehended,  the  abstractions 
of  quietism,  and  the  soarings  and  extravagancies 
of  fanaticism.  His  judgment  concerning  a  hesi- 
tating conscience;  his  opniion  of  the  moral  indifib- 
rency  of  many  actions,  yet  of  the  prudence  and 
even  the  duty  of  compliance,  where  non-comj)li- 
ance  would  produce  evil  etfects  upon  the  minds  of 
the  persons  who  observed  it,  is  as  correct  and  just 
as  the  most  liberal  and  enlightened  moralist  could 
form  at  this  day.  The  accuracy  of  modern  ethics 
has  found  nothing  to  amend  in  these  determina- 
tions. 

What  Lord  Lyttleton  has  remarked  of  the  pre- 
ference ascribed  by  St.  Paul  to  inward  rectitude 
of  principle  above  every  other  rehgious  accomplish- 
ment, is  very  material  to  our  present  purpose. 
"In  his  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  chap, 
xiii.  1 — 3,  St.  Paul  has  these  words :  Though  I 
speak  loith  the  tongue  of  men  and  of  angels,  and 
have  not  charity,  I  am  become  as  sounding  brass 
or  a  tinkling  cymbal.  And  though  I  have  the 
gift  of  prophecy,  and  understand  all  mysteries, 
and  all  knowledge  ;  and  though  I  have  all  faith, 
so  that  I  could  remove  mountains,  and  have  not 
charity,  lam  nothing.  And  though  I  bestow  all 
my  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  and  though  I  give  my 
body  to  be  burned,  and  have  not  charity,  it  pro- 
fitcth  me  nothing.  Is  this  the  language  of  en- 
thusiasm 1  Did  ever  enthusiast  ])refi'r  that  uni- 
versal benevolence  which  coiiipnht  iiil<th  all  moral 
virtues,  and  which,  as  appeareth  by  the  following 
verses,  is  meant  by  charity  here ;  did  ever  enthu- 
siast, I  say,  prefer  that  benevolence"  (which  we 
may  add  is  attainable  by  every  man)  "  to  fiiith  and 
to  miracles,  to  those  religious  ojjinions  which  he 
had  embraced,  and  to  those  supernatural  graces 
and  gifts  which  he  imagined  he  had  acquired  ;  nay, 
even  to  the  merit  of  martyrdom  1  Is  it  not  the 
genius  of  enthusiasm  to  set  moral  virtues  infinitely 
below  the  merit  of  faith  ;  and  of  all  moral  virtues 
to  value  that  least  which  is  most  particularly  en- 
forced by  St.  Paul,  a  spirit  of  candour,  moderation, 
and  peace  1  Certainly  neither  the  temper  nor  the 
opinions  of  a  man  subject  to  fanatic  delusions  are 
to  he  found  in  this  passage." — Lord  Lyttleton's 
Considerations  on  the  Conversion,  if-c. 

I  see  no  reason  therefore  to  question  the  inte- 
grity of  his  understanding.  To  call  him  a  vision- 
ary, because  he  appealed  to  visions ;  or  an  enthu- 
siast, because  he  pretended  to  inspiration,  is  to 
take  the  whole  question  for  granted.  It  is  to  take 
for  granted  that  no  such  visions  or  inspirations 
3xistod :  at  least  it  is  to  assume,  contrary  to  his 
Dwn  assertions,  that  he  had  no  other  proofs  than 
those  to  offer  of  his  mission,  or  of  the  truth  of  his 
relations. 

One  thing  I  allow,  that  his  letters  every  where 
discover  great  zeal  and  earnestness  in  the  cause  in 
which  he  was  engaged;  that  is  to  say,  he  was 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  what  he  tau<rlit ;  he  was 


deeply  impressed,  but  not  more  so  than  the  occa- 
i  sion  merited,  with  a  sense  of  its  imjwrtance  This 
produces  a  corresjionding  animation  and  solicitude 
in  the  exercise  of  his  ministry.  But  would  not 
these  considerations,  supposing  them  to  be  well 
founded,  have  holden  the  same  place,  and  produ(  ed 
the  same  effect,  in  a  mind  the  strongest  and  the 
most  sedate  1 

VI.  These  letters  are  decisive  as  to  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  author ;  also  as  to  the  distressed  state 
of  the  Christian  church,  and  the  dangers  whii'h 
attended  the  preaching  of  the  Gospel, 

"  Whereof  I  Paul  am  made  a  minister ;  who 
now  rejoice  in  my  suflt  rings  for  you,  and  fill  up 
that  which  is  behind  of  tlie  afflictions  of  Christ  in 
my  ficsh,  for  his  body's  sake,  which  is  the  church," 
Col.  ch.  i.  24. 

"  If  in  this  life  only  we  have  hope  in  Christ,  we 
are  of  all  men  most  miserable,"  1  Cor.  ch.  xv.  9. 

"  Why  stand  we  in  jeopardy  every  hour  ?  I  pro- 
test by  your  rejoicing,  which  I  have  in  Christ  Je- 
sus our  Lord,  I  die  daily.  If,  after  the  manner  of 
men,  I  have  fought  with  beasts  at  Ephesus,  what 
advantagcth  it  me,  if  the  dead  rise  not  V  1  Cor. 
ch.  XV.  30.  &c. 

"  If  children,  then  heirs ;  heirs  of  God,  and  joint 
heirs  with  Christ;  if  so  be  that  we  sufl'er  with 
him,  that  we  may  be  also  glorified  together.  For 
I  reckon  that  the  sufferings  of  this  i^resent  time 
are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the  glory 
which  shall  be  revealed  in  us,"  Rom.  chap.  viii. 
17,  18. 

"  Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ! 
shall  tribulation,  or  distress,  or  persecution,  or 
famine,  or  nakedness,  or  peril,  or  sword  ?  As  it 
is  written,  for  thy  sake  we  are  killed  all  the  day 
long,  we  are  accounted  as  sheep  for  the  slaughter," 
Rom.  ch.  viii.  35,  36. 

"  Rejoicing  in  hope,  patient  in  fribulation, 
continuing  instant  in  prayer,"  Rom.  ch.  xii.  12. 

"  Now  concerning  virgins  I  have  no  command- 
ment of  the  Lord;  yet  I  give  my  judgment  as  one 
that  hath  obtained  mercy  of  the  Lord  to  be  faith- 
ful. I  suppose  therefore  that  this  is  good  for  the 
present  distress ;  I  say,  that  it  is  good  for  a  man 
so  to  be,"  1  Cor.  ch.  vii,  25,  26. 

"  For  unto  you  it  is  given,  in  the  behalf  of  Christ, 
not  only  to  believe  on  him,  but  also  to  suffer  for 
his  sake,  having  the  same  conflict  which  ye  saw 
in  me,  and  now  hear  to  be  in  me,"  Phil.  ch.  i. 
29,  30. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the 
cross  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  whom  the 
world  is  crucified  unto  me,  and  I  unto  the  world." 

"  From  henceforth  let  no  man  trouble  me,  for  I 
bear  in  my  body  the  marks  of  the  Lord  Jesus," 
Gal.  ch.  vi.  14,  17. 

"  Ye  became  followers  of  us,  and  of  the  Lord, 
having  received  the  word  in  much  affliction,  with 
joy  of  the  Holy  Ghost,"  1  Thess.  ch.  i.  6. 

"  We  ourselves  glory  in  you  in  the  churches  ot 
God,  for  your  patience  and  faith  in  all  your  perse- 
cutions and  tribulations  that  ye  endure,"  2  Thess. 
chap.  i.  4. 

We  may  seem  to  have  accumulated  texts  un- 
necessarily; but  licside  that  the  point  which  they 
are  brought  to  prove  is  of  great  importance,  there 
is  this  also  to  be  remarked  in  every  one  of  the 
passages  cited,  that  the  allusion  is  drawn  from  the 
writer  by  the  argument  or  the  occasion ;  that  the 
notice  which  is  taken  of  his  sufferings,  and  of  the 
suffering  condition  of  Christianity,  is  perfectly  in- 


THE  COJNCLLsiON. 


231 


cidental,  and  is  dictated  by  no  design  of  stating 
the  tacts  themselves.  Indeed  they  are  not  stated 
at  all ;  they  may  rather  be  said  to  be  assumed . 
This  is  a  distinction  upon  which  we  have  relied 
a  good  deal  in  former  parts  of  this  treatise  ;  and, 
where  the  writer's  information  cannot  be  doubted, 
it  always,  in  my  opinion,  adds  greatly  to  the  value 
and  credit  of  the  testimony. 

If  any  reader  require  from  the  apostle  more  di- 
rect and  explicit  assertions  of  the  same  thing,  he 
will  receive  full  satisfaction  in  the  tbllowing  quo- 
tations. 

'■  Are  they  ministers  of  Christ  1  (I  speak  as  a 
fool)  1  am  more ;  in  labours  more  abundant,  in 
stripes  above  measure,  in  prisons  more  frequent, 
in  deaths  oft.  Of  the  Jews  five  times  received  1 
forty  stripes  save  one.  Thrice  was  I  beaten  with 
rods,  once  was  I  stoned;  thrice  I  suffered  ship- 
wreck, a  night  and  a  day  I  have  been  in  the  deep ; 
in  journeyings  often,  in  perils  of  waters,  in  perils 
of  robbers,  in  perils  by  mine  own  countrymen,  in 
perils  by  the  heathen,  in  perils  in  the  city,  in 
perils  in  the  wilderness,  in  perils  in  the  sea,  in 
perils  among  false  brethren;  in  weariness  and 
painfulness,  in  watchings  often,  in  hunger  and 
thirst,  in  fastings  often,  in  cold  and  nakedness," 
2  Cor.  eh.  xi.  23—28. 

Can  it  be  necessary  to  add  more  1  "I  think 
that  God  hath  set  ibrth  us  the  apostles  last,  as  it 
were  appointed  to  death ;  for  we  are  made  a  spec- 
tacle unto  the  world,  and  to  angels,  and  to  men. 
Even  unto  this  present  hour  we  both  hunger  and 
thirst,  and  are  naked,  and  are  buffeted,  and  have 
no  certain  dwelling-place ;  and  labour,  working 
with  our  own  hands :  being  reviled,  we  bless ; 
being  persecuted,  we  suffer  it ;  being  defamed,  we 
entreat :  we  are  made  as  the  filth  of  the  earth, 
and  are  the  oflscouring  of  all  things  unto  this  day," 
1  Cor.  ch.  iv.  9 — 13.  I  subjoin  this  passage  to 
the  former,  because  it  extends  to  the  other  apostles 
of  Christianity  much  of  that  which  St.  Paul  de- 
clared concerning  himself. 

In  the  following  quotations,  the  reference  to  the 
author's  sufferings  is  accompanied  with  a  specifi- 
cation of  time  and  place,  and  with  an  appeal  for 
the  truth  of  what  he  declares  to  the  knowledge  of 
the  persons  whom  he  addresses :  "  Even  after  that 
we  had  suflered  before,  and  were  shamei'ully  en- 
treated, as  ye  know,  at  Philippi,  we  were  bold  in 
our  God  to  speak  unto  you  the  Gospel  of  God 
with  much  contention,"  1  Thess.  ch.  ii.  2. 

"  But  thou  hast  fully  known  my  doctrine, 
manner  of  life,  purpose,  faith,  long-suffering,  per- 
secutions, afflictions,  which  came  unto  me  at  An- 
tlocli,  at  Iconimn,  at  Lystra :  what  persecutions 
I  endured :  but  out  of  them  all  the  Lord  deUvered 
me,"  2  Tim.  ch.  iii.  10,  11. 

I  apprehend  that  to  this  point,  as  far  as  the  tes- 
timony of  St.  Paul  is  credited,  the  cNidcnce  from 
his  letters  is  complete  and  full.  It  appears  under 
every  form  in  which  it  could  appear,  by  occasional 
allusions  and  by  direct  assertions,  by  general  de- 
clarations, and  by  specific  examples. 

VII.  St.  Paul  in  these  letters  asserts,  in  posi- 
tive and  unequivocal  terms,  his  performance  of 
miracles  strictly  and  properly  so  called. 

"  He  therefore  that  ministereth  to  you  the 
Spirit,  and  worketh  miracles  (s^s^ycuv  Juva/Jti;) 
among  you,  doth  he  it  by  the  works  of  the 
law,  or  by  the  hearing  of  faith  1"  Gal.  chap, 
iii.  5. 

"  For  I  win  not  dare  to  speak  of  any  of  those 


things  which  Christ  hath  not  wrought  by  me,  * 
to  make  the  Gentiles  obedient,  by  word  and  deed, 
through  mighty  signs  and  wonders  (sv  Suva.un 
o-ii/iiiu.!/  K»i  TifKToiv,)  by  the  power  of  the  Spirit  of 
God :  so  that  from  Jerusalem,  and  round  about 
unto  Illyricura,  I  have  fully  preached  the  Gospel 
of  Christ,"  Rom.  ch.  xv.  18,  19. 

"  Truly  the  signs  of  an  apostle  were  wrought 
among  you  in  all  patience,  in  signs  and  wonders 
and  mighty  deeds,"  (tv  G->,/i£.o«s  xai  rtjao-i  x«<  iuva- 
Hi<7i.  f)  2  Cor.  ch.  xii.  12. 

These  words,  signs,  wonders,  and  mighty  deeds, 
(c-i^/jLux,  XU.I  Tifxra,  xxi  Svvci.f<.'.i(,)  are  the  specific 
appropriate  terms  throughout  the  New  Testament, 
employed  when  pulilic  sensible  miracles  are  in- 
tended to  be  expressed.  This  will  appear  by  con- 
sulting, amongst  other  places,  the  texts  referred 
to  in  the  note ;  t  and  it  cannot  be  known  that  they 
are  ever  employed  to  express  any  thing  else. 

Secondly,  these  words  not  only  denote  mira- 
cles as  opposed  to  natural  effects,  but  they  denote 
visible,  and  what  may  be  called  external,  miracles, 
as  distinguished. 

First,  from  inspiration.  If  St.  Paul  had  meant 
to  refer  only  to  secret  illuminations  of  his  under- 
standing, or  secret  influences  upon  liis  will  or 
affections,  he  could  not,  with  truth,  have  repre- 
sented them  as  "  signs  and  wonders  wrought  oy 
him,"  or  "  signs  and  wonders  and  mighty  deeds 
wrought  amongst  them." 

Secondly,  from  visions.  These  woiild  not,  by 
any  means,  satisfy  the  force  of  the  terms,  "signs, 
wonders,  and  mighty  deeds ;"  still  less  could  they 
be  said  to  be  "wrought  by  hun,"  or  ^^  wrought 
amongst  them :"  nor  are  these  terms  and  expres- 
sions any  where  applied  to  visions.  When  our 
author  alludes  to  the  supernatural  communica- 
tions which  he  had  received,  either  by  \ision  or 
otherwise,  he  uses  expressions  suited  to  the 
nature  of  the  subject,  but  very  different  from 
the  words  which  we  have  quoted.  He  calls 
them  revelations,  but  never  signs,  wonders,  or 
mighty  deeds.  "  I  will  come,"  says  he,  "  to 
visions  and  revelations  of  the  Lord ;"  and  then 
proceeds  to  describe  a  particular  instance,  and 
afterwards  adds,  "  lest  I  should  be  exalted  above 
measure  through  the  abundance  of  the  revela- 
tions, there  was  given  me  a  thorn  in  the  flesh." 


*  i.  e.  "  I  will  speak  of  nothing  but  what  Christ  hath 
wrought  by  me ,"  or,  as  Giotius  interprets  it,  "  Christ 
hath  wrought  so  great  things  by  me,  that  I  will  not  dare 
to  say  what  he  hath  not  wrought." 

t  To  these  may  be  added  the  following  indirect  allu- 
sions, which,  though  if  they  had  stood  alone,  i.  e.  with- 
out plainer  texts  in  the  same  writings,  they  might  have 
been  accounted  dubious  ;  yet,  when  considered  in  con- 
junction with  the  passages  already  cited,  can  hardly  re- 
ceive any  other  interpretation  than  that  which  we  give 
them. 

"  My  speech  and  my  preaching  was  not  with  enticing 
words  of  men's  wisdom,  but  in  demonstration  of  the 
spirit  and  of  power ;  that  your  faith  should  not  stand  in 
the  wisdom  of  men,  but  in  the  power  of  God,"  1  Cor. 
ch.  ii.  4 — 6. 

"  The  Gospel,  whereof  I  was  rnade  a  minister,  accord- 
ing to  the  gift  of  the  grace  of  God  given  unto  me  by  the 
effectual  working  of  his  power,"  Ephes.  ch.  iii.  7. 

"  For  he  that  wrought  etfectually  in  Peter  to  the 
apostleship  of  the  circumcision,  the  same  was  mighty 
in  me  towards  the  Gentiles,"  Gal.  ch.  ii.  8. 

"  For  our  Gospel  came  not  unto  you  in  word  only, 
but  also  in  power  and  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  in  much 
assurance,"  1  Thess.  ch.  i.  5. 

{Mark  .\vi.  20.  Luke  xxiii.  8.  John  ii.  11,23;  iii. 
2 1  iv.  48,  54  ;  xi.  49.  Acts  ii.  22 ;  iv.  3 ;  v.  12  ;  vi.  8 ;  vii. 
16;  xiv.  3;  XV.  12.    Heb.  ii.  4. 


=^ 


232 


HCRiE  PAULINiE. 


Upon  the  whole,  the  matter  admits  of  no  soft- 
ening qualification,  or  ambiguity  whatever.  If  St. 
Paul  did  not  work  actual,  sensible  public  miracles, 
he  has  knowingly,  in  these  letters,  borne  his  tes- 
timony to  a  falsehood.  I  need  not  add,  that,  in 
two  also  of  the  quotations,  he  has  advanced  his 
assertion  in  the  face  of  those  persons  amongst 
whom  he  declares  the  miracles  to  have  been 
wrought. 

Let  it  be  remembered  that  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles described  various  particular  miracles  wrought 
by  St.  Paul,  which  in  their  nature  answers  to  the 
terms  and  expressions  wliich  we  have  seen  to  be 
used  by  St.  Paul  himself. 


Here  then  we  have  a  man  of  liberal  attain- 
ments, and  in  other  points  of  sound  judgment,  who 
had  addicted  his  life  to  the  service  of  the  Gospel. 
We  see  him,  in  the  prosecution  of  his  purpose, 
travelling  from  country  to  country  enduring  every 
species  of  hardship,  encountering  every  extremity 
of  danger,  assaulted  by  the  populace,  punished  by 
the  magistrates,  scourged,  beat,  stoned,  left  for 
dead ;  expecting,  wherever  he  came,  a  renewal  of 
the  same  treatment,  and  the  same  dangers,  yet, 
when  driven  from  one  city,  preaching  in  the  next ; 
spending  his  whole  time  in  the  employment,  sa- 
crificing to  it  his  pleasures,  his  ease,  his  safety  ; 
persisting  in  this  course  to  old  age,  unaltered  by 
the  exjicrience  of  perversencss,  ingratitude,  preju- 
dice, desertion ;  unsubdued  by  anxiety,  want, 
labour,  jx-rsecutions ;  unwearied  by  long  confine- 
ment, undismayed  by  the  prospect  of  death. 
Such  was  St.  Paul.     We  have  his  letters  in  our 


hands  ;  we  have  also  a  history  purporting  to  be 
written  by  one  of  his  fellow-travellers,  and  appear- 
ing, by  a  comparison  with  these  letters,  certainly 
to  have  been  written  by  some  person  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  transactions  of  his  life.  From 
the  letters,  as  well  as  from  the  history,  we  gather 
not  only  the  account  which  we  have  stated  of  him, 
but  that  he  was  one  out  of  many  who  acted  and 
sufiered  in  the  same  manner ;  and  that  of  those 
who  did  so,  several  had  been  the  companions  of 
Christ's  ministry,  the  ocular  witnesses,  or  })re- 
tending  to  be  such,  of  his  miracles,  and  of  his 
resurrection.  We  moreover  find  this  same  per- 
son referring  in  his  letters  to  his  supernatural  con- 
version, the  particulars  and  accompanying  circum- 
stances of  which  are  related  in  the  history,  and 
which  accompanying  circumstances,  if  all  or  any 
of  them  be  true,  render  it  impossible  to  have  been 
a  delusion.  We  also  find  him  positively,  and  in  ap- 
projjriated  terms,  asserting  that  he  himself  worked 
miracles,  strictly  and  properly  so  called,  in  sup- 
port of  the  mission  which  he  executed ;  the  his- 
tory, meanwhile,  recording  various  passages  of  his 
ministry,  which  come  up  to  the  extent  of  this  as- 
sertion. The  question  is,  whether  falsehood  was 
ever  attested  by  evidence  like  this.  Falsehoods, 
we  know,  have  found  their  way  into  reports,  into 
tradition,  into  books ;  but  is  an  example  to  be  met 
with,  of  a  man  voluntarily  undertaking  a  hfe  of 
want  and  pain,  of  incessant  fatigue,  of  continual 
peril ;  submitting  to  the  loss  of  his  home  and  coun- 
try, to  stripes  and  stoning,  to  tedious  imprison- 
ment, and  the  constant  expectation  of  a  violent 
death,  for  the  sake  of  carrying  about  a  story  of 
what  was  false,  and  of  what,  if  false,  he  must 
have  known  to  be  so  ■? 


THE 

CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 

IN 

VISITING  THE  SICK : 

CONTAINING, 

Rules  for  visiting  the  sick. — II.  The  office  for  the  visitation  of  the  sick. 
III.  The  communion  of  the  sick. — IV.  A  great  variety  of  occasional  prayers 
FOR   the   sick;    collected   from   the   writings   of   some   of   the  most  eminent 

DIVINES     OF    THE     CHURCH     OF     ENGLAND  : TO     WHICH     ARE     ADDED,     THE     OFFICES     OF 

public    AND    PRIVATE    BAPTISM,    WITH   ADDITIONS    AND    ALTERATIONS. 


PREFACE. 

This  collection  has  been  so  much  esteemed,  that  it  has  passed  through  nine  editions.  Having  now 
become  exceedingly  scarce,  it  was  thought  proper  to  reprint  it. 

The  rules  for  Visiting  the  Sick,  in  five  sections,  are  extracted  chiefly  from  the  works  of  Bishop 
Taylor.  The  Occasional  Prayers  are  taken  from  the  devotional  tracts  of  Bishop  Patrick,  Mr.  Ket- 
tlewell,  and  other  pious  and  judicious  divines.  But  in  this  Edition,  the  antiquated  style  of  those 
writers  is  corrected  and  improved ;  at  the  same  time,  a  spirit  of  rational  piety,  and  unaffected  simpli- 
city, are  carefully  preserved. 

A  prayer  by  Dr.  Stonehouse,  and  four  by  Mr.  Merrick,  the  celebrated  translator  of  the  Psalms, 
are  added  to  the  old  collection. 

The  offices  of  Public  and  Private  Baptism,  though  no  ways  relating  to  the  Visitation  of  the  Sick, 
are  retained  ;  as,  in  the  present  form,  they  will  be  convenient  for  the  Clergy  in  the  course  of  their 
parochial  duty. 


CANON  LXVII. 

MINISTERS  TO  VISIT  THE  SICK. 

When  any  person  is  dangerously  sick  in  any  parish,  the  minister  or  cui'ate,  having  knowledge  there- 
of, shall  resort  unto  him,  or  her,  (if  the  disease  be  not  known,  or  probably  suspected  to  be  inlectioua, 
to  instruct  and  comfort  them  in  their  distress,  according  to  the  order  of  Communion,  if  he  be  no 
preacher;  or,  if  he  be  a  preacher,  then  as  he  shall  think  most  needful  and  convenient. 


It  is  recommended  to  the  Clergy  to  write  out  the  prayers,  which  are  to  be  used  by  the  Sick  them- 
selves, or  by  the  persons  whose  devotions  they  wish  to  assist,  and  to  leave  the  copies  with  them. 
2  G  233  20* 


THE 


MANNER  OF  VISITING  THE  SICK; 


ASSISTANCE  THAT  IS  TO  BE  GIVEN  TO  SICK  AND  DYING  PERSONS  BY 
THE  MINISTRY  OF  THE  CLERGY. 


SECTION  I. 

Lv  all  the  days  of  our  spiritual  warfere,  from 
pur  baptism  to  our  burial,  God  has  appointed  his 
servants  the  ministers  of  the  church,  to  supply  the 
necessities  of  the  people,  by  ecclesiastical  duties; 
and  prudently  to  guide,  and  carefully  to  judge 
concerning,  souls  committed  to  their  charge. 

And,  therefore,  they  who  all  their  lifetime  de- 
rive blessings  from  the  Fountain  of  Grace,  by  the 
channels  of  ecclesiastical  ministers,  ought  then 
more  especially  to  do  it  in  the  time  of  their  sick- 
ness, when  their  needs  are  more  prevalent,  accord- 
ing to  that  known  apostolical  injunction:  "Is 
any  man  sick  among  you,  let  him  send  for  the 
elders  of  the  church,  and  let  them  pray  over 
him,"  &c. 

The  sum  of  the  duties  and  offices,  respectively 
implied  in  these  words,  may  be  collected  from  the 
following  rules. 


SECTION  II. 

Rules  for  the  Manner  of  Visiting  the  Sick. 

1.  Lkt  the  minister  be  sent  to,  not  when  the 
sick  is  in  the  agonies  of  death,  as  it  is  usual  to  do, 
hut  before  his  sickness  increases  too  much  upon 
him :  for  when  the  soul  is  confused  and  disturbed 
by  the  violence  of  the  distemper,  and  death  begins 
to  stare  the  man  in  the  face,  there  is  little  reason 
to  hope  for  any  good  elfect  from  the  spiritual  man's 
visitation.  For  how  can  any  regular  administra- 
tion take  place,  when  the  man  is  all  over  in  a  dis- 
order '?  how  can  he  be  called  upon  to  confess  his 
sins,  when  his  tongue  falters,  and  his  memory 
fails  him!  how  can  he  receive  any  benefit  by  the 
prayers  which  are  oflered  up  for  him,  when  he  is 
not  able  to  give  attention  to  them  1  or  how  can  he 
be  comforted  upon  any  sure  grounds  of  reason  or 
religion,  when  his  reason  is  just  expiring,  and  all 
his  notions  of  religion  together  with  it  1  or  when 
the  man,  perhaps,  had  never  any  real  sentiments 
of  religion  before  1 

It  is,  therefore,  a  matter  of  sad  consideration, 
that  the  generality  of  the  world  look  upon  the 
minister,  in  the  time  of  their  sickness,  as  the  sure 
forerunner  of  death;  and  think  his  office  so  much 
relates  to  another  world,  that  he  is  not  to  be  treated 
with,  as  long  as  there  is  any  hope  of  living  in  this. 
Whereas  it  is  higlily  requisite  the  minister  be  sent 
for,  when  the  sick  person  is  able  to  be  conversed 
with  and  instructed ;  and  can  understand,  or  be 
taught  to  understand,  thecase  of  Ids  soul,  and  the 
234 


rules  of  his  conscience,  and  all  the  several  bearings 
of  religion,  with  respect  to  God,  his  neighbour, 
and  himself  For  to  prepare  a  soul  for  its  change 
is  a  work  of  great  difficulty ;  and  the  intercourses 
of  the  minister  with  the  sick  have  so  much  variety 
in  them,  that  they  are  not  to  be  transacted  at 
once.  Sometimes  there  is  need  of  sj)ecial  reme- 
dies against  impatience,  and  the  fear  of  death  ;  not 
only  to  animate,  but  to  make  the  person  desirous 
and  willing  to  die.  Sometimes  it  is  requisite  to 
awaken  the  conscience  by  "the  terrors  of  the 
Lord  "  to  open  by  degrees  all  the  labyrinths  of 
sin  flhose  innumerable  windings  and  turnings 
whicl  insensibly  lead  men  into  destruction,)  which 
the  habitual  sensualist  can  never  be  able  to  disco- 
ver, unless  directed  by  the  particular  grace  of 
God,  and  the  assistance  of  a  faithful  and  ju- 
dicious guide.  Sometimes  there  is  need  of  the 
balm  of  comfort,  to  pour  in  "  oil  and  wine"  (with 
the  good  Samaritan)  into  the  bleeding  wound, 
by  representing  the  tender  mercies  of  God,  and 
the  love  of  his  Son  Jesus  Christ,  to  mankind: 
and  at  other  times  it  will  be  necessary  to  "reprove, 
rebuke,  and  exhort,  with  all  long  suffering  and 
doctrine :"  so  that  a  clergyman's  duty,  in  the  vi- 
sitation of  the  sick,  is  not  over  at  once :  but  at 
one  time  he  must  pray ;  at  another,  he  must  assist, 
advise,  and  direct ;  at  another,  he  must  open  to 
hmi  the  nature  of  repentance,  and  exhort  him  to 
a  confession  of  his  sins,  both  to  God  and  man,  in 
all  those  cases  which  require  it :  and,  at  another 
time,  he  must  give  him  absolution,  and  the  sacra- 
ment of  the  body  and  blood  of  our  Lord. 

And,  indeed,  he  that  ought  to  watch  all  the 
periods  of  his  life,  in  the  days  of  his  health,  lest 
he  should  be  surprised  and  overcome,  had  need, 
when  he  is  sick,  be  assisted  and  called  upon,  and 
reminded  of  the  several  parts  of  his  duty  in  every 
instant  of  his  temptation. 

The  want  of  this  makes  the  visitations  of  the 
clergy  fruitless,  because  they  are  not  suffered  to 
imprint  those  proper  effects  upon  the  sick,  which 
are  needful  in  so  important  a  ministration. 

2.  When  the  minister  is  come,  let  him  discourse 
concerning  the  causes  of  sickness,  and  by  a  gene- 
ral argument  move  him  to  a  consideration  of  his 
condition.  Let  him  call  upon  liim  first,  in  general 
terms,  "  to  set  his  house  in  order,"  "  to  trim  and 
adorn  his  lamp,"  and  "  to  prepare  himself  for  an- 
other world  ;"  and  then  let  him  perform  the  cus- 
tomary duties  of  prayer,  and  afterwards  descend 
to  other  particulars,  as  occasion  shall  ofler,  and 
circumstances  require. 

3.  According  to  the  condition  of  the  man,  and 


VISITING  THE  SICK. 


235 


the  nature  of  his  sickness,  every  act  of  visitation 
is  to  be  proportioned.  If  his  condition  be  full  of 
pain  and  infirmity,  the  exhortation  ought  to  be 
shortened,  and  the  minister  more  "  instant  in 
prayer:"  and  the  little  service  the  sick  man  can 
do  for  himself  should  be  supplied  by  the  charitable 
care  of  his  guide,  who  is  in  such  a  case  to  speak 
more  to  God  for  him  than  to  talk  to  him :  "  prayer 
of  the  righteous,"  when  it  is  "  fervent,"  hath  a 
promise  to  "  prevail  much  in  behalf  of  the  sick" 
person:  but  exiiortations  must  prevail  by  their 
own  proper  weight,  and  not  by  the  passion  of  the 
speaker;  and,  therefore,  should  be  olfered  when 
the  sick  is  able  to  receive  them.  And  even  in  this 
assistance  of  prayer,  if  the  sick  man  joins  with  the 
minister,  the  prayers  should  be  short,  fervent,  and 
ejaculatory,  apt  rather  to  comply  with  his  weak 
condition,  than  wearisome  to  his  spirits,  in  tedious 
and  long  othces.  But  in  case  it  appears  he  hath 
ButTicient  strength  to  go  along  with  the  minister, 
he  is  then  more  at  hberty  to  otTer  up  long  petitions 
for  him. 
After  the  minister  hath  made  this  preparatory 
entrance  to  this  work  of  much  time  and  deli- 
beration, he  may  descend  to  the  particulars 
of  his  duty,  in  the  following  method. 


SECTION  III. 

Of  instructing  the  sick  Man  in  the  nature  of 
Repentance,  and  Confession  of  his  Sins. 

The  first  duty  to  be  rightly  stated  to  the  sick 
man,  is  that  of  repentance ;  in  which  the  minister 
cannot  be  more  ser\iceable  to  him  than  by  laying 
before  him  a  regular  scheme  of  it,  and  exhorting 
him  at  the  same  time  to  a  free  and  ingenuous  de- 
claration of  the  state  of  his  soul.  For  unless  they 
know  the  manner  of  his  life  and  the  several  kinds 
and  degrees  of  those  sins  vi'hich  require  his  peni- 
tential sorrow  or  restitution,  either  they  can  do 
nothincr  at  all,  or  nothing  of  advantage  and  certain- 
tv.  Wherefore  the  minister  may  move  liim  to 
this  in  the  following  mamier : 

Arguments  and  Exhortations  to  more  the  sick 
Man  to  Repentance,  and  Confession  of  his 
Sins. 

1.  That  repentance  is  a  duty  indispensably  ne- 
cessarv  to  salvation.  That  to  this  end,  all  the 
preachings  and  endeavours  of  the  prophets  and 
apostles  are  directed.  That  our  Saviour  '"came 
down  from  heaven,"  on  purpose  "  to  call  sinners  to 
repentance.' *  That  as  it  is  a  necessary  duty  at 
all  times,  so  more  especially  in  the  time  of  sick- 
ness, when  we  are  commanded  in  a  particular 
manner  to  '•  set  our  house  in  order."  That  it  is  a 
work  of  great  difficulty,  consisting  in  general  of  a 
"  change  of  mind,"  and  a  '•  change  of  life."  Upon 
which  account  it  is  called  in  Scripture,  "  a  state 
of  regeneration,  or  new  birth;"  a  "conversion 
from  sin  to  God;"  a  '•  being  renewed  in  the  spirit 
of  our  minds;"  a  •'  putting  off  the  old  man,  which 
is  corrupt  according  to  the  deceitful  lusts  of  the 
flesh,"  and  a  "  puttincr  on  the  new  man,  wliich  is 
created  in  righteousness  and  true  holiness."  That 
so  (Treat  a  change  as  this,  is  not  to  be  etitjcted  at 


*  Matt.  is.  13. 


once,  but  requires  the  utmost  self-denial  and  reso- 
lution to  put  it  in  execution,  consisting  in  general 
of  the  following  particulars: — I.  A  sorrowful 
sense  of  our  sins :  2.  An  humble  confession  of 
them :  3.  An  unfeigned  abhorrence  and  forsaking 
of  them,  and  turning  to  the  Lord  our  God  with  all 
our  hearts:  4.  A  patient  continuance  in  well- 
doincr  to  the  end  of  our  lives. 

These  are  the  constituent  and  essential  parts 
of  a  true  repentance ;  which  may  severally  be  dis- 
played from  the  following  motives  of  reason  and 
Scripture,  as  opportunity  shall  serve,  and  the  sick 
man's  condition  permit. 

The  first  part  of  a  true  repentance  is  a  sorrow- 
ful sense  of  our  sins,  which  naturally  produceth 
this  good  effect,  as  we  may  learn  from  St.  Paul, 
(2  Cor.  vii.  10,)  where  he  tells  us,  that  "  godly  sor- 
row worketh  repentance."  Without  it,  to  be  sure, 
there  can  be  no  such  thing ;  for  how  can  a  man 
repent  of  that  which  he  is  not  sorry  fori  or, 
how  can  any  one  sincerely  ask  pardon  and  for- 
giveness for  what  he  is  not  concerned  or  troubled 
about  1 

A  sorrowful  sense,  then,  of  our  sins,  is  the  first 
part  of  a  true  repentance,  the  necessity  whereof 
may  be  seen  from  the  grievous  and  abominable 
nature  of  sin ;  as,  1.  That  it  made  so  wide  a  se- 
paration betwxt  God  and  man,  that  nothing  but 
the  blood  of  his  only  begotten  Son  could  sutfice  to 
atone  for  its  intolerable  guilt :  2.  That  it  carries 
along  with  it  the  basest  ingratitude,  as  being  done 
against  our  heavenly  Father,  "  in  whom  we  live, 
and  move,  and  have  our  being :"  3.  That  the  con- 
sequence of  it  is  nothing  less  than  eternal  ruin, 
in  that  "the  wrath  of  God  is  revealed  against  all 
impenitent  sinners;"  and  "the  wages  of  sin  is 
death," — not  only  temporal  but  eternal. 

From  these  and  the  like  considerations,  the 
penitent  may  further  learn,  that  to  be  sorry  for 
our  sins  is  a  great  and  important  duty.  That  it 
does  not  consist  in  a  little  trivial  concern,  a  super- 
ficial sigh,  or  tear,  or  calling  ourselves  sinners,  &c. 
but  in  a  real,  ingenuous,  pungent,  and  afflicting 
sorrow :  for,  can  that  which  cast  our  parents  out 
of  Paradise  at  first,  that  brought  down  the  Son 
of  God  afterwards  from  heaven,  and  put  him  at 
last  to  such  a  cruel  and  shameful  death,  be  now 
thought  to  be  done  away  by  a  single  tear  or  a 
groan  1  Can  so  base  a  piece  of  ingratitude,  as  re- 
belhng  against  the  Lord  of  glory,  who  gives  us  all 
we  have,  be  supposed  to  be  pardcned  by  a  slender 
submission  1  Or  can  that  which  deserves  the  tor- 
ment of  hell,  be  sufficiently  atoned  for  by  a  httle 
indignation  and  superficial  remorse  ? 

True  repentance,  therefore,  is  ever  accompanied 
with  a  deep  and  afflicting  sorrow ;  a  sorrow  that 
will  make  us  so  irreconcilable  to  sin,  as  that  we 
shall  choose  rather  to  die  than  to  hve  in  it.  For 
so  the  bitterest  accents  of  grief  are  all  ascribed  to 
a  true  repentance  in  Scripture;  such  as  a  "weep- 
ing sorely,"  or  "  bitterly ;"  a  "  weeping  day  and 
night ;"  a  "  repenting  in  dust  and  ashes ;"  a 
"putting  on  sackcloth;"  "fasting  and  prayer," 
&c.  Thus  holy  David:  "lam  troubled,  I  am 
bowed  down  greatly,  I  go  mourning  all  the  day 
long,  and  that  by  reason  of  mino  iniquities,  which 
are  gone  over  my  head,  and,  as  a  heavy  burden, 
are  too  heavy  for  me  to  bear:"  Ps.  xxx\iii.  4,  6. 
Thus  Ephra'im  could  say :  "  After  that  I  was 
instructed,  I  smote  upon  my  thigh :  I  was  ashamed, 
yea.  even  confounded,  because  I  did  bear  the  re- 
proach of  my  youth:"  Jer.  xxxL  19. 


23G 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION. 


And  this  is  the  proper  satisfaction  for  sin  which 
God  expects,  and  hath  promised  to  accept;  as, 
Ps.  li.  17:  "  The  sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken 
spirit:  a  broken  and  contrite  heart,  O  God,  thou 
wilt  not  c|^spise." 

2.  The  next  thing  requisite  in  a  true  repent- 
ance, is  confession  of  sins,  which  naturally  fol- 
lows the  other;  for  if  a  man  be  so  deeply  afflicted 
with  sorrow  for  his  sins,  he  will  be  glad  to  be  rid 
of  them  as  soon  as  he  can ;  and  the  way  for  this, 
is  humbly  to  confess  them  to  God,  who  hatli  pro- 
mised to  forgive  us  if  we  do.  "  I  said,  I  will  con- 
fess my  sins  unto  the  Lord,"  saith  the  Psalmist ; 
"and  so  thou  forgavest  the  wickedness  of  my 
sin,"  Ps.  xxxii.  6.  So,  Prov.  xxviii.  13,  and 
1  John  i.  9:  "If  we  confess  our  sins,  God  is 
faithful  and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to 
cleanse  us  from  all  unrighteousness."  So  the  re- 
turning prodigal  went  to  his  father  with  an  hum- 
ble confession  of  his  baseness,  and  was  received 
into  favour  again. — Luke  xv.  18,  19. 

And  because  the  number  of  our  sins  are  like 
the  hairs  of  our  liead,  or  the  sand  of  the  sea,  and 
almost  as  various  too  in  their  kinds  as  their  num- 
bers ;  confession  must  needs  be  a  very  extensive 
duty,  and  require  the  strictest  care  and  examina- 
tion of  ourselves :  for  "  who  can  tell  how  oft  he 
offendeth  !"  saith  David ;  "  O,  cleanse  thou  me 
from  my  secret  faults!" 

The  penitent,  therefore,  should  be  reminded, 
that  his  confession  be  as  minute  and  particular  as 
it  can ;  since  the  more  particular  the  confession 
is,  to  be  sure,  the  more  sincere  and  safe  tlie  re- 
pentance. 

3.  A  third  thing  requisite  in  a  true  repentance, 
is  an  unfeigned  abhorrence  and  forsaking  of  sin, 
and  turning  to  the  Lord  our  God  with  all  our 
hearts. 

For  so  we  find  them  expressly  joined  together 
by  St.  Paul,  when  he  charges  those  whom  by 
vision  he  was  sent  to  convc  rt,  to  change*  their 
mind,  and  "turn  to  God,  and  do  works  meet  for 
repentance :"  Acts  xxvi.  20.  And  a  little  before, 
he  says,  he  was  sent  "  to  open  their  eyes,  and  turn 
them  from  darkness  to  light,  and  from  the  power 
of  Satan  unto  God,  that  they  may  receive  for- 
giveness of  sin :"  ver.  18.  And  we  shall  always 
find,  when  we  are  connnanded  to  cease  from  evil, 
it  is  in  order  to  do  good. 

The  penitent,  therefore,  must  be  reminded,  not 
only  to  confess  and  be  sorry  for  his  sins,  but  like- 
wise io  forsake  them.  For  it  is  he  only  "  who  con- 
fesseth  and  forsaketh  his  sins,  that  shall  have 
mercy:"  Prov.  xxviii.  13.  And  this  forsaking  must 
not  be  only  for  the  present,  during  his  sickness, 
or  for  a  week,  a  month,  or  a  year ;  but  for  his 
whole  life,  be  it  never  so  protracted:  which  is 
the 

4.  Last  thing  requisite  in  a  true  repentance, 
viz.  "a  patient  continuance  in  well-doing  to  the 
end  of  our  lives."  For  as  the  holy  Jesus  assures 
us,  that  "  he  that  endureth  unto  the  end  shall  be 
saved  ;"  so  does  the  Spirit  of  God  profess,  that 
"  if  any  msin  draw  back,  his  soul  shall  have  no 
pleasure  in  him:"  Heb.  x.  38.  Hence  we  are 
said  to  "  be  partakers  of  Christ,  if  we  hold  the 
beginning  of  our  confidence  steadfast  to  the  end," 
Heb.  iii.  14^  but  not  else;  for  it  is  to  "him  only 
that  overcometh,  and  keepeth  his  works  to  the 
end,"  that  our  Saviour  hath  promised  a  reward : 


Rev.  ii.  26.  Hence  our  religion  is  said  to  be  e 
continual  warfare,  and  we  must  be  constantly 
"  pressing  forward  toward  the  mark  of  our  high 
calling,"  with  the  apostle,  lest  we  fail  of  the 
prize. 

And  this  it  is  which  makes  a  death-bed  re- 
pentance so  justly  reckoned  to  be  very  full  of 
hazard ;  such  as  none  who  defer  it  till  then,  can 
depend  upon  with  any  real  security.  I'or  let  a 
man  be  never  so  seemingly  penitent  in  the  day  of 
his  visitation,  yet  none  but  God  can  tell  whether 
it  be  sincere  or  not ;  since  nothing  is  more  com- 
mon than  for  those  who  expressed  the  greatest 
signs  of  a  lasting  repentance  upon  a  sick  bed,  to 
forget  all  their  vows  and  promises  of  amendment, 
as  soon  as  God  had  removed  the  judgment,  and 
restored  them  to  their  former  health.  "  It  hap- 
pened to  them  according  to  the  true  jiroverb,"  as 
St.  Peter  says,  "  The  dog  is  turned  to  his  own 
vomit  again,  and  the  sow  that  was  washed  to  her 
wallowing  in  the  mire,"    2  Pet.  ii.  22. 

The  sick  penitent,  therefore,  should  be  often 
reminded  of  this: — that  nothing  will  be  looked 
upon  as  true  repentance,  but  what  would  ter- 
minate in  a  holy  life :  that,  therefore,  he  ought  to 
take  great  heed,  that  his  repentance  be  not  only 
the  eli'ect  of  his  present  danger,  but  that  it  be  last- 
ing and  sincere,  "bringing  forth  works  meet  for 
repentance,"  should  it  ])lcase  God  mercifully  to 
prove  him  by  a  longer  life. 

But  here  it  is  much  to  be  feared,  that  after  all 
his  endeavours  to  bring  men  to  a  sight  of  them- 
selves, and  to  repent  them  truly  of  their  sins,  the 
spiritual  man  will  meet  with  but  very  httle  en- 
couragement :  for  if  we  look  round  the  world,  we 
shall  find  the  generality  of  men  to  be  of  a  rude 
mdiflirence,  and  a  seared  conscience,  and  mightily 
ignorant  of  their  condition  with  respect  to  another 
world,  being  abused  by  evil  customs  and  princi- 
ples, apt  to  excuse  themselves,  and  to  be  content 
with  a  certain  general  and  indefinite  confession  ; 
so  that  if  you  provoke  them  never  so  much  to 
acknowledge  their  faults,  you  shall  hardly  ever 
extort  any  thing  farther  from  them  than  this,  viz. 
"  That  they  are  shmers,  as  every  man  hath  his 
infirmity,  and  they  as  well  as  any;  but,  God  be 
thanked,  they  have  done  no  injury  to  any  man, 
but  are  in  charity  with  all  the  world."  And,  per- 
haps they  will  tell  you,  "they  are  no  swearers, 
no  adulterers,  no  rebels,  &c.  but  that,  God  forgive 
them,  they  must  needs  acknowledge  themselves 
to  be  sinners  in  the  main,"  &c.  And  if  you  can 
open  their  breasts  so  far,  it  will  be  looked  ujjon  as 
sufficient ;  to  go  any  farther,  will  be  to  do  the 
office  of  an  accuser,  not  of  a  friend. 

But,  which  is  yet  worse,  there  are  a  great  ninny 
persons  who  have  been  so  used  to  an  habitual 
course  of  sin,  that  the  crime  is  made  natural  and 
necessary  to  them,  and  they  have  no  remorse  of 
conscience  for  it,  but  think  themselves  in  a  state 
of  security  very  often  when  they  stand  upon  the 
brink  of  danniation.  This  happens  in  the  cases 
of  drunkenness  and  lewd  practices,  and  luxury, 
and  idleness,  and  misspending  of  the  sabbath,  and 
in  lying  and  vain  jesting,  and  slandering  of  others ; 
and  particularly  in  such  evils  as  the  laws  do  not 
punish,  nor  public  customs  shame,  but  which 
are  countenanced  liy  potent  sinners,  or  wicked 
fashions,  or  good-nature  and  mistaken  civilities. 

In  these  and  the  like  cases,  the  syiiritual  man 
must  endeavour  to  awaken  their  consciences 
by  such  means  as  follow : 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


23' 


Arguments  and  general  Heads  of  Discourse,  by 
xrny  of  Consideration,   to   awaken   a  stupid 
Conscience,  and  the  careless  Sinner. 
1.  And  here  let  the  minister  endeavour  to  affect 
liis  conscience,  by  representing  to  him, — 

That  Christianity  is  a  holy  and  strict  religion ; 
that  the  promises  of  heaven  are  so  great,  that  it  is 
not  reasonable  to  think  a  small  matter  and  a  little 
duty  will  procure  it  for  us :  that  religious  persons 
are  always  the  most  scrupulous ;  and  that  to  feel 
nothing,  is  not  a  sign  of  hfe,  but  of  death:  that 
we  live  in  an  age  in  which  that  which  is  called 
and  esteemed  a  holy  life,  in  the  days  of  the  apos- 
tles and  primiti^e  Christianity  would  have  been 
esteemed  inditlerent,  sometimes  scandalous,  and 
always  cold:  that  when  we  have  "done  our  best, 
all  our  righteousness  is  but  as  filthy  rags ;"  and 
we  can  never  do  too  much  to  make  our  "calling 
and  el''cti()ii  sure:"  that  every  good  man  ought  to 
be  suspicious  of  himself,  fearing  the  worst,  that 
he  may  provide  for  the  best:  that  even  St.  Paul, 
and  several  other  remarkable  saints,  had  at  some 
times  great  apprehensions  of  failing  of  the  "  mighty 
prize  of  their  high  calling:"  that  we  are  com- 
manded to  "  work  out  our  salvation  with  fear  and 
trembling ;"  inasmuch  as  we  shall  be  called  to  an 
account,  not  only  for  our  sinful  words  and  deeds, 
but  even  for  our  very  thoughts :  that  if  we  keep 
all  the  commandments  of  God,  and  "yet  offend 
in  one  point  [i.  e.  wilfully  and  habitually,)  we  are 
guilty  of  all,''  James  ii.  10 :  that  no  man  can  tell 
how  oft  he  ofTendeth,  the  best  of  lives  being  full  of 
innumerable  blemishes  in  the  sight  of  God,  how- 
ever they  may  appear  before  men ;  that  no  man 
ought  to  judge  of  the  state  of  his  soul  by  the  cha- 
racter he  has  in  the  world ;  for  a  great  many  per- 
sons go  to  hell,  who  have  lived  in  a  foir  reputation 
here  ;  and  a  great  many,  on  the  other  hand,  go  to 
heaven,  who  have  been  loaded  vrith  infamy  and 
reproach :  that  the  work  of  religion  is  a  work  of 
great  difficulty,  trial,  and  temptation :  that  "  many 
are  called,  but  few  are  chosen ;"  that  "  strait  is  the 
gate,  and  narrow  is  the  way,  that  leadeth  to  hfe, 
and  few  there  he  that  find  it:"  and  lastly,  that, 
"  if  the  righteous  themselves  shall  scarcely  be 
saved,'  there  will  be  no  place  for  the  unrighteous  and 
sinner  to  appear  in,  but  of  horror  and  amazement. 
By  these  and  such-like  motives  to  consideration, 
the  spiritual  man  is  to  awaken  the  careless  sinner, 
and  to  bring  him  to  repentance  and  confession  of 
his  sins ;  and  if  either  of  himself,  or  by  this  means, 
the  sick  man  is  brought  to  a  right  sense  of  his 
condition :  then, 

2.  Let  the  minister  proceed  to  assist  him  in  un- 
derstanding the  number  of  his  sins,  i.  e.  the  seve- 
ral kinds  of  them,  and  the  various  ways  of  preva- 
ricating with  the  Divine  commandments.  Let  him 
make  him  sensible  how  every  sin  is  aggravated, 
more  or  less,  according  to  the  different  circum- 
stances of  it :  as  by  the  greatness  or  smallness  of 
the  temptation,  the  scandal  it  gives  to  others,  the 
dishonour  it  does  to  religion,  the  injury  it  brings 
along  with  it  to  those  whom  it  more  immediately 
concerns ;  the  degrees  of  boldness  and  impudence, 
the  choice  in  acting  it,  the  continuance  in  it,  the 
ex))ense,  desires,  and  habit  of  it,  &c. 

3.  Let  the  sick  man,  in  the  scrutiny  of  his  con- 
science and  confession  of  his  sins,  be  carefully  re- 
minded to  consider  those  sins  which  are  no  where 
condemned  but  in  the  court  of  conscience :  for  there 
are  certain  secret  places  of  darkness,  artificial 
'olinds  of  the  devil,  which  he  uses  to  hid^  our  sins 


from  us,  and  to  incorporate  them  into  our  affections, 
by  the  general  practice  of  others,  and  the  mistaken 
notions  of  the  world :  as,  1.  Many  sins  before 
men  are  accounted  honourable ;  such  as  fighting 
a  duel,  returning  evil  for  evil,  blow  for  blow,  &c. 
2  Some  things  are  not  forbidden  by  the  law  of 
man,  as  lying  in  ordinary  discourse,  jeering,  scoff- 
ing, intemperate  eating,  ingratitude,  circumvent- 
ing another  in  contracts,  outwitting  and  overreach- 
ing in  bargains,  extorting  and  taking  advantage 
of  the  necessities  or  ignorance  of  other  people,  im- 
portunate entreaties  and  temptations  of  persons 
to  many  instances  of  sin,  as  intemperance,  pride, 
and  ambition,  &c.;  all  which,  therefore,  do  strange- 
ly blind  the  understanding  and  captivate  the  affec- 
tions of  sinful  men,  and  lead  them  into  a  thousand 
snares  of  the  devil  which  they  are  not  aware  of. 
3.  Some  others  do  not  reckon  that  they  siti  against 
God,  if  the  laws  have  seized  upon  the  person :  and 
many  who  are  imprisoned  for  debt,  think  them- 
selves disengaged  from  payment ;  and  when  they 
pay  the  penalty,  thiidv  they  owe  nothing  for  the 
scandal  and  disobedience.  4.  Some  sins  are 
thought  not  considerable,  but  go  under  the  titles 
of  sins  of  infirmity,  or  inseparable  accidents  of 
mortality;  such  as  idle  thoughts,  foolish  talking, 
loose  revellings,  impatience,  anger,  and  all  the 
events  of  evil  company.  5.  Lastly;  many  things 
are  thought  to  be  no  sins  :  such  as  mispending  of 
their  time,  whole  days  or  months  of  useless  or  im- 
pertinent employment,  long  gaming,  winning 
men's  money  in  great  portions,  censuring  men's 
actions,  curiosity,  equi\'ocating  in  the  prices  of  buy- 
ing and  seUing,  rudeness  in  speech  or  behaviour, 
speaking  uncharitable  truths,  and  the  like. 

These  are  some  of  those  artificial  veils  and  co- 
verings, under  the  dark  shadow  of  which  the  ene- 
jny  of  mankind  makes  very  many  to  lie  hid  from 
themselves,  blinding  them  with  false  notions  of 
honour,  and  the  mistaken  opinions  and  practices 
of  the  world,  with  public  permission  and  impunity, 
or  (it  may  be)  a  temporal  penalty ;  or  else  with 
prejudice,  or  ignorance  and  infirmity,  and  direct 
error  in  judgment. 

Now,  in  all  these  cases,  the  ministers  are  to  be 
inquisitive  and  strictly  careful,  that  such  kind  of 
fallacies  prevail  not  over  the  sick ;  but  that  tliose 
things,  which  passed  without  observation  before, 
may  now  be  brought  forth,  and  pass  under  the 
severity  of  a  strict  and  impartial  censure,  religious 
sorrow,  and  condemnation. 

4.  To  this  may  be  added  a  general  display  of 
the  neglect  and  omission  of  our  duty ;  for  in  them 
lies  the  bigger  half  of  our  failings:  and  yet,  in 
many  instances,  they  are  undiscerned ;  because 
our  consciences  have  not  been  made  tender  and 
perceptible  of  them.  But  whoever  will  cast  up  his 
accounts,  even  with  a  superficial  eye,  will  quickly 
find  that  he  hath  left  undone,  for  the  generality,  as 
many  things  which  he  ought  to  have  done,  as  he 
hath  committed  those  he  ought  not  to  have  done : 
such  as  the  neglect  of  public  or  private  prayer,  of 
reading  the  Scriptures,  and  instructing  his  family, 
or  those  that  are  under  him,  in  the  principles  of 
religion :  the  not  discountenancing  sin  to  the 
utmost  of  his  power,  especially  in  the  personages 
of  great  men:  the  "not  redeeming  the  time," 
and  "  growing  in  grace,"  and  doing  all  the  good 
he  can  in  his  generation  :  the  frequent  omissions 
of  the  great  duty  of  charity,  in  visiting  the  sick, 
relieving  the  needy,  and  comforting  the  afflict- 
ed :  the  want  of  obedience,  duty,  and  respect  to 


238 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


parents :  the  doing  the  work  of  God  negligently, 
or  not  discharging  himself  with  that  fidelity,  care, 
and  exactness,  which  is  incumbent  upon  him,  in 
the  station  wherein  the  providence  of  God  hath 
placed  him,  &c. 

5.  With  respect  to  those  sins  which  are  com- 
mitted against  man,  let  the  minister  represent  to 
the  sick  man  that  he  can  have  no  assurance  of  his 
pardon,  unless  he  is  wilUng  to  make  all  suitable 
amends  and  satisfaction  to  his  oflended  and  in- 
jured brethren;  as  for  instance,  if  he  hath  lived 
in  enmity  with  any,  that  he  should  labour  to  be 
reconciled  to  them  ;  if  he  is  in  debt,  that  he  should 
do  his  utmost  to  discharge  it ;  or  if  he  hath  injured 
any  one  in  his  substance  or  credit,  that  he  should 
endeavour  to  make  restitution  in  kind  for  the  one, 
and  all  possible  satisfaction  for  the  other,  by  hum- 
bling himself  to  the  offended  person,  and  beseech- 
ing him  to  forgive  him. 

G.  If  the  sick  person  be  of  evil  report,  the  minis- 
ter should  take  care,  some  way  or  other,  to  make 
him  sensible  of  it,  so  as  to  show  an  eflisctual  sor- 
row and  repentance.  This  will  be  best  done  by 
prudent  hints,  and  insinuations,  of  recalling  those 
things  to  his  mind  whereof  he  is  accused  by  the 
voice  of  f  nne,  or  to  which  the  temptations,  perhaps, 
of  his  calling,  more  immediately  subject  him.  Or 
if  he  will  not  understand,  when  he  is  secretly 
prompted,  he  must  be  asked  in  plain  terms  con- 
cerning these  matters.  He  must  be  told  of  the 
evil  things  which  are  spoken  of  him  in  public,  and 
of  the  usual  temptations  of  his  calling. 

And  it  concerns  the  minister  to  follow  this  ad- 
vice, without  partiality,  or  fear,  or  interest,  or  re- 
spect of  persons,  in  much  simplicity  and  prudence, 
having  no  other  consideration  before  him,  but  the 
conscientious  discharge  of  his  duty,  and  the  salva- 
tion of  the  person  under  his  care. 

7.  The  sick  person  is  likewise  to  be  instructed 
concerning  his  faith,  whether  he  has  a  reasonable 
notion  of  the  articles  of  the  Christian  religion,  as 
they  arc  excellently  summed  up  in  the  Apostle's 
Creed. 

8.  With  respect  to  his  temporal  concerns,  the  sick 
is  to  be  advised  to  set  every  thing  in  order,  and  (if 
he  hath  not  already)  to  make  his  will  as  soon  as  he 
can.  For  if  he  recovers,  this  cannot  be  detri- 
mental ;  but,  if  he  dies,  it  will  be  of  great  comfort 
and  satisfaction  to  him.  And  here  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  he  distribute  every  thing  according 
to  the  exact  rules  of  justice,  and  with  such  a  due 
care,  as  to  prevent  all  law-suits  and  contentions 
for  the  future:  and,  if  he  be  able,  he  is  to  be  ad- 
monished to  do  something  likewise  out  of  charity, 
and  for  the  sake  of  his  poor  brethren. 

9.  In  all  the  course  of  his  visitation,  the  minis- 
ter should  frequently  be  exhorting  the  sick  man 
to  patience  and  a  blessed  resignation  to  the  will  of 
God ;  and  not  to  look  upon  his  sickness  as  barely 
the  effect  of  second  causes,  but  as  inflicted  on  him 
by  Divine  Providence  for  several  wise  and  good 
ends :  As,  for  the  trial  of  his  faith  ;  the  exercise  of 
patience ;  the  punishment  of  his  sins ;  the  amend- 
ment of  his  life ;  or  for  the  example  of  others,  who, 
seeing  his  good  behaviour  in  such  a  day  of  cala- 
mity, may  glorify  their  Father  which  is  in  heaven  : 
or  else,  that  it  is  for  the  increase  of  his  future  wel- 
fare, in  order  to  raise  him  the  higher  in  glory 
hereafter,  by  how  much  the  lower  he  hath  been 
depressed  here. 

10.  When  the  spiritual  man  hath  thus  dis- 
charged his  duty  and  the  sick  hath  made  himself 


capable  of  it,  by  a  religious  and  holy  conformity  tc 
all  the  forementioned  particulars  respecting  his 
condition  and  circumstances,  he  may  then  cfive 
him  the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper.  And 
it  is  the  minister's  office  to  invite  sick  and  dying 
persons  to  this  holy  sacrament,  provided  they  dis- 
cover a  right  sense  of  their  duty.     And, 

Note,  I'hat  the  Holy  Sacrament  is  not  to  be  ad- 
ministered to  dying  persons,  when  they  have  no 
use  of  their  reason  to  join  with  the  minister  in  his 
celebration  of  it.  For  the  sacraments  operate  not 
of  themselves,  but  as  they  are  made  efficacious  by 
the  joint  consent  and  will,  and  religious  acts  and 
devotion  of  the  party  that  receives  them.  And 
therefore  all  fools,  and  distracted  persons,  and  chil- 
dren, and  lethargical  and  apoplectical  ]>eople,  or 
that  are  any  ways  senseless  and  incapable  of  hu- 
man and  reasonable  acts,  are  to  be  assisted  only  by 
prayers. 

Note  also,  That  in  cases  of  necessity,  where  the 
sacrament  cannot  be  so  conveniently  administered, 
the  sick  may  be  admonished  to  receive  it  spiritu- 
ally, i.  c.  by  representing  the  symlwls  of  the  body 
and  blood  of  our  Lord  to  his  mind,  and  f-»jplying 
them  to  himself  by  faith,  with  the  same  pre|)ara- 
tions  of  faith  and  repentance,  as  if  they  were  real- 
ly present.  For  no  doubt  but  God,  in  such  a  case, 
who  considers  all  things  with  exact  justice,  and 
chiefly  respects  the  sincerity  of  our  hearts  and  in- 
tentions, will  excuse  the  absence  of  the  outward 
and  visible  sign,  when  necessity,  and  not  contempt 
or  neglect,  was  the  occasion  of  it. 


SECTION  IV. 

Of  applying'  spiritual  Remedies  to  the  vnreason- 
able  F'ears  and  Dejections  of  the  Sick. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  good  men,  especially 
such  as  have  tender  consciences,  impatient  of  the 
least  sin,  to  which  they  are  arrived  by  a  long  habit 
of  grace,  and  a  continual  observation  of  their  ways, 
overact  their  part,  and  turn  their  tenderness  into 
scruples,  and  are  too  much  dejected  and  doubtful 
concerning  their  future  salvation.  In  such  a  case, 
the  minister  is  to  represent  to  them,  that  the  man 
who  is  jealous  of  himself,  is  always  in  the  safest 
condition:  that  if  he  fears  on  his  death-bed,  it  is 
but  what  happens  to  most  considering  men  ;  and 
that  therefore  to  fear  notliing  then,  is  either  a  sin- 
gular felicity,  or  a  dangerous  presmnption. 

But  to  restrain  the  extravagance  of  fear,  let  him 
be  reminded  of  the  terms  of  the  Gospel: — that  it 
is  a  covenant  of  grace  and  mercy  to  all:  that  ^ 
"  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sin- 
ners :"  that  he  continues  our  "  Advocate  in  heaven," 
and  daily  "intercedes"  with  his  Father  for  us: 
that  the  whole  heavenly  host  rejoices  at  the  con- 
version of  a  sinner :  that  the  angels  are  deputed  by 
God,  to  be  our  guardians  against  violent  surprises 
and  temptations  :  that  there  are  different  degrees 
of  glory  in  heaven ;  so  that,  if  we  arrive  not  at  the 
greatest,  we  may  yet  hope,  by  divine  mercy,  tliat 
we  should  not  be  excluded  the  less :  that  God  hath 
promised  to  hear  the  "  prayers  of  the  righteous" 
for  his  servants :  that  he  labours  with  us  by  his 
Spirit,  and  as  it  were  "beseeches  us,  in  Christ's 
stead,  to  be  reconciled  to  him,"  2  Cor.  v.  20:  that, 
of  all  his  attributes,  he  glories  in  none  so  much  as 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


239 


m  the  titles  of  mercy  and  forgiveness :  that  there- 
fore we  do  injustice  to  the  Father  of  mercies,  if  we 
retain  sucli  hard  thougiits  and  suspicions  of  him: 
that  God  calls  upon  us  to  forgive  our  brother  "  se- 
venty times  seven;''  and  yet  all  that  is  but  like  the 
forgiving  "  an  hundred  pence,"  for  his  sake,  who 
forgives  us  "  ten  thousand  talents :"  and  therefore 
if  we  are  ordered  to  show  such  an  unrestrained 
temper  of  forgiveness,  it  is  only  to  animate  us  to 
trust  in  God's  much  more  unbounded  mercy. 

By  these  and  the  like  arguments,  the  spiritual 
man  may  raise  the  drooping  spirits  of  good  men, 
in  their  causeless  dejections.  But  becau.se  there 
are  uriny  otlier  cases  of  the  hke  nature,  which  the 
physi.;ian  of  souls  will  meet  with  in  \isiting  his 
neighbours,  especially  such  as  are  of  melancholy 
dispositions,  it  may  not  be  improper  to  mark  the 
piineipal  of  them  here,  and  to  prescribe  the  reme- 
dies. 

Considerations  to  be  offered  to  Persons  under 
Religious  ^lelanchohj. 

I.  Some  truly  1  jligious  persons  are  under  sad 
appreiiensions  of  not  being  in  the  favour  of  God, 
because  they  find  their  devotions  to  be  very  often 
cold,  their  prayers  distracted,  and  their  delight  in 
spiritual  matters  not  to  be  so  great  and  permanent 
as  their  pleasure  and  satisfaction  are  in  the  things 
of  the  world. 

Now  to  such  as  have  made  religion  the  great 
business  of  their  Uves,  who  have  endeavoured  to 
cure  those  distracted  thoughts  they  complain  of, 
and  to  inflame  their  souls  wdth  divine  love,  it  may 
be  otlered,  that  the  different  degrees  of  affection 
with  wliich  men  sene  God,  do  very  often  depend 
upon  the  difference  of  their  tempers  and  constitu- 
tions :  since  some  are  naturally  so  dull  and  heavy, 
as  to  be  little  affected  with  any  thing ;  whilst  others 
are  of  such  a  tender  make,  as  to  be  affected  ahnost 
witii  everything,  so  as  to  be  soon  exalted  with  joy, 
or  depressed  with  sorrow:  that  sickness,  losses,  and 
all  afflictions,  and  even  religion  itself,  in  its  long 
and  continual  exercise  of  self-denial  and  thought- 
fulness,  do  naturally  produce  such  a  tenderness  of 
spirit,  that  the  best  of  men  have  never  been  able 
at  all  times  to  keep  their  affections  at  an  equal 
height :  that  the  zeal  and  warmth  with  which 
some  are  affected,  is  not  always  an  argument  of 
their  giwdness :  that  a  sensible  pleasure  in  religious 
exercises,  wherein  the  passions  are  affected,  is  not 
so  acce])table  to  God  as  a  reasonable  service :  that 
distraction  of  thought  in  the  service  of  God  is 
owing,  for  the  most  part,  to  bodily  weakness ;  and 
therefore,  if  we  do  not  give  way  to  it,  but  do  all 
we  can  to  suppress  those  wandering  thoughts,  we 
may  be  assured  we  shall  never  be  blamed  for  being 
subject  to  that  which,  by  reason  of  the  weakness 
of  our  nature,  we  cannot  help:  that  the  first  mo- 
tions of  our  mind,  as  it  is  impossible  to  hinder 
them,  are  reckoned  by  all  divines  not  to  be  sinful, 
provided  we  do  not  encourage  them. 

•2.  Some  are  extremely  dejected,  because,  upon 
strict  examination  of  themselves,  they  find,  as  they 
think,  all  their  religion  to  be  owing  to  their  fears ; 
and  fear  being  a  slavish  and  sordid  passion,  thev 
are  ai)t  to  conclude,  that  all  those  serwes  which 
are  not  the  result  of  a  more  noble  principle,  will 
be  rejected  by  God,  since,  as  he  is  all  love,  and 
goodness,  and  perfection,  he  will  not  be  pleased, 
they  think,  with  any  sacrifice,  but  what  is  offered 
by  love. 


And  to  this  sad  purpose,  some  have  interpreted 
Rev.  xxi.  8,  to  Ixdong  to  them,  where  the  fearful 
are  joined  together  with  the  most  abominable,  who 
shall  have  their  part  in  the  lake  which  burneth 
with  fire  and  brimstone. 

To  cure  the  depraved  and  unhappy  notions  of 
such  as  these,  it  may  he  argued :  that  it  is  plain 
from  Scripture,  that  the  first  beginnings  of,  or 
movements  towards,  an  holy  life,  are  usually  owing 
to  the  passion  of  fear :  that  to  this,  both  our  Saviciur 
and  liis  apostles  do  all  along  address  themselves  in 
their  earnest  entreaties  of  mankind  to  turn  from 
the  ways  of  sin  to  God. — "  Fear  him,"  saith  our 
Saviour,  '•  who  is  able  to  destroy  both  soul  and 
body  in  hell,"  Matth.  x.  28;  so  chap.  vi.  15; 
Mark  xvi.  16.  And  to  this  purpose  the  apostle 
says,  "Work  out  your  salvation  with  fear  and 
trembling,"  Phil.  ii.  12,  and  2  Cor.  v.  11,  "  Know- 
ing the  terrors  of  the  Lord,"  saith  he,  "we  per- 
suade men."  And  in  most  of  the  Scripture  proois, 
we  shall  find  the  chief  argument  of  religion  to  be 
urged  from  a  fear  of  punishment  for  the  neglect 
thereof:  so  that  to  be  dejected,  and  render  our  lives 
comfortless  on  this  account,  were  the  most  unrea- 
sonable extravagance ;  since  tliis  were  to  suppose, 
that  God  hath  implanted  the  passion  of  fear  in  us 
in  vain ;  or,  what  is  worse,  only  to  vex  and  torment 
us ;  and  that  our  Saviour  and  his  apostles,  persuad- 
ing us  to  be  religious  from  the  terrors  of  the  Lord, 
had  deceived  and  misled  us. 

And  as  for  that  text,  Rev.  xxi.  8—"  The  fear- 
ful, and  unbelieving,  and  the  abominable,  and  mur- 
derers, and  whoremongers,  and  sorcerers,  and  idol- 
aters, and  all  liars,  shall  have  their  part  in  the 
lake  which  burneth  with  fire  and  brimstone,"  &c. 
it  is  plain,  that  by  the  fearful  in  this  place  is  meant, 
either  such  as  refuse  to  embrace  the  Christian  re- 
ligion, or  who,  having  embraced  it,  are  afraid  to 
continue  steadfast  to  the  end,  on  account  of  the 
cross;  and  therefore  cannot  be  supposed  to  ha\e 
any  reference  to  those  who  are  "  working  out  their 
salvation  with  fear  and  trembling,"  according  to 
the  direction  of  the  Gospel.  Not  but  that  we  are 
to  intermix  with  this  fear  an  entire  love  and  affec- 
tion to  God,  to  the  utmost  of  our  powers. 

3.  Some  very  pious  but  unhappy  persons,  are 
grievously  tormented  with  wicked  and  blasphem- 
ous thoughts,  so  as  to  fall  under  the  greatest  ago- 
nies of  mind ;  and  often  to  be  so  near  distraction, 
as  to  choose  death  rather  than  life. 

For  the  reUef  and  comfort  of  these,  the  minister 
should  suggest  to  them,  that  such  horrid  and  fright- 
ful thoughts  are  either  occasioned  through  melan- 
choly prevailing  over  their  spirits,  and  disordering 
the  frame  of  their  minds ;  or  else  from  the  malice 
of  the  devil,  and  the  spirits  of  darkness,  who  do 
all  they  can  to  shake  our  faith,  and  tc  embitter  the 
Christian  life. 

If  to  the  former  we  ascribe  such  horrid  thoughts, 
they  may  be  comforted  upon  assurance,  that  they 
will  not  be  imputed  to  them  as  their  sin,  any  more 
than  a  fever  or  any  bodily  distemper  will,  which 
they  did  not  willingly  procure,  and  which  they 
have  tried  all  means  to  remove. 

If  to  the  latter,  they  may  be  encouraged  rather 
to  rejoice ;  as  nothing  is  a  greater  sign  of  their 
being  high  in  the  favour  of  God,  than  when  they 
are  under  the  most  violent  temptations  of  the 
devil.  '■  My  brethren,  count  it  all  joy,"  saith  St. 
James,  "  when  ye  fall  into  divers  temptations ;" 
chap.  i.  2.  To  that  effect,  they  may  be  taught  to 
consider,  that  the  way  to  heaven  is  justly  said  to  be 


S40 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


by  the  gates  of  hell:  that  the  "  same  afflictions  are 
aRcomplislicd  in  their  brethren  which  are  in  the 
world,"  who  in  various  kinds  are  tempted  of  the 
teni])tcr ;  1  Peter  v.  9  :  that  Satan  "  desired  to  have 
St.  Peter  to  sift  him  as  wheat;"  Luke  xxii.  31 : 
tliat  our  Saviour  himself  was  tempted  by  him,  and 
the  best  of  men  have  always  been  most  obnoxious 
to  his  malice ;  and  tliat  to  live  in  carnal  security, 
witliout  any  molestations  from  him,  is  the  most 
danirerous  state :  that  the  being  so  much  concerned 
and  afflicted  at  such  evil  thoughts,  is  a  certain  ar- 
gument of  a  good  disposition,  since  the  wicked 
and  profane  are  rather  pleased  than  tormented 
with  them. 

Arguments  of  this  kind  are  the  most  proper  to 
be  offl>red  to  such  unhappy  persons :  but  in  case 
their  faith  and  hope  be  totally  overcome  by  the 
devil,  and  they  fall  into  direct  despair,  it  will  be 
necessary  then  to  endeavour  the  cure  of  so  great 
an  evil  and  temptation,  by  the  addition  of  the  fol- 
lowing exercise : 

An  Exercise  against  Despair. 

Let  the  minister  suggest  to  them,  that  God  is 
not  willing  that  any  should  perish,  but  desirous 
that  all  should  come  to  his  glory :  that  for  this  end 
we  were  created :  that  he  is  so  far  from  being  "  ex- 
treme to  mark  what  is  done  amiss,"  that  he  will 
not  refuse  the  returning  prodigal,  nor  reject  the 
worst  of  criminals,  upon  their  sincere  repentance : 
that  the  thief  upon  the  cross  is  a  demonstrable 
proof  of  this,  and  a  standing  example  to  prevent 
the  greatest  sinner  from  despair :  that  if  God  is  so 
merciful  and  condescending  to  the  vilest  transgress- 
ors, much  rather  may  we  hope  to  be  pardoned  for  our 
weakness  and  infirmities :  for  he  "  knoweth  where- 
of we  are  made,  he  remembereth  that  we  are  but 
dust :"  nay,  he  hath  assured  us,  that  he  "  will  not 
break  the  bruised  reed,  nor  quench  the  smoking 
flax :"  that  all  sins  shall  be  forgiven  the  sons  of  men, 
except  one,  which  is  the  sm  against  the  Holy 
Ghost ;  "  the  sin  unto  death,"  as  Saint  John  calls  it. 

But  that  no  man  commits  a  sin  against  the  Holy 
Ghost,  if  he  be  afraid  he  hath,  or  desires  that  he 
may  not;  for  such  penitential  passions  are  against 
the  very  nature  and  definition  of  that  sin :  that  al- 
though forgiveness  of  sins  is  consigned  to  us  in 
baptism,  and  baptism  is  but  once;  yet,  forgiveness 
of  sins  being  the  special  grace  of  the  Gospel,  it  is 
secured  to  us  for  our  life,  and  ebbs  and  flows  ac- 
cording as  we  discompose  or  renew  the  perform- 
ance of  our  baptismal  vow;  therefore  it  is  certain, 
that  no  man  ought  to  despair  of  pardon,  but  he  who 
hath  voluntarily  renounced  his  baptism,  or  wil- 
lingly estranged  himself  from  that  covenant:  that 
if  it  were  not  so,  then  all  preaching  and  prayers 
were  in  vain,  and  all  the  conditions  of  the  Gospel 
invalid,  and  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  repent- 
ance, nor  indeed  scarce  a  possibility  of  any  one's 
being  saved,  if  all  were  to  be  concluded  in  a  state 
of  damnation,  who  had  committed  sin  after  bap- 
tism. 

To  have  any  fears,  therefore,  on  this  account, 
were  the  most  extravagant  madness :  for  Christ 
"died  for  sinners,"  and  "  God  hath  comprehended 
all  under  sin,  that"  through  him  "  he  might  have 
mercy  upon  all ;"  Rom.  xi.  33.  And  it  was  con- 
cerning baptized  Christians,  that  Saint  John  said, 
"  If  any  man  sin  we  have  have  an  Advocate  with 
the  Father,  and  He  is  the  propitiation  for  our  sins ;" 

ad  concerning  lapsed  Christians,  Saint  Paul  gave 


instruction,  that  "  if  any  man  be  overtaken  in  a 
fault,  ye  which  are  spiritual  restore  such  a  man  in 
the  spirit  of  meekness,  considering  lest  ye  also  be 
tempted."  The  Corinthian  Christian  committed 
incest,  and  was  pardoned :  and  Simon  Magus, 
after  he  was  baptized,  offered  to  conniiit  the  sin 
we  call  simony,  and  yet  Peter  bade  him  pray  for 
pardon ;  and  Saint  James  tells  us,  that  "  if  the 
sick  man  send  for  the  elders  of  the  church,  and 
they  pray  over  him,  and  he  confess  his  sins,  they 
shall  be  forgiven  him  ;"  chap.  v.  14. 

That  even  in  the  case  of  very  great  sins,  and 
great  judgments  inflicted  upon  sinners,  wise  and 
good  m«n  have  declared  their  sense  to  be,  that 
God  vindicated  his  justice  in  that  temporal  pu- 
nishment ;  and  so  it  was  supposed  to  have  been 
done  in  the  case  of  Ananias,  &c. :  that  notliing 
can  be  more  absurd  than  to  think  that  so  great  and 
good  a  God,  who  is  so  desirous  of  saving  all,  as 
appears  by  his  word,  by  his  sending  his  Son,  by 
his  oaths  and  promises,  by  his  very  nature  and 
daily  overtures  of  mercy,  should  condemn  any, 
without  the  greatest  provocations  of  his  majesty, 
and  perseverance  in  them. 

Upon  the  strength  of  these  arguments,  the  des- 
pairing person  may  be  further  taught  to  argue 
thus  with  himself: 

I  consider  that  the  ground  of  my  trouble  is  my 
sin ;  and  were  it  not  for  that,  I  should  have  no 
reason  to  be  troubled ;  but  since  the  "  whole  world 
lieth  in  wickedness,"  and  since  there  cannot  be  a 
greater  demonstration  of  a  man's  abhorrence  of 
sin,  than  to  be  so  deeply  affected  with  sorrow  for 
it;  I  therefore  will  erect  my  head  with  a  holy 
hope,  and  think  that  God  will  also  be  merciful  to 
me  a  sinner,  as  he  is  to  the  rest  of  mankind.  I 
know  tliat  the  mercies  of  God  are  infinite ;  that  he 
sent  his  Son  into  the  world  on  purpose  to  redeem 
such  as  myself;  and  that  he  hath  repeatedly  pro- 
mised "  to  give  to  them  that  ask,  and  to  be  found  of 
them  that  seek  him  ;"  and  therefore  I  will  not  dis- 
trust his  goodness,  nor  look  upon  the  great  God 
of  heaven  and  earth  to  be  worse  than  his  word. 
Indeed,  if  from  myself  I  were  to  derive  my  title  to 
heaven,  then  my  sins  were  a  just  argument  of 
despair :  but  now  that  they  bring  me  to  Christ, 
that  they  drive  me  to  an  appeal  to  God's  mercy, 
they  cannot  infer  a  just  cause  of  despair.  I  am 
sure  it  is  a  stranger  thing,  that  the  Son  of  God 
should  come  down  from  heaven,  and  take  upon 
him  our  nature,  and  hve  and  die  in  the  most  ig- 
nominious state  of  it,  than  that  a  sinful  man, 
washed  by  the  blood  of  Christ,  and  his  own  tears 
and  humiliation,  should  be  admitted  to  pardon,  and 
made  "  partaker  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven :"  and 
it  were  stranger  yet,  that  he  should  do  so  much 
for  man,  and  that  a  man  that  desires,  that  labours 
after  it  to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  that  sends  up 
strong  cries  and  prayers,  and  is  still  within  the 
covenant  of  grace,  shoulil  inevitably  miss  that  end 
for  which  our  Saviour  did  and  suffered  so  much. 

It  is  certain,  that  of  all  the  attributes  that  be- 
long to  God,  there  is  none  more  essential  to  his 
nature,  and  which  he  takes  more  delight  in,  than 
his  mercy ;  and  it  is  as  certain  also,  there  must  be 
proper  objects  for  this  boundless  and  immense  at- 
tribute of  God  ;  and  the  most  proper,  if  not  only, 
objects  of  mercy  in  the  creation,  are  the  chil<lren 
of  men ;  and  of  men,  surely  those  who  are  most 
grieved  and  wearied  with  the  burthen  of  their 
sins.  I,  therefore,  who  am  as  pitiful  an  object 
of  mercy  as  any,  will  cheerfully  hope,  that  God 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


241 


will  both  forgive  me  here,  and  give  me  the  bless- 
ing of  eternal  life  hereafter:  for  I  know  that 
eternal  life  is  purely  the  gift  of  God,  and  there- 
fore have  less  reason  still  to  despair.  For  if  my 
sins  were  fewer,  and  my  unworthiness  of  such  a 
glory  were  less,  yet  still  I  could  not  receive  it  but 
as  a  free  gift  and  donation  of  God,  and  so  I  may 
now ;  and  it  is  not  expectation  beyond  the  hopes 
of  possibility,  to  look  and  wait  for  such  a  gift  at 
the  hands  of  the  God  of  mercy.  The  best  of  men 
deserve  it  not ;  and  I,  who  am  the  worst,  may 
have  it  given  me.  I  know  that  I  have  sinned 
grievously  and  frequently  agabist  my  heavenly 
Father :  but  1  have  repented,  I  have  begged  par- 
don, I  have  confessed  and  forsalien  my  sins,  and 
have  done  all  that  is  possible  for  me  to  make 
atonement.  I  cannot  undo  what  is  done  ;  and  I 
perish,  if  there  be  no  such  thing  as  a  remedy,  or 
remission  of  sins.  But  then  I  know  my  religion 
must  perish  together  with  my  hope,  and  the  \\  ord 
of  God  it.self  must  fail  as  well  as  I.  But  I  cannot, 
I  dare  not  entertain  such  a  thought.  I  firmly 
believe  that  most  encouraging  article  of  faith,  the 
remission  of  sins  ;  and  shice  I  do  that  which  all 
good  men  call  repentance,  I  will  also  humbl}-  hope 
for  a  remission  of  mine,  and  a  joyful  resur- 
rection. 

I  know  that  the  devil  is  continually  lying  in 
wait  to  seduce  and  destroy  the  souls  of  men; 
wherefore  1  will  fortify  my  spirits,  and  redouble 
my  guard,  and  call  upon  God  to  enable  me  to  re- 
sist all  the  fiery  darts  of  this  malicious  adver- 
sary. 

Or  perhaps  this  exceeding  dejection,  or  malady 
of  mind,  may  arise  from  the  distemper  and  weak- 
ness of  my  body ;  or  at  most,  I  hope,  it  is  only  a 
disease  of  judgment,  not  an  intolerable  condition, 
I  am  fallen  into :  and  since  I  have  heard  of  a 
great  many  others  who  have  been  in  the  same 
condition  with  myself,  and  yet  recovered,  I  will 
also  take  courage  to  hope  that  God  will  relieve  me 
in  his  good  time,  and  not  leave  my  soul  for  ever 
in  this  hell  of  depraved  fancy  and  wicked  imagin- 
ation. In  fine,  1  will  raise  up  my  dejected  spirits, 
and  cast  all  my  care  upon  God,  and  depend  upon 
him  for  the  event,  which  I  am  sure  will  be  just ; 
and  I  cannot  but  think,  from  the  same  reason, 
full  of  mercy.  However,  now  I  will  use  all  the 
spiritual  arts  ef  reason  and  religion,  to  make  me 
more  and  more  desirous  of  loving  God :  that  if  I 
miscarry,  charity  also  shall  fail,  and  something 
that  loves  God  shall  perish,  and  be  danmed : 
which  if  it  be  impossible  (as  I  am  sure  it  is.)  then 
I  may  have  just  reason  to  hope  I  shall  do  well. 

These  considerations  may  be  of  service  to  "  bind 
up  the  broken  hearted,"  and  to  strengthen  the 
'•  bruised  reed,"  of  a  good  man's  spirit,  in  so  great 
and  terrible  a  dejection.  But  as  cases  of  this 
nature  are  very  rare,  so  the  arguments  here  made 
use  of  are  rarely  to  be  insisted  upon ;  and  never, 
but  to  well-disposed  persons,  or  reformed  penitents, 
or  to  such  as  in  the  general  course  of  their  life, 
have  lived  pretty  strictly,  and  conformably  to  the 
rules  of  religion.  For  if  the  man  be  a  vicious 
person,  and  hath  gone  on  in  a  continual  course  of 
sin,  to  the  time  of  his  sickness,  these  considera- 
tions are  not  proper.  Let  him  inquire,  in  the 
words  of  the  first  disciples  after  Pentecost,  "  Men 
and  brethren,  what  shall  we  do  to  be  saved  V 
And  if  we  can  but  entertain  so  much  hope,  as  to 
enable  him  to  do  as  much  of  his  duty  as  he  can 
for  the  present,  it  is  all  that  can  be  provided  for 
2H 


him.  And  the  minister  must  be  infinitely  careful, 
that  he  does  not  attempt  to  comfort  vicious  per- 
sons with  the  comfort  of  God's  elect,  lest  he  pros- 
titute holy  things,  and  encourage  vice,  and  render 
his  discourses  deceitful ;  and  the  man  unhappily 
find  them  to  be  so  when  he  descends  into  the  re- 
gions of  darkness. 

But  because  very  few  are  tempted  with  too 
great  fears  of  miscarrying,  but  the  generahty  even 
of  the  most  profligate  sort,  are  rather  inclined  to 
unwarrantable  assurances  of  their  future  sah  ation, 
it  will  highly  concern  the  ministers  to  prevent  in 
time  so  great  eind  reigning  an  imposition  of  the 
devil. 

Wherefore,  to  the  former  considerations  to 
awaken  the  careless  siimer  and  a  stupid  conscience, 
the  following  may  be  added,  upon  occasion,  to 
check  the  overweening  thoughts  of  the  presump- 
tuous. 


SECTION  V. 

Considerations  against  Presumption. 

And  here,  let  the  bold  and  arrogant  sinner  fur- 
ther know,  that  a  man  cannot  tliink  too  meanly 
of  hunself,  but  may  very  easily  run  into  the  con- 
trary extreme :  that  the  growths  in  grace  are  long, 
difficult,  uncertain,  often  interrupted,  consisting 
of  great  variety,  and  almost  innumerable  parts 
and  distinctions,  which  a  careless  person  can 
never  discover ;  that  the  more  a  man  presumes, 
the  greater  reason  he  hath  to  fear ;  because  the 
confidence  of  such  men  is  generally  like  that  of 
children  and  young  people,  who  have  no  other 
reason,  but  that  they  understand  not  the  dangers 
and  follies  of  their  self-conceits :  that  "the  heart  of 
man  is  deceitful  above  all  things,  and  desperately- 
wicked  ;"  deceiving  itself,  and  deceiving  others,  in 
innumerable  instances;  and  being  often  '"in  the 
gall  of  bitterness,"  when  the  man  appears  with 
the  fairest  outside  to  the  world :  that  it  is  certain, 
all  "  have  sinned  and  come  short  of  the  glory  of 
God  ;"  but  not  so  certain,  that  any  one's  repent- 
ance is  real,  and  effective  to  salvation  :  that  virtue 
and  \ice  are  oftentunes  so  near  neighbours,  that 
we  pass  into  each  other's  borders  without  observa- 
tion, and  think  we  do  justice,  when  we  are  cruel ; 
or  call  ourselves  liberal,  when  we  are  loose  and 
foolish  in  om'  expenses,  &c. 

That  the  self-accusing  publican  was  justified, 
rather  than  the  self-confident  Pharisee :  that  if 
Adam  in  Paradise,  David  in  his  house,  Solomon 
in  the  temple,  Peter  in  the  family  of  Christ,  Judas 
among  the  twelve  apostles,  and  Nicholas  among 
the  deacons,  and  if  the  angels  in  heaven  itself, 
did  fall  so  atrociously,  then  we  have  all  the  reason 
in  the  world  "  not  to  be  high  minded,  but  to  fear ;" 
and  when  we  are  most  confident  of  ourselves,  "  to 
take  heed  lest  we  fall ;"  there  being  nothing  so 
likely  to  occasion  it,  as  pride  and  a  great  opinion 
of  ourselves,  which  ruined  the  angels,  which  God 
resists,  which  all  men  despise,  and  which  betray 
us  into  carelessness,  and  a  wretched,  undiscerning. 
and  unwary  spirit. 

These  are  the  main  parts  of  ecclesiastical  duties 
and  offices  in  the  visitation  of  the  sick ;  which 
being  severally  performed,  as  occasion  requires,  it 
remains  only  that  the  minister  pray  over  the  sick, 
and  remind  him  to  do  all  the  good  actions  he  is 
21 


24J 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANIOJN 


capable  of;  to  call  upon  God  for  pardon ;  to  put  his 
wliole  trust  in  him ;  to  be  patient  and  resigned  ; 
and  even  to  renounce  every  ill  thought  or  word, 
or  indecent  action,  which  the  violence  of  his 
sickness  may  have  caused  in  him ;  to  beg  of  God 
to  give  him  his  Holy  Spirit  to  guide  him  in  his 
agony,  arid  to  send  his  holy  angels  to  guard  him 
m  his  passage. 

Whatsoever  is  besides  this,  concerns  the  stand- 
ers-hy,  that  they  do  all  in  their  respective  otfices 
diligently  and  temperately ;  that  they  join  in 
prayer  with  the  minister,  with  much  charity  and 
devotion  ;  that  they  make  no  outcries  or  exclama- 
tions on  the  departure  of  the  soul,  nor  any  posi- 
tive judgment  concerning  the  dying  man,  by  his 
dying  quietly  or  violently,  with  great  fears  or  a 
cheerful  confidence,  with  sense  or  without,  like  a 
lamb  or  like  a  lion,  with  convulsions  and  terrible 
agonies,  or  like  the  silent  and  well-spent  flame  of 
an  expiring  taper.  For  these  may  happen  seve- 
rally, according  to  the  constitution  of  the  persons, 
and  the  nature  of  the  distemper  that  befalls  them ; 
or  else  according  as  God  pleases  to  dispense  the 
grace,  or  the  punishment,  for  reasons  only  known 
to  himself 

Let  us  lay  our  hand  upon  our  mouth,  and  adore 
the  mysteries  of  the  divine  wisdom  and  providence, 
and  pray  to  God  to  give  the  dying  man  rest  and 
pardon  :  and  to  ourselves  grace  to  live  well,  and 
the  blessings  of  a  holy  and  happy  death. 


THE  ORDER 


VISITATION  OF  THE  SICK. 

When  any  Person  is  sick,  notice  shall  be  given  thereof 
to  the  Minister  of  the  parish,  wlio  coining  into  the 
sick  Person's  house,  shall  say, 

Peace  be  to  this  house,  and  to  all  that  dwell  in  it. 

When  he  cometh  into  the  sick  man's  presence,  he  shall 
say,  kneeling  dovv'n; 

Remember  not.  Lord,  our  iniquities,  nor  the  ini- 
quities of  our  forefathers.  Spare  us,  good  Lord, 
spare  thy  people,  whom  thou  hast  redeemed  with 
thy  most  precious  blood,  and  be  not  angry  with  us 
for  ever. 

Answ,  Spare  us,  good  Lord. 

Tlien  the  Minister  shall  say, 
Let  us  pray. 

Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us. 
Christ,  have  mercy  upon  us. 
Lord,  have  mercij  upon  us. 

Our  Father,  which  art  in  heaven ;  Hallowed 
be  thy  name.  Thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be 
done  in  earth,  as  it  is  in  heaven.  Give  us  this 
day  our  daily  bread.  And  forgive  us  our  tres- 
passes, as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against 
us.  And  lead  us  not  into  temptation ;  but  deliver 
us  from  evil.     Amen. 

Minister.  O  Lord,  save  thy  servant, 

Answer.  Which  putteth  his  trust  in  thee. 

Min.  Send  him  help  from  thy  holy  place ; 

A71S.  And  evermore  mightily  defend  him. 

Min.  Let  the  enemy  have  no  advantage  of 
hi'm  ; 

Answ.  Nor  the  wicked  approach  to  hurt  him. 


Min.  Be  unto  him,  O  Lord,  a  strong  tower, 
Answ.  From  the  face  oi' his  enemy. 
Mi7i.  O  Lord,  hear  our  prayers : 
Answ.  And  let  our  cry  come  unto  thee. 

Minister. 

O  Lord,  look  down  from  heaven;  behold,  visit, 
and  relieve  this  thy  servant.  Look  upon  him  with 
the  eyes  of  thy  mercy;  give  him  comfort  and  sure 
confidence  in  thee ;  defend  him  from  the  danger 
of  the  enemy,  and  keep  him  in  perpetual  peace 
and  safety,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 
Amen. 

Hear  us.  Almighty  and  Most  Merciful  God 
and  Saviour;  extend  thy  accustomed  goodness  to 
this  thy  servant,  who  is  grieved  with  sickness. 
Sanctity,  we  beseech  thee,  this  thy  fatherly  cor- 
rection to  him  ;  that  the  sense  of  his  weakness 
may  add  strength  to  his  faith,  and  seriousness  to 
his  repentance :  that,  if  it  shall  be  thy  good  plea- 
sure to  restore  him  to  his  former  health,  he  may 
lead  the  residue  of  his  life  in  thy  fear,  and  to  thy 
glory :  or  else  give  him  grace  so  to  take  thy  visita- 
tion, that,  after  this  painful  life  is  ended,  he  may 
dwell  with  thee  in  life  everlasting;  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

Then  shall  the  Minister  exhort  the  sick  Person  after 
this  form,  or  other  like. 

Dearly  beloved,  know  this,  that  Almighty 
God  is  the  Lord  of  life  and  death,  and  of  all 
things  to  them  pertaining ;  as  youth,  strength, 
health,  age,  weakness,  and  sickness.  Wherelore, 
whatsoever  your  sickness  is,  know  you  certainly, 
that  it  is  God's  visitation.  And  for  what  cause 
soever  this  sickness  is  sent  unto  you ;  whether  it 
be  to  try  your  patience  ;  for  the  example  of  others; 
and  that  your  faith  may  be  found  in  the  day  of  the 
Lord,  laudable,  glorious,  and  honourable,  to  the 
increase  of  glory,  and  endless  felicity ;  or  else  it  be 
sent  unto  you,  to  correct  and  amend  in  you  what- 
soever doth  offend  the  eyes  of  your  heavenly  Fa- 
ther :  know  you  certainly,  that  if  you  truly  re- 
pent of  your  sins,  and  bear  your  sickness  patiently, 
trusting  in  God's  mercy  for  his  dear  Son  Jesus 
Christ's  sake,  and  render  unto  him  humble  thanks 
for  his  fatherly  visitation,  submitting  yourself 
wholly  unto  his  wiU,  it  shall  turn  to  your  profit, 
and  help  you  forward  in  the  right  way  that  lead- 
eth  unto  everlasting  life. 

HJ'  If  the  Person  visited  be  very  sick,  then  the  Curate 
may  end  his  exhortation  in  this  place,  or  else  pro- 
ceed. 

Take,  therefore,  in  good  part,  the  chastisement 
of  the  Lord ;  for  (as  St.  Paul  saith,  in  the  twelfth 
chapter  to  the  Hebrews,)  "  whom  the  Lord  loveth, 
he  chasteneth ;  and  scourgeth  every  son  whom  he 
receiveth.  If  ye  endure  chastening,  God  dealeth 
with  you  as  with  sons ;  for,  what  son  is  he  whom 
the  father  chasteneth  nof?  But  if  ye  be  without 
chastisement,  whereof  all  are  partakers,  then  are 
ye  bastards,  and  not  sons.  Furthermore,  we  have 
had  fathers  of  our  flesh,  which  corrected  us,  and 
we  gave  them  reverence ;  shall  we  not  much  ra- 
ther be  in  subjection  unto  the  Father  of  spirits, 
and  live  1  For  they  verily,  for  a  few  days,  chastened 
us  after  their  own  pleasure ;  but  He  for  our  profit, 
that  we  might  be  partakers  of  his  holiness." 
These  words  (good  brother)  are  written  in  holy 
Scriptures  for  our  comfort  and  instruction,  that 
we  should  patiently  and  with  thanksgiving  bear 
our  Heavenly  Father's  correction,  whensoever,  by 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


245 


any  manner  of  adversity,  it  shall  please  his  gra- 
cious goodness  to  visit  us.  And  there  should  be 
no  greater  comfort  to  Christian  persons,  than  to 
be  made  like  unto  Christ,  by  suffering  patiently 
adversities,  troubles,  and  sicknesses.  For  He 
himself  went  not  up  to  joy,  but  first  he  suffered 
pain :  He  entered  not  into  his  glory  before  he  was 
crucified.  So,  truly,  our  way  to  eternal  joy,  is  to 
suffer  here  with  Christ;  and  our  door  to  enter 
into  eternal  life,  is  gladly  to  die  with  Christ,  that 
we  may  rise  again  from  death,  and  dwell  with 
him  in  everlasting  life.  Now  therefore,  taking 
your  sickness,  wluch  is  thus  profitable  for  you, 
patiently ;  I  exhort  you,  in  the  name  of  God,  to 
remember  the  profession  which  you  made  unto 
God  in  your  baptism.  And  forasmuch  as,  after 
this  life,  there  is  an  account  to  be  given  unto  the 
righteous  .Tudge,  by  whom  all  must  be  judged  with- 
out respect  of  persons ;  I  require  you  to  examine 
yourself  and  your  estate,  both  towards  God  and 
man;  so  that,  accusing  and  condemning  your- 
self, and  your  own  faults,  you  may  find  mercy  at 
your  Heavenly  Father's  hand  for  Christ's  sake, 
and  not  be  accused  and  condemned  in  that  fearful 
judgment.  Therefore  I  shall  rehearse  to  you  the 
Articles  of  our  Faith,  that  you  may  know  whether 
you  believe  as  a  Christian  man  should,  or  no. 

Here  the  Minister  shall  rehearse  the  Articles  of  the 
Faith,  saying  thus : 

Dost  thou  believe  in  God  the  Father  Almighty, 
Maker  of  heaven  and  earth  1 

And  in  Jesus  Christ  his  only  begotten  Son, 
our  Lord ;  and  that  he  was  conceived  by  the  Holy 
Ghost;  born  of  the  Virgin  Mary;  that  he  suf- 
fered under  Pontius  Pilate,  was  crucified,  dead, 
and  buried  ;  that  he  went  down  into  hell,  and  also 
did  rise  again  the  third  day  ;  that  he  ascended  into 
heaven,  and  sitteth  at  the  right  hand  of  God  the 
Father  Almighty,  and  from  thence  shall  come 
again,  at  the  end  of  the  world,  to  judge  the  quick 
and  the  dead '? 

And  dost  thou  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost ;  the 
holy  Catholic  church  ;  the  communion  of  saints; 
the  remission  of  sins ;  the  resurrection  of  the  flesh; 
and  everlasting  fife  after  death  1 

The  sick  person  shall  answer, 

All  this  T  steadfastly  believe. 

Then  shall  the  Minister  examine  whether  he  repent 
him  truly  of  his  sins,  and  be  in  charity  with  all  the 
world  ;  exhorting  him  to  forgive,  from  the  bottom  of 
his  heart,  all  persons  that  have  offended  him,  and,  if  he 
hath  offended  any  other,  to  ask  them  forgiveness;  and 
where  he  hath  done  injury  or  wrong  to  any  man,  that 
he  make  amends  to  the  utmost  of  his  power.  And,  if  he 
hath  not  before  disposed  of  his  goods,  let  him  then  be 
admonished  to  make  his  will,  and  to  declare  his  debts, 
what  he  owetli,  and  what  is  owing  unto  him  ;  for  the 
better  discharge  of  his  conscience,  and  the  quietness  of 
his  e.icecutors.  But  men  should  often  be  put  in  remem- 
brance to  take  order  for  settling  of  their  temporal  es- 
tate,=,  whilst  they  are  in  health. 

These  words,  before  rehearsed,  may  be  said  before  the 
Minister  begins  his  prayer,  as  he  shall  see  cause. 

The  Minister  should  not  omit  earnestly  to  move  such 
sick  Persons  as  are  of  ability,  to  be  liberal  to  the  poor. 

Here  shall  the  sick  Person  be  moved  to  make  a  special 
confession  of  his  sins,  if  he  feel  his  conscience  trou- 
bled with  any  weighty  matter.  After  which  confes- 
sion, the  Priest  shall  absolve  him  (if  he  humbly  and 
heartily  desire  it)  after  this  sort : 

Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  hath  left  power 
to  his  church  to  absolve  all  sinners,  who  truly  re- 
pent and  believe  in  him,  of  his  great  mercy  forgive 


thee  thine  offences !    And  by  his  authority  com- 
mitted to  me,  I  absolve  thee  from  all  thy  sins, 
in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and 
of  the  Holy  Ghost.     Amen. 
And  then  the  Priest  shall  say  the  collect  following. 
Let  us  pray, 

0  Mo.sT  merciful  God,  who,  according  to  tlije 
multitude  of  thy  mercies,  dost  so  put  away  the 
sins  of  those  who  truly  repent,  that  thou  remem- 
berest  them  no  more ;  open  thine  eye  of  mercy 
upon  this  thy  servant,  who  most  earnestly  de- 
sireth  pardon  and  forgiveness.  Renew  in  him, 
most  loving  Father,  whatsoever  hath  been  de- 
cayed by  the  fraud  and  malice  of  the  devil,  or  by 
his  own  carnal  will  and  frailness;  preserve  and 
continue  this  sick  member  in  the  unity  of  the 
church ;  consider  his  contrition,  accept  his  tears, 
assuage  his  pain,  as  shall  seem  to  thee  most  ex- 
pedient for  him..  And,  forasmuch  as  he  putteth 
his  full  trust  only  in  thy  mercy,  impute  not  unto 
hivi  his  former  sins,  but  strengthen  him.  with 
thy  blessed  Spirit ;  and  when  thou  art  pleased  to 
take  him  hence,  take  h  im  unto  thy  favour,  through 
the  merits  of  thy  most  dearly  beloved  Son  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

Then  shall  the  Minister  say  this  Psalm. 

In  te,  Domine,  speravi. — Psalm  Ixxi. 

Iv  thee,  O  Lord,  have  I  put  my  trust ;  let  me 
never  be  put  to  confusion :  but  rid  me,  and  de- 
liver me  in  thy  righteousness ;  incline  thine  ear 
unto  me,  and  save  me. 

Be  thou  a  strong  hold,  whereunto  I  mayalway 
resort :  thou  hast  promised  to  help  me,  for  thou 
art  my  house  of  defence,  and  my  castle. 

Deliver  me,  O  my  God,  out  of  the  hand  of  the 
ungodly ;  out  of  the  hand  of  the  unrighteous  and 
cruel  man. 

For  thou,  O  Lord,  art  the  thing  that  I  long 
for;  thou  art  my  hope,  even  from  my  youth. 

Through  thee  have  I  been  holden  up  ever 
since  I  was  born  ;  thou  art  he  that  took  me  out  of 
my  mother's  womb ;  my  praise  shall  always  be  of 
thee. 

1  am  become  as  it  were  a  monster  to  many ;  but 
my  sure  trust  is  in  thee. 

0  let  my  mouth  be  filled  with  thy  praise ;  that 
I  may  sing  of  thy  glory  and  honour  all  the  day 
long. 

Cast  me  not  away  in  the  time  of  age :  forsake 
me  not  when  my  strength  faileth  me. 

For  mine  enemies  speak  against  me ;  and  they 
that  lay  wait  for  my  soul,  take  their  counsel  to- 
gether; saying,  God  hath  forsaken  him;  perse- 
cute him,  and  take  him,  for  there  is  none  to  de- 
liver him. 

Go  not  far  from  me,  O  God;  my  God,  haste 
thee  to  help  me. 

Let  them  be  confounded  and  perish,  that  are 
against  my  soul :  let  them  be  covered  with  shame 
and  dishonour,  that  seek  to  do  me  evil. 

As  for  me,  I  will  patiently  abide  always ;  and 
will  praise  thee  more  and  more. 

My  mouth  shall  daily  speak  of  thy  righteous- 
ness and  salvation ;  for  I  know  no  end  thereof 

1  will  go  forth  in  the  strength  of  the  Lord 
God ;  and  will  make  mention  of  thy  righteousness 
only. 

"Thou,  O  God,  hast  taught  me  from  my  youth 
up  until  now :  therefore  will  I  tell  of  thy  wondrous 
works. 


244 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


Forsake  me  not,  O  God,  in  mine  old  age,  when 
r  am  gray-headed,  until  I  have  showed  thy  strength 
Unto  tliis  generation,  and  thy  power  to  all  them 
that  are  yet  for  to  come. 

Thy  righteousness,  O  God,  is  very  high,  and 
great  things  are  they  that  thou  hast  done ;  O  God, 
who  is  like  unto  thee  1 

Glory  be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and  to 
the  Holy  Ghost; 

As  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and  ever 
shall  be,  world  without  end.     Amen. 

Adding  this: 

O  Saviour  of  the  world,  who  by  thy  cross  and 
precious  blood  hast  redeemed  us,  save  us,  and  help 
us,  we  humbly  beseech  thee,  O  Lord. 

Tlieii  shall  the  Minister  say : 

The  Almighty  Lord,  who  is  a  most  strong 
tower  to  all  them  that  put  their  trust  in  him ;  to 
whom  all  things  in  heaven,  in  earth,  and  under 
the  earth,  do  bow  and  obey ;  be  now  and  evermore 
thy  defence,  and  make  thee  know  and  feel,  that 
there  is  no  other  name  under  heaven  given  to  man, 
in  whom,  and  through  whom,  thou  mayest  receive 
health  and  salvation,  but  only  the  name  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.     Amen. 

And  after  that  shall  say : 

Unto  God's  gracious  mercy  and  protection  we 
commit  thee.  The  Lord  bless  thee,  and  keep  thee. 
The  Lord  make  his  face  to  shine  upon  thee,  and 
be  gracious  unto  thee.  The  Lord  lift  up  his  coun- 
tenance upon  thee,  and  give  thee  peace,  both  now 
and  evermore.     Avien. 


COMMUNION  OF  THE  SICK. 

FoRASMDCH  as  all  mortal  men  be  subject  to  many  sud- 
den perils,  diseases,  and  sicknesses,  and  ever  uncertain 
what  time  they  shall  depart  out  of  this  life;  therefore 
to  the  intent  they  may  be  always  in  readiness  to  die 
whensoever  it  shall  please  Almighty  God  to  call  them, 
the  Curates  shall  diligently,  from  time  to  time  (but  es- 
pecially in  time  of  pestilence,  or  other  infectious  sick- 
ness,) exhort  their  parishioners  to  the  often  receiving 
the  Holy  Communion  of  the  body  and  blood  of  our  Sa- 
viour t'hrist,  when  it  shall  be  publicly  administered  in 
the  church;  that,  so  doing,  they  may,  in  case  of  sudden 
visitation,  have  the  less  cause  to  be  disquieied  for  lack 
of  the  same.  But  if  the  sick  person  be  not  able  to  come 
to  the  church,  and  yet  is  desirous  to  receive  the  Com- 
munion in  his  house;  then  he  must  give  timely  notice 
to  the  Curate,  signit'ying  also  how  many  th-;re  are  to 
communicate  with  him  (which  shall  be  three,  or  two  at 
the  least,)  and  having  a  convenient  place  in  the  sick 
man's  house,  with  all  things  necessary,  so  prepared,  thai 
the  Curate  inay  reverently  minister,  he  shall  there  cele- 
brate the  Holy  Communion,  beginning  with  the  Collect, 
Epistle,  and  Gospel  here  following. 

The  Collect. 

Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  maker  of  man- 
kind, who  dost  correct  those  whom  thou  dost  love, 
and  chastisest  every  one  whom  thou  dost  receive ; 
we  beseech  thee  to  have  mercy  upon  this  thy  ser- 
vant visited  with  thine  hand,  and  to  grant  that  he 
may  take  his  sickness  patiently,  and  recover  his 
bodily  health,  (if  it  be  thy  gracious  will;)  and 
whenever  his  soul  shall  depart  from  the  body,  it 
may  be  without  spot  presented  unto  thee,  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 


The  Epislle,  Hcb.  xii.  5. 

My  son,  despise  not  thou  the  chastening  of  the 
Lord,  nor  faint  when  thou  art  rebuked  of  him: 
for  whom  the  Lord  loveth,  he  chasteneth;  and 
scourgeth  every  son  whom  he  receiveth. 

The  Gospel,  St.  John  v.  24. 

Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  he  that  hen  reth 
my  word,  and  bclieveth  on  him  that  sent  me,  halh 
everlasting  life,  and  shall  not  come  into  condemna- 
tion ;  but  is  passed  from  death  unto  life. 

After  which,  the  Priest  shall  proceed  according  to  the 
form  prescribed  for  the  Holy  Communion,  beginning  at 
these  words:  [Ye  that  do  truly.] 

At  the  time  of  the  distribution  of  the  Holy  Sacra- 
ment, the  Priest  shall  first  receive  the  Communion  him- 
self, and  afterward  minister  unto  them  that  are  ap- 
pointed to  communicate  with  the  sick,  and  last  of  all  to 
the  sick  person. 

But  if  a  man,  either  by  reason  of  extremity  of  sick- 
ness, or  for  want  of  warning  in  due  time  to  the  Curate, 
or  for  lack  of  company  to  receive  with  him,  or  by  any 
other  just  impediment,  do  not  receive  the  Sacrament  of 
Christ's  body  and  blood,  the  Curate  shall  instruct  him, 
that  if  he  do  truly  repent  him  of  his  sins,  and  steadfast- 
ly believe  Jesus  Christ  hath  suffered  death  upon  the  cross 
for  him,  and  shed  his  blood  for  his  redemption,  earnest- 
ly remembering  the  benefits  he  hath  thereby,  and  giving 
him  hearty  thanks  therefor,  he  doth  eat  and  drink  the 
body  and  blood  of  our  Saviour  Christ  profitably  to  his 
soul's  health,  although  he  do  not  receive  the  sacrament 
with  his  mouth. 

When  the  sick  person  is  visited,  and  receiveth  the 
Holy  Communion  all  at  one  time,  then  the  Priest,  for 
more  e.\pedition,  shall  cut  off  the  form  of  the  visitation, 
at  the  Psalin  [In  thee,  O  Lord,  have  I  put  my  trust,  |  and 
go  straight  to  the  Communion. 

In  the  time  of  the  plague,  sweat,  or  other  such-like 
contagious  times  of  sickness  or  diseases,  when  none  of 
the  parisli  or  neighbours  can  be  gotten  to  communicate 
witli  the  sick  in  their  houses,  for  fear  of  the  infection  ; 
upon  special  request  of  the  deceased,  the  Minister  only 
may  communicate  with  him. 

At  the  time  of  the  celebration  of  the  Communion,  the 
communicants  being  conveniently  placed  for  re- 
ceiving of  the  Holy  Sacrament,  the  Priest  shall  say 
this  exhortation : 

Dearly  beloved  in  the  Lord,  ye  that  mind  to 
come  to  the  Holy  Communion  of  the  body  and 
blood  of  our  Saviour  Christ,  must  consider  how 
St.  Paul  exhorteth  all  persons  diligently  to  tr}''  and 
examine  themselves,  before  they  presume  to  eat 
of  that  bread,  and  drink  of  that  cup.  For  as  the 
benefit  is  great,  if  with  a  true  penitent  heart  and 
lively  faith  we  receive  that  Ploly  Sacrament,  (for 
then  we  spiritually  eat  the  flesh  of  Christ,  and 
drink  his  blood;  then  we  dwell  in  Christ,  and 
Christ  in  us ;  we  are  one  with  Christ,  and  Christ 
with  us;)  so  is  the  danger  great,  if  we  receive  the 
same  unworthily :  for  then  we  are  guilty  of  the 
body  and  blood  of  Christ  our  Saviour;  we  eat 
and  drink  our  own  damnation,  not  considering 
the  Lord's  body ;  we  kindle  God's  wrath  against 
us ;  we  provoke  him  to  plague  us  with  divers  dis- 
eases, and  sundry  kinds  of  death.  Judge  therefore 
yourselves,  brethren,  that  ye  be  not  judged  of  the 
Lord ;  repent  ye  truly  for  your  sins  past ;  have  a 
lively  and  steadfast  faith  in  Christ  our  Saviour; 
amend  your  lives,  and  be  in  perfect  charity  with 
all  men ;  so  shall  ye  be  meet  partakers  of  these 
holy  mysteries.  And  above  all  things,  ye  must 
give  most  humble  and  hearty  thanks  to  God  the 
Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  for  the  re- 
demption of  the  world  by  the  death  and  passion 
of  our  Saviour  Christ,  both  God  and  man,  who 
did  humble  himself  even  to  the  death  upon  the 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


245 


cross,  for  us  miserable  sinners,  who  lay  in  dark- 
ness and  the  shadowof  death,  that  he  might  make 
us  the  children  of  God,  and  exalt  us  to  everlasting 
life.  And  to  the  end  that  we  should  always  re- 
member the  exceeding  great  love  of  our  Master 
and  only  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  thus  dying  for  us, 
and  the  innumerable  benetits  which  by  his  pre- 
cious blood-shedding  he  hath  obtained  to  us,  he 
hath  instituted  and  ordained  holy  mysteries,  as 
pledges  of  his  love,  and  lor  a  continual  remem- 
brance of  his  death,  to  our  great  and  endless  com- 
fort. To  Him,  therefore,  with  the  Father,  and 
the  Holy  Ghost,  let  us  give  (as  we  are  most 
bounden)  continual  thanks ;  submitting  ourselves 
wholly  to  his  holy  will  and  pleasure,  and  studying 
to  serve  him  in  true  holiness  and  righteousness  all 
the  days  of  our  lile.     Amen. 

Then  shall  the  Priest  say  to  them  that  come  to  receive 
the  Holy  Coimuunion, 

Ye  that  do  truly  and  earnestly  repent  you  of 
your  sins,  and  are  in  love  and  charity  with  your 
neighbours,  and  intend  to  lead  a  new  lite,  follow- 
ing the  commandments  of  God,  and  walking  from 
henceforth  in  his  holy  ways ;  draw  near  with 
fiiith,  and  take  this  Holy  Sacrament  to  your  com- 
fort; and  make  your  humble  confession  to  Al- 
mighty God,  meekly  kneehng  upon  your  knees. 

Then  shall  this  general  confession  be  made,  in  the  name 
of  all  those  that  are  minded  to  receive  the  Holy  Com- 
munion, by  one  of  the  Ministers,  both  he  and  all  the 
people  kneeling  humbly  upon  their  knees,  and  saying, 

Almighty  God,  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  maker  of  all  things,  judge  of  all  men,  we 
acknowledge  and  bewail  our  manifold  sins  and 
wickedness  which  we  from  time  to  time  most 
grievously  have  committed,  by  thought,  word,  and 
deed,  against  thy  Divine  iVlajesty,  provoking  most 
justly  thy  wrath  and  indignation  against  us.  We 
do  earnestly  repent,  and  are  heartily  sorry  for 
these  our  misdoings ;  the  remembrance  of  them  is 
grievous  to  us,  the  burden  of  them  is  intolerable. 
Have  mercy  upon  us,  have  mercy  upon  us,  most 
merciful  Father:  for  thy  Son  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ's  sake,  forgive  us  all  that  is  past ;  and  grant 
we  may  ever  hereafter  serve  and  please  thee  in 
newness  of  life,  to  the  honour  and  glory  of  thy 
name,  through  Jesus  Clirist  our  Lord.    Avien. 

Then  shall  the  Priest  (or  the  Bishop  being  present) 
stand  up,  and,  turning  himself  to  the  people,  pro- 
nounce this  absolulioii : 

Ar.MrcHTY  God  our  heavenly  Father,  who  of 
his  great  mercy  hath  promised  forgiveness  of  sins 
to  all  them  that  with  hearty  repentance  and  true 
f;ith  turn  unto  him;  have  mercy  upon  you,  par- 
don and  deliver  you  from  all  your  sins,  confirm 
and  strengthen  you  in  all  goodness,  and  bring  you 
to  everlasting  life,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 
Amen. 

Then  shall  the  Priest  say, 

Hear  what  comfortable  words  our  Saviour 
Christ  saith  unto  all  that  truly  turn  to  him :  Come 
unto  me,  all  ye  that  travail  and  are  heavy  laden, 
and  I  will  refresh  you. — Matt.  xi.  28. 

So  God  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only 
begotten  Son,  to  the  end  that  all  that  believe  in 
him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life. — 
John  iii.  1(5. 

Hear  also  what  St.  Paul  saith : 

This  is  a  true  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  men  to 


be  received,  That  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the 
world  to  save  sinners. — 1  Tim.  i.  15. 

Hear  also  what  St.  John  saith : 

If  any  man  sin,  we  have  an  advocate  with  the 
Father,  Jesus  Christ  the  lighteous ;  and  he  is  the 
propitiation  for  our  sins. — 1  Johnii.  1,  2. 

After  which,  the  Priest  shall  proceed,  saying, 

Lift  up  your  hearts. 

Answ.  We  lift  them  up  unto  the  Lord. 
Priest.  Let  us  give  thanks  unto  our  Lord  God. 
Answ.  It  is  meet  and  right  so  to  do. 
Then  shall  the  Priest  say. 

It  is  very  meet,  right,  and  our  bounden  duty, 
that  we  should  at  all  times,  and  in  all  places,  give 
thanks  unto  thee,  O  Lord,  Holy  Father,*  Al- 
mighty, Everlasting  God. 

Here  shall  follow  the  proper  preface,  according  to  the 
time,  if  there  beany  specially  appointed,  or  else  im- 
mediately shall  follow, 

Therefore  with  angels  and  archangels,  and 
with  the  company  of  heaven,  we  laud  and  magni- 
fy '^''y  glorious  name,  evermore  praising  thee,  and 
saying.  Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God  of  hosts ! 
heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  thy  glory.  Glory  be 
to  thee,  O  Lord  most  high.     Amen. 

Proper  Prefaces. 
On  Christmas-day,  and  sevtj  days  aftei 

Because  thou  didst  give  Jesus  Christ,  thine 
only  Son,  to  be  born  as  at  this  time  for  us,  who  by 
the  operation  of  the  Holy  Ghost  was  made  very 
man  of  the  substance  of  the  Virgin  Mary  his  mo- 
ther, and  that  without  spot  of  sin,  to  make  us  clean 
from  all  sin :  therefore  with  angels,  &c. 

On  Easter-day,  and  seven  days  after 

But  chiefly  are  we  bound  to  praise  thee  for  the 
glorious  resurrection  of  thy  Son  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord ;  for  He  is  the  very  paschal  lamb  which  was 
offered  for  us,  and  hath  taken  away  the  sins  of  the 
world ;  who  by  his  death  hath  destroyed  death, 
and  by  his  rising  to  life  again,  hath  restored  us  to 
everlasting  life :  therefore,  &c. 

On  Ascension-day,  and  seven  days  after. 

Through  thy  most  dearly  beloved  Son,  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord,  who  after  his  most  glorious  re- 
surrection, manifestly  appeared  to  all  his  apostles, 
and  in  their  sight  ascended  up  into  heaven  to  pre- 
pare a  place  for  us ;  that  where  he  is  thither  we 
might  also  ascend,  and  reign  with  him  in  glory  • 
therefore,  &c. 

On  Whitsunday,  and  six  days  after. 

Through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord,  according  to 
whose  most  true  promise  the  Holy  Ghost  came 
down  as  at  this  time  from  heaven,  with  a  sudden 
great  sound,  as  it  had  been  a  mighty  wind,  in  the 
likeness  of  fiery  tongues,  lighting  upon  the  apos- 
tles, to  teach  them,  and  to  lead  them  to  all  truth, 
giving  them  both  the  gift  of  divers  languages,  and 
also  boldness,  with  fervent  zeal,  constantly  to  preach 
the  Gospel  unto  all  nations,  whereby  we  have  been 
brought  out  of  darkness  and  error  into  the  clear 
light  and  true  knowledge  of  thee,  and  of  thy  Son 
Jesus  Christ :  therefore,  &c. 

On  the  feast  of  Trinity  only. 

Who  art  one  God,  one  Lord;  not  one  only  Per- 


*  These  words  [Holy  Father  J  must  be  omitted  on  Tri- 
nity  Sunday. 

21* 


246 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


son,  but  three  Persons  in  one  substance.  For  that 
which  we  believe  of  the  glory  of  the  Father,  the 
same  we  beHcve  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
without  any  diflerence  or  Inequality :  therefore,  &c. 

After  each  of  which  prefaces,  shall  immediately  be  sung 
or  said : 

Therefore  with  angels  and  archangels,  and 
with  all  the  company  of  heaven,  we  laud  and  mag- 
nify thy  glorious  name,  evermore  praising  thee, 
and  saying;  Holy,  holy,  holy.  Lord  God  of  hosts! 
heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  thy  glory.  Glory  be 
to  thee,  O  Lord  most  high.     Ainen. 

Then  shall  the  Priest,  kneeling  down  at  the  Lord's  table, 
say,  in  the  name  of  all  them  that  shall  receive  the 
Conmiunion,  this  prayer  following: 

W  E  do  not  presume  to  come  to  this  thy  table, 
O  merciful  Lord,  trusting  in  our  own  righteous- 
ness, but  in  thy  manifold  and  great  mercies.  We 
are  not  worthy  so  much  as  to  gather  up  the  crumbs 
under  thy  table.  But  thou  art  the  same  Lord, 
whose  property  is  always  to  have  mercy;  grant  us, 
therefore,  gracious  Lord,  so  to  eat  the  flesh  of  thy 
dear  Son  Jesus  Christ,  and  to  drink  his  blood,  that 
our  sinful  bodies  may  be  made  clean  hy  his  body, 
and  our  souls  washed  through  his  most  precious 
blood,  and  that  we  may  evermore  dwell  in  him, 
and  he  in  us.     Amen. 

When  the  Priest,  standing  before  the  table,  hath  so  or- 
dered the  bread  and  wine,  that  he  may  with  the  more 
readiness  and  decency  break  the  bread. before  the  peo- 
ple, and  take  the  cup  into  his  hands,  he  shall  say  the 
prayer  of  Consecration,  as  foUovveth : 

Almighty  God,  our  heavenly  Father,  who  of 
thy  tender  mercy  didst  give  thine  only  Son  Jesus 
Christ  to  suffer  death  upon  the  cross  for  our  re- 
demption, who  made  there  (by  his  one  oblation  of 
himself  once  offered)  a  full,  perfect,  and  sufficient 
sacrifice,  oblation,  and  satisfaction  for  the  sins  of  the 
whole  worlil,  and  did  institute,  and  in  his  holy  Gos- 
pel command  us,  to  continue  a  perpetual  memory 
of  that  his  precious  death,  until  his  coining  again ; 
hear  us,  O  merciful  Father,  we  most  humbly  be- 
seech thee,  and  grant  that  we,  receiving  these  thy 
creatures  of  bread  and  wine,  according  to  thy  Son 
our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ's  holy  institution,  in  re- 
membrance of  his  death  and  passion,  may  be  par- 
takers of  his  most  blessed  body  and  blood;  who,  in 
the  same  night  that  he  was  betrayed,*  took  bread, 
and  when  he  had  given  thanks, t  he  brake  it,  and 
gave  it  to  his  disciples,  saying.  Take,  eat  ;t  this  is 
my  body,  which  is  given  for  you :  do  this  in  re- 
membrance of  me.  Likewise  after  supper,§  he 
took  the  cup,  and  when  he  had  given  thanks,  he 
gave  it  to  them,  saying.  Drink  ye  all  of  this;  for 
thisll  is  my  blood  of  the  New  Testament  which 
is  shed  for  you,  and  for  many,  for  the  remission  of 
sins :  do  this,  as  oft  as  ye  shall  drink  it,  in  remem- 
brance of  me.     Amen. 

Then  shall  the  Minister  first  receive  the  Communion  in 
both  kinds  himself,  and  then  proceed  to  deliver  the 
same  to  the  Bishops,  Priests,  and  Deacons,  in  like 
manner  (if  any  be  present,)  and  after  that  to  the  peo- 
ple also  in  order,  into  their  hands,  all  meekly  kneel- 


*  Here  the  priest  is  to  take  the  paten  into  his  hands. 

t  And  hire  to  break  the  bread. 

i  And  here  to  lay  his  hands  upon  all  the  bread. 

<i  Here  he  is  to  take  the  cup  into  his  hand. 

II  And  here  to  lay  his  hand  upon  every  vessel  (be  it 
rh.ilice  or  flagon)  in  which  there  is  any  vi'ine  to  be  con- 
secrated. 


ing.    And  when  he  delivereth  the  bread  to  any  onti 
he  shall  say  : 

The  body  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  which  was 
given  for  thee,  preserve  thy  body  and  soul  unto 
everlasting  life !  Take  and  eat  this  in  remem- 
brance that  Christ  died  for  thee;  and  teed  on  him 
in  thy  heart  by  faith  with  thanksgiving. 

And  the  Minister  that  delivereth  the  cup  to  any  one, 
shall  say :  ^ 

The  blood  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  which  was 
shed  for  thee,  preserve  thy  body  and  soul  unto 
everlasting  life  !  Drink  this  in  remembrance  that 
Christ's  blood  was  shed  for  thee,  and  be  thanklul. 

If  the  consecrated  bread  or  wine  be  all  spent  before  all 
have  communicated,  the  Priest  is  to  consecrate  more, 
according  to  the  form  before  prescribed:  beginning  at 
I  Our  Saviour  Christ  in  the  same  night,  &c.J  for  the  bless- 
ing of  the  bread,  and  [Likewise  after  supper,  &c.]  for  the 
blessing  of  the  cup. 

When  all  have  communicated,  the  Minister  shall  re- 
turn to  the  Lord's  table,  and  reverently  place  upon  it 
what  remaineth  of  the  consecrated  elements,  covering 
the  same  with  a  fair  linen  cloth. 

Then  shall  the  Priest  say  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  peo- 
ple repeating  after  him  every  petition. 

Odr  Father  which  art  in  heaven  ;  Hallowed  be 
thy  name.  Thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be 
done  in  earth,  as  it  is  in  heaven.  Give  us  this 
day  our  daily  bread.  And  forgive  us  our  trespasses, 
as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against  us.  And 
lead  us  not  into  temptation ;  but  deliver  us  from 
evil.  For  thine  is  the  kingdom,  the  power,  and 
the  glorj',  for  ever  and  ever.     Avien. 

After  this  shall  be  said  as  followeth: 

O  Lord  and  heavenly  Father,  we  thy  humble 
servants  entirely  desire  thy  fatherly  goodness  mer- 
cifully to  accept  this  our  sacrifice  of  praise  and 
thanksgiving;  most  hunrbly  beseeching  thee  to 
grant,  that  by  the  merits  and  death  of  thy  Son  Je- 
sus Christ,  and  through  faith  in  his  blood,  we  and 
all  thy  whole  church  may  obtain  remission  of  our 
sins,  and  all  other  benefits  of  his  passion.  And 
here  we  offer  and  present  unto  thee,  O  Lord,  our- 
selves, our  souls  and  bodies,  to  be  a  reasonable, 
holy,  and  lively  sacrifice  unto  thee ;  humbly  be- 
seeching thee,  that  all  we  who  are  partakers  of  this 
holy  communion,  may  be  fulfilled  with  thy  grace 
and  heavenly  benediction.  And  although  we  be 
unworthy,  through  our  manifold  sins,  to  offer  unto 
thee  any  sacrifice  ;  j'et  we  beseech  thee  to  accept 
this  our  bounden  duty  and  service ;  not  weighing 
our  merits,  but  pardoning  our  offences,  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord  ;  by  whom,  and  with  whom, 
in  the  unity  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  all  honour  and 
glory  be  unto  thee,  O  Father  Almighty,  world 
without  end.     A7ne7i. 

Or  this : 
Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  we  most  hear- 
tily thank  thee,  for  that  thou  dost  vouchsafe  to  feed 
us,  who  have  duly  received  these  holy  mysteries, 
with  the  spiritual  food  of  the  most  precious  body 
and  blood  of  thy  Son  our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ ; 
and  dost  assure  us  thereby  of  thy  flivour  and  good- 
ness towards  us ;  and  that  we  are  very  members 
incorporate  in  the  mystical  body  of  thy  Son,  which 
is  the  blessed  company  of  all  faithful  people  ;  and 
are  also  heirs  through  ho[ie  of  thy  everlasting 
kingdom,  by  the  merits  of  the  most  precious  death 
and  passion  of  thy  dear  Son.  And  we  most  hum- 
bly beseech  thee,  O  heavenly  Father,  so  to  assist 
us  with  thy  grace,  that  we  may  continue  in  that 
holy  fellowship,  and  do  all  such  good  works  as 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


247 


thou  hast  prepared  for  us  to  walk  in,  through  Je- 
sus Christ  our  Lord ;  to  whom,  with  thee  and  the 
Holy  Ghost,  be  all  honour  and  glory,  world  with- 
out end.     Amen. 

Then  shall  be  said  or  sung : 

Glory  be  to  God  on  higli,  and  in  earth  peace, 
good  will  towards  men.  We  praise  thee,  we  bless 
thee,  we  worship  thee,  wc  glorify  thee,  we  give 
thanks  to  thee,  for  thy  great  glory,  (3  Lord  God, 
heavenly  King,  God  the  Father  Almighty. 

O  Lord,  the  only-begotten  Son  Jesus  Christ ; 
O  Lord  God,  Lamb  of  God,  Son  of  the  Father, 
that  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world,  have  mercy 
upon  us :  thou  that  takest  away  the  sins  of  the 
world,  receive  our  prayer :  thou  that  sittest  at  the 
right  hand  of  God  the  Father,  have  mercy  upon  us : 

For  thou  only  art  holy,  thou  only  art  the  Lord; 
thou  only,  O  Christ,  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  art 
most  high  in  the  glory  of  God  the  Father.     Amen. 

Then  the  Priest  or  Bishop  (if  he  be  present,)  shall  let 
them  depart  with  this  blessing : 

The  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing, keep  your  hearts  and  minds  in  the  know- 
ledge and  love  of  God,  and  of  his  Son  Jesus  Christ 
our  Lord  ;  and  the  blessing  of  God  Almighty,  the 
Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  among 
you,  and  remain  with  you  always.     Amen. 


PROPER  COLLECTS 

THAT  MAY  BE  USED    WITH   ANY    OF    THE   PRAYERS 
FOR  THE  SICK. 

Let  thy  merciful  ears,  O  Lord,  be  open  to  tlie 
prayers  of  thy  humble  servants :  and,  that  we  may 
obtain  our  petitions,  make  us  to  ask  such  things 
as  shall  please  thee,  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord. 

In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death:  of  whom 
may  we  seek  for  succour,  but  of  thee,  O  Lord,  who 
for  our  sins  art  justly  displeased  1  Yet,  O  Lord 
God,  most  holy,  O  Lortl  most  mighty,  O  holy  and 
most  merciful  Saviour,  deliver  us  not  into  the 
bitter  pains  of  eternal  death.  Thou  knowest.  Lord, 
the  secrets  of  our  heart ;  shut  not  thy  merciful  ears 
to  our  prayers ;  but  spare  us.  Lord  most  holy,  O 
God  most  mighty,  O  holy  and  merciful  Saviour, 
thou  most  worthy  Judge  Eternal,  sufler  us  not  at 
the  last  hour,  for  any  pains  of  death,  to  fall  from 
thee.     Amen. 

O  MERCIFUL  God,  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Je- 
sus Christ,  who  is  the  resurrection  and  the  life, 
we  beseech  thee  to  raise  us  from  the  death  of  sin 
to  the  life  of  righteousness,  that,  at  the  general 
resurrection  in  the  last  day,  we  may  be  found  ac- 
ceptable in  thy  sight,  and  may  have  our  perfect 
consummation  and  bliss,  both  in  body  and  soul, 
in  thy  eternal  glory;  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord. 

Graxt,  we  beseech  thee.  Almighty  God,  that 
we,  who  for  our  evil  deeds  do  worthily  deserve  to 
be  punished,  by  the  comfort  of  thy  grace  ma}^  mer- 
cifully l)e  relieved,  through  our  Lord  and  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ. 

O  MOST  mighty  God,  and  merciful  Father,  who 
hast  compassion  upon  all  men,  and  hatest  nothing 
that  thou  hast  made,  who  wouldest  not  the  death 


of  a  sinner,  but  that  he  should  rather  turn  from 
his  sin,  and  be  saved ;  mercifully  forgive  us  our 
trespasses ;  relieve  and  comfort  us,  who  are 
grieved  and  wearied  with  the  burden  of  our  sins, 
rhy  property  is  always  to  have  mercy;  to  thee 
only  it  appertaineth  to  forgive  sins :  Spare  us, 
therefore,  <Jood  Lord,  spare  us  whom  thou  hast 
redeemed.  Enter  not  into  judgment  with  thy  ser- 
vants, who  are  vile  earth,  and  miserable  sinners ; 
but  so  turn  thine  anger  from  us,  who  meekly 
acknowledge  our  vileness,  and  truly  repent  us  of 
our  faults,  and  so  make  haste  to  help  us  in  this 
world,  that  we  may  ever  live  with  thee  in  the 
world  to  come ;  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 

O  God,  the  Creator  and  Preserver  of  all  man- 
kind, we  humbly  beseech  thee  for  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men,  that  thou  wouldest  be  pleased 
to  make  thy  ways  known  unto  them,  thy  saving 
health  among  all  nations.  More  especially  we 
pray  for  the  good  estate  of  the  Catholic  church, 
that  it  may  be  so  guided  and  governed  by  thy 
good  Spirit,  that  all,  who  profess  and  call  them- 
selves Christians,  may  be  led  into  the  way  of 
truth,  and  hold  the  faith  in  unity  of  spirit,  in  the 
bond  of  peace,  and  in  righteousness  of  life.  Fi- 
nally, we  commend  to  thy  fatherly  goodness  all 
those  who  are  any  ways  afflicted  in  mind,  body, 
or  estate ;  (especially  h  im  for  whom  our  prayers 
are  desired ;)  that  it  may  please  thee  to  comfort 
and  relieve  them  according  to  their  several  ne- 
cessities, giving  them  patience  under  their  suffer- 
ings, and  a  happy  issue  out  of  all  their  afflictions, 
and  this  we  beg  for  Jesus  Christ  his  sake. 

Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  who  art  always 
more  ready  to  hear  than  we  to  pray,  and  art  wont 
to  give  more  than  either  we  desire  or  deserve ; 
pour  down  upon  us  the  abundance  of  thy  mercy, 
forgiving  us  those  things  whereof  our  conscience 
is  afraid,  and  giving  us  those  good  things  which 
we  are  not  worthy  to  ask,  but  through  the  merits 
and  mediation  of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 

O  God,  merciful  Father,  that  despisest  not  the 
sighing  of  a  contrite  heart,  nor  the  desire  of  such 
as  be  sorrowful ;  mercifully  assist  our  prayers 
that  we  make  before  thee  in  all  our  troubles  and 
adversities  whensoever  they  oppress  us ;  and  gra- 
ciously hear  us,  that  those  evils  which  the  craft 
and  subtlety  of  the  devil  or  man  worketh  against 
us  be  brought  to  nought,  and  by  the  providence 
of  thy  goodness  they  may  be  dispersed ;  that  we 
thy  servants,  being  hurt  by  no  persecutions,  (or  " 
afflictions,)  may  evermore  give  thanks  unto  thee 
in  thy  holy  church;  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord. 

We  beseech  thee,  O  Fattier,  mercifully  to  look 
upon  our  infirmities,  and  for  the  glory  of  thy  name 
turn  from  us  all  those  evils  that  we  most  right- 
eously have  deserved ;  and  grant  that  in  all  our 
troubles  we  may  put  our  whole  trust  and  con- 
fidence in  thy  mercy,  and  evermore  serve  thee  in 
holiness  and  pureness  of  living,  to  thy  honour  and 
glory ;  through  our  only  mediator  and  advocate, 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 

Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  who  of  thy 
tender  love  to  mankind  hast  sent  thy  Son  our 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  to  take  upon  him  our  flesh, 
and  to  suffer  death  upon  the  cross,  that  all  man- 
kind should  follow  the  example  of  his  great  hu- 
mility ;  mercifully  grant,  that  we  may  both  follow 


248 


THE  GLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


the  example  of  his  patience,  and  also  be  made 
partakers  of  his  resurrection;  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord. 

Almighty  God,  the  fountain  of  all  wisdom, 
who  knowest  our  necessities  before  we  ask,  and 
our  ignorance  in  asking,  we  beseech  tliee  to  have 
compassion  upon  our  inlirmities ;  and  those  things 
which  for  our  unworthiness  we  dare  not,  and  for 
our  blindness  we  cannot  ask,  vouchsafe  to  give  us 
for  the  worthiness  of  thy  Son,  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord.     Amen. 


PRAYERS  FOR  THE  SICK. 

A  general  Prayer  for   the  Acceptance  of  our 
Devotions  for  the  Stck. 

[From  Bishop  Andrews.] 

O  Lord,  it  is  a  great  presumptioii  that  one  sin- 
ner should  dare  to  commend  another  to  thy  Di- 
vine Majesty.  And  who  would  not  fear  to  un- 
dertake it  1  But  thy  commandment  it  is,  "  That 
we  should  pray  for  the  sick  members  of  thy 
church,  and  mourn  with  them  that  mourn:"  and 
thou  hast  promised  that  our  prayers  thus  made, 
thou  wilt  receive.  And  now  behold,  O  Lord,  we 
that  are  no  way  meet,  but  unworthy,  utterly  un- 
worthy, to  ask  for  aught  for  ourselves,  charity 
and  compassion  so  binding  us,  are  enforced  to  be- 
come suitors  to  tliee  for  others,  even  for  this  thy 
servant,  now  afflicted  by  thee.  Of  thee  we  hope ; 
of  tliee  we  desire;  to  thee  we  pray,  in  the  most 
meek  and  humble  manner,  and  even  from  the  bot- 
tom of  our  hearts.  O  Lord,  that  which  thou 
niightest  justly  deny  to  our  unworthiness,  deny 
not,  we  beseech  thee,  to  thine  own  gracious  good- 
ness. O  Lord,  forgive  us  our  sins ;  O  Lord  for- 
give us  our  sins,  our  great  and  grievous  sins,  oft 
and  many  times  committed,  long  and  many  years 
continued ;  so  that  we  may  be  meet  to  pray  for 
others,  and  our  prayers  be  made  unto  thee  in  an 
acceptable  time. 

Graciously  look  upon  our  afflictions. 

Pitifully  behold  the  sorrows  of  our  hearts. 

Mercifully  forgive  the  sins  of  thy  people. 

Favourably  with  mercy  hear  our  prayers. 

Both  now  and  ever  vouchsafe  to  hear  us,  O 
Christ. 

Graciously  hear  us,  O  Christ ;  graciously  hear 
us,  O  Lord  Christ.     Amen. 

Particular  Prayers  for  the  Sick. 

[From  Bishop  Patrick.] 

O  MOST  gracious  God,  who  by  thy  Son  Jesus 
Christ  hast  united  us  all  m  one  body,  that  we 
should  love  one  another,  and  if  one  member  suf- 
fers, all  the  members  should  suffer  with  it ;  we 
humbly  implore  thy  tender  mercies  towards  this 
thy  servant,  of  whose  afflicted  condition  we  desire 
to  have  a  compassionate  sense  and  feeling. 

Look  graciously  upon  him,  O  Lord,  and  visit 
him  with  thy  salvation.  Vouchsafe  him  such 
consolations  from  above,  as  we  should  desire  for 
ourselves,  were  we  in  his  extremity.  Give  him.  a 
true  penitent  heart  for  all  the  oirences  that  he  hath 
at  any  time  committed,  together  with  a  lively 
faith  in  thy  Son  Jesus,  who  came  into  the  world 
to  save  sinners.  Give  him  the  comfort  of  a  holy 
hope,  that   thou   acceptest  his   repentance,   and 


faithful  devotion  to  thee.  Support  him  by  this 
hope  imder  all  his  pain,  and  enable  him  patiently 
to  submit  to  thy  fatherly  correction.  Send  /( im 
help  now  in  time  of  need,  both  for  liis  soul  and  for 
his  body.  Bless  the  means  for  his  recovery;  and, 
if  it  be  thy  good  pleasure,  restore  him  speedily 
to  his  former  health,  and  inspire  him  with  a  se- 
rious resolution  to  serve  thee  more  zealously  all 
his  days. 

Or  if  thou  hast  otherwise  resolved  in  thy  wise 
counsels,  deliver  him  from  the  fear  of  death,  assist 
him  in  his  last  agony,  give  him  an  easy  and  cheer- 
ful passage  out  of  this  life,  and  send  thy  holy  an- 
gels to  conduct  him  into  rest  and  peace  with  our 
Lord  Jesus,  for  the  same  Jesus  Christ's  sake. 
Amen. 

[From  Bishop  Taylor.] 

I. 

Almighty  God,  Father  of  mercies,  the  God 
of  peace  and  comfort,  of  rest  and  pardon,  we  thy 
servants,  in  duty  to  thee,  and  charity  to  our  bro- 
ther, humbly  beg  mercy  of  thee  for  him,  to  de- 
scend upon  his  body  and  his  soul.  We  come  to 
thee  in  the  nameof  Jesus,  praying  thee  to  pardon 
the  sins  of  this  thy  servant,  and  to  bury  them  in 
the  grave  of  Him  that  died  for  us,  that  they  may 
never  rise  up  in  judgment  against  him.,  nor  bring 
him  in  the  day  of  trial,  to  shame  and  confusion 
of  face.     Amen. 

II. 

Give  thy  servant,  O  Lord,  patience  in  his  sor- 
rows, comfort  in  his  sickness,  and  restore  him  to 
health,  if  it  seem  good  to  thee.  And,  however 
thou  shalt  determine  concerning  him,  yet  make 
his  repentance  perfect,  and  his  failh  strong,  and 
his  hope  steadfast,  and  his  passage  safe ;  that 
when  thou  shalt  call  his  soul  from  the  body,  it 
may  enter  into  the  rest  of  the  sons  of  God,  and 
the  bosom  of  blessedness,  and  be  with  the  holy 
Jesus.     Amen. 

III. 

O  Lord,  thou  knowest  all  the  fiecessities,  and 
all  the  infirmities  of  thy  servant :  fortify  his  soul 
with  spiritual  joys,  and  perfect  resignation  ;  and 
take  from  him  all  inordinate  atlections  to  this 
world  ;  and  enlarge  his  heait  with  desires  of  be- 
ing with  thee,  in  thy  heavenly  kingdom. 

IV. 

Lord,  let  not  any  pain  or  passion  discompose 
the  order  of  his  thoughts,  or  his  duty;  and  lay  no 
more  upon  thy  servant  than  thou  wilt  make  him, 
alile  to  bear;  and  together  with  the  temptation, 
do  thou  provide  a  way  to  escape;  even  by  the 
mercies  of  a  longer  and  more  holy  life,  or  by  the 
mercies  of  a  blessed  death ;  even  as  it  pleaseth 
thee,  O  Lord,  so  let  it  be.     Amen. 

V. 

Lord,  let  the  tenderness  of  his  conscience  and 
the  Spirit  of  God  call  to  mind  /( is  sins,  that  they  may 
be  confessed  and  repented  of:  and  let  thy  power- 
ful grace  remove  from  his  soul  every  root  of  bit- 
terness ;  and  in  the  union  of  the  holy  Jesus,  and 
in  the  love  of  God,  and  in  the  communion  of  all 
the  saints,  let  his  soul  be  presented  to  thee  blame- 
less, and  entirely  pardoned,  through  Jesus  Clirisi 
our  Lord.     Amen. 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


249 


A  larger  Form  of  Prayer  for  the  Sick. 
[From  Bisliop  Palrick.] 

O  Lord,  the  Father  of  our  spirits,  who  givest 
us  life,  and  breath,  and  all  thuigs,  and  hast  not 
thought  a  crown  of  everlasting  hfe  too  much  to 
promise  us,  we  believe  that  thou  wilt  not  deny  us 
what  is  needful  and  ht  for  us,  both  for  our  souls 
and  our  bodies,  in  our  passage  through  this  world, 
to  that  of  honour,  glory,  and  immortality.  In  this 
confidence,  we  more  particularly  recommend  this 
thy  sick  servant  to  thy  infinite  and  most  compas- 
sionate mercy.  Settle  in  his  soul  a  steadfast  faith, 
that  thou  dost  not  willingly  grieve  the  children  of 
men,  but  intendest  good  to  him  by  this  thy  fatherly 
correction.  And  now  since  all  other  pleasures  and 
enjoyments  fail  him,  represent  thyself  more  ef- 
fectually unto  him,  as  the  only  support  and  stay  of 
his  hope,  and  rock  of  salvation. — Whereinsoever 
he  hath  neglected  thee,  or  committed  any  offence 
against  thee,  make  him  deeply  sensible  of  it,  and 
heartily  sorrowful  for  all  his  transjiressions.  And 
as  he  earnestly  d^'sires  pardon  and  forgiveness  of 
thee,  so  work  in  1dm  a  serious  resolution  to  live 
more  circumspectly  and  righteously  for  the  time 
to  come.  Assist  him  graciously,  O  Lord,  that  he 
may  give  a  proof  of  his  sincere  intentions  here- 
after to  submit  himself  in  all  things  to  thy  will, 
by  his  patient  submission  to  thy  fatherly  correc- 
tion. O,  that  he  may  so  quietly,  so  meekly,  so 
humbly,  and  cheerfully  resign  his  will  unto  thee, 
to  sutler  what  thou  inflictest,  that  he  may  be  the 
more  disposed  to  do  readily  whatsoever  thou  com- 
mandest.  For  which  end,  make  him  thoroughly 
apprehensive  of  thy  sovereign  power  and  authority 
over  all  creatures.  Possess  hirn  with  a  great  re- 
verence of  thy  wisdom  and  justice,  with  an  entire 
confidence  in  thy  goodness  and  love,  with  a  thank- 
ful remembrance  of  all  thy  past  mercies  to  him, 
that  so  he  may  the  better  endure  what  thou  layest 
upon  him  at  present,  and  may  ever  follow  thy  di- 
rections, and  submit  to  thy  orders,  and  delight  to 
do  thy  will,  O  God. 

Bless  the  remedies  which  are  used  for  restoring 
kim  to  his  former  health,  that  he  may  live  to  per- 
form his  duty  with  greater  care  ;  or  if  thou  hast 
otherwise  appointed,  accept  graciously  of /us  pur- 
poses of  amendment,  and  dispose  him  to  return 
back  his  spirit  willingly  unto  thee  who  gavest  it ; 
and  with  great  humility  and  deep  sense  of  his  own 
undeservings,  to  expect  thy  mercy  declared  in 
Christ  Jesus.  Fix  his  mind  steadfastly  upon  him, 
who  hath  led  the  way  through  the  grave  mito 
heaven,  that  he  may  not  be  athrighted  with  the  ap- 
proaches of  death,  but  looking  beyond  it  to  that 
high  and  holy  place,  where  the  Lord  Jesus  is, 
may  rejoice  in  hope  of  eternal  glory. 

And  grant  that  every  one  of  us,  in  our  best 
state  of  health,  may  consider  perpetually  how  frail 
and  weak  we  are ;  that  so  we  may  not  abuse 
ourselves  by  an  intemperate  use  of  any  sensual 
pleasures,  nor  load  our  minds  with  the  cares  of 
this  life,  nor  spend  our  days  in  a  vain  pursuit  of 
the  honour  and  glory  of  this  world  ;  but  may  pass 
all  the  time  of  our  sojourning  here,  in  fear;  and 
mav  live  so  righteously  and  soberly  in  this  present 
world,  as  becomes  those  who  expect  shortly  to 
give  an  account  to  thee,  who  will  judge  all  men 
according  to  their  works.  Hear  us,  O  Lord,  we 
most  humbly  beseech  thee,  through  Christ  Je- 
sus, our  merciful  and  compassionate  Redeemer. 
Amen. 

21 


Assist  us  mercifully,  O  Lord,  in  these  our 
supplications  and  prayers,  and  dispose  the  way  of 
thy  servants  towards  the  attainment  of  everlasting 
salvation ;  that  among  all  the  changes  and  chances 
of  this  mortal  life,  they  may  ever  be  defended  by 
thy  most  gracious  and  ready  help ;  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

(From  Doctor  Hammond.) 

O  Lord,  bless,  keep,  and  defend  this  thy  ser- 
vant with  thy  heavenly  grace  and  benr-diction, 
that  he  may  continue  thine  forever,  and  daily  in- 
crease in  thy  Holy  Sj)irit  more  and  more,  until  he 
comes  to  thy  everlasting  kingdom. 

Let  thy  mighty  hand  and  out-stretched  arm, 
O  Lord,  be  ever  his  defence;  thy  mercy  and 
loving-kindness  in  Jesus  Christ  thy  dear  Son,  his 
salvation  ;  thy  true  and  holy  word,  his  instruction  ; 
thy  grace  and  Holy  Spirit,  his  comfort  and  con- 
solation, both  now  and  at  the  hour  of  death. 

Now  the  God  of  peace,  that  brought  again 
from  the  dead  our  Lord  Jesus,  that  great  Shep- 
herd of  the  sheep,  through  the  blood  of  the  ever- 
lasting covenant,  make  you  perfect  in  every  good 
work  to  do  his  will,  working  in  you  that  which  is 
well  pleasing  in  his  sight,  through  Jesus  Christ; 
to  whom  be  glory  for  ever  and  ever.  *     Amen. 


PROPER  PSALMS  FOR  THE  SICK. 

I. 

O  Lord,  rebuke  me  not  in  thine  indigna- 
tion :  neither  chasten  me  in  thj'  displeasure. — 
Psalm  \i.  1. 

2.  Have  mercy  upon  me,  O  Lord,  for  I  am 
weak  :  O  Lord,  heal  me,  for  my  bones  are  vexed. 
— Psalm  vi.  2. 

3.  My  soul  also  is  sore  troubled :  but  Lord, 
how  long  wilt  thou  punish  me  1 — Psalm  vi.  3. 

4.  Thine  arrows  stick  fast  in  me:  and  thy 
hand  presseth  me  sore. — Psalm  xxxviii.  2. 

5.  There  is  no  health  in  my  flesh,  because  of 
thy  displeasure :  neither  is  there  any  rest  in  my 
bones,  by  reason  of  my  sin. — Psalm  xxxviii.  3. 

6.  For  my  wickednesses  are  gone  over  my  head, 
and  are  hke  a  sore  burden  too  heavy  for  me  to 
bear. — Psalm  xxxviii.  4. 

7.  I  am  feeble  and  sore  smitten :  I  have  roared 
for  the  very  disquietness  of  my  heart. — Psalm 
xxxviii.  8. 

8.  My  heart  panteth,  my  strength  hath  failed 
me,  and  the  sight  of  mine  eyes  is  gone  from  me. 
— Psalm  xxxviii.  10. 

9.  Therefore  is  my  spirit  vexed  within  me; 
my  heart  within  me  is  desolate. — Psalm  cxliii.  4. 

10.  Turn  thee,  O  Lord,  and  deliver  my  soul: 
O  save  me  for  thy  mercies'  sake. — Psalm  vi.  4. 

11.  Hide  not  thy  face  from  me  in  the  time  of 
my  trouble :  incHne  thine  ears  imto  me  when  I 
call ;  O  hear  me,  and  that  right  soon. — Psalm  cii.  2. 

12.  For  my  days  are  consumed  away  like 
smoke  :  my  heart  is  smitten  down  and  withered 
like  grass. — Psalm  cii.  3,  4. 

13.  And  that  because  of  thine  indignation  and 
wrath :  for  thou  hast  lilted  me  up,  and  cast  me 
down. — Psalm  cii.  10. 

14.  But  I  said,  O  my  God,  take  me  not  away 


*  Heb.  xiii.  20.  21. 


250 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


ill  the  micist  of  my  age;  forsake  me  not  when  my 
btrength  faileth  me. — Psalni  cii.  21. 

15.  Wherefore  in  thee,  O  Lord,  have  I  put  my 
trust :  let  me  never  be  put  to  confusion. — Psahn 
Lxxi.  1. 

n. 

Psalm  li. 

Have  mercy  upon  me,  O  Gotl,  after  thy  great 
goodness :  according  to  the  multitude  of  thy  mer- 
cies, do  away  mine  offences. 

2.  Wash  me  thoroughly  from  mine  iniquity : 
and  cleanse  me  from  my  sin. 

3.  For  I  acknowledge  my  faults :  and  my  sin  is 
ever  before  me. 

4.  Against  thee  only  have  I  sinned,  and  done 
this  e\i]  in  thy  sight :  that  thou  mightest  be  justi- 
fied in  thy  saying,  and  clear  when  tliou  art  judged. 

5.  Behold,  I  was  shapen  in  wickedness,  and  in 
sin  hath  my  mother  conceived  me. 

(5.  But,  lo,  thou  rcquirest  truth  in  the  inward 
parts :  and  thou  shalt  make  me  to  understand  wis- 
dom secretly. 

7.  Tliou  shalt  purge  me  with  hyssop,  and  I 
shall  be  clean  :  thou  shalt  wash  me,  and  1  shall  be 
whiter  than  snow. 

8.  Thou  sjialt  make  me  hear  of  joy  and  glad- 
ness :  that  the  bones  which  thou  hast  broken  may 
rejoice. 

9.  Turn  thy  face  from  my  sins ;  and  put  out  all 
my  misdeeds. 

10.  Make  me  a  clean  heart,  0  God  :  and  renew 
a  right  spirit  within  me. 

11.  Cast  me  not  away  from  thy  presence:  and 
take  not  thy  Holy  Spirit  from  me. 

12.  O,  give  me  the  comfort  of  thy  help  again  ; 
and  establish  me  with  thy  free  Spirit. 

13.  Then  shall  I  teach  thy  ways  unto,  the 
v/icked:  and  sinners  shall  be  converted  unto 
thee. 

III. 

Hear  my  prayer,  O  Lord,  and  consider  my 
desire :  hearken  unto  me  for  thy  truth  and  right- 
eousness' sake. — Psalm  cxiiii.   1. 

2.  And  enter  not  into  judgment  with  thy  ser- 
vant :  for  in  thy  sight  shall  no  man  living  be  jus- 
tified.— Psalm  cxiiii.  2. 

3.  The  sacrifice  of  God  is  a  troubled  spirit :  a 
broken  and  contrite  lieart,  O  Crod,  thou  wilt  not 
despise. — Psalm  li.  17. 

4.  Lord  thou  knowest  all  my  desire :  and  my 
groaning  is  not  hid  from  thee. — P.salm  xxxviii.  9. 

5.  I  stretch  forth  my  hands  unto  thee :  my 
soul  gaspcth  unto  tliee,  as  a  thirsty  land. — Psahn 
cxiiii.  6. 

ft.  Hear  me,  O  Lord,  and  that  soon,  for  my 
sjjirit  waxeth  faint ;  hide  not  thy  face  from  me, 
lest  I  be  like  unto  them  that  go  down  into  the  pit. 

—  Psalm  cxiiii.  7. 

7.  Haste  thee  to  help  me,  O  Lord  God  of  my 
salvation. — Psalm  xxxviii.  22. 

8.  For  thou  art  a  place  to  hide  me  in :  thou 
shalt  preserve  me  from  trouble :  thou  shalt  com[)ass 
me  about  with  songs  of  deliverance. — Psalm 
xxxii.  8. 

9.  Into  thine  hands  I  commend  my  spirit :  for 
thou  hast  redeemed  me,  O  Lord  God  of  truth. 

-  -Psalm  xxxi.  5. 

Glory  be  to  the  Father,  &c. 
As  it  was  in  the  beginning,  &c. 


A  Declaration  of  Forgiveness. 

[From  Bishop  Cosins.] 

I  DO  most  humbly  desire  all,  and  every  ont; 
whom  I  have  ollended,  that  they  would  vouchsafe 
to  forgive  me :  and  [  do  freely  and  heartily  forgive  all 
the  world,  whereinsoever  any  hath  offended  me, 
or  done  me  any  mannerof  injury  whatsoever,  even 
as  I  desire  to  be  forgiven  of  God,  and  to  be  absolv- 
ed from  my  sins,  lor  the  merits  of  my  blessed 
Redeemer. 


OCCASIONAL  PRAYERS  FOR  THE 
SICK. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  in  the  Beginning  of'  his 
Sickness. 

[From  Bishop  Taylor.] 

O  Almighty  God,  merciful  and  gracious, 
who  in  thy  justice  did  send  sorrow  and  tears, 
sickness  and  death,  into  the  world,  as  a  punish- 
ment for  man's  sins,  and  hast  comprehended  all 
under  sin,  and  this  sad  covenant  of  sufferings, — 
not  to  destroy  us,  but  that  thou  mightest  have 
mercy  upon  all,  making  thy  justice  to  minister  to 
mercy,  short  afflictions  to  an  eternal  v^eight  of 
glory ;  as  thou  hast  been  pleased  to  turn  the  sins 
of  this  thy  servant  into  sickness,  so  turn,  we  be- 
seech thee,  his  sickness  to  the  advantage  of  holi- 
ness and  religion,  of  mercy  and  pardon,  of  faith 
and  hope,  of  grace  and  glory.  Thou  hast  now 
called  him  to  suffer.  Lord,  relieve  his  sorrow 
and  support  his  spirit,  direct  his  thoughts  and 
sanctify  hi^  sickness,  that  the  punishment  of  his 
sin  may  be  to  him  a  school  of  virtue.  Make/um 
behave  as  a  son  under  discipline,  humbly  and 
obediently,  evenly  and  patiently,  that  he  may  be 
brought  by  this  means  nearer  to  thee ;  that  if  he 
shall  recover  his  former  health,  he  may  return  to 
the  world  with  greater  strength  of  spirit,  to  run  a 
new  race  of  stricter  holiness,  and  more  severe  re- 
ligion ;  or  ii  he  shall  pass  hence  through  the  gates 
of  death,  he  may  rejoice  in  the  hope  of  being  admit- 
ted into  that  heavenly  society,  in  wliicli  all  thy 
saints  and  servants  shall  be  comprehended  to 
eternal  ages.  Grant  this,  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake, 
our  blessed  Lord  and  Saviour.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  Thankfulness  in  Sickness. 

O  God,  wonderful  both  in  thy  mercies  and  judg- 
ments, grant  that  the  sense  of  thy  servant's  pre- 
sent afflictions  may  not  cause  him  to  forget  thy 
former  mercies,  which  thou  hast  bestowed  upon 
him:  O,  therefore,  let  the  remembrance  of  those 
many  and  great  blessings  that  he  hath  so  long  en- 
joyed at  thy  hand,  be  now  the  proper  motives  and 
incentives  to  the  virtues  of  patience  and  humility, 
causing  him  cheerfully  to  resign  himself  to  thy 
blessed  will  under  all  the  dispensations  of  thy  pro- 
vidence, though  ever  so  hard;  and  patiently  to 
wait  for  the  return  of  thy  loving-kindness  in  Jesus, 
which  is  better  than  life.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Blessing  on  the  Means  vsedfor 
a  sick  Person's  Recovery. 

[From  Mr.  Kettlewell.] 

O  GRACIOUS  Lord,  by  whose  word  man  lives 
and  not  by  any  human  means  alone ;  direct,  we 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


251 


pra)'  thee,  the  counsels  of  those  who  prescribe  to 
this  thy  servant,  and  prosper  the  medicines  wliich 
are  used  to  procure  him  ease  and  strength,  but  let 
not  h  is  confidence  in  them  lessen  any  tiling  of  his 
dependence  on  thee,  but  make  him  sensible  that 
every  good  gift  is  from  thee,  and  that  it  is  thou 
that  givest  us  help  in  time  of  need.  To  whom, 
therefore,  but  to  thee,  should  we  tiee  in  the  day  of 
our  visitation ']  since  it  is  thy  blessing  only  that 
maketh  the  means  we  use  eflectual ;  and,  however 
vain  the  use  of  them  is  without  thee,  if  thou  bid- 
dest  them,  tiie  things  or  accidents  which  we  do 
not  think  of,  or  regard,  shall  recover  us.  O,  there- 
fore, as  their  part,  who  administer  to  him,  is  the 
care,  so  let  thuie,  O  God,  be  the  blessing,  and  his 
the  comtbrt :  and  as  he  regards  them  as  thy  instru- 
ments, so  let  hi?)i  own  thee  for  the  Author  of  his 
mercies,  and  to  thee  give  thanks,  and  pay  his 
vows  and  services ;  through  our  Lord  and  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Person,  when  there  appears 

some  Hope  of  Recovery. 

[From  Bishop  Patrick.] 

We  thank  thee,  O  Father,  Lord  of  heaven  and 
earth,  that  thou  hast  heard  our  prayers  for  thine 
afflicted  servant,  and  given  him  some  respite  and 
hopes  of  recovery  from  this  great  illness.  Blessed 
be  thy  goodness,  that  he  hath  not  made  his  bed  in 
the  dust,  but  is  likely  to  continue  still  amongst  us, 
in  the  land  of  the  living.  Blessed  be  th\-  goodness 
for  so  great  (and  lately  unexpected)  mercy  to  /inn. 

And,  O  thou  Preserver  of  man  !  who  hast  begun 
to  revive  and  quicken  him  again ;  go  on  to  perfect 
his  cure,  and  forsake  not  the  work  of  thy  own 
hands.  Repair  all  the  decays  in  his  outward  man, 
that  his  mind  may  also  recover  its  former  strength, 
to  praise  and  bless  thy  goodness  to  hirn. 

And  visit  him,  in  the  meantime,  with  thy  hea- 
venly consolation  from  above.  Fill  him  with  com- 
fortable thoughts  of  th}'  love,  and  of  the  tender 
compassionate  care  which  our  Lord  Jesus  takes  of 
all  his  afflicted  servants.  Endue  him  still  with 
more  patient  submission  to  thy  will,  and  enable 
him  both  quietly  to  wait  upon  thee,  till  thou  hast 
finished  his  recovery,  and  also  to  continue  stead- 
fastly resolved  to  serve  thee  more  faithfully  with 
his  restored  strength,  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
blessed  Saviour  and  Redeemer.     Amen. 

Another,  in  Behalf  of  the  sick  Person,  uhen  he 
finds  any  Abatement  of  his  Distemper. 

Accept,  O  Lord,  of  the  unfeigned  thanks  of  thy 
servant  for  abating  the  fury  of  h  is  present  distem- 
per, and  giving  him  some  hopes  of  raising  him  up 
again  to  praise  thee  in  the  great  congregation. 

It  is  a  great  mercy,  O  Lord,  and  owing  to  thy 
goodness  only,  that  his  senses  are  preserved  en- 
tire, and  that  he  hath  some  respite,  after  so  much 
uneasiness  and  pain,  through  the  violence  of  his 
illness. 

O  perfect,  if  it  be  thy  blessed  will,  what  thou 
hast  begun  in  him,  and  say  to  the  distemper,  "  It 
is  enough." 

Teach  him,  hence,  to  look  up  to  thee  continually, 
as  the  rock  of  A  is  salvation,  whence  only  he  is  to 
expect  comfort  and  support:  and  give  /in?i  grace 
always  to  make  such  a  right  use  of  thy  favours, 
that  he  may  daily  find  himself  surrounded  by  the 
hght  of  thy  countenance,  and  enjoy  the  blessings 
of  thy  heavenly  bent'diction  in  all  his  ways,  whe- 
ther in  adversity  or  prosperity,  ui  sickness  or  in 


health.  Even  so,  blessed  Lord,  continue  to  assist, 
strengthen,  comfort,  and  bless  h  im,  both  now  and 
for  evermore,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 

A  Prayer  for  one  -who  is  dangerously  ill. 
O  Almighty  God,  "gracious,  and  merciful, 
and  long-suftering,  whose  compassions  fail  not ;" 
look  down,  we  beseech  thee,  upon  the  low  and  dis- 
tressed state  of  thy  servant,  now  lying  in  the  ex- 
tremit_v  of  sickness.  The  harder /ijs  illness  presses 
upon  him,  the  louder  does  it  call  upon  thee  for 
help.  O  be  merciful  therefore  unto  /;  im,  accord- 
ing to  the  necessity  of  his  case,  and  according  to 
the  multitude  of  thy  tender  mercies  in  Jesus  Christ. 
Rebuke  the  distemper,  that  it  prevail  not  o\eT  him 
to  death ;  but  turn  its  malevolent  aspect  into  a  joy- 
ous expectation  of  hfe.  In  as  great  danger  as  he 
is,  yet  if  thou  wilt,  O  Lord,  we  know  thou  canst 
make  him  whole ;  if  thou  speakest  the  word,  it  shall 
be  done.  In  submission,  therefore,  to  thy  most 
wise  and  good  disposal  of  all  things,  we  beg  this 
mercy  at  thy  hands,  that  thou  wouldest  let  "  this" 
bitter  "cup  pass  away"  from  thy  servant,  and 
cause  "  a  way  for"  him  "  to  escape"  out  of  this 
dangerous  condition.  O  spare  him  a  httle,  and 
his  "  soul  shall  live."  Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Person  uhen  Sickness  con- 
tinues long  upon  him. 

[Prom  Bisliop  Patrick.] 

Look  down,  O  Lord,  we  humbly  beseech  thee, 
with  an  eye  of  compassion  on  thy  poor  distressed 
servant,  who  hath  lain  so  long  under  this  severe 
affliction ;  and  by  how  much  the  outward  man  is 
decayed  and  brought  low  by  the  tediousness  of  the 
distemper's  continuing  on  him,  by  so  much  the 
more  do  thou  be  pleased  to  support  him  in  the  in- 
ner man  by  the  gracious  assistance  of  thy  Holy 
Spirit.  Give  him  unfeigned  repentance  for  all  the 
errors  of  his  past  life,  and  steadfast  taith  in  thy 
Son  Jesus  Christ ;  a  comfortable  assurance  of  the 
truth  of  all  his  precious  promises,  a  lively  hope  of 
that  immortal  bliss  in  which  he  reigns  for  ever- 
more, and  a  strong  sense  of  thy  fatherly  love  to 
him,  and  care  over  hiin,  which  may  make  him 
heartily  love  thee,  and  enrirely  confide  in  thee,  and 
absolutely  resign  both  soul  and  body  to  thy  wise 
disposal. 

We  know  there  is  nothing  too  hard  for  thee ; 
hut  that  if  thou  wilt,  thou  canst  bring  hini  up  even 
from  the  gates  of  death,  and  grant  him  a  longer 
continuance  among  us.  May  it  be  thy  good  plea- 
sure, O  most  gracious  God,  still  to  continue  him 
here;  spare  him,  O  Lord,  and  deliver  him  also 
speedily  from  this  misery,  under  which  he  hath  so 
long  groaned.  Bless  all  the  means  that  are  used 
for  his  recovery,  and  for  the  support  of  h is  spirits, 
and  give  A /;;i  refreshment  during  this  tedious  sick- 
ness. Release  him  from  his  pain,  or  grant  him 
some  ease,  or  else  increase  and  strengthen  his  pa- 
tience. Help  him,  in  remembrance  of  thy  past 
loving-kindness,  to  trust  in  thy  goodness  and  sub- 
mit to  thy  wisdom,  and  bear  with  an  equal  mind 
what  thou  thinkest  fit  to  lay  upon  him ;  so  that 
ajjproving  himself  to  thee  in  these  and  all  other 
virtues,  while  thou  triest  him  by  so  sore  an  afflic- 
tion, he  may  .say  at  the  last,  with  the  holy  Psalm- 
ist, "  It  was  good  for  me  that  I  was  in  trouble." 

Unto  thy  infinite  mercies  we  recommend  him, 
and  to  the  compassionate  kindness  of  our  Lord  Je- 
sus Christ,  who  we  hope  will  hear  all  the  prayers 
of  his  friends  for  him,  every  where,  and  send  his 


252 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMP ANION 


iloly  Spirit  to  be  his  comfortor,  and  his  good  an- 
gels to  be  his  guardians,  and  direct  those  wlio  are 
to  advise  and  prescrilie  the  means  of  his  restora- 
tion, and  bring /ii»z  to  praise  thee  again  in  the 
assembhes  of  thy  saints  upon  earth;  or  (if  thou 
hast  otherwise  disposed  in  thy  wise  counsels)  to 
praise  thee  in  the  great  assembly  of  saints  and 
angels  in  heaven  ;  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord 
and  only  Saviour,  to  whom  with  thee  and  the 
Holy  Spirit,  be  all  praise,  love  and  obedience, 
world  without  end.     Amen. 

Prayer  for  the  Grace  of  Patience.^  and  a  suitable 
Behaviour  in  a  sick  Person  to  Friends  and 
Attendants, 

Hf.lp  thy  servant,  O  thou  merciful  Redeemer 
and  lover  of  souls,  to  undergo  this  load  of  afflic- 
tion, which  thou  hast  laid  upon  him,  with  pa- 
tience. "  Lead  him"  gently  by  the  hand  to  "  the 
waters  of  comfort,"  and  let  "  thy  rod"  and  "thy 
staff  support"  him,  now  that  he  is  obliged  to  "  walk 
in  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death." 

Let  him  consider  thee,  O  blessed  Jesus,  in  all 
thy  weary  pilgrimage  and  sutterings  here  upon 
earth,  before  thou  enteredst  into  glory,  "  that  he 
be  not  weary  and  faint  in  his  mind." 

If  relief  does  not  come  from  thee  so  soon  as  he 
expects  or  desires,  enable  /lim  still  to  hold  out  with 
long-sullering,  and  to  wait  with  patience  for  it. 
And  whatsoever  thou  doestwith  him,  O  Lord,  let 
him  be  ''  dumb,  and  not  open  his  mouth"  to  mur- 
mur or  repine,  because  it  is  "thy  doing."  Make 
him  acquiesce  and  rest  satisfied,  even  in  the  bit- 
terest dispensations  of  thy  providence  ;  and  let  no 
pains  or  sufferings  ever  drive  him  from  thee,  con- 
sidering that  no  "  temptation  liath  befallen  him" 
but  "  what  is  common  to  men." 

And,  together  with  this  patience  towards  thee, 
give  him  patience,  O  merciful  Lord,  towards  all 
those  who  kindly  and  charitably  minister  unto  him, 
and  attend  about  him. 

Keep  him  from  being  humoursome,  and  show- 
ing crossness  to  their  good  counsels,  or  from  being 
causelessly  angry,  and  exceptions  against  their 
kind  endeavours.  If  any  evil  accidents  or  indis- 
cretions happen,  let  him  not  presently  be  outrage- 
ous to  aggravate  them,  or  break  out  into  any  re- 
proachful or  unseemly  behaviour  against  them ; 
hut  let  him  be  pleased  with  the  least  expression  of 
their  kindness,  and  interpret  every  thing  favour- 
ably; and  on  all  occasions  let  him  make  it  his 
study  to  oblige  those  who  are  obliging  to  him  in 
this  time  of  necessity,  receiving  with  thankfulness 
their  good  offices,  and  praying  God  to  reward  them, 
for  his  Son  Jesus  Christ's  sake.    Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  spiritual  Improvement  by  Sickness. 

[From  Dr.  Inet.] 

O  MRRCiFUL  Father,  whoscourgest  those  whom 
thou  lovest,  and  chastisest  those  whom  thou  wilt 
receive ;  let  thy  loving  correction  purify  thy  ser- 
vant, and  make  him  great  in  thy  favour  by  his 
present  humiliation.  O  let  him.  learn  "  thy  sta- 
tutes" in  this  school  of  affliction:"  let  /im  "seek 
thee  early"  in  it ;  and  when  his  "heart  is  over- 
whelmed, lead  him  to  the  rock  of  salvation." 

Let  thy  "rod"  awaken  him  from  his  former 
security  in  sin,  and  let  him  sensibly  find  that  thou 
"  chastisest  him  for  his  profit,  that  he  may  be  par- 
taker of  thy  holiness." 

Teach  him,  by  this  proof  of  thy  fatherly  cor- 
rection, to  be  more  dutiful  for  the  time  to  come;  j 


to  repent  of  his  former  offences,  ami  to  "  redeem 
the  time  past,"  by  a  double  diligence  for  the  future 
if  thou  shall  in  mercy  raise  him  up  again.  Let 
the  remainder  of /lis  life  be  thine,  and  let  nothing 
separate  him  from  thy  love  and  service,  but  let  it 
be  his  whole  care  and  study  to  provide  oil  for  his 
lamp,  and  prepare  for  eternity ;  that  so  "  all  the 
days  of  his  appointed  time  he  may  wait  till  his 
change  come,"  and  be  ready  whensoever  his  Lord 
shall  call  him.     Amen. 

For  a  sick   Person  vJio  is  about  to  make  It  is 
WUl. 

O  Lord,  who  puttest  into  our  hearts  good 
desires,  and  hast  inclined  thy  servant  to  "  set  his 
house  in  order,"  as  well  in  relation  to  his  tempo- 
ral, as  his  spiritual,  concerns,  grant  that  he  may 
do  it  with  exact  justice,  according  to  the  rules  of 
our  own  religion,  and  the  dictates  of  right  reason. 
He  unfeignedly  thanks  thee  for  thy  great  mercies, 
in  having  so  liberally  provided  for  him,  that  lie 
may  be  rather  helpful  than  chargeable  to  any,  and 
die  a  benefactor  and  not  in  debt. 

We  charitably  hope,  that  what  he  is  now 
about  to  dispose  of,  was  all  procured  by  fair  and 
righteous  dealings,  that  he  may  comfortably  feel, 
that  "it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  re- 
ceive." 

Let  him  be  ready,  with  good  Zaccheus,  to  make 
restitution  in  the  best  manner  he  is  able,  and  to 
say  with  Samuel : 

"  Behold  here  I  am  :  witness  against  me  before 
the  Lord  ;  whose  ox  have  I  taken,  or  whose  ass 
have  I  taken,  or  whom  have  I  defrauded  1  whom 
have  I  oppressed,  or  of  whose  hand  have  I  re- 
ceived any  bribe  to  blind  mine  eyes  therewith  1 
and  I  will  restore  it." 

Lord,  give  him  strength  to  order  all  things  in 
as  due  and  regular  a  manner  as  if  he  were  well. 
Let  his  memory  be  perfect,  and  his  judgment 
sound,  and  his  heart  so  rightly  disposed,  that  he 
may  do  nothing  amiss,  or  through  partiality,  but 
that  justice  and  integrity  may  be  seen  through 
the  whole  conduct  of  his  will. 

[If  rich,  add  this.] 

Let  the  light  of  his  charity  likewise  shine  glo- 
riously before  men,  that  out  of  the  abundance 
thou  hast  been  ])leased  to  bless  him  with,  he  may 
plentifully  give  to  the  poor  and  distressed,  though 
no  otherwise  related  to  him  but  as  they  are  mem- 
bers of  Jesus  Christ,  and  brethren  and  sisters  of 
the  same  communion. 

Let  him,  O  let  him,  now  O  Lord,  and  at  all 
times,  if  thou  shouldest  graciously  continue  him 
here  any  longer,  make  to  "  himself  such  friends 
of  the  unrighteous  mammon,  that  when  these  fail, 
they  may  receive  him  into  everlasting  habita- 
tions."    Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Penitent. 

[From  Mr.  Kettlewell.] 

Righteous  art  thou,  O  God,  in  all  the  pains 
and  sorrows  which  punish  our  sins  and  try  our 
patience,  and  we  have  none  to  accuse  and  com- 
plain of  for  the  same  but  ourselves.  This  is  the 
acknowledgment  which  thy  servant  makes,  whom 
thou  hast  now  afflicted.  He  receives  it  as  the 
chastisement  of  a  sinner,  and  is  willing  to  bear 
chastisement  for  his  sins,  that  he  may  tlierelty  be 
reclaimed  from  them.  Correct  him,  O  Lord,  that 
thou  mayest  not  condemn  him ;  and  let  him  be 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


2J3 


judged  by  thee  for  his  sins,  and  judge  himself  for 
them  here,  that  he  may  have  nothing  but  mercy 
without  judgment  to  receive  at  thine  hands  here- 
after. 

But  judge  him,  O  God,  with  mercy,  and  not  in 
tliiue  anger.  Judge  him  not  according  as  his  sins 
have  deserved,  but  according  as  his  weakness  can 
bear,  and  according  as  thy  compassions  are  wont 
to  mitigate  thy  judgments:  and  let  his  afflictions 
work  in  him  a  true  repentance,  "  not  to  be  repent- 
ed of,"  and  prove  a  happy  means,  in  the  hand  of 
thy  mercy,  to  reclaim  him  perfectly  from  all  the 
errors  into  which  he  hath  fallen ;  and  to  confer 
that  rest  and  peace  upon  his  soul,  which  is  denied 
to  /uV  body;  for  our  dear  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ's  sake. 

Thou  smitest  him,  O  gracious  God,  that  thou 
mayest  cure  him ;  and  punishest  his  sin,  that  thou 
mayest  thereby  amend  and  reclaim  the  sinner ; 
and  he  is  weary  of  his  sins,  which  have  brought 
upon  him  all  these  sorrows,  and  which,  as  he  seems 
now  deeply  sensible,  will  bring  mfinitely  worse, 
unless  he  prevent  the  same  by  his  timely  and  sin- 
cere repentance. 

Help  him,  therefore,  to  search  them  out ;  and 
when  he  sees  them,  let  him  not  stop  at  any  one, 
but  steadfastly  resolve  to  renounce  and  amend  all : 
Let  thy  love  make  him  hate  every  evil  way,  and 
render  his  purposes  against  them  strong  and  reso- 
lute, and  his  care  in  fulfilling  the  same,  vigilant 
and  patient ;  and  grant  that  the  remainder  of  his 
days  may  be  one  continual  amendment  of /lis  for- 
mer errors,  and  dedication  of  himself  to  thy  service. 
He  desires  life,  only  that  he  may  serve  thee ;  Lord, 
continue  and  confirm  him  in  this  purpose. 

Lord  cure  his  folly  by  his  misery ;  and  teach 
him  by  the  loss  of  his  ease,  to  purchase  the  bles- 
sing of  true  repentance,  and  the  comfortable  hopes 
of  thy  merciful  acceptance  thereof;  through  our 
Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Person  who  intends  to  re- 
ceive the  blessed  Sacrament. 

O  THOD  infinite  and  eternal  Spirit,  from  whom 
every  good  motion  of  our  hearts  proceedeth !  who 
both  quickenest  the  dead,  and  after  thou  hast 
given  life,  givest  the  increase :  increase,  we  beseech 
thee,  the  good  seeds  of  thy  grace,  which  thou  hast 
sown  in  the  heart  of  thy  servant,  by  inclining  him 
to  receive  the  sacrament  of  the  body  and  blood  of 
our  Lord,  in  which  thou  art  more  immediately 
present,  to  illuminate  the  faithfiil,  and  to  comtbrt 
and  refresh  all  that  are  "  weary  and  heavy-laden 
with  their  sins." 

O,  cause  thy  face  thus  comfortably  to  shine 
upon  thy  distressed  servant,  who  now  intends  to 
draw  near  to  thee  in  tliis  sacrament,  as  thou  hast 
commanded  him.. 

Help  him.,  in  the  mean  time,  0  Lord,  to  fit  and 
prepare  himself  (or  this  holy  communion :  fill  his 
soul  with  reverence  and  godly  fear ;  with  earnest 
desires  and  longings  after  divine  life ;  with  serious 
repentance  for  all  h  is  past  offences,  and  hearty  re- 
solutions of  living  for  ever  after  unto  Jesus,  who 
died  for  him.  O,  let  him  meditate  upon  his 
bleeding  Saviour  with  a  "broken  and  a  contrite 
heart,"  which  thou  hast  promised  "  not  to  despise :" 
forgive  him  all  that  is  past,  and  give  him  grace 
for  the  future,  to  "  live  more  soberly,  righteously, 
and  piously,  in  this  present  world,"  if  it  shall  be 
thy  good  pleasure  to  continue  him  in  it. 


A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Person  that  wants  Sleep. 
[From  Bishop  Patrick.] 

Adored  be  thy  love,  thy  wonderful  love,  O 
most  gracious  God,  who  hast  so  many  ways  ex- 
pressed thy  bounty  towards  us.  Thy  mercies  in 
Christ  Jesus  surpass  all  our  thoughts  ;  we  are  not 
able  to  number  all  the  other  blessings  thou  hast 
bestowed  upon  us.  How  much  do  we  owe  thee 
for  the  quiet  sleep  of  but  one  night !  We  see, 
in  this  thy  poor  afflicted  servant  how  nmch  we 
ought  to  thank  thee  for  this  single  blessing,  that 
our  eyes,  when  we  would  close  them,  are  not  held 
waking. 

Pardon,  good  Lord,  our  ingratitude  for  this  and 
all  the  rest  of  thy  undeserved  mercies:  and  be 
pleased  graciously  also  to  visit  him,  who  still  lan- 
guishes on  h  is  sick-bed,  looking  up  to  thee  from 
whom  Cometh  our  help.  Renew  his  wasted  spirits 
with  comfortable  sleep ;  compose  him  to  a  sweet 
and  undisturbed  rest;  refresh  him  thereby  so  sen- 
sibly, that  he  may  be  restored  to  such  a  degree  of 
strength,  as  may  make  him  able,  in  some  measure, 
affectionately  to  acknowledge  thy  goodness,  when 
thou  hast  dealt  so  bountifully  with  him :  or  if  thou 
delayest  to  bestow  that  blessing  on  him,  in  the 
multitude  of  his  thoughts  within  Itim,  let  thy 
comforts  delight  his  soul.  If  he  still  continues 
without  any  rest,  grant  that  his  mind  may  rest 
and  repose  itself  in  the  bosom  of  thy  dearest  love, 
and  may  feel  the  most  sensible  consolations  from 
heaven,  not  only  quieting,  but  greatly  rejoicing 
his  heart.  Preserve  the  use  of  his  understanding, 
and  let  the  enemy  have  no  advantage  of  him;  but 
make  him.  able  to  say,  "  I  will  wait  patiently  for 
the  Lord,  till  he  incline  his  ear  unto  me,  and  hear 
my  cry. — O,  hear  his  prayer,  O  Lord,  and  give 
ear  unto  his  cry :  O,  spare  him,  that  lie  may  re- 
cover strength  before  he  go  hence ;"  *  for  Jesus 
Christ's  sake.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  to  he  said  when  the  sick  Person  grows 
light-headed. 

[From  Bishop  Patrick.] 

O  Lord,  look  down  from  heaven,  in  pity  and 
compassion,  upon  this  thine  afflicted  servant,  who 
is  not  able  now  to  look  up  to  thee :  the  more  sorrow- 
ful his  condition  grows,  the  fitter  object  he  is  of  thine 
infinite  mercies ;  who  acceptest,  we  humbly  hope, 
of  the  submission  he  made  of  himself,  in  the  be- 
ginning of  his  sickness,  to  thine  ahnightj^  wisdom 
and  goodness.  And  therefore,  since  it  is  thy 
pleasure  to  suffer  his  distemper  to  proceed  to  this 
dangerous  extremity,  do  thou  no  less  graciously 
love  him,  and  delight  in  him,  than  if  he  could  still 
give  up  himself  to  thy  blessed  will. 

And  hear,  O  most  merciful  Father,  our  prayers 
in  his  behalf,  when  he  can  no  longer  commend 
himself  to  thy  mercies.  Pardon,  good  Lord,  par- 
don all  his  sins;  impute  not  to  him  any  of  his 
former  follies;  lay  not  to  his  charge  his  not  im- 
proving, or  misusing,  his  reason  and  understand- 
ing, which  we  earnestly,  but  humbly,  entreat  thee 
to  restore  to  him,  together  with  such  a  measure  of 
thy  divine  grace,  as  may  quicken  and  assist  him 
to  employ  his  thoughts  to  the  best  purposes, 
especially  in  meditating  on  thy  mercies,  in  study- 
ing thy  praise,  and  in  exhorting  all  others  to  love 
thee,  to  trust  in  thee,  and  sincerely  obey  thee. 

*  Psalm  xl.  1.  and  xxxix.  12,  13, 
22 


254 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


And  while  he  remains  thus  deprived  oi  his 
reason,  be  pleased  to  quiet  and  compose  his  spirits, 
or  to  prevent  all  furious  motions  there,  or  quickly 
to  abate  such  violent  passions,  if  any  arise :  for 
which  end,  be  pleased  to  remove  all  frightful  ima- 
ginations far  from  him,  and  suffer  not  the  evil  one 
to  approach /n'm ;  preserve  him  from  doing  any 
harm,  either  to  himself  or  to  any  others.  "  For- 
sake him  not,  O  Lord  our  God,  be  not  far  from 
him.  Make  haste  to  help  him,  O  Lord  our  sal- 
vation."* 

•'  So  will  we  give  thanks  unto  thee  for  ever." 

"  We  will  be  still  praising  thee,  and  showing 
forth  thy  loving  kindness  to  those  who  succeed  us. ' 

"  That  they  may  set  their  hope  in  thee  our  God. 
and  not  forget  thy  works,  but  keep  thy  command- 
ments."    Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person,  when  Danger  is  appre- 
hended by  excessive  Sleep. 

[From  Mr.  Kettlewel!.] 

O  MERCIFUL  God,  let  not  this  deep  sleep,  which 
is  fallen  on  thy  servant,  prove  the  sleep  of  death ; 
make  it  the  sleep  of  a  recovering  person,  to  relieve 
and  revive  him.:  and  awake  him  out  of  it  in  thy 
due  time,  to  offer  thee  praise,  and  to  labour  still 
among  us  in  doing  thee  honour  and  service. 

But  if  thou  art  pleased  to  take  him  to  thyself, 
Lord,  remember  and  accept  of  all  his  former 
prayers  and  repentance,  faith  and  patience. 

Look  not  upon  his  sins,  but  to  pardon  them ; 
nor  on  his  weaknesses,  but  to  pity  them:  and 
when  he  awakes  in  the  next  world,  let  him  find 
himself  surrounded  with  light  and  bUss,  instead 
of  gloominess  and  sorrow,  and  awake  to  eternal 
hfe. 

Lord,  hear  us  for  this  thy  weak  servant  in  dis- 
tress. Hear  our  prayers  for  him,  who  seems  not 
able  now  to  offer  up  any  prayers  to  thee  for  him- 
self. And  accept  both  him  and  us  to  the  blessed 
enjoyment  of  thy  love  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  lying  insensible  on  a 
Sick-bed. 

O  THOD  Preserver  of  men,  who  knowest  the 
frailty  of  our  constitutions ;  how  soon  our  senses 
may  fail  us,  and  our  understanding  depart  from 
us ;  to  what  accidents,  distc<j>pers,  and  decays, 
our  weak  nature  is  subject;  even  such  as  may 
make  the  most  acute  and  judicious  quickly  be- 
come as  fools ;  and  the  ablest  and  strongest,  weak 
and  insensible ;  O  look  down,  we  beseech  thee, 
upon  thy  servant,  who  now  lies  in  such  a  weak 
and  insensible  condition. 

The  less  able  he  is  to  assist  himself,  the  more 
need  hath  he  of  our  prayers,  and  of  thy  tender 
mercy  to  him.  O  thou  great  Creator  of  the  world, 
who  broughtest  light  out  of  darkness,  and  madest 
all  things  out  of  nothing,  and  canst  restore  our 
dead  bodies  again  after  they  are  mouldered  into 
dust,  be  pleased  to  repel  the  clouds  of  darkness 
which  now  have  taken  away  the  hght  of  our  670- 
thcr's  understanding,  and  rendered  him  a  com- 
panion for  the  dead. 

GLuicken  him  again,  O  Lord,  and  restore  him 
to  his  former  senses,  that  his  soul  may  bless  and 
praise  thy  holy  name. 

Hear  our  petitions,   O  Lord,  and  receive  our 


*  Psalm  xxxviii.  21,  22. 


prayers  for  our  brother,  that  this  image  of  death 
may  not  be  converted  into  death  itselt,  but  thatAe 
may  live  to  proclaim  thy  power  and  to  celebrate 
thy  praises  longer  upon  earth. 

But  if  it  be  thy  will  to  remove  him  hence  in  this 
insensible  condition,  O  pardon,  we  beseech  thee, 
all  his  otiences,  and  accept  of  the  preparation  and 
repentance  that  he  was  able  to  make  before  the 
distemper  prevailed  upon  him  in  so  deadly  a  man- 
ner. Receive  hi^n,  O  Lord,  into  the  arms  of  thy 
mercy,  and  accept  hirn,  for  thy  well-beloved  Son's 
sake ;  that  so  this  short  night  may  quickly  lie 
turned  into  everlasting  day ;  and,  after  these  dark 
shadows  are  removed,  he  may  tind  himself  in  a 
heaven  of  happiness,  where,  "in  thy  light  he  may 
see  light"  for  ever.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  One  who  hath  been  a  notoriously 
wicked  Liver. 
O  Lord  God,  of  infinite  goodness  and  compas- 
sion, whose  mercies  are  over  all  thy  works ;  who 
makest  the  sun  to  shine,  and  tlie  rain  to  descend, 
upon  the  "unjust"  as  well  as  the  "just,"  and  art 
kind  even  to  the  most  unthankful ;  we  humbly 
beseech  thee,  to  look  down  in  mercy  upon  this  tliy 
unworthy  servant,  who  hath  so  long  "trampled 
upon  the  riches  of  thy  goodness,  not  knowing  that 
it  should  lead  to  repentance." 

Let  thy  rod,  therefore,  awaken  him  now  to  a 
sense  of  his  condition,  whom  thy  goodness  hath 
not  reclaimed,  and  let  him  still  find  mercy  at  thy 
hands,  notwithstanding  his  continual  abuse  of  it. 

Thou  hast  promised,  O  Lord,  that,  "  when  the 
wicked  man  turneth  away  from  his  wickedness 
which  he  hath  committed,  and  doeth  that  which 
is  lawful  and  right,  he  shall  save  his  soul  alive." 
O  make  good  this  thy  promise  to  thy  servant  here, 
who  stands  in  so  much  need  of  it. 

"  Hide  thy  face  from  his  sins,  and  blot  out  all 
his  iniquities :"  though  they  be  "  red  as  scarlet," 
yet  do  tliou  make  them  "white  as  snow,"  by  re- 
pentance, which  we  beg  of  thee  to  give  him,  and 
to  accept,  though  late,  through  thine  inlinite  mer- 
cies. 

Simon  Magus,  though  in  the  "gall  of  bitterness, 
and  the  bond  of  iniquity,"  was  exhorted  to  repent, 
and  to  pray  for  pardon :  and  therefore  we  hope 
the  gate  of  life  is  still  open  for  our  brother,  though 
he  hath  so  long  shut  himself  out  of  it,  by  going 
on  in  a  course  that  leadeth  to  the  "  chambers  of 
death." 

Blessed  Lord,  let  thy  terrors  at  length  awaken 
him  out  of  this  lethargical  condition,  before  he  is 
overtaken  by  thy  judgments.  Afflict  him  here, 
that  thou  mayest  spare  him  hereafter.  Soften  Iris 
heart,  that  he  may  bewail  his  ill-spent  life,  like 
Mary  Magdalen,  with  tears  of  contrition. 

O  quicken  him  to  a  sense  of  his  duty,  and  of 
his  danger,  before  it  be  too  late :  and  when  thou 
hast  brought  him  to  his  right  mind,  receive  him, 
we  beseech  thee,  as  the  compassionate  father  did 
his  prodigal  son,  or  the  shepherd  his  lost  sheep. 

Thou,  O  Lord,  whodidst  pardon  the  thief  upon 
the  cross,  hear  our  prayers  for  our  brother,  in  these 
his  great,  and,  for  any  thing  we  know,  his  last 
agonies. 

And  as  the  fore-mentioned  instances  are  lively 
significations  of  thine  unbounded  goodness,  and 
were  written  for  our  comfort  and  instruction,  (hat 
none  should  despair  of  pardon ;  so  with  the  great- 
est confidence  we  now  recommend  this  our  dis- 
tressed brother  to  thy  divine  protection,  beset  ching 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


255 


thee  to  forgive  all  that  is  past,  and  to  receive  him 
at  last  into  tliine  "  everiasting  habitation."  Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  One  u-ho  is  hardenhd  and 
impenitent. 

Lord  God  Almighty,  who  art  the  "  Father  of 
our  spirits,"  and  who  "  turnest  the  hearts  of  men 
as  thou  pleasest ;  who  hast  mercy  on  whom  thou 
wilt  have  mercy,  and  whom  thou  wilt  thou  hard- 
euest ;  let  thy  merciful  ears  be  open,  we  pray  thee, 
to  the  supplications  which  we  now  offer  to  thy 
Divine  Majesty,  in  the  behalf  of  this  thy  servant, 
who  appears  insensible  of  his  sin  and  folly,  and 
on  whom  all  means  to  lead  him  to  repentance 
ha\e  hitherto  seemed  vain  and  ineffectual.  Take 
from  him,  we  humbly  entreat  thee,  ail  ignorance 
and  hardness  of  heart:  remove  from  Am  all  pre- 
judice against,  and  contempt  of,  thy  sacred  word 
and  ministry :  let  him  no  longer  "  make  a  mock 
of  sin,"  but  be  sensible  that  the  wisdom  he  has 
hitherto  gloried  in,  is  the  greatest  and  most  dan- 
gerous folly.  Open  thou  his  eyes,  that  he  ma}' 
"  see  the  wonderful  things  of  thy  law."  Show 
thy  mercy  upon  /iun,  and  grant  A»)ithy  salvation. 
Convince  him  of  the  vanit)'  and  madness,  as  well 
as  danger,  of  his  past  ways. 

His  understanding,  we  fear,  is  now  darkened, 
and  his  heart  hardened  through  the  deceitfulness 
of  sin :  O,  do  thou  enlighten  his  dark  mind,  and 
let  him  at  last  see  the  beauties  of  holiness,  which 
have  so  long  been  hidden  from  his  ej^es.  Take 
from  him  this  "  stony  heart,  and  give  hijn  a  heart 
of  flesh."  Awaken  his  slumbering  and  inatten- 
tive soul,  that  it  may  delight  in  things  agreeable 
to  its  nature,  and  be  employed  in  things  that 
make  for  its  everlasting  peace.  O  give  him  un- 
derstanding, and  he  shall  yet  live.  Thou  that 
canst  revive  souls  which  are  dead  in  sin  and  tres- 
passes, and  make  even  such  as  he  in  the  grave  of 
corruption  to  become  glorious  saints  and  even  mar- 
tyrs for  religion,  hear  our  prayers  for  our  brother, 
who  seems  to  be  on  the  brink  of  destruction  ;  and 
pity  poor  sinners  that  have  not  pity  on  themselves. 

it  is  the  unhappiness  of  being  long  accustomed 
to  sin,  that  we  are  not  soon  made  sensilile  of  our 
en-ors,  nor  easily  made  to  know  them.  It  is  the 
pride  of  our  nature  to  be  unwilling  to  acknowledge 
our  iaults,  and  to  confess  our  sins :  but  let  thy 
grace,  O  God,  teach  us  to  deny  this  ungodly  lust. 
Do  thou  humble  in  us  all  high  and  vain  imagina- 
tions ;  suppress  all  proud  thoughts  and  haughty 
opinions  of  ourselves.  Give  us  aU  (and  particu- 
larly thy  servant,  for  whom  we  are  now  inter- 
ceding) a  sense  of  our  own  vileness  ;  give  us  un- 
feigned repentance  for  all  the  errors  of  our  life 
past ;  that,  being  cast  down,  thou  mayest  raise  us 
up,  and  become  merciful  to  us,  miserable  sinners. 

Let  us  all  find,  by  blessed  experience,  that  "  we 

frow  in  grace,  and  in  the  knowledge  of  our  Lord 
esus  Christ;"  and  that  "  his  commandments"  are 
not  " grievous'  to  us,  but  rather  the  delight  and 
desire  of  our  souls ;  that  so  at  last  we  may  be 
presented  to  him  "  holy  and  unlilameable,  and  mi- 
reprovable  in  his  sight."     Avien. 

A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Woman  that  is  with  Child. 

O  God,  the  help  of  all  that  put  their  trust  in 
thee,  the  support  of  the  weak,  and  the  relief  of  the 
needy  ;  look  with  pity  upon  this  woman  thy  ser- 
vant, who  at  best  acknowledgeth  herself  but  a 


weak  and  helpless  creature,  but  much  more  so 
now  in  her  present  condition,  when  thou  hast 
added  weakness  to  weakness,  and  made  her  to 
travail  with  much  sickness,  together  with  the  bur- 
den of  child-bearing. 

O  Lord,  be  thou  graciously  pleased  to  propor- 
tion thy  strength  to  her  weiikness,  and  as  pains 
and  sorrow  take  hold  upon  her,  inspire  her  with 
fresh  vigour  and  courage  to  rely  upon  tliee,  her 
only  sujjport  in  time  of  need,  and  the  rock  of  her 
salvation. 

Let  her  not  be  disquieted  with  the  fear  of  any 
evil,  since  none  can  happen  unto  her  without  thy 
permission ;  but  give  her  grace  patiently  to  resign 
herself  to  thy  blessed  w3l  in  all  things,  who 
knowest  what  is  best  for  her,  and  wilt  lay  no 
more  upon  her,  we  trust,  than  thou  wilt  enable 
her  to  bear. 

Bring  strength,  O  Lord,  out  of  weakness,  and 
health  out  of  sickness ;  and  make  her,  in  thy  good 
time,  a  joyful  mother  of  a  hopeful  child,  which 
may  do  good  in  its  generation,  and  be  an  instru- 
ment of  l;hy  glory  here,  and  a  blessed  inhabitant 
of  thy  heavenly  kingdom  hereafter.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Woman  in  the  Time  of  her 
Travail. 

[From  Bishop  Patrick.] 

O  MOST  Mighty  Lord,  who  hast  given  us  innu- 
merable pledges  of  thy  love,  and  encouraged  us  to 
trust  in  tliee  for  ever,  and  to  expect  with  quiet  and 
patient  minds  the  issue  of  thy  wise  and  good  pro- 
vidence ;  we  most  humbly  conunend  thy  servant, 
in  this  her  extremity,  to  thy  care  and  blessuig; 
beseeching  thee  to  give  her  a  gracious  deliverance, 
and  to  ease  her  of  the  burden  wherewith  she  la- 
bours. We  ourselves  are  monuments  of  that 
mercy  which  we  beg  of  thee.  Thou  didst  preserse 
our  weak  and  miperfect  frame,  before  we  were 
born.  Thou  hast  succoured  and  supported  us 
ever  since,  many  times  beyond  our  hopes,  and 
always  beyond  our  deservings.  We  commit  our- 
selves, and  every  thing  belonging  unto  us,  most 
heartily  unto  thy  hands ;  remembering  that  thou 
hast  the  same  power  and  goodness  still,  by  which 
we  came  into  the  light  of  the  living.  We  cannot 
desire  to  be  better  provided  for,  than  as  thy  mlinite 
wisdom  judgeth  most  convenient  forus;unto  that 
we  refer  ourselves,  beseeching  thee,  if  it  be  thy 
good  pleasure,  that  her  deliverance  may  be  as 
speedy  as  her  cries  unto  thee ;  or  her  patience  as 
great  and  long  as  her  pains.  Thou  who  ripenest 
the  fruits  of  the  earth,  and  then  givest  us  the  ga- 
thering of  them  to  our  comfort,  blast  not,  we  be- 
seech thee,  the  fruit  of  the  womb;  but  bring  it  to 
maturity,  and  deliver  it  safe  into  thy  servant's 
hand  as  a  new  pledge  of  thy  goodness  to  her,  to 
be  an  instriunent  of  thy  glory,  and  a  future  com- 
fort and  blessing  to  thy  servant,  who  travails  in  so 
much  pain  with  it  now.  Or  if  thou  hast  other- 
wise determined.  Lord,  give  her  grace  to  submit 
to  thy  holy  will,  and  to  rest  satisfied  in  thy  wise 
appointments,  and  never  to  distrust  thy  goodness 
and  care  over  her.  Hear  us,  O  Father  of  mercies, 
and  pardon  hers  and  all  our  offences,  and  pity  our 
infirmities :  make  us  more  thankful  for  what  we 
have  received,  and  more  fit  for  the  blessing  which 
we  now  request ;  and  prepare  us  for  all  thy  future 
mercies,  either  in  this  life,  or  in  the  next,  through 
thv  infinite  love  and  compassion  declared  to  us,  in 
Christ  Jesus  our  Lord.     Amen. 


256 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


A  Prayer  for  a  Woman  who  cannot  he  delivered 
without  Difficulty  and  Hazard. 

O  Lord  God  of  all  comfort  and  consolation, 
who  art  the  refuge  of  the  distressed,  and  the  help 
of  all  that  depend  upon  thee;  we  thy  unworthy 
servants  do  now  offer  up  our  supplications  at  the 
throne  of  thy  majesty,  in  the  behalf  of  this  thy 
servant,  who  is  in  great  pain  and  misery.  Thou 
hast  been  i)leased  to  bring  the  child  to  the  birth, 
but  there  is  not  strength  to  bring  forth.  On  this 
account,  thy  servant  is  in  violent  agonies,  crying 
out  in  her  pangs,  and  pouring  out  her  soul  to  thee 
in  prayer.  O  grant  that  "it  may  be  in  an  accepta- 
ble time." 

"  Thou  art  our  salvation;  thou  shalt  preserve 
us  from  trouble ;  thou  shalt  compass  us  about  with 
songs  of  deliverance."  O  let  thy  servant  feel  these 
blessed  effects  of  thy  goodness ;  and  as  thou  hast 
brought  to  the  birth,  enable  her,  we  beseech  thee, 
to  bring  forth,  that  she  may  rejoice  in  the  work- 
manship of  thy  hands,  and  tell  of  all  thy  wondrous 
works. 

Consider  the  low  estate  of  thine  handmaid,  and 
deliver  her  soul  from  death,  her  eyes  from  tears, 
and  her  feet  from  falling.  "  Gracious  art  thou,  O 
Lord,  and  righteous;  thou  preservest  the  simple, 
and  helpost  those  th.at  are  in  misery."  Help  tliy 
servant  therefore  now,  we  humlily  entreat  thee, 
who  stands  in  so  much  need  of  it.  Accept  her 
tears,  and  assuage  her  pain,  as  shall  seem  most 
expeihent  for  her. — And  forasmuch  as  she  putteth 
her  whole  trust  in  thee,  give  her  strength  and  pa- 
tience proportionable  to  all  her  pains  and  agonies. 
Support  her  spirits  under  them,  and,  if  thou  pleas- 
e.st,  carry  her  safely  through  the  same,  and  "make 
her  to  hear  of  joy  and  gladness,  that  the  bones 
which  thou  hast  broken  may  rejoice." 

"  Restore  unto  her,  O  Lord,  the  joy  of  thy  sal- 
vation, and  uphold  her  with  thy  free  Spirit ;  then 
shall  she  teach  transgressors  thy  way,  and  sinners 
shall  be  converted  unto  thee.  Deliver  her"  from 
this  great  afHiction,  "  O  God,  thou  God  of  her 
salvation,  and  her  tongue  shall  sing  aloud  of  thy 
righteousness." 

*  Thy  mercies  and  power  are  still  the  same, 
and  v/ill  be  the  same  for  ever.  O  let  them  now  be 
shown  in  this  thy  servant's  delivery,  as  they  have 
been  formerly  on  the  like  occasion ;  that  so,  by 
having  fresh  instances  of  thy  loving  kindness,  she 
may  still  praise  thee  more  and  more. 

O  perfect  her  repentance,  and  pardon  her  sins. 
Give  her  patience  whilst  she  lives,  and  peace  when 
she  dies,  and  after  death,  the  happiness  of  a  blessed 
eternity,  which  thou  hast  promised  and  prepared 
for  all  that  love  and  fear  thee;  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord.    Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  Grace  and  Assistance  for  a  Wo- 
man after  Delivery,  but  still  in  Danger. 

[Prom  Mr.  Kettle  well.] 

O  Father  of  mercies,  what  thanks  can  we 
worthily  give  unto  thee  for  thine  unspeakable 
goodness  to  this  thy  servant  and  her  helpless  in- 
lant,  and  for  the  wondrous  things  which  thou 
hast  done  for  her !  The  pangs  of  death  com- 
passed her,  and  she  found  trouble  and  sorrow. 
The  rnouth  of  the  pit  was  opened,  and  ready  to 

*  This  is  to  be  omitted,  if  it  be  the  first  child. 


shut  itself  upon  her:  but  thou  hast  graciously 
assuaged  her  pains,  and  turned  her  sorrows  into 

Lord,  we  will  ever  adore  and  magnify  thy 
mercy,  which  has  dealt  so  lovingly  with  her,  and 
praise  thy  truth  and  faithfulness,  which  have  not 
suflered  her  hopes  to  fail.  We  will  never  forget 
how  mindful  thou  hast  been  of  the  low  estate  of 
thy  handmaid ;  lor  she  has  been  supported  by  thy 
power,  O  blessed  God,  in  her  greatest  weakness. 
She  has  tasted  thy  goodness  in  the  midst  of  all 
her  pangs  and  sorrows. 

Perfect,  O  Lord,  that  deliverance  to  her  which 
thou  hast  most  graciously  begun,  and  let  her  not 
be  lost,  after  the  wonders  which  thou  hast  already 
done  for  her. 

Continue  her  patience,  and  her  humble  de- 
pendence on  thee,  under  the  pains  and  accidents 
to  which  she  is  still  exposed.  Support  her  spirits, 
and  raise  her  up  again  in  thy  due  time.  Thy 
mercy  and  power  are  still  the  same,  and  will  be 
the  same  for  ever.  O  let  them  still  be  shown  for 
her  recovery,  as  they  have  been  already  for  her 
delivery ;  let  thein  be  shown  upon  her,  that  she 
may  praise  thee  more  and  more. 

But  if,  in  thy  paternal  providence,  whereunto 
we  pray  she  may  willingly  commit  herself,  thou 
hast  determined  otherwise  concerning  her,  thy 
blessed  will  be  done.  Dispose  her  either  to  life  or 
death,  as  thou  pleasest,  only  in  both  to  thy  mercy : 
and  whether  living  or  dying,  let  her  still  please 
thee,  and  be  thou  her  portion.  O  perfect  her  re- 
pentance, and  give  her  patience  whilst  she  lives, 
and  peace  when  she  dies,  and  after  that,  the  hap- 
piness of  a  blessed  eternity,  which  thou  hast  pre- 
pared for  all  that  truly  fear  thee ;  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

If  the  Child  be  living,  this  may  be  added : 

Preserve  likewise  her  tender  infant,  O  Father 
of  mercies,  and  let  its  own  weakness,  and  our 
cries,  commend  it  to  thy  care. 

Keep  it  also  afterwards  in  health  and  safety, 
and  as  it  increases  in  years  and  stature,  let  it  in- 
crease in  wisdom,  and  in  thy  fear.  We  beg  not 
for  it  wealth  or  greatness^  but  wisdom  to  know 
and  to  serve  thee.  For,  O  Lord,  we  do  not  desire 
lite,  either  for  ourselves  or  it,  but  that  we  may 
live  to  thee,  and  grow  daily  in  love  and  thankful- 
ness for  all  thy  mercies,  and  in  faith  and  patience, 
and  all  holy  obedience,  which  may  fit  us  for  the 
happiness  which  thou  hast  promised;  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  only  Saviour  and  Redeemer. 
Anicn. 

Prayers  for  a  Sick  Child. 
[Visitation  Office.] 

O  Almighty  God  and  merciful  Father,  to 
whom  alone  belong  the  issues  of  life  and  death  ; 
look  down  from  heaven,  we  humbly  beseech  thee, 
with  the  eyes  of  mercy  upon  this  child,  now  lying 
upon  the  bed  of  sickness :  visit  him,  O  Lord,  with 
thy  salvation;  deliver  him  in  thy  good  appointed 
time  from  his  bodily  pain,  and  save  his  soul  for 
thy  mercy's  sake ;  that  if  it  shall  be  thy  good  plea- 
sure to  prolong  his  days  here  on  earth,  he  may 
live  to  thee,  and  be  an  instrument  of  thy  glory,  by 
serving  thee  faithfully,  and  doing  good  in  his 
generation;  or  else  receive  him  into  those  hea- 
venly habitations,  where  the  souls  of  them  that 
sleep  in  the  Lord  Jesus  enjoy  perpetual  rest  and 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


257 


felicity.  Grant  this,  for  thy  mercy's  sake;  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

[From  Mr.  Kettlewell.] 

Lord,  pity  the  troubles  and  weakness  of  this 
infant,  and  pity  our  sorrows,  who  are  afflicted  with 
it.  and  for  it.  Ease  it  of  its  pains,  and  strengthen 
it  when  it  hes  struggling  for  life.  Raise  it  up 
again,  if  it  shall  please  thee,  to  grow  in  years  and 
stature,  in  wisdom  and  virtue;  and  thereby  to 
comfort  us,  and  glorify  thee. 

We  believe,  O  Almighty  Father,  that  thou 
knowest  best  what  is  tit,  both  for  it  and  us,  and 
wilt  do  what  is  lit  for  both,  and  therefore  we  lea\e 
it  to  thee,  to  dispose  of  it  as  thou  pleasest.  But 
whether  it  be  to  life  or  death,  let  it  be  thine  in 
both,  and  either  preserve  it  to  be  thy  true  and 
faithful  servant  here  on  earth,  or  take  it  to  the 
blessedness  of  thy  children  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven;  through  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  who,  foom  a  state  oj" 
Health,  is  suddenly  seized  with  the  Symptoms 
of  Death. 

O  MOST  gracious  Father,  Lord  of  heaven  and 
earth.  Judge  of  the  hving  and  of  the  dead,  behold 
thy  servants  turning  to  thee  for  pity  and  mercy, 
in  behalf  of  ourselves  and  this  thy  servant.  It 
was  but  lately  that  we  beheld  h  im  in  as  promising 
a  stale  of  health  and  life,  as  any  one  of  us  seems  to 
be  in  at  present,  and  therefore  our  concern  is  so 
much  the  greater  to  behold  so  sudden  a  change, 
and  so  unlooked  for  an  instance  of  our  mortality. 

We  know,  O  Lord,  thou  canst  bring  back  from 
the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  as  suddenly  raise  thy 
ser\ant  again  as  thou  hast  cast  him  down,  and 
therefore  we  think  it  not  too  late  to  implore  thy 
.iiercy  upon  him  for  his  recovery ;  at  least  we  beg 
of  thee  to  spare  him  a  little,  that  he  may  recover 
his  strength,  and  have  time  to  make  his  peace 
with  thee,  "  before  he  go  hence,  and  be  no  more 
seen."  But  if  it  be  thy  will  to  remove  him  at  this 
time  into  another  world,  O  let  the  miracles  of  thy 
compassion,  and  thy  wonderful  mercy,  supply  to 
him  the  want  of  the  usual  measures  of  time,  that 
he  may  fit  himself  for  eternity.  And  let  the  great- 
ness of  his  calamity  be  a  means  to  procure  his 
pardon  for  those  defects  and  degrees  of  unreadi- 
ness which  this  sudden  stroke  hath  caused.  And 
teach  us  all,  we  beseech  thee,  from  this  unexpected 
fate  of  our  brother,  to  be  continually  upon  our 
suard,  and  to  watch  and  pray,  since  we  know  not 
the  hour  when  the  "  Master  of  the  house  cometh," 
whether  "  in  the  evening,  or  at  midnight,  or  in 
the  morning." 

Lord,  thou  hast  now  called  thy  servant  before 
he  was  aware  of  it ;  O,  give  him  such  a  great  and 
effectual  repentance  in  this  exigence,  that  in  a 
short  time  it  may  be  sufficient  to  do  the  work  of 
many  days.  Thou  regardest,  O  Lord,  the  sin- 
cerity of  our  hearts  more  than  the  measures  of 
time,  in  our  conversion ;  acx-ept  therefore,  we  be- 
seech thee,  the  few  minutes  of  thy  servant's  un- 
feigned tears  and  humiliation  for  his  sins,  as  if 
they  were  hours  and  days  of  a  longer  preparation : 
and  let  it  be  thy  pleasure  to  rescue  him  fi'om  all 
the  evils  he  deserves,  and  all  the  evils  he  fears, 
that  in  the  songs  of  eternitv^  which  angels  and 
saints  shall  sing  to  the  glory  of  thy  name,  this  also 
may  be  reckoned  amonsst  tliine  invaluable  mer- 
2K 


cies,  that  thou  hast  redeemed  his  soul  from  death, 
and  made  him  partaker  of  eternal  life;  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Person,  when  there  appeareth 
small  hope  of  Recovery. 

[Visitation  Office.] 
O  Father  of  mercies  and  God  of  all  comfort, 
our  only  help  in  time  of  need ;  we  fly  unto  thee 
for  succour  in  behalf  of  this  thy  servant,  here  lying 
under  thy  hand  in  great  weakness  of  body.  Look 
graciously  upon  him,  O  Lord,  and,  the  more  the 
outward  man  decayeth,  strengthen  him,  we  be- 
seech thee,  so  much  the  more  continually  v.ith 
thy  grace  and  Holy  Spirit  in  the  inner  man. 
Give  hiin  unfeigned  repentance  for  all  the  errors 
of  his  life  past,  and  steadfast  faith  in  thy  Son  Je- 
sus, that  his  sins  may  be  forgiven,  and  his  pardon 
sealed  in  heaven,  before  he  go  hence,  and  be  no 
more  seen.  We  know,  O  Lord,  that  there  is  no 
work  impossible  with  thee,  and  that,  if  thou  wilt, 
thou  canst  even  yet  raise  him  up,  and  grant  him  a 
longer  continuance  among  us.  Yet  forasmuch  as 
in  all  appearance  the  tin;e  of  his  dissolution  draw- 
eth  near,  so  fit  and  prepare  him,  we  beseech  thee, 
against  the  hour  of  death,  that  after  his  departure 
hence  in  peace,  and  in  thy  favour,  his  soul  may 
lie  received  into  thine  everlasting  kingdom; 
through  the  mediation  of  Jesus  Christ  thy  Son, 
our  Saviour.     Amen. 

A  general  Prayer  for  Preparation  and  Readi- 
ness to  die. 

Lord,  "  what  is  our  life,  but  a  vapour  which 
appeareth  for  a  Httle  time,  and  then  vanisheth 
awayl"  Even  at  the  longest,  how  short  and 
transitory !  and  when  we  think  ourselves  most 
secure,  yet  we  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring 
forth ;  nor  how  soon  thou  mayest  come,  before  we 
are  aware,  to  call  us  to  our  last  account. 

Quickly  shall  we  be  as  water  spilt  on  the 
ground,  which  cannot  be  gathered  up  again, 
(iuickly  shall  we  be  snatched  away  hence,  and 
our  place  here  shall  know  us  no  more. 

Our  bodies  shall  soon  lie  down  in  the  grave, 
and  our  souls  be  summoned  to  appear  before  the 
tribunal  of  Christ,  to  receive  oui  everlasting  doom ; 
and  yet,  O  Lord,  how  do  the  generality  of  man- 
kind live  in  this  world,  as  if  they  were  never  to 
leave  it!  How  unmindful  are  we  all  of  our  depar- 
ture !  how  improvident  of  our  time  !  how  careless 
of  our  souls,  and  negligent  in  our  preparations  foi 
eternity!  so  that  thou  mightest  justly  cut  us  off 
in  the  midst  of  our  sins,  and  our  unpreparedness 
to  appear  before  thee.  But,  O  God  of  all  comfort 
and  mercy,  remember  not  our  sins  against  thee, 
but  remember  thy  own  love  to  us  in  Jesus  Chri.st, 
and  thy  tender  mercies  which  have  been  ever  of 
old.  O,  remember  how  short  our  time  is,  and 
"  so  teach  us  to  number  our  days,  that  we  may 
apply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom." 

In  the  days  of  our  health  and  prosperity,  let  us, 
from  the  exaiuple  of  our  brother  s  weakness,  re- 
member our  own  approaching  fote  ;  and  let  him, 
from  the  sudden  change  of  health  to  sickness,  con- 
sider how  few  and  evil  all  his  days  have  been,  and 
that  there  is  no  satisfaction  in  any  thing,  but  in 
knowing  thee,  O  God.  Lord,  what  have  we  to 
do  in  this  world,  but  to  devote  ourselves  wholly  to 
thy  service,  and  to  make  ready  for  the  world  to 
22* 


258 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


come  1  O,  that  we  may  all  of  us  be  mindful  of 
this  •'  one  thing  necessary,'"  that  we  may  finish 
our  "  work,"  before  we  linish  our  course. 

GLuicken  thy  servant,  O  Lord,  into  a  powerful 
and  serious  consideration  of  these  things,  now  thou 
hnat  brought  him  into  more  intimate  acquaintance 
with  them.  Instruct  and  assist  him  in  this  great 
work  of  preparation  to  die.  Show  him  how  to  do 
it,  and  help  him  with  good  success  to  perform  it; 
tliat  when  the  time  of  his  dissolution  drawcth 
near,  lie  may  have  nothing  else  to  do,  but  to  re- 
sign himself  willingly  and  cheerfully  into  thy 
hands,  as  into  the  hands  of  a  merciful  Creator, 
tliere  to  remain  with  thee  for  ever  in  that  blessed 
place  where  sin  and  sickness  and  death  shall  be 
no  more.     Amen. 

A  commendatory  Prayer  for  a  sick  Person  at  the 
point  of  Departure. 

[Visitation  Office.] 

O  Almighty  God,  with  whom  do  live  the  spi- 
rits of  just  men  made  perfect;  we  humbly  com- 
mend tiie  soul  of  this  thy  servant  our  dear  brother 
into  thy  hands,  as  into  the  hands  of  a  faithful 
Creator,  and  most  merciful  Saviour;  humbly  be- 
seeching thee,  that  it  may  be  acceptable  in  thy 
siglit.  And  teach  us,  who  survive,  by  this  and 
other  daily  instances  of  mortality,  to  see  how  frail 
and  uncertain  our  own  condition  is,  and  so  to 
number  our  days,  that  we  may  seriously  ajjjily 
our  hearts  to  that  holy  and  heavenly  wisdom, 
which  may  bring  us  to  life  everlasting ;  through 
Jesus  Christ  thy  Son,  our  Lord.     Amen. 

A  Litany  for  a  sick  Person  at  the  time  of 
Departure. 

[From  Bisliop  Andrews.] 

O  God,  the  Father  of  heaven, 
Have  mercy  upon  him  ; 
Keep  and  defend  him. 
O  God  the  Son,  Redeemer  of  the  world, 
Have  mercy  upon  him : 
Save  and  deliver  hiin. 
O  God  the  Holy  Gftost,  proceeding  from  the 
Father  and  the  Son, 

Have  mercy  upon  him  ; 
Strengthen  and  comfort  him. 
O,  holy,  blessed,  and  glorious  Trinity, 

Have  mercy  upon  him. 
Remember  not.  Lord,  his  offences;  call  not  to 
mind  the  offences  of  his  forefathers;  but  spare 
him,  good  Lord,  spare  thy  servant,  whom  thou 
hast  redeemed  with  thy  precious  blood,  and  be 
not  angry  with  him  for  ever. 

From  thy  wrath  and  indignation  ;  from  the  fear 
of  death;  from  the  guilt  and  burden  of  his  sins, 
and  from  the  dreadful  sentence  of  the  last  judg- 
ment ; 

Good  Lord  deliver  him. 
From  the  sting  of  conscience :  from  impatience, 
distrust,  or  despair ;  and  from  the   extremity  of 
sickness  or  agony,  which  may  any  ways  withdraw 
his  mind  from  thee; 

Good  Lord  deliver  him . 
From  the  powers  of  darkness ;  from  the  illu- 
sions and  assaults  of  our  ghostly  enemy ;  and  from 
the  bitter  pangs  of  eternal  death ; 
Good  Lord  deliver  him. 
From  all  danger  and  distress ;  from  all  terrors 


and  torments ;  from  all  pains  and  punishments, 
both  of  the  body  and  of  the  soul ; 
Good  Lord  deliver  him. 
By  thy  manifold  and  great  mercies ;  by  the  ma- 
nifold and  great  mercies  of  Jesus  Christ  thy  Son ; 
by    his  agony  and  bloody  sweat;  by  his  strong 
crying  and  tears ;  by  his  bitter  cross  and  jjassion  ; 
by  his  resurrection  and  ascension;  by  his  inter- 
cession and  mediation ;   and  by  the  graces  and 
comforts  of  the  Holy  Ghost ; 
Good  Lord  deliver  Iiim. 
In  this  time  of  extremity ;  in  his  last  and  great- 
est need  ;  in  the  hour  of  death,  and  in  the  day  of 
judgment ; 

Gootl  Lord  deliver  him. 
We  sinners  do  beseech  thee  to  hear  us,  O  Lord 
God  ;  that  it  may  please  thee  to  be  his  defender 
and  keeper;  to  remember  him  with  the  favour 
tliou  bearest  unto  thy  people,  and  to  visit  him 
with  thy  salvation : 

We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us.  Good  Lord. 
That  it  may  jjlease  thee  to  save  and  deliver  hi.s 
soul  from  the  power  of  the  enemy,  to  receive  it  to 
thy  mercy,  and  to  give  him  a  quiet  and  joyful  de- 
parture : 

We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us.  Good  Lord. 
That  it  may  please  thee  to  be  merciful,  and  to 
forgive  all  the  sins  and  offences.  Which  at  any 
time  of  his  life  he  hath  committed  against  thee : 
We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us,  Good  Lord. 
That  it  may  please  thee  not  to  lay  to  his  charge, 
what  in  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  or  in  the  lust  of  the 
eye,  or  in  the  pride   of  life,  he  hath  committed 
against  thee : 

We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us.  Good  Lord. 
That   it  may  please   thee   not   to  lay   to   his 
charge,  what,  in  the  fierceness  of  his  wrath,  or  in 
vain  and  idle  words,  he  hath  committed  against 
thee  : 

We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us.  Good  Lord. 
That  it  may  please  thee  to  make  him  partaker 
of  all  thy  mercies,  and  promises,  in  Christ  Jesus. 
We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us.  Good  Lord. 
That  it  may  please  thee  to  grant  his  body  rest 
and  peace,  and  a  part  in  the  blessed  resurrection 
of  life  and  glory : 

We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us.  Good  Lord. 
That  it  may  please  thee  to  vouchsafe  his  soul 
the  enjoyment  of  everlasting  happiness,  with  all 
the  blessed  saints  in  thy  heavenly  kingdom : 
We  beseech  thee  to  hear  us.  Good  Lord. 
Son  of  God,  we  beseech  thee  to  hear  us. 
O  Lamb  of  God,  that  takes  t  away  the  sins  of 
the  world ; 

Grant  him  thy  peace. 
O  Lamb  of  God,  that  takest  away  the  sins  of 
the  world ; 

Have  mercy  upon  him. 

O  Saviour  of  the  world,  &c.  )  „„  ^  i.  ,„  ttt 
TT  ,    lu  •         p  ?  as  follow,  ill. 

Unto  thy  gracious,  &c.  )  ' 

Form  of  recommending'  the  Soul  to  God,  in  her 
Departure  from  the  Body. 

[From  Bishop  Cosins.] 
Into  thy  merciful  hands,  O  Lord,  we  commend 
the  soul  of  this  thy  servant,  now  departing  from 
the  body.  Receive  him,  we  humbly  beseech  thee, 
into  the  nrnxs  of  thy  mercy,  into  the  glorious  so- 
ciety of  thy  saints  in  heaven.     Amen. 

God  the  Father,  who  hath  created  thee ;  God 
the  Son,  who  hath  redeemed  thee ;  God  the  Holy 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


259 


Ghost,  who  hath  infused  his  grace  into  thee ;  be 
now  and  evermore  thy  defence,  assist  thee  in  this 
thy  last  trial,  and  bring  thee  to  everlasting  life. 
Amen. 

[From  Bishop  Taylor.] 
I. 
0  Hoi.Y  and  most  gracious  Jesus,  we  humbly 
recommend  the  soul  of  thy  servant  into  thy  hands, 
thy  most  merciful  hands :  let  thy  blessed  angels 
stand  in  ministry  about  thy  servant,  and  protect 
aim  in  his  departure.     Amen. 
II. 
Lord,  receive  the  soul  of  this  thy  servant:  enter 
not  into  judgment  with  him;  spare  him  whom 
thou  hast  redeemed  with  thy  most  precious  blood, 
and  deliver  him  from  all  evil  and  mischief,  from 
the  crai'ts  and  assaults  of  the  devil,  from  the  fear  of 
death,  and  from  everlasting  condeixmation.  Amen. 

III. 

Lord,  impute  not  unto  him  the  follies  of  his 
youth,  nor  any  of  the  errors  of  his  life;  but 
strengthen  him  in  /(w  agony,  and  carry  him  safely 
through  the  last  distress.  Let  not  his  faith  waver, 
nor  his  hope  fail,  nor  his  charity  be  diminished; 
let  him  die  in  peace,  and  rest  in  hope,  and  rise  in 
glory.     Amen. 

O  Saviour  of  the  world,  who  by  thy  cross  and 
precious  blood  hast  redeemed  us  ;  save  and  help 
this  thy  departing  servant,  we  humbly  beseech 
thee,  O  Lord.     Amen. 

Unto  thy  gracious  mercy  and  protection  we 
commit  him.  O  Lord,  bless  him,  and  keep  him. 
Make  thy  face  to  shine  upon  him,  and  be  gracious 
unto  him.  Lift  up  thy  countenance  upon  him, 
and  give  him  peace,  both  now  and  evermore. 
Amen. 

A  consolatory  Form,  of  Devotion  that  may  he 
used  with  the  Friends  or  Relations  of  the 
Deceased. 

"  Sorrow  not,  brethren,  for  them  which  are 
asleep,  even  as  others,  who  have  no  hope. 

■'For  if  we  believe  that  Jesus  died,  and  rose 
asain ;  even  so  them  also  which  sleep  in  Jesus, 
will  God  bring  with  him." — 1  Thess.  iv.  13,  14. 

"  It  is  the  Lord,  let  him  do  what  seemeth  good 
unto  him." — 1  Sam.  iii.  18. 

"The  righteous  is  taken  away  from  the  evil  to 
come." — Isaiah  Ivii  1. 

"  Though  the  righteous  be  prevented  with 
death,  yet  shall  he  be  in  rest. 

"The  honourable  age  is  not  that  which  stand- 
eth  in  length  of  days,  nor  that  which  is  measured 
by  number  of  years. 

"  But  wisdom  is  the  gray  hair  unto  men,  and 
an  unspotted  hfe  is  old  age." — Wisd.  iv.  7,  8,  9. 

"  Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  is  the  death 
of  his  saints."—  Psalm  cxvi.  15. 

"  Yea,  blessed  are  the  dead,  which  die  in  the 
Lord ;  even  so  saith  the  Spirit;  for  they  rest  from 
Lheir  labours." — Rev.  xiv.  13. 
Let  us  pray. 

Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us. 
Christ,  have  mercy  upon  us. 
Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us. 
Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven :  hallowed  be 
thy  name.     Thy  kingdom  come.     Thy  will  be 


done  in  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven.  Give  us  this  day 
our  daily  bread.  And  forgive  us  our  trespasses 
as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against  us.  And 
lead  us  not  into  temptation ;  but  deliver  us  from 
evil.     Amen. 

"  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  refuge  from  one 
generation  to  another. 

Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or 
ever  the  earth  and  the  world  were  nrade,  thoU 
art  God  from  everlasting,  and  world  without  end. 

Thou  turnest  man  to  destruction ;  again  thou 
sayest.  Come  again,  ye  children  of  men. 

For  a  thousand  years  in  thy  sight  are  but  as 
yesterday,  seeing  that  is  past  as  a  watch  in  the 
night. 

As  soon  as  thou  scatterest  them,  they  are 
even  as  a  sleep,  and  fade  away  suddenly  like  the 
grass. 

In  the  morning  it  is  green,  and  groweth  up ; 
but  in  the  evening  it  is  cut  down,  dried  up,  and 
withered. 

For  we  consume  away  in  thy  displeasure,  and 
are  afraid  of  thy  wrathful  indignation. 

Thou  hast  set  our  misdeeds  before  thee,  and 
our  secret  sins  in  the  light  of  thy  countenance. 

For  when  thou  art  angry,  all  our  days  are 
gone ;  we  bring  our  years  to  an  end,  as  it  were  a 
tale  that  is  told. 

So  teach  us  to  number  our  days,  that  we  may 
apply  our  hearts  unto  vvisdom. 

Turn  thee  again  at  last,  and  be  gracious  to 
thy  servants. 

Comfort  them  again,  now  after  the  time  that 
thou  hast  afflicted  them,  and  for  the  present  oc- 
casion, wherein  they  sutler  adversity. 

O  satisfy  them  with  thy  mercy,  and  that  soon; 
so  shall  they  rejoice,  and  be  glad  all  the  days  of 
their  life." 

Most  just  art  thou,  O  God,  in  all  thy  dealings 
Vv'ith  us,  "  our  punishment  is  less  than  our  ini- 
quities deserve ;"  and  therefore  we  desire  to  sul> 
mit  with  all  humility  and  patience  to  this  dispen- 
sation of  thy  divine  providence.  Be  pleased  so  to 
sanctify  it  to  this  family,  that  thy  grace  and  mercy 
may  more  abundantly  flow  upon  thy  servants. 
Thy  property  it  is  to  bring  good  out  of  evil ;  O 
turn  that  evil,  which  is  now  befallen  this  house,  to 
the  benefit  of  every  one  of  us,  that  so  we  may  be 
able  to  say,  from  happy  experience,  that  "the 
house  of  mourning  is  better  than  the  house  of 
feasting,"  while  the  death  of  our  brother,  through 
thy  blessing,  shall  conduce  and  minister  to  our 
spiritual  advantage. 

Let  the  sight  of  his  change  make  us  the  more 
mindful  of  our  own,  and  the  sense  of  our  loss 
make  us  cleave  more  steadfastly  to  thee,  O  God. 
Let  the  remembrance  of  his  virtues  make  us  fol- 
low his  example,  and  the  hope  we  have  of  his 
being  blessed,  cause  us  to  "  press,"  with  the  more 
earnestness,  "  towards  the  mark,  for  the  prize  of 
our  high  calling  in  Christ  Jesus." 

Thou  knowest,  O  Lord,  the  weakness  and 
frailty  of  our  nature,  and  therefore  we  beseech 
thee  to  give  thy  servants,  who  are  more  nearly 
conc-erned  in  this  visitation,  a  constant  supply  of 
thy  good  Spirit,  to  enable  them  to  bear  it  with 
humility,  patience,  resignation,  and  submission 
to  thy  divine  will,  as  becometh  the  Gospel  of  Je- 
sus Christ.  O  that  no  repining  thoughts  may 
arise  in  their  hearts  to  discompose  their  duty  to- 
wards thee,  or  towards  their  neighbour :  but  help 


260 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION. 


them  rather  to  think  wherein  they  have  offended 
thee,  and  carefully  to  amend  it :  to  place  their 
affections  more  steadfastly  on  those  immoveable 
things  which  are  above,  and  freely  resign  all  their 
thoughts  and  desires  unto  thee  ;  saying,  with  holy 
Jol),  "  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken 
away,  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord."  And 
let  the  death  of  thy  servant  strike  us  all  with 
such  a  lively  sense  of  our  mortality,  as  may  cause 
us  so  thoroughly  to  die  to  sin,  and  live  to  grace, 
that  when  we  die,  we  may  rest  in  him,  as  our 
hope  is  this  our  brother  doth. 

We  evidently  see  "that  death  is  the  end  of  all 
men ;"  grant  us  therefore  grace  to  lay  it  to  heart, 
to  despise  the  world,  "  to  abhor  that  which  is  evil, 
and  cleave  to  that  which  is  good ;  to  delight  in  thy 
word,  to  study  thy  will,  to  observe  thy  law,  and  to 
take  all  possible  care  to  promote  thy  honour,  and 
our  own  salvation ;  that  when  "  we  go  the  way 
of  all  earth,  we  may  be  comforted  by  thy  pre- 
sence," and  admitted  into  thy  heavenly  kingdom. 
Avien. 

Assist  us  mercifully,  O  Lord,  in  these  our 
supplications  and  prayers,  and  dispose  the  way 
of  thy  servants  towards  the  attainment  of  ever- 
lasting salvation ;  that,  among  all  the  changes 
and  chances  of  this  mortal  life,  they  may  ever  be 
defended  by  thy  most  gracious  and  ready  help ; 
through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

The  Lord  bless  us  and  keep  us,  the  Lord  lift 
up  the  light  of  his  countenance  upon  us,  and 
give  us  peace,  now  and  for  evermore.    Amen. 


OCCASIONAL  PRAYERS  AND  DEVOTIONS  FOR  THE 
SICK  AND  UNFORTUNATE  IN  EXTRAORDINARY 
CASES. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  whose  Illness  is  chiejly 
brought  on  him  by  some  calamitous  Disaster  or 
loss,  as  of  Estate,  Relations,  or  Friends^  tf-c. 

[From  Bishop  Patrick.] 

O  MOST  gracious  and  glorious  God,  supreme 
Judge  and  Governor  of  the  world,  "  in  whom  we 
live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being,"  and  from 
whom  all  the  blessings  we  enjoy,  and  "every 
good  and  perfect  gift  cometh,"  grant  us,  we  hum- 
bly beseech  thee,  such  a  measure  of  thy  grace, 
ihat  whenever  thou  art  pleased  to  remove  any  of 
{hy  blessings  from  us,  we  may  bear  it  with  a  per- 
fect resignation  to  thy  divine  will ;  and  with  all 
»atience,  humility,  and  contentedness  of  spirit, 
consider  how  unworthy  we  are  of  the  least  of  thy 
aiercies. 

More  particularly,  O  Lord,  we  beseech  thee  to 
,rive  this  peaceableness,  and  contentedness  of 
nind,  to  this  thy  servant,  whom  thou  hast  so  sen- 
sibly afHictcd,  by  taking  so  near  and  dear  a  bless- 
mg  from  him.  O  give  him  such  a  portion  of  thy 
blessed  Spirit,  and  such  a  lively  sense  of  his  duty, 
that  he  may  have  power  to  surmount  all  the  dif- 
ficulties he  labours  under,  and  freely  to  resign  all 
his  thoughts  and  desires  unto  thee,  submitting 
him~?elf  entirely  to  thy  good  providence,  and  re- 
solving, by  thy  gracious  assistance,  to  rest  con- 
tented with  whatsoever  thou  in  thy  wisdom  ap- 
pointest  for  htm.  Thou  knowest,  O  Lord,  the 
weakness  and  frailty  of  our  nature,  and  therefore 


be  pleased  to  comfort  him  in  this  bed  of  sicknes!= 
establish  him  with  the  light  of  thy  countenance 
and  grant  that  no  repining  thoughts  may  increase 
his  illness,  or  discompose  his  duty  towards  thee,  oi 
his  neighbour :  but  enable  /n'm  to  think  wherein 
he  hath  olit-ndcd  thee,  and  carefully  to  amend  his 
errors ;  to  set  his  affections  on  things  above,  an(? 
not  on  things  below,  and  to  lay  up  for  himself 
treasures  in  heaven,  even  the  treasures  of  a  good 
life,  which  no  disasters  or  calamities  shall  ever  be 
able  to  take  from  him.  Grant  this,  O  heavenly 
Father,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Aine7i. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  who  by  any  calamitous 
Disaster  hath  broken  any  of  his  Bones,  or  is 
very  much  bruised  and  hurt  in  his  Body. 

[From  Mr.  Jenks.] 

O  Lord,  the  only  disposer  of  all  events,  thou 
hast  taught  us  that  "affliction  cometh  not  forth 
of  the  dust,  neither  doth  trouble  spring  out  of  the 
ground :"  but  that  the  disasters  which  befall  us 
are  by  thy  appointment.  Thou  art  just  in  all 
thou  bringest  upon  us:  and  though  thy  "judg- 
ments are  far  above  out  of  our  sight,"  yet  we 
know  "  that  they  are  right,  and  that  it  is  in  very 
faithfulness  thou  causest  us  to  be  afflicted."  "  Why 
then  should  a  living  man  complain,  a  man  for  the 
punishment  of  his  sins  ?"  Let  these  considerations 
prevail  with  thy  servant  to  submit  to  thy  dispen- 
sations. Make  him  resolve  to  bear  the  etlt'cts  of 
thy  displeasure,  and  to  consider  it  as  the  just  de- 
sert of  his  sins.  O  Lord,  give  him  patience  and 
strength,  and  grace,  proportionable  to  this  great 
trial ;  and  enable  him  so  to  conduct /iimsf//under 
it,  that,  after  the  affliction  is  removed,  he  may  (ind 
cause  to  say,  "  it  was  good  for  him.  to  be  afflicted." 
Thou  that  hast  torn  and  smitten,  thou  art  able  to 
heal  and  to  comfort.  Be  pleased  to  remember  hivi 
in  this  his  low  estate.  Cause  him  to  "search and 
try  his  ways,  and  turn  to  thee,  and  bring  forth 
fruits  meet  for  repentance." 

We  know,  O  Lord,  thou  canst  raise  him  up 
from  the  deepest  affliction :  O,  let  it  be  thy  gra- 
cious will  to  glorify  thy  power  and  mercy  in  his 
recovery  ;  or,  however  thou  shalt  think  fit  to  dis- 
pose of  this  "vile  body,"  grant  him.,  O  God,  a 
mind  entirely  resigned  to  thy  will,  and  satisfied 
with  thy  dispensations.  O,  make  this  calamity 
the  messenger  of  thy  love  to  his  soul,  and  the 
happy  means  of  his  conversion ;  through  Jesus 
Christ.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person   that  is  afflicted  with 
grievous  Pains  of  his  Body. 

[From  Mr.  Jenks.] 

O  Lord,  thou  art  a  merciful  God,  and  dost  not 
willingly  afflict  the  children  of  men ;  but  when 
nccessitv  requires,  thou  chastisest  us  for  our  profit, 
that  we'  may  be  partaliers  of  thy  holiness.  Re- 
move, we  beseech  thee,  this  affliction  from  tiiy 
servant,  or  enable  him  to  bear  what  thou  art 
pleased  to  lay  upon  him.  Lord,  all  his  desire  is 
before  thee,  and  his  groaning  is  not  hid  from 
thee.  Regard  his  affliction,  when  thou  hearest 
his  cry.  Enter  not  into  judgment  with  him,  nor 
deal  vvith  him  according  to  his  sins,  but  according 
to  thy  mercy  in  Jesus  Christ.  O  gracious  Father, 
sanctify  to  Vn'm  what  thou  hast  laid  upon  him, 
that  his  present  affliction  may  work  out  for  hiv. 
an  eternal  weight  of  glory.     Support  him  under 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


261 


his  pains,  till  it  shall  please  thee  to  grant  him 
ease  and  comfort.  And,  however  thou  shall  deal 
with  him,  let  him  not  repine  at  thy  correction, 
nor  sin  in  chargnig  thee  foolishly.  Make  hijii 
sensible,  that  thou  doest  nothing  but  what  is  wise 
and  just;  nothing  but  what  thy  servant  shall  one 
day  have  cause  to  bless  and  praise  thee  for  doing. 
And  let  tliis  consideration  teach  him  to  glorify 
thee  in  the  time  of  /lis  visitation,  by  an  humble 
submission  to  thy  will,  and  a  sincere  reformation 
under  thy  providential  dispensations;  that  thou 
mayest  visit  hivi  in  mercy  and  love,  show  him  the 
joy  of  thy  salvation ;  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  One  who  is  troubled  uith  acute 
Pains  of  the  Gout,  Stone,  Colic,  or  any  other 
bodily  Distemper. 

[From  Mr.  Spinkes.J 

O  BLESSED  God,  just  and  hoh',  who  dost  not 
wilhngly  afflict  the  cliildren  of  men ;  withhold  not, 
we  beseech  thee,  thy  assistance  from  this  thy  ser- 
vant in  the  extremity  of  his  pain.  His  sorrows 
are  increased,  and  his  soul  is  full  of  trouble.  He 
has  none  to  flee  unto,  for  the  ease  and  mitigation 
of  his  agonies,  but  to  thee,  O  Lord.  He  freely 
owns  that  his  sufferings  are  infinitely  less  than  he 
has  deserved  ;  yet  since  they  pierce  deep,  and  are 
become  almost  too  heavy  for  him  to  bear,  we  pre- 
sume to  call  upon  thee  for  aid ;  and  to  entreat  thee, 
not  to  punish  him  according  to  his  deserts.  For 
if  thou  shouldest  he  extreme  to  mark  what  is  done 
amiss,  O  Lord,  who  may  abide  if?"  Spare  him 
therefore  for  thy  mercy "s  sake;  and  correct  him 
"  not  in  thine  anger,  lest  thou  bring  him  to  nothing." 
Endue  him  witli  that  patience  which  may  enable 
him  cheerfully  to  submit  to  thy  chastisement; 
and  grant  him  an  unfeigned  repentance  for  all 
his  sms..  Comfort  /(is  soul,  which  melteth  away 
for  very  heaviness,  and  let  thy  loving  mercy  come 
unto  him.  Sanctify  this  thy  fatherly  correction 
to  him,  that  it  may  be  for  thy  glory,  and  his  ad- 
vantage. And  when  thy  gracious  ends  in  afflict- 
ing him,  shall  be  accomphshed,  which  we  know 
are  not  for  "  thy  pleasure,"  but  for  his  profit,  give 
him,  we  beseech  thee,  a  fresh  occasion  to  rejoice 
in  thy  saving  health ;  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  in  the  Small-Pox,  or 
atiy  such-like  raging  infectious  Disease. 

O  GRACIOUS  and  mercifiol  Father,  the  only 
giver  of  health,  look  dovra,  we  beseech  thee,  with 
an  eye  of  compassion,  upon  thy  miserable  and 
disconsolate  servant,  from  whom  tliou  hast  taken 
this  great  and  valuable  blessing;  and  instead  of  it, 
has  filled  every  part  of  his  body  with  a  sore 
disease. 

Teach  him-  O  Lord,  and  teach  us  all  from  hence, 
to  consider  how  soon  the  beauty  of  life  is  blasted 
like  a  flower,  and  oiu-  "  strength  dried  up  like  a 
potbherd,"  that  we  may  not  put  our  trust  in  any 
of  these  transitory  things,  but  in  thee  only,  the 
living  God,  who  art  able  to  save  and  to  destroy,  to 
kill  and  to  make  alive. 

Our  brother,  whom  we  now  behold  a  spectacle 
of  misery,  was  lately,  hke  one  of  us,  in  perfect 
health.  But  now  "thou  makest  his  beauty  to 
consume  away,  as  it  were  a  moth  fretting  a  gar- 
ment.    Thine  arrows  stick  fast  in  him,  and  thy 


hand  presseth  him  sore;  so  that  there  is  no  sound- 
ness in  his  iicsh,  because  of  thine  anger  ;  neither 
IS  there  any  rest  in  his  bones  by  reason  of  his 
sin. 

"  O  reject  him  not  utterly,  but  take  thy  plague 
away  from  hi7n.  Return,  O  Lord,  and  that 
speedily;  for  his  spirit  faileth.  O  leave  him  not 
in  his  distress ;  for  though  the  world  may  forsake 
him,  his  sure  trust  is  in  thee.  To  thee,  O  Lord, 
does  he  cry;  to  thee  doth  he  stretch  forth  his 
hands  ;  his  soul  thirsteth  after  thee  as  a  barren  and 
dry  land.  Lord,  all  his  desire  is  before  thee,  and 
his  groaning  is  not  hid  from  thee.  'Comfort  hi)n 
therefore  again  now  afler  the  time  that  tlmu  hast 
afflicted  him,  and  for  the  days  wherein  he  hath 
suffered  adversity." 

Put  a  stop,  O  Lord,  we  beseech  thee,  to  this 
raging  infection,  and  say  to  the  destroying  angel, 
"  It  is  enough."  Protect  us  under  the  shadow  of 
thy  wings,  that  we  mav^  not  -'be  afraid  of  any  ter- 
ror by  night ;  nor  for  the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day ; 
nor  for  the  pestilence  that  walkcth  in  darkness ; 
nor  for  the  sickness  that  destroyeth  in  the  noon- 
day ;"  but  that,  with  ease  in  our  minds,  and  health 
in  our  bodies,  we  may  serve  thee  cheerfully  all  the 
days  of  our  life ;  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lold. 
Amc7i. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  in  a   Consumption,  or 
any  lingering  Disease. 

[From  Mr.  Jenks.] 

O  MERCIFUL  God,  thou  hast  long  kept  thy  ser- 
vant under  thy  chastening  hand ;  thou  hast  made 
him  acquainted  with  grief;  and  his  sickness  is 
e\en  become  his  familiar  companion ;  yet,  O  bless- 
ed Lord,  grant  that  he  may  not  he  impatient  un- 
der thy  chastisement,  who  art  pleased  to  wait  so 
long  for  the  return  of  a  sinner  ;  hut  let  him  re- 
member that  thou  hast  kind  intentions,  even  in 
thy  bitterest  dispensations ;  that  thou  "  chastenest 
him  whom  thou  lovest,  and  scourgest  every  son 
whom  thou  receivest."  Teach  him,  O  gracious 
Father,  to  see  love  in  thy  rod,  and  justice  in  all 
thy  dealings ;  that  he  may  humble  himself  under 
thy  mighty  hand  ;  that  he  may  think  it  good  for 
him  to  have  been  afflicted,  and  patiently  wait  for 
thy  loving  kindness. 

Yet.  that  his  faith  may  not  fail,  nor  his  patience 
be  overcome,  give  him  ease  and  relaxation  from 
his  pain,  and  a  happy  conclusion  of  this  long  vi- 
sitation. In  the  mean  time,  grant  that  he  may 
neither  despise  thy  chastening,  nor  faint  under 
thy  rebukes ;  but  employ  the  time  which  thou 
lendest,  and  improve  the  affliction  which  thon 
continuest.  as  a  gracious  opportunity  for  his  spi- 
ritual advantage :  that  under  the  decays  of  the 
body,  the  inner  man  may  be  renewed  day  by  day ; 
and  that  whatever  appertains  to  his  everlasting 
salvation  may  be  promoted  and  perfected  througE 
the  riches  of  thy  grace,  and  the  multitude  of  thy 
mercies  in  Jesus  Christ.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  who  is  lame  in  his  Sick- 

7iess. 

[From  Mr.  Lewis.] 

0  ALMIGHTY  God,  who  "  art  eyes  to  the  blind 
and  feet  to  the  lame,"  have  pity,  we  entreat  thee, 
on  thy  servant :  help  hi7n  in  his  distress,  and  bless, 
we  pray  thee,  the  means  made  use  of  for  his  cure. 
Make  him  sensible  of  thy  design  in  visiting  him 
with  this  affliction ;  cause  him  to  remember,  hov» 


262 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


in  his  strength  and  health,  he  followed  his  own 
devices,  and  the  desire  of  Afs  own  heart ;  and  let 
hi)n  see,  that  thou  hast  lifted  up  thy  hand  against 
him,  for  this  very  purpose,  that  he  may  learn  to 
walk  more  humbly  with  thee,  and  turn  his  feet  to 
thy  testimonies.  Deliver  him  from  the  painful 
confinement  under  which  he  labours,  and  grant 
him  acrain  the  happiness  of  enjoying  the  comforts 
of  hfe,  and  of  worshiping  thee  in  tliy  sanctuary, 
with  the  "voice  of  joy  and  praise."  But,  O  Lord, 
not  our  will,  but  thine  be  done.  Thou  knowest 
better  what  is  good  for  us,  than  we  ourselves  ;  and 
it  is  in  wisdom  that  thou  afHictest  us.  Give  thy 
servant  patience,  that  he  may  bear  his  pains  with- 
out murmuring,  and  wait  at  the  time  of  his  deli- 
verance from  them  without  uneasiness ;  satisfy  /!i?n 
of  thy  care  over  him,  and  thy  tender  regard  to 
him;  and  in  thy  good  time  restore  him  to  his  for- 
mer strength  and  vigour,  that  he  may  give  thanks 
to  thee  in  the  great  congregation  ;  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Saviour.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  One  that  is  Bed-ridden. 

[From  Mr.  Lewis.] 

O  Lord  our  God,  the  Father  of  mercies,  and 
the  God  of  all  comfort,  have  compassion,  we  en- 
treat thee,  on  the  helpless  condition  of  thy  servant: 
su|)port  his  spirits  which  are  ready  to  droop  under 
affliction :  refresh  his  mind  which  is  apt  to  be  un- 
easy and  melancholy  at  the  thought  of  perpetual 
confinement.  Give  sleep  to  his  eyes,  and  rest  to 
his  weary  thoughts.  Cause  him  to  meditate  on 
thee  in  the  night  watches ;  to  •'  commune  with  his 
own  heart ;"  and.  in  his  solitude,  "to  search  and  try 
his  ways,"  that  hemay  see  wherein  he  hath  erred, 
and  may  turn  unto  thee  with  all  his  soul  and  with 
all  his  strength.  Let  this  affliction  be  the  means 
of  preparing  him  for  the  enjoyment  of  thy  pre- 
sence, in  which  is  fuhiess  of  joy ;  and  let  him  be 
the  more  patient  under  it  for  that  reason.  Make 
him  thankful  that  thou  hast  by  this  expedient 
preserved  him  from  the  company  of  those  whose 
evil  communication  might  have  corrupted  his 
heart,  and  hast  taken  him  out  of  a  world,  bj'  the 
snares  and  temptations  of  which  he  might  have 
been  prevailed  upon  to  forsake  thee,  and  turn  from 
the  way  of  thy  commandments.  Grant,  O  Lord, 
that  he  may  not  render  himself  unworthy  of  thy 
favour,  by  murmuring  and  repining ;  but  that  he 
may  use  the  leisure  and  opportunity  now  given 
him,  to  make  his  peace  with  thee,  and  be  fitted  for 
the  enjoyment  of  an  inheritance  among  the  saints 
in  light ;  through  thy  mercy  in  Jesus  Christ,  our 
Saviour  and  Redeemer.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  troubled  in  Mind,  or  in 
Conscience. 

[Visitation  Office.] 
O  BT.ESSED  Lord,  the  Father  of  Mercies,  and 
the  God  of  all  comforts,  we  beseech  thee,  look 
down  in  pity  and  compassion  upon  this  thine 
afflicted  servant.  Thou  writest  bitter  things 
against  him,  and  makest  him  to  possess  his  for- 
mer iniquities :  thy  wrath  lieth  hard  upon  him., 
and  his  soul  is  full  of  trouble.  But,  O  merciful 
God,  who  hast  given  us  thy  holy  word  for  our 
learning,  that  we  through  patience,  and  comfort 
of  the  Scriptures,  might  have  hope;  give  him  a 
■^ght  understanding  of  Aii/jsc/f,  and  of  thy  threat- 


enings  and  promises;  that  he  may  neither  cast 
away  his  confidence  in  thee,  nor  place  it  any 
where  but  in  thee.  Give  him  strength  against 
all  tem]itations,  and  heal  all/iis  infirmities.  Break 
not  the  bruised  reed,  nor  quench  the  smoking  fiax. 
Simt  not  up  thy  tender  mercies  in  displeasure, 
but  make  him  hear  of  joy  and  gladness,  that  the 
bones  which  thou  hast  broken  may  rejoice.  De- 
liver hirn  from  the  fear  of  the  enemy;  lift  up  the 
light  of  thy  countenance  upon  him,  and  give  hiin 
peace,  through  the  mediation  of  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord.     Amen. 

Another  for  the  same,  or  for  One  under  deep  Me- 
lancholy and  Dejection  of  Spirit. 

[Prom  Mr.  Jenks.] 

O  MOST  gracious  Lord,  thou  knowest  our  frame, 
and  art  full  of  compassion  to  thy  servants  under 
their  trouble  and  oppression ;  look  down  upon  us, 
we  humbly  beseech  thee,  with  thy  wonted  pity, 
and  remember  the  work  of  thy  hands,  our  discon- 
solate brother.  Thy  wrath  lies  hard  upon  him; 
and  all  thy  waves  are  gone  over  him ;  thy  terrors 
oppress  his  mind,  and  disturb  /lis  reason.  O  thou 
that  speakest  the  winds  and  waves  into  obedience 
and  calmness,  settle  and  quiet  his  discomposed 
thoughts ;  speak  peace  and  satisfaction  to  his 
troubled  mind,  and  give  him  comfort  and  sure 
confidence  in  the  sense  of  thy  pardon  and  love. 
Lord,  help  his  unbelief,  and  increase  his  faith. 
Though  he  walk  in  the  valley  and  shadow  of 
death,  let  "thy  rod  and  thy  staff  support  and  pro- 
tect him."  In  the  multitude  of  the  thoughts  and 
sorrows  that  he  hath  in  his  heart,  let  thy  comfort 
refresh  his  soul.  Let  in  a  beam  of  thy  heavenly 
liglit,  to  dispel  the  clouds  and  darkness  in  wliich 
his  mind  is  involved.  O  direct  to  the  means 
most  proper  for  his  help,  and  so  bless  and  prosper 
them,  that  they  may  effectually  promote  his  re- 
covery out  of  this  deplorable  state.  Incline  his 
ears  to  wholesome  counsels,  and  dispose  his  heart 
to  receive  due  impressions.  0  gracious  Father, 
pity  his  frailty,  forgive  his  sin,  and  rebuke  his 
distemper,  that  his  disquieted  soul  may  return  to 
its  rest.  O,  raise  him  up,  and  show  thy  mercy 
upon  him,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ,  our  bless- 
ed Saviour  and  Redeemer.     Am^en. 

For  the  same. 

[From  Bishop  Patrick,] 

Preserve  this  thy  servant,  O  gracious  Father, 
from  dishonouring  thee  and  his  religion,  by  dis- 
trusting thy  power,  or  thy  goodness. 

Remove  all  troublesome  imaginations  from  him, 
and  give  him  a  clear  understanding  of  thee,  and 
of  himself,  that  no  causeless  fears  and  jealousies 
may  overwhelm  him,  nor  liis  heart  sink  within 
him  from  any  sadness  and  dejection  of  spirit. 
Compose,  we  beseech  thee,  his  disturbed  thoughts ; 
quiet  his  disordered  mind,  and  appease  all  the  tu- 
mults of  his  soul,  by  a  sweet  sense  of  thy  tender 
mercies,  and  of  the'love  of  thy  Son  Jesus  Christ 
to  mankind.  Keep  him  from  forming  any  rash 
conclusions  concerning  thy  providence  ;  and  give 
him  so  much  light  and  judgment  amid  all  the 
darkness  and  confusion  of  his  thoughts,  that  he 
may  not  think  himself  forsaken  by  thee;  but  may 
firmly  believe,  that  if  he  does  the  best  he  can,  thou 
requirest  no  more.  And  enable  him,  O  Lord,  to 
look  forwards  to  that  region  of  light  and  glory, 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


263 


whither  our  Saviour  is  gone  before,  to  prepare  -a 
place  for  all  thy  faithful  servants. 

Strengthen  his  weak  and  feeble  endeavours. 
Support  his  fainting  spirit,  and  cause  it  humbly 
to  hope  in  thee.  Confirm  and  establish  every 
good  thought,  desire,  and  purpose,  wliich  thou 
hast  wrought  in  him.  Make  him  to  grow  in 
wisdom,  fliith,  love,  and  walling  obedience.  Con- 
duct him  hereafter  so  easily  and  steadily,  peace- 
ably and  quietly,  so  cheerfully  and  securely,  in 
thy  ways,  that  he  may  glorify  thee  whilst  he  hves, 
and  when  he  leaves  this  troublesome  world,  may 
resign  h  is  soul  into  thy  merciful  hands,  with  a 
pious  confidence  and  a  hope  of  a  joyful  resurrec- 
tion ;  through  the  merits  of  thy  Son  Jesus  Christ 
our  Lord.     Amen. 

A  Praijer  for  One  under  Fears  and  Doubts  con- 
cerninghis  spiritual  Condition,  or  under  per- 
ple.ving  Thoughts  and  Scruples  about  his 
Duty. 

[From  Mr.  Kettlewell.J 
O  Lord  our  God,  we  oficr  up  our  humble  sup- 
plication to  thee  in  behalf  of  this  thy  servant, 
whose  soul  is  disquieted  within  him  by  his  fears 
and  anxiely  respecting  the  safety  of  his  condition. 
Remove  from  him,  we  entreat  thee,  all  frightful 
apprehensions,  all  perplexing  doubts  and  scruples 
about  his  duty.  Make  him  satisfied  and  settled 
in  a  right  understanding  of  all  thy  precepts,  and 
careful  in  the  observance  of  them ;  and  dispel,  by 
the  light  of  thy  countenance,  all  that  darkness 
which  obscures  his  soul,  that  he  may  not  be  un- 
necessarily dejected,  and  distrustful  o{ himself,  or 
dishonourably  jealous  of  thee.  Deliver  him  from 
all  those  offences  which  make  him  so  much  a 
stranger  to  peace  and  comfort;  and  cause  him  to 
place  his  chief  satisfaction  and  delight  in  obeying 
thy  commandments,  and  in  meditating  on  thy 
mercy  ;  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 

A  Prayer  for  One  who  is  disturbed  with  wicked 

and  blasphemous  Thoughts. 

[From  Mr.  Lewis.] 

O  Lord  God,  the  Father  of  our  spirits,  to 
whom  all  hearts  are  open,  and  all  desires  known ; 
we  humbly  entreat  thee  to  succour  and  relieve  this 
thy  servant,  who  labours  under  the  burden  of 
wicked  thoughts.  Let  thy  power  and  goodness 
be  shown  in  healing  his  disordered  mind.  Cleanse 
the  thoughts  of  his  heart  by  the  inspiration  of  thy 
Holy  Spirit.  Suffer  them  not  to  be  defiled  by 
any  profane  or  blasphemous  suggestions,  but  heal 
the  soul  of  thy  servant,  by  enabling  him  to  stide 
and  suppress  all  such  thoughts  as  tend  to  rob  him 
of  his  peace,  or  deprive  him  of  the  comforts  of  re- 
ligion. Enable  him  to  be  of  an  equal  and  steady 
temper,  to  be  mild  and  gentle  in  his  behaviour, 
and  to  keep  his  hopes  and  fears  within  due 
bounds.  Make  him  sensible  of  the  wise  and 
kind  reasons  of  these  afflictions  ;  that,  if  they  are 
duly  improved,  they  may  be  powerful  preserva- 
tives of  his  soul  against  the  prevailing  sins  of  a 
licentious  age ;  may  lessen  his  inclinations  to  the 
enjoyments  of  this  life,  and  deaden  his  appetite  to 
sensual  pleasure,  and  the  perishing  goods  of  this 
world;  that  these  afflictions  may  dispose  him  to 
compassionate  the  sulierings  of  others,  and  make 
him  more  thoroughly  feel  his  own  infirmities,  and 
the  want  of  divine  assistance.  Open  his  eyes, 
that  he  may  see  and  know  the  wise  and  gracious 
dispensations  of  thy  providence ;  and,  by  humbhng 


himself  under  them,  may  at  length  be  lifted  up 
and  made  a  partaker  of  that  peace  and  joy  which 
thou  bestowest  on  all  thy  faithful  servants.  Grant 
this,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ,  our  only  Media- 
tor and  Redeemer. 

A  Prayer  for  One  who  is  afflicted  with  a  profone 
Mistrust  of  Divine  Truths,  and  blasphemous 
Thoughts. 

[From  Mr.  Kettle  well.] 

O  MOST  gracious  God,  in  whose  hand  is  the 
soul  of  every  living  creature;  protect  this  thy 
servant,  we  humbly  and  earnestly  entreat  thee, 
against  all  doubts  and  mistrusts  of  thy  truth, 
against  all  irreligious  thoughts  and  suggestions. 

Never  sutler  them,  O  Lord,  to  weaken  his 
faith,  or  to  hinder  /i/m  from  performing  his  duty. 
Preserve  hiin  not  only  from  the  sin,  but  if  it  seem 
good  to  thine  infinite  wisdom,  from  the  tempta- 
tion and  the  sorrow,  which  may  attend  them. 

But,  if  it  be  thy  blessed  will  to  continue  these 
terrifying  thoughts  for  his  trial  and  humiliation, 
Lord,  make  hiyn  sensible  that  they  will  not  be 
imputed  to  him  as  sin,  if,  as  soon  as  he  perceives 
them,  he  rejects  them  with  horror  and  indigna- 
tion. 

During  this  trial,  let  him  learn  to  depend  upon 
thee,  that,  as  often  as  these  profane  thoughts  arise 
in  his  mind,  he  may  find  grace  to  overcome  them, 
and  without  the  least  indulgence  or  delay  to  cast 
them  out ;  and  that  he  may  learn  to  show  patience 
under  them,  as  under  every  other  atfliction  and 
trial  of  thy  appointment,  trusting  to  thy  grace  to 
assist  Imn,  and  to  thy  goodness  to  deliver  A j?(i; 
through  Jesus  Christ  our  Saviour.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  One  under  the  dread  of  God's 
Wrath  and  everlasting  Damnation. 

[From  Mr.  Lewis.] 

O  ALMIGHTY  God,  the  aid  of  all  that  need,  and 
the  helper  of  all  that  flee  to  thee  for  succour,  ac- 
cept, we  beseech  thee,  our  humble  supplications 
for  this  thy  servant,  labouring  under  the  dismal 
apprehensions  of  thy  wrath. 

O  Lord,  enter  not  into  judgment  with  him  ; 
make  him  sensible  that,  though  the  wages  of  sin 
are  death,  the  gift  of  God  is  eternal  life ;  that  thou 
hate.st  the  death  of  a  sinner,  and  art  not  willing 
that  any  should  perish  ;  that  thou  always  punish- 
est  less  than  we  deserve,  and  in  the  midst  of  judg- 
ment rememberest  mercy.  Revive  his  soul  with 
a  sense  of  thy  love,  and  the  hopes  of  obtaining 
thy  pardon,  and  the  joy  of  thy  salvation ;  that  he 
may  be  raised  from  this  dejection,  and  show  with 
gladness  what  thou  hast  done  for  his  soul.  All 
this  we  hmnbly  beg  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake. 
Amen, 

A  Prayer  for  a  Lunatic. 

[From  Mr.  Jenks.] 

O  Lord,  the  only  wise  God,  from  whom  we 
have  received  all  the  faculties  of  our  souls  :  thou 
art  holy  and  righteous  in  all  thy  dispensations, 
though  the  reason  of  them  is  frequently  unknown 
to  us.  Dispel,  we  humlily  beseech  thee,  if  it  be 
agreeable  to  thine  infinite  wisdom,  the  clouds  in 
which  the  soul  of  thy  servant  is  now  involved; 
that  he  may  regain  his  understanding,  and  the 
rio-ht  use  of  his  faculties.  Heal  his  disordered 
mind :  settle  and  quiet  his  passions ;  pacify  and 
compose  his  imagination. 


2R4 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION 


O  prosper  the  means  which  are  used  for  his  re- 
covery. Make  him  tractable  in  the  use  of  reme- 
dies, and  willing  to  comply  with  the  advice  of  his 
friends.  But  if  no  means  can  efiect  his  cure,  let 
him  possess  his  soul  in  peace  and  composure,  and 
in  every  interval  of  reason  address  his  prayer  to 
thee ;  that,  when  his  earthly  tabernacle  shall  be 
dissolved,  he  may  rejoice  in  his  former  inability 
to  pursue  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  and  be  pre- 
sented unto  thee  pure  and  undefiled,  through  Je- 
sus Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  natural  Fools,  or  Madmen. 
[From  Mr.  Kettlewell.] 

O  ALMIGHTY  and  most  merciful  Father,  pity, 
Jve  entreat  thee,  this  thy  unhappy  creature,  who 
knows  not  his  own  wants,  nor  how  to  ask  for  thy 
mercies.  Compassionate,  O  Lord,  his  iniirmities, 
and  supply  his  necessities.  Let  thy  wisdom  pre- 
vent those  evils  which  he  cannot  foresee,  or  wants 
understanding  to  remove  ;  but  especially  keep  him, 
from  doing  any  thing  that  may  be  hurtful  cither  to 
himself  or  others. 

Let  his  mind,  on  all  occasions,  be  quiet  and 
peaceable  ;  and  as  far  as  his  faculties  extend,  ex- 
ercised in  piety  and  devout  meditations.  O  hear 
our  cry  when  we  call  upon  thee :  hear  us  for  him, 
who  is  not  able  to  pray  for  himself;  grant  him 
thy  fatherly  care  at  present,  and  tliy  peace  at  the 
last ;  throucjh  the  mediation  of  thy  Son,  our  Sa- 
viour Jesus  Christ.     Amen. 

PROPER  PSALMS  FOR   A   SICK  PER- 
SON AT  SEA. 
I. 

1.  Save  me,  O  God,  for  the  waters  are  come  in, 
even  unto  my  soul. 

2.  I  am  come  into  deep  waters,  so  that  the 
floods  run  over  me. — Psalm  Ixix.  1,  2. 

3.  The  floods  are  risen,  O  Lord,  the  floods 
have  lift  up  their  voice ;  the  floods  lift  up  their 
waves. 

4.  The  waves  of  the  sea  are  mighty,  and  rage 
horribly :  but  yet  the  Lord,  who  dwelleth  in  hea- 
ven, is  mightier. — Psalm  xciii.  4,  5. 

5.  He  maketh  the  storm  to  cease,  so  that  the 
waves  thereof  are  still. 

6.  Wherefore  unto  thee,  O  Lord,  do  I  cry  in 
my  trouble :  deliver  me  out  of  my  distress. — 
Psalm  cvii.  28. 

7.  Thou  shalt  show  us  wonderful  things  in  thy 
righteousness,  O  God  of  our  salvation :  thou  that  art 
the  hope  of  all  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  of  them 
that  remain  in  the  broad  sea. — Psalm  Ixv.  5. 

8.  Through  thee  have  I  been  holden  up  ever 
since  I  was  born ;  thou  art  he  that  took  me  out  of 
my  mother's  womb ;  my  praise  shall  always  be  of 
thee. — Psalm  Ixxi.  5,  G. 

9.  I  will  cry  unto  thee.  Thou  art  my  father, 
my  God,  and  the  rock  of  my  salvation. — Psalm 
Ixxxix.  26. 

10.  Withdraw  not  thou  thy  mercy  from  me,  O 
Lord;  let  thy  loving-kindness  and  truth  always 
preserve  me. 

11.  For  innumerable  troubles  are  come  about 
me:  my  sins  have  taken  such  hold  upon  me,  that 
1  ain  not  able  to  look  up;  yea,  they  are  more  in 
number  than  the  hairs  of  my  head,  and  my  heart 
hath  failed  me. 

12.  O  Lord,  let  it  be  thy  pleasure  to  deliver  me, 
make  haste,  O  Lord,  to  help  me. — Psalm  xl.  II, 
12,  13. 


II. 

1.  Out  of  the  deep  have  I  called  unto  thee,  0 
Lord;  Lord,  hear  my  voice. 

2.  O  let  thine  ears  consider  well  the  voice  of  my 
complaint. — Psalm  cxxx.  1,  2. 

3.  For  I  am  helpless  and  poor,  and  my  heart  is 
wounded  within  me. — Psalm  cix.  21. 

4.  My  heart  is  disquieted  within  me,  and  the 
fear  of  death  is  fallen  upon  me. 

5.  Fearfulness  and  trembling  are  come  upon 
me,  and  an  horrible  dread  hath  overwhelmed  me. 
— Psalm  Iv.  4,  5. 

G.  I  go  hence  like  the  shadow  that  departeth, 
and  am  driven  away  like  a  grasshopper. — Psalm 
cix.  22. 

7.  O  God,  thou  knowest  my  foolishness,  and 
my  sins  are  not  hidden  from  thee. — Psalm  Ixix.  5. 

8.  Thou  hast  laid  me  in  the  lowest  pit;  in  a 
place  of  darkness,  and  in  the  deep. 

9.  Thine  indignation  lieth  hard  upon  me,  and 
thou  hast  vexed  me  with  all  thy  storms. — Psalm 
Ixxxviii.  5,  6. 

10.  Thou  brcakest  me  with  a  tempest,  and  my 
roarings  are  poured  out  like  waters. — Job  iii.  24; 
ix.  17. 

11.  O  reject  me  not  utterly,  and  be  not  exceed- 
ing wroth  against  thy  servant. — Lament,  v.  22. 

12.  For  my  soul  is  full  of  trouble,  and  my  life 
draweth  nigh  unto  hell. — Psalm  Ixxxviii.  2. 

13.  I  am  brought  into  so  great  trouble  and  mi- 
sery, that  I  go  mourning  all  the  day  long. 

14.  For  my  loins  are  filled  with  a  sore  disease, 
and  there  is  no  whole  part  in  my  body. — Psalm 
xxxviii.  6,  7. 

15.  My  wounds  stink  and  are  corrupt,  through 
my  foolishness. — Psalm  xxxviii.  5. 

16.  Behold,  O  Lord,  I  am  in  distress ;  my 
bowels  are  troubled,  my  heart  is  turned  within 
me,  for  I  have  grievously  transgressed. — Lament. 
i.  20. 

17.  O  remember  not  the  sins  and  offences  of 
my  youth;  but  according  to  thy  mercy  think  thou 
upon  me,  O  Lord,  for  thy  goodness. — Psalm  xxv.  6. 

18.  Cast  me  not  away  in  the  time  of  age ;  for- 
sake me  not,  when  my  strength  faileth  me. — Psalm 
Ixxi.  8. 

19.  Take  thy  plague  away  from  me:  I  am  even 
consumed  by  the  means  of  thy  heavy  hand. 

20.  When  thou  with  rebukes  dost  chasten  man 
for  sin,  thou  makest  his  beauty  to  consume  away, 
like  as  it  were  a  moth  fretting  a  garment:  every 
man  therefore  is  but  vanity. 

21.  Hear  my  prayer,  O  Lord,  and  with  thine 
ears  consider  my  calling ;  hold  not  thy  peace  at  my 
tears. 

22.  For  I  am  a  stranger  with  thee,  and  a  so- 
journer, as  all  my  fathers  were. 

23.  O  spare  me  a  little,  that  I  may  recover  my 
strength,  before  I  go  hence,  and  be  no  more  seen. 
— Psalm  xxxix.  11 — 13. 

A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Seaman. 

O  MOST  great  and  glorious  Lord,  the  "  salvation 
of  all  that  dwell  on  the  earth,  and  of  them  that  re- 
main in  the  broad  sea ;"  under  whose  powerful  pro- 
tection we  are  alike  secure  in  every  place,  and 
without  whose  providence  over  us  we  can  no 
where  be  in  safety  ;  look  down,  we  beseech  thee, 
upon  us,  thy  unworthy  servants,  who  are  called  to 
"  behold  thy  wonders  in  the  deep,"  and  to  perforin 
our  several  duties  in  the  great  waters. 


IN  VISITING  THE  SICK. 


265 


"  Thou  art  our  refuge  auJ  strength,  a  very  pre- 
sent help  in  trouble ;  and  therefore  we  fly  unto 
thee  for  succour  m  all  our  necessities.  Extend 
thy  accustomed  goodness  to  our  distressed  brother, 
whom  thou  hast  been  pleased  to  visit  with  the  rod 
of  affliction. 

"  The  waves  of  death  encompass  him  about, 
and  the  sorrows  of  hell  take  hold  upon  him." 

O  leave  him  not  to  himself,  nor  let  him  be  given 
over  "  to  a  spirit  of  slumber"  and  darkness;  but 
"  open  his  eyes,  that  he  may  see  the  wondrous 
things  of  thy  law,' '  and  the  necessity  of  a  speedy 
and  sincere  repentance ;  so  that  from  the  sickness 
of  his  body,  he  may  derive  health  and  salvation  to 
his  soul,  which  is  the  great  end  of  all  thy  righte- 
ous judgments,  and  of  all  our  afflictions. 

Let  him  seriously  consitler  and  reflect  within 
himself,  from  this  visitation,  "  what  a  dreadful 
tiling  it  is  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living  God :" 
and  let  him  hence  learn,  if  it  shall  please  thee  to 
raise  him  up  again,  to  preserve  a  more  awful  sense 
of  thy  divine  majesty  upon  his  spirit,  "  and  to  hve 
more  soberly,  righteously,  and  piously,  in  this  pre- 
sent world." 

We  know,  O  Lord,  that  "  many  are  the  ene- 
mies of  peace,"  and  that  "  the  whole  world  lietli 
in  wickedness:"  but  let  him  not  "  follow  a  multi- 
tude to  do  evil,"  nor  "  give  his  consent  to  the  en- 
ticement of  sinners ;"  but  being  perfectly  "  redeemed 
from  all  vain  conversation,  and  renewed  in  the 
spirit  of  his  mind,"  let  him  ''  walk  before  thee  with 
a  perfect  heart,"  and  spend  the  residue  of  his  days 
in  thy  faith  and  fear. 

Or  if  thou  hast  determined  otherwise  concern- 
xng  him,  be  pleased  to  give  him  sufficient  grace, 
and  strength,  and  time,  to  "  make  his  calling  and 
election  sure,  before  he  go  hence  and  be  no  more 
seen :"  revive  his  drooping  spirits,  fortify  his  heart, 
and  as  he  decays  in  the  outer,  strengthen  him  in 
the  inner  man,  by  setting  before  him  the  hopes  of 
a  blessed  immortality  "  as  an  anchor  of  the  soul, 
both  sure  and  steadfast."     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  sick  Soldier  or  Seaman. 

O  MOST  mighty  Lord,  the  fountain  of  health 
and  life,  strength  and  courage,  the  aid  and  support 
of  all  that  fly  unto  thee  for  succour,  with  whom  is 
no  respect  of  persons,  but  every  one  that  feareth 
thee  (whether  he  be  rich  or  poor,  learned  or  un- 
learned) is  accepted  by  thee;  we  beseech  thee  mer- 
cifully to  look  down  upon  our  brother,  who  is  now 
fallen  under  the  rod  of  thy  displeasure. 

We  know,  O  Lord,  that  all  thy  judgments  are 
principally  intended  for  our  good  in  the  end,  by 
the  rcfonnation  of  our  lives  and  manners:  and 
therefore  we  most  humbly  beseech  thee  to  let  thy 
present  judgment  have  that  good  eitect  upon  our 
brother,  that  he  may  lead  the  rest  of  his  life  as  a 
faithful  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  not  continue  to 
harden  his  heart  against  all  the  powerful  and  re- 
peated instances  of  thy  mercies  and  judgments  to- 
wards him. 

If  thou  hast  designed  this  sickness  shall  termi- 
nate in  his  death,  0  be  pleased  to  fit  and  prepare 
him  for  it ;  or  if  otherwise  in  mercy  thou  hast  de- 
tenuined  to  spare  him,  O  let  him  not  retiirn  to 
any  of  his  former  sinful  courses,  but  let  him  al- 
ways keep  in  mind  the  promise  which  he  made  to 
thee  in  baptism,  of  renouncing  the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil ;  and  which,  we  hope,  he  now  again 
heartily  renews  in  this  his  day  of  visitation. 

We  know,  O  Lord,  that  many  temptations 
2L 


will  unavoidably  assault  him  in  the  state  of  life 
wherein  he  is  engaged,  and  therefore  we  most 
humbly  beseech  thee  to  give  him  such  a  portion  of 
thy  blessed  Spirit,  as  may  enable  him  to  fight  with 
as  much  resolution  and  courage  against  his  spiri- 
tual enemies,  as  the  nature  of  his  post  obliges  him 
to  do,  upon  just  occasions,  against  his  temporal ; 
ever  remembering,  that  the  greatest  of  conquests 
is  that  which  is  made  upon  ourselves  ;  and  that  no 
victory  is  so  truly  honourable,  as  that  which  is 
obtained  over  our  vicious  inclinations. 

Wherefore  give  him  grace,  we  beseech  thee,  O 
Lord,  "  to  abhor  that  which  is  evil,  and  to  cleave 
to  that  which  is  good."  Let  him  religiously  avoid 
all  blasphemy  and  profaneness,  all  drunkenness, 
riot,  and  lasciviousness ;  and  let  him  carefully  fol- 
low the  rule  our  Saviour  hath  set  him,  "  of  doino 
violence  to  no  man,  accusing  no  man  falsely,  and 
being  content  with  his  own  wages;"  so  that,  hav- 
ing "  put  on  the  whole  armour  of  God,  he  may  be 
able  to  stand  against  the  wiles  of  the  devil ;  and 
whenever  thou  shalt  be  pleased  to  put  an  end  to 
his  warfare,  (either  now  or  hereafter,)  he  may 
cheerfully  resign  his  soul  into  thy  hands,  in  these 
comfortable  words  of  the  apostle:  "I  have  fought 
a  good  tight,  I  have  finished  my  course,  I  have 
kept  the  faith;  henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  me 
a  crown  of  righteousness,  which  the  Lord,  the 
righteous  Judge,  shall  give  unto  all  those  that  love 
and  fear  him,  and  put  their  trust  in  his  mercy." 

A 111671. 

A  Prayer  to  be  used  by  a  Person  afflicted  with  a 
Distemper  oj"  long  Continuance. 

[By  Dr.  Stonehouse.] 

OLoRD  God  Almighty,  I  am  wonderfully  made, 
and  all  my  powers  of  body  and  mind  .were  pro- 
duced and  are  supported  by  thee.  "  Thou  killest, 
and  makest  alive :  thou  woundest,  and  makest 
whole." 

I  own  and  reverence  thine  hand  in  my  present 
affliction.  I  acknowledge  that  thou  art  righteous 
in  all  that  befalls  me ;  lor  I  have  sinned  ;  and  thou 
chastenest  me  less  than  my  iniquities  deserve.  In 
punishment  thou  showest  mercy,  continuest  to  me 
many  comforts,  prolongest  my  opportunities  of  re- 
flection and  amendment,  and  givest  hope  of  that 
pardon  which  I  so  much  want,  and  at  tliis  time 
earnestly  entreat. 

I  desire  in  this  poor  condition  of  my  health,  to 
search  and  try  my  ways,  and  turn  unto  thee,  O 
Lord,  by  deep  humility,  sincere  repentance,  and 
faith  in  the  great  Redeemer :  and  may  the  fruit  of 
this  and  every  affliction  be  to  take  away  sin,  and 
make  my  heart  better. 

O  God,  if  it  be  thy  merciful  will,  direct  me  to, 
and  prosper,  some  means  for  the  removal  of  my 
disorder,  that  I  may  yet  be  capable  of  glorifying 
thee  in  my  station,  and,  by  farther  endeavours  for 
thy  service  upon  earth,  be  fitter  for  immortality. 

Support  me,  gracious  Lord,  that  my  soul  may 
not  be  quite  cast  down,  and  too  much  disquictt-d 
within  me.  Assist  me  to  cherish  penitent,  believ- 
ing, serious  thoughts  and  aflections.  Grant  me 
such  resignation  to  thy  will,  such  patience  and 
meekness  towards  men,  as  my  Divine  Master  re- 
quireth,  and  as  he  himself  manifested  while  he 
was  a  sufferer  on  earth.  Forgive  all  the  harsh- 
ness and  sinfulness  of  my  temper,  and  keep  it 
from  increasing  upon  me.  May  I  learn  from  what 
I  now  feel  to  pity  all  who  are  sick,  in  pain,  o'» 
23 


266 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  COMPANION,  &c. 


otherwise  afflicted,  and  do  all  in  my  power  to  as- 
sist and  relieve  them. 

If  b)'  this  affliction  thou  intendest  to  bring  me 
down  to  the  grave,  prej)are  me,  by  thy  grace,  for 
my  removal  hence,  and  entrance  on  the  unseen 
eternal  stale :  and  may  all  the  sufl(?rings  of  the 
present  liie  work  out  for  me  a  far  more  exceeding 
and  eternal  weight  of  glory. 

I  am  thankful  for  any  degree  of  ease  and  com- 
fort which  I  have  this  day  enjoyed.  Grant  me, 
this  night,  such  refreshing  rest,  that  I  may  be 
better  able  to  discharge  the  duties  and  bear  the 
burden  of  another  day,  if  thou  art  pleased  to  in- 
dulge me  with  it.  If  my  eyes  are  kept  waking, 
may  my  meditations  be  comfortable  and  useful  to 
me. 

Pity  my  wealcness,  merciful  and  heavenly  Fa- 
ther, and  hear  my  imperfect  petitions,  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  was  once  a  man  of 
sorrow,  and  is  still  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our 
inlirmities ;  to  whom,  as  our  merciful  High  Priest 
and  powerful  Intercessor,  be  glory  for  evermore. 
Amen. 

A  Prayer  to  be  tised  on  the  Death  of  a  Friend. 
[By  Mr.  Merrick.] 
O  Almighty  God,  who  dost  not  wilhngly 
grieve  the  children  of  men,  but  in  thy  visitations 
rememberest  mercy,  teach  me  by  thy  grace  to  bear 
the  loss  of  that  dear  person  whom  thou  hast  taken 
from  me  with  patience  and  resignation,  and  to 
make  a  right  use  of  the  affliction  which  thy  fa- 
therly hand  hath  laid  upon  me.  Thou  hast  given, 
and  thou  hast  taken  away :  blessed  be  thy  holy 
name.  Make  me  thankful,  O  Lord,  for  the  com- 
forts and  blessings  which  I  still  enjoy ;  and  sancti- 
fy to  my  soul  all  the  suflerings,  which  in  the 
course  of  this  mortal  life  thou  shall  appoint  for 
me.  Let  the  death  of  friends  and  relations  help 
to  keep  me  always  mindful  of  my  own  mortality. 
And  grant,  that  by  thy  grace  I  may  here  apply  , 
my  heart  to  wisdom,  and  may  hereafter  by  thy 
mercy  be  received  into  that  everlasting  kingdom, 
where  all  tears  shall  be  wiped  from  all  faces,  and 
sorrow  and  sighing  shall  tlee  away.  Hear  me, 
O  merciful  Father,  for  the  sake  of  thy  Son  Jesus 
Christ.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  to  he  used  by  a  Person  troubled  in 
Mind. 

ALMrcnTY  God,  who  beholdest  with  compas- 
sion and  mercy  the  weaknesses  and  frailties  of  us 
thy  sinful  creatures ;  look  down  on  me,  I  beseech 
thee,  and  deliver  me,  if  it  be  thy  blessed  will,  from 
the  distress  of  mind  under  which  I  labour. 
Strengthen  my  judgment,  and  inform  my  under- 
standing, that  I  may  rightly  know  my  duly;  and  | 
grant  that  I  may  act  on  all  occasions,  and  in  every  ! 
circumstance  of  life,  in  the  manner  most  acceptable  ' 
to  thee.  Pardon  my  secret  sins  and  infirmities, 
and  preserve  me  from  all  wilful  neglects  and  of- 
fences. If  thou  seest  it  consistent  with  thy  glory, 
and  with  the  everlasting  welfare  of  my  soul,  fill 
me  with  that  fervency  of  affection  towards  thee, 
and  with  that  measure  of  spiritual  comfort  and 
assurance,  which  may  preserve  my  mind  in  a  frame 
of  cheerfulness  and  composure.  But  if  trouble 
and  bitterness  of  mind  be  more  expedient  for  me, 
continue  to  me  both  this  and  all  other  afflictions 
which  thou  seest  most  conducive  to  my  future 
happiness,  and  grant  that  I  may  bear  them  with 


patience  and  resignation.  Let  thine  Holy  Spirit 
direct  and  support  me  under  every  trial,  and  en- 
able me  so  to  walk  in  thy  faith  and  lear,  that  I 
may  at  last  be  received  into  thy  heavenly  king- 
dom, through  the  merits  and  mediation  of  ihy  Son 
Jesus  Christ,  our  blessed  Lord  and  Saviour, 
Amen. 

A  Prayer  to  be  used  by  an  Old  Person. 

O  fiRACious  Lord,  my  maker  and  my  preserver, 
I  give  thee  thanks  for  the  long  continuance  which 
thou  hast  granted  me  in  this  world,  in  order  that 
I  may  be  the  belter  prepared  for  another.  Enable 
me  by  thy  grace  to  make  a  right  use  of  the  time 
afforded  me,  and  give  me  a  true  and  deep  repent- 
ance of  the  sins  which  I  have  committed.  Sup- 
port me  by  thy  help  under  the  infirmities  of  age, 
keep  me  from  covetousness,  and  fretfulness,  and 
from  all  unreasonable  fears,  and  cares.  Give  me 
that  degree  of  ease  and  health  which  thou  seest 
most  convenient  for  me ;  wean  my  aliections  and 
desires  from  the  things  of  this  lite,  and  keep  me 
continually  prepared  for  death;  through  Jesus 
Christ.     Amen. 

A  Prayer  for  a  Person  condemned  t(f  die. 
[From  Dr.  Inet.J 

O  MOST  just  and  holy  Lord  God,  who  briiigest 
to  light  the  hidden  things  of  darkness,  and  bj-  thy 
just  and  wise  providence  dost  bring  sin  to  shame 
and  punishment ;  disappointing  the  hopes  of  wick- 
ed men ;  visiting  their  sins  upon  them  in  this  pre- 
sent life,  that  thou  mayest  deter  others  from  the 
evil  of  their  ways,  and  save  their  souls  in  the  day 
of  judgment;  O  Lord,  in  mercy  look  down  ujion 
this  thy  servant,  who  now  is  before  thee  to  confess 
thy  justice  in  making  him  a  sad  exam[)le  to  others. 
He  with  sorrow  and  shame  confesseth  it  would  be 
just  with  thee,  should  death  eternal  be  the  wages 
of  his  sins,  and  everlasting  sorrow  the  recompense 
of  his  iniquity.  He  has,  we  confess,  O  Lord, 
despised  thy  mercy,  and  abused  thy  goodness,  and 
has  therefore  no  reason  to  expect  any  other  than 
to  be  made  an  everlasting  sacrifice  to  thy  justice. 
When  thou  hast,  by  the  ministry  of  thy  word, 
and  the  interposition  of  thy  providence,  called 
him  to  repentance,  he  has  slighted  thine  admoni- 
tions. O,  how  just  therefore  would  it  be  now  in 
thee  to  disregard  his  cry,  in  this  day  of  trouble, 
when  distress  and  anguish  are  come  upon  him! 
He  confesseth  that  he  hath  hardened  his.  heart, 
notwithstanding  all  thy  importunities  to  kim  to 
repent  and  live ;  that  he  has  still  gone  on  from 
one  wickedness  to  another,  eagerly  repeating  the 
works  of  darkness,  and  even  hating  to  be  re- 
formed; that /ie  has  notoriously  broken  A  is  bap- 
tismal vows,  and  given  encouragement  to  others  to 
blaspheme  our  holy  faith,  and  that  on  these  accounts 
he  has  nothing  to  expect  but  that  thou  shouldst 
deal  with  him  according  to  his  sins,  and  reward 
him  according  to  the  multitude  of  his  odences. 
But  thou,  O  God,  hast  lieen  pleased  to  declare, 
that  with  thee  is  mercy  and  plenteous  redemption; 
that  thou  desirest  not  the  death  of  a  sinner,  but 
rather  that  he  should  repent  and  live.  Thou  hast 
so  loved  the  world,  that  thou  gavest  thy  only- 
begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him 
should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life.  O, 
let  not  him  whom  we  are  now  commending  to  thy 
mercy,  for  ever  perish  and  be  lost.  Have  com- 
passion upon  a  miserable  sinner,  who  owns  he  de- 
serves eternally  to  die;  and  let  him  find  mercy  in 


MINISTRATION  OF  PUBLIC  BAPTISM  OF  INFANTS. 


267 


his  distress.  Pardon,  we  earnestly  entreat  thee 
his  wilful  and  his  heedless  follies,  his  errors,  and 
his  crying  and  notorious  sins ;  particularly  that 
for  which  he  is  now  to  die.  O  Lord,  thou  God 
of  mercy,  who  art  abundant  in  goodness,  have 
pity  on  the  work  of  thine  own  hands.  Bury  his 
sins  in  his  grave,  and,  however  they  may  rise  up 
in  this  world  to  disgrace  him,  let  them  never  rise 
up  in  the  next  to  condemn  him :  and  whatever  he 
suffers  here,  let  him  hereafter  be  in  the  number  of 
those  whose  unrighteousness  is  forgiven,  and 
whose  sin  is  covered.  However  men,  in  the  exe- 
cution of  justice,  and  to  deter  others  from  being 
guilty  of  the  like  wickedness,  may  kill  his  body; 
let  neither  his  body  nor  his  soul  be  destroyed  in 
hell,  but  be  delivered  from  eternal  condemnation, 
for  the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ,  who  died  to  save  sin- 
ners.    Amen. 

A  Prayer  of  Preparation  for  Death. 

O  Almighty  God,  Maker  and  Judge  of  all 
men,  have  mercy  upon  me,  thy  weak  and  sinful 
creature  ;  and  if  by  thy  most  wise  and  righteous 
appointment  the  hour  of  death  be  approaching  to- 


I  wards  me,  enable  me  to  meet  it  with  a  mind  fully 
prepared  for  it,  and  to  pass  through  tliis  great  and 
awful  trial  in  the  manner  most  profitable  for  nie. 
(J  let  me  not  leave  any  thing  undone  which  may 
help  to  make  my  departure  safe  and  happy,  or  to 
qualify  me  for  the  highest  degree  of  thy  favour 
that  I  am  capable  of  attiuning.  Pardon  the  sins 
which  I  have  committed  against  thee  by  thought, 
word,  and  deed,  and  all  my  neglects  of  duty.  Par- 
don the  sins  which  I  have  conmiitted  against  my 
neighbour  ;  and  if  others  have  wronged  or  oflended 
me,  incline  my  heart  freely  and  fully  to  forgive 
them.  Cleanse  my  soul  from  all  its  corruptions, 
and  transform  it  into  the  likeness  of  thy  Son  Je- 
sus Christ ;  that  I  may  behold  thy  face  in  glory, 
and  be  made  partaker  of  thy  heavenly  kingdom. 
And,  O  merciful  Father,  give  me  that  supply  of 
spiritual  comfort,  which  thou  seest  needful  for  me 
in  my  present  condition :  and  grant  that,  when 
my  change  comes,  I  may  die  with  a  quiet  con- 
science, with  a  well-grounded  assurance  of  thy 
favour,  and  a  joyful  hope  of  a  blessed  resurrec- 
tion ;  through  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ. 
Amen. 


THE  MINISTRATION 


OF  PUBLIC  BAPTISM  OF  INFANTS. 


TO  BE  USED  IN  CHURCHES, 


The  people  are  to  be  admonished,  that  it  is  most  con- 
venient that  baptism  should  not  be  administered  but 
upon  Sundays  and  other  holy-days,  when  the  most  num- 
ber of  parsons  come  together  ;  as  well  for  that  the  con- 
preeation  there  present,  may  testify  the  receiving  of 
tliem  that  be  newly  baptisi-d  into  the  number  of  Christ's 
church;  as  also  because,  in  the  baptism  of  infants, 
every  man  present  be  put  in  remembrance  of  his  own 
profession  made  to  God  in  his  baptism.  For  which 
cause  also  it  is  expedient  that  baptism  be  ministered 
in  the  vulgar  tongue.  Nevertheless  (if  necessity  so  re- 
quire) children  may  be  baptised  on  any  other  day. 

And  note,  That  there  shall  be  for  every  male  child  to 
be  baptised,  two  godfathers  and  one  godmother;  and 
for  every  female,  one  godfather  and  two  godmothers. 

When  there  are  children  to  be  baptised,  the  parent 
shall  give  knowleiige  thereof  over  night,  or  in  the 
morning,  befcue  the  beginning  of  morning  prayer,  to  the 
Curate."  And  then  the  godfathers  and  godmoihers,  and 
the  people  with  the  children,  must  be  ready  at  the  font, 
either  immediately  after  the  last  lesson  at  morning 
prayer,  or  else  immediately  after  the  last  le-sson  ateven- 
ingpraj'er,  as  the  Curate  by  his  discretion  shall  appoint. 
And  the  Priest  coming  to  the  font  (which  is  then  to  be 
filled  with  pure  water,)  and  standing  there,  shall  say, 

Q.  Hath  this  child  been  already  baptized, 
or  no  1 

[f  they  answer  JVo,  then  shall  tlie  Priest  proceed  as 
follows: 

Dearly  beloved,  forasmuch  as  all  men  are  con- 


ceived and  bom  in  sin,  and  thai  our  Saviour 
Christ  saith,  none  can  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
God,  except  he  be  regenerated  and  born  anew  of 
water  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost ;  I  beseech  j'ou  to 
call  upon  God  the  Father,  through  our  Lord  Je- 
sus Christ,  that  of  his  bounteous  mercy  he  will 
grant  this  child  that  thing  which  by  nature  he 
cannot  have,  that  he  may  be  baptised  with  water 
and  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  received  into  Christ's 
holy  church,  and  be  made  a  lively  member  of  the 
same. 

Then  shall  the  Priest  say. 
Let  us  pray. 

Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  who  of  thy 
great  mercy  didst  save  Noah  and  his  family  in  the 
ark  from  perishing  by  water,  and  also  didst  safely 
lead  the  children  of  Israel  thy  jieople  through  tlie 
Red  Sea,  figuring  thereby  thy  holy  baptism ;  and 
by  the  baptism  of  thy  well-beloved  Son  Jesus 
Christ  in  the  river  Jordan,  didst  sanctify  water  to 
the  mystical  washing  away  of  sin ;  we  beseech 
thee  for  thine  infinite  mercies,  that  thou  wilt  mer- 
cifully look  upon  this  child ;  wash  him  and  sanc- 
tify flim  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  that  he,  being  de- 
livered from  thy  wrath,  may  be  received  into  the 


268 


■MINISTRATION  OF  PUBLIC  BAPTISM  OP  INFANTS. 


ark  of  Christ's  clmrcli ;  and  being  steadfast  in 
faith,  joyful  througli  hope,  and  rooted  in  charity, 
may  so  pass  the  waves  of  tliis  troublesome  world, 
that  iinally  he  may  come  to  the  land  of  everlasting 
hfe,  there  to  reign  with  thee  world  without  end, 
through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

Almiohty  and  immortal  God,  the  aid  of  all 
that  need,  the  helper  of  all  that  flee  to  thee  for 
succour,  the  life  of  them  that  believe,  and  the  re- 
surrection of  the  dead ;  we  call  upon  thee  for  this 
ivfant,  that  he,  coming  to  thy  holy  baptism,  may 
receive  remission  of  his  sins  by  spiritual  regenera- 
tiuii.  Receive  him,  O  Lord,  as  thou  hast  promised 
by  thy  well-beloved  Son,  saying,  Ask,  and  ye 
siiall  have  ;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find  ;  knock  and  it 
shall  be  opened  unto  you.  So  give  now  unto  us 
that  ask ;  let  us  that  seek,  find ;  open  the  gate 
unto  us  that  knock ;  that  this  infant  may  enjoy 
the  everlasting  benediction  of  thy  heavenly  wash- 
ing, and  may  come  to  the  eternal  kingdom  wliich 
thou  hast  promised  by  Christ  our  Lord.  Amen. 

Tlien  shall  the  Priest  stand  up,  and  shall  say, 

Hear  the  words  of  the  Gospel  written  by  St.  Mark, 
in  the  tenth  chapter,  at  the  tliirteenth  verse  : 

"  They  brought  young  children  to  Christ,  that 
he  should  touch  them ;  and  his  disciples  rebuked 
those  that  brought  them.  But  when  Jesus  saw  it, 
he  was  much  displeased,  and  said  unto  them.  Suf- 
fer the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid 
them  not;  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God. 
Verily  I  say  unto  you.  Whosoever  shall  not  re- 
ceive the  kingdom  of  God  as  a  little  child,  he  shall 
not  enter  therein.  And  he  took  them  up  in  his 
arms,  put  liis  hands  upon  them,  and  blessed  them." 

After  the  Gospel  is  read,  the  Minister  shall  make  this 
brief  exhortation  upon  the  words  of  the  Gospel. 

Beloved,  ye  hear  in  this  Gospel  the  words  of 
our  Saviour  Christ,  that  he  commanded  the  chil- 
dren to  be  brought  unto  him;  how  he  blamed 
those  that  would  have  kept  them  from  him ;  how 
he  exhorted  all  men  to  follow  their  innoccncy.  Ye 
perceive  how  by  his  outward  gesture  and  deed  he 
declared  his  good  will  towards  them ;  for  he  em- 
braced theiTi  ui  his  arms,  he  laid  his  hands  upon 
them,  and  blessed  them.  Doubt  ye  not,  therelbre, 
but  earnestly  believe,  that  he  will  likewise  favour- 
ably receive  this  present  infant ;  that  he  will  em- 
brace him  with  the  arms  of  his  mercy ;  that  he 
will  give  unto  him  the  blessing  of  eternal  life,  and 
make  him,  partaker  of  his  everlasting  kingdom. 
Wherefore  we  being  thus  persuaded  of  the  good 
will  of  our  heavenly  Father  towards  this  infant, 
declared  by  his  Son  Jesus  Christ,  and  nothing 
doubting  but  that  he  favourably  alloweth  this  cha- 
ritable work  of  ours,  in  cringing  this  infant  to  his 
holy  baptism,  let  us  faithfully  and  devoutly  give 
thanks  unto  him,  and  say, — 

Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  heavenlyFa- 
ther,  we  give  thee  humble  thanks  that  thou  hast 
vouchsafed  to  call  us  to  the  knowledge  of  thy  grace 
and  faith  in  thee :  increase  this  knowledge,  and 
confirm  this  faith  in  us  evermore.  Give  thy  Holy 
Spirit  to  this  infant,  that  he  may  be  born  again, 
and  be  made  an  heir  of  everlasting  salvation; 
through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  liveth  and 
reigneth  with  thee  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  now  and 
for  ever.     Amen. 


Then  shall  the  Priest  speak  unto  the  godfathers  and 
godmothers  in  this  wise: 

Dearly  beloved,  ye  have  brought  this  child 
here  to  be  baptized ;  ye  have  prayed  that  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  would  vouchsafe  to  receive  him,  to 
release  him  of  his  sins,  to  sanctify  him  with  the 
Holy  Ghost,  to  give  him  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
and  everlasting  life.  You  have  heard  also,  that 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  hath  promised  also  in  his 
Gospel,  to  grant  all  these  things  that  ye  have 
prayed  for;  which  promise  he  for  his  part  will 
most  surely  keep  and  perform.  Wherefore  after 
this  promise  made  by  Christ,  this  infant  must  also 
faithfully,  for  his  part,  promise  by  you  that  are 
his  sureties,  (until  he  come  of  age  to  take  it  upon 
himself)  that  he  will  renounce  the  devil  and  all 
his  works,  and  constantly  believe  God's  holy  word, 
and  obediently  keep  his  commandments. 

I  demand  therefore, 

Dost  thou,  in  the  name  of  this  child,  renounce 
the  devil  and  all  his  works,  the  vain  pomp  and 
glory  of  the  world,  with  all  covetous  desires  of  the 
same,  and  the  carnal  desires  of  the  flesh,  so  that 
thou  wilt  not  follow  nor  be  led  by  them  ? 

Answ.  I  renounce  them  all. 


Dost  thou  believe  in  God,  the  Father  Almighty, 
Maker  of  heaven  and  earth  1 

And  in  Jesus  Christ  his  only-begotten  Son,  our 
Lord  1  And  that  he  was  conceived  by  the  Holy 
Ghost ;  born  of  the  Virgin  Mary  ;  that  he  sufl'er- 
ed  under  Pontius  Pilate,  was  crucified,  dead,  and 
buried  ;  that  he  went  down  into  hell,  and  also  did 
rise  again  the  third  day ;  that  he  ascended  into 
heaven,  and  sitteth  at  the  right  hand  of  God  the 
Father  Almighty ;  and  I'rom  thence  shall  come 
again,  at  the  end  of  the  world,  to  judge  the  quick 
and  the  deadi 

And  dost  thou  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost ;  the 
holy  Catholic  church  ;  the  communion  of  saints ; 
the  reinission  of  sins ;  the  resurrection  of  the  llesh ; 
and  everlasting  life  after  death '{ 

Answ.     All  this  I  steadfastly  believe. 
Minister. 

Wilt  thou  then  be  baptized  in  this  faith  '? 
Ansic.  Tliis  is  my  desire. 

Minister. 

Wilt  thou  then  obediently  keep  God's  holy 
will  and  commandments,  and  walk  in  the  same 
all  the  days  of  thy  life"? 

Answ.     I  will. 

Then  the  Priest  shall  say, 

O  MERCIFUL  God,  grant  that  the  old  Adam  in 
this  Child  may  be  so  buried,  that  the  new  man 
may  be  raised  up  in  hiin.     Amen. 

Grant  that  all  carnal  afltctions  may  die  in  him, 
and  that  all  things  belonging  to  the  Spirit  may 
live  and  grow  in  /u??i.    Amen. 

Grant  that  he  may  have  power  and  strength  to 
have  victory,  and  to  triumph  against  the  devil,  the 
world,  and  the  flesh.     Amen. 

Grant  that  whosoever  is  here  dedicated  to  thee 
by  our  office  and  ministry,  may  also  be  endued 
vvith  heavenly  virtues,  and  everlastingly  rewarded, 
through  thy  mercy,  O  blessed  Lord  God,  who  dost 
live  and  govern  all  things,  world  without  ent' 
Amen. 


MINISTRATION  OF  PRIVATE  BAPTISM  OF  CHILDREN. 


269 


Almighty  and  everlasting  God,  whose  most 
dearly  beloved  Son  Jesus  Christ,  for  the  forgive- 
ness of  our  sins,  did  shed  out  of  his  most  precious 
side  both  water  and  blood,  and  gave  command- 
ment to  his  disciples,  that  they  should  go  and 
teach  all  nations,  and  baptize  them  in  the  name  of 
the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy 
Ghost ;  regard,  we  beseech  thee,  the  supplications 
of  thy  congregation ;  sanctify  this  water  to  the 
mystical  washing  away  of  sin ;  and  grant  that  this 
child  now  to  be  baptized  therein,  may  receive  the 
fulness  of  thy  grace,  and  ever  remain  in  the  num- 
ber of  thy  taithful  and  elect  children ;  through  Je- 
sus Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

Tlien  the  Priest  shall  take  the  Child  into  his  hands,  and 
shall  say  to  the  godfathers  and  godmothers, 

Name  this  child. 

And  then  naming  it  after  them  (if  they  shall  certify 
him  that  the  child  may  well  endure  it.)  he  shall  dip 
it  in  the  water  discreetly  and  warily,  saying, 

N.,  I  baptize  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
a-nd  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost.     Amen. 

But  if  they  certify  that  the  Child  is  weak,  it  shall  suf- 
fice to  pour  water  upon  it,  saying  the  aforesaid  words, 

N.,  I  baptize  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
and  of  the  Son.  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost.     Amen. 

Then  shall  the  Priest  say, 
We  receive  this  child  into  the  congregation  of 
Christ's  flock,*  and  do  sign  hiin  with  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  in  token  that  hereafter  he  shall  not  be 
ashamed  to  confess  the  faith  of  Christ  crucihed, 
and  manfully  to  fight  under  his  banner,  against 
sin,  the  world,  and  the  devil,  and  to  continue 
Christ's  faithful  soldier  and  servant  unto  his  life's 
end.     Amen. 

Then  shall  the  Priest  say, 

Seeing  now,  dearly  beloved  brethren,  that  this 
child  is  regenerate  and  grafted  into  the  body  of 
Christ's  church,  let  us  give  thanks  unto  Almighty 
God  for  these  benefits,  and  with  one  accord  make 
our  prayers  unto  him,  that  this  child  may  lead  the 
rest  of  his  life  according  to  this  beginning. 

Then  shall  be  said,  all  kneeling, 
Our  Father  wliich  art  in  heaven  ;  Hallowed  be 
thy  name.  Thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be 
done  in  earth,  as  it  is  in  heaven  Give  us  this 
day  our  daily  bread.  And  forgive  us  our  tres- 
passes, as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against 
us.  And  lead  us  not  into  temptation ;  but  dehver 
us  from  evil.     Amen. 

Then  shall  the  Priest  say, 
We  yield  thee  hearty  thanks,  most  merciful 
Father,  that  it  hath  pleased  thee  to  regenerate 
this  infant  with  thy  Holy  Spirit,  to  receive  ^;';7i 
for  thine  own  child  by  adoption,  and  to  incorpo- 
rate him  into  thy  holy  church.  And  we  humbly 
beseech  thee  to  grant,  that  he,  being  dead  unto 
sin.  and  living  unto  righteousness,  and  being  bu- 
ried with  Christ  in  his  death,  may  crucify  the  old 
man,  and  utterly  abolish  the  whole  body  of  sin  : 
and  that  as  he  is  made  partaker  of  the  death  of 
thy  Son,  he  may  also  be  partaker  of  his  resurrec- 
tion ;  so  that  finally,  with  the  residue  of  thy  holy 


church,  he  may  he  an  inheritor  of  thine  everlast- 
ing kingdom,  through  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen. 

Then,  all  standing  up,  the  Priest  shall  say  to  the  god- 
fathers and  godmothers  this  e.\hortation  following  : 

Forasmuch  as  this  child  hath  promised  by 
you  his  sureties  to  renoimcc  the  devil  and  all  his 
works,  to  believe  in  God,  and  to  serve  him;  ye 
must  remember  that  it  is  your  parts  and  duties  to 
see  that  this  infant  be  taught,  so  soon  as  he  shall 
be  able  to  learn,  what  a  solemn  vow,  promise,  and 
profession,  he  hath  here  made  by  you.  And  that 
he  may  know  these  things  the  better,  ye  shall  call 
upon  hiyn  to  hear  sermons;  and  chiefly  ye  shall 
provide  that  he  may  learn  the  Creed,  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  and  the  Ten  Commandments,  in  the  vul- 
gar "tongue,  and  all  other  things  which  a  Christian 
ought  to  know  and  believe  to  his  soul's  health ; 
and  that  this  child  may  be  virtuously  brought  up 
to  lead  a  godly  and  Christian  life;  remembermg 
always,  that  baptism  doth  represent  unto  us  our 
profession;  which  is,  to  follow  the  example  of 
our  Saviour  Christ,  and  to  be  made  like  unto  him; 
that  as  he  died,  and  rose  again,  for  us ;  so  should 
we,  who  are  baptised,  die  from  sin,  and  rise  again 
unto  righteousness,  continually  mortifying  all  our 
evil  and  corrupt  affections,  and  daily  proceeding 
in  all  virtue  and  godliness  of  living. 

Then  shall  he  add,  and  say, 

Ye  are  to  take  care  that  this  child  be  brought 
to  the  bishop,  to  be  confirmed  by  him.  so  soon  as 
he  can  say  the  Creed,  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  the 
Ten  Commandments  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  and 
be  further  instructed  in  the  Church  Catechism  set 
forth  for  that  purpose. 

It  is  certain,  by  God's  word,  that  children  which  are 
baptised,  dying  before  they  commit  actual  sin,  are  un- 
doubtedly saved. 

To  take  away  all  scruple  concerning  the  use  of  the 
sign  of  the  cross  in  baptism  ;  the  true  explication  there 
of;  and  the  just  reasons  for  the  retaining  of  it,  may  bt 
seen  in  the  XXXth  Canon,  first  published  in  the  yeai 
MDCIV. 


*  Here  the  Priest  shall  make  a  cross  upon  the  Child's 
forehead. 


THE  MINISTRATION 

OP 

PRIVATE  BAPTISM  OF  CHILDREN 

IN  HOUSES, 

The  Curate  of  the  parish  shall  often  admonish  the  pef/ 
pie,  that  they  defer  not  the  baptism  of  their  childrei 
longer  than  the  first  or  second  Sunday  next  after  then 
birth,  or  other  holy-ilay  falling  between,  unless  upon  a 
great  and  reasonable  cause,  to  be  approved  by  the  C'l 
rate. 

And  also  they  shall  warn  them,  that,  without  like 
great  cause  and  necessity,  they  procure  not  their  chil 
dren  to  be  baptised  at  home  in  their  houses.  But  when 
need  shall  compel  them  so  to  do,  then  baptism  shall  be 
administered  on  this  fashion  : 

First ;  let  the  Minister  of  the  parish  Cor,  in  his  ab 
sence,  any  ofner  lawful  Minister  that  can  be  procured,) 
with  them  that  are  i)resent,  call  upon  God,  and  say  the 
Lord's  Praver,  and  so  many  of  the  collects  appointed  to 
be  said  before  in  the  form  of  Public  Baptism,  as  the 
time  and  present  e.xigence  will  suffer.  And  then,  the 
Child  being  named  by  some  one  that  is  present,  ttie 
3Iiuister  shall  pour  water  upon  it,  saying  these  words 
23* 


270 


MINISTRATION  OF  PRIVATE  BAPTISM  OF  CHILDREN. 


N.,  I  baptize  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Gliost.    Amen. 

Then  all  kneeling  down,  the  Minister  sliall  give  thanks 
unto  God,  saying ; 

We  yield  thee  hearty  thanks,  most  merciful 
Father,  that  it  hath  pleased  thee  t«  regenerate  this 
infant  witli  thy  Holy  Spirit,  to  receive  him  for 
thine  own  child  by  adoption,  and  to  incor|«rate 
him  into  thy  holy  church.  And  we  humbly  be- 
seech thee  to  grant  that  as  he  is  now  made  par- 
taker of  the  death  of  thy  Son,  so  he  may  be  also 


of  his  resurrection ;  and  that  finally,  with  the  resi- 
due of  thy  saints,  he  may  inherit  thine  everlasting 
kingdom,  through  the  same,  thy  Son,  Jesus  Christ 
our  Lord.     Amen. 

And  let  them  not  doubt  but  that  the  Child,  so  bap- 
tized, is  lawfully  and  suthciently  baptized,  and  ought  not 
to  be  baptized  again.  Yet,  nevertheless,  if  the  Child, 
which  is  after  this  sort  baptized,  do  afterwards  live,  it  is 
e.xpedient  that  it  be  brought  into  the  church,  to  the  in- 
tent that,  if  the  Minister  of  the  same  parish  did  himself 
baptize  that  Child,  the  cnngi-egatinn  may  be  certified  of 
the  true  form  of  baptism  by  him  privately  before  used. 


A  VIEW 

OP  THE 

EVIDENCES  0.F  CHRISTIANITY. 

IN  THREE  PARTS. 


TO  THE  HONOURABLE  AND  RIGHT  REVEREND  JAMES  YORK,  D.D. 
LORD  BISHOP  OF  ELY. 

My  Lord, —  When,  five  years  ago,  an  important  station  in  the  University  of  CamhiJge  awaited 
your  Lordship's  disposal,  you  were  pleased  to  offer  it  to  me.  The  circumstances  ujtder  which  this 
offer  was  made,  demand  a  public  acknowledgment.  I  had  never  seen  your  Lordship ;  I  possessed 
no  connexion  lohich  could  possibly  recommend  me  to  your  favour  ;  I  was  known  to  you,  only  by  my 
endeavours,  in  common  with  many  others,  to  discharge  my  duty  as  a  tutor  in  the  University  ;  and 
by  some  very  imperfect,  but  certainly  well-intended,  and,  as  you  thought,  useful  publications  since. 
In  an  age  by  no  means  wanting  in  examples  of  honourable  patronage,  although  this  deserves  not 
to  be  mentioned  in  respect  of  the  object  of  your  Lordship''s  choice,  it  is  inferior  to  none  in  the  purity 
and  disinterestedness  of  the  motives  which  suggested  it. 

How  the  following  work  may  be  received,  I  pretend  not  to  foretell.  My  first  prayer  concerning 
it  is,  that  it  may  do  good  to  any:  my  second  hope,  that  it  may  assist,  what  it  hath  always  been  my  earn- 
est icish  to  promote,  the  religious  part  of  an  academical  education.  If  in  this  latter  view  it  might 
seem,  in  any  degree,  to  excuse  your  Lordship'' s  judgment  of  its  author,  I  shall  be  gratified  by  the 
reflection,  that,  to  a  kindness  flowing  from  public  principles,  I  have  made  the  best  public  return  in 
my  power. 

In  the  7nean  time,  and  in  every  event,  I  rejoice  in  the  opportunity  here  afforded  me  of  testify, 
in g  the  sense  I  entertain  of  your  Lordship''s  conduct,  and  of  a  notice  jchich  I  regard  as  the  most 
flattering  distinction  of  my  life.  I  am.  My  Lord,  with  sentiments  of  gratitude  and  respect, 
your  Lordship^s  faithful  and  most  obliged  servant,  WILLIAM  PALEY. 


PREPARATORY  CONSIDERATIONS. 


I  PF.EM  it  unnecessary  to  prove  that  mankind 
-J;oo(l  ill  need  of  a  revelation,  because  I  have  met 
with  no  serious  person  who  thiniis  that,  even  under 
the  Christian  revelation,  we  have  too  much  light, 
or  any  degree  of  assurance  which  is  superfluous. 
I  desire,  moreover,  that,  in  judging  of  Christianity, 
it  may  be  remembered,  that  the  question  lies  be- 
tvieen  this  religion  and  none  :  for,  if  the  Christian 
religion  be  not  credible,  no  one,  with  whom  we 
'lave  to  do,  will  support  the  pretensions  of  any 
jthcr. 

Suppose,  then,  the  world  we  live  in  to  have  had 
a  Creator;  suppose  it  to  appear,  from  the  predomi- 
liant  aim  and  tendency  of  the  provisions  and  con- 
trivances observable  in  the  universe,  that  the  Deity, 
when  he  formed  it,  consulted  for  the  happiness  of 
lis   sensitive  creation ;   suppose   the    disposition 


which  dictated  this  counsel  to  continue ;  suppose  a 
a  part  of  the  creation  to  have  received  faculties 
from  their  Maker,  by  which  they  are  capable  of 
rendering  a  moral  obedience  to  his  will,  and  of  vo- 
luntarily pursuing  any  end  for  which  he  has  de- 
signed them ;  suppose  the  Creator  to  intend  for 
these,  his  rational  and  accountable  agents,  a  second 
state  of  existence,  in  which  their  situation  will  be 
regulated  by  their  behaviour  in  the  first  state,  by 
which  sujjposition  (and  by  no  other)  the  objection 
to  the  divine  government  in  not  putting  a  difler- 
ence  between  the  good  and  the  bad,  and  the  incon- 
sistency of  this  confusion  with  the  care  and  bene- 
volence discoverable  in  the  works  of  the  Deity,  is 
done  away ;  suppose  it  to  be  of  the  utmost  import- 
ance to  the  subjects  of  this  dispensation  to  know 
what  is  intended  for  them ;  that  is.  suppose  the 
271 


272 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


knowledge  of  it  to  he  highly  conducive  to  the  hap- 
piness of  the  species,  a  purpose  which  so  many 
provisions  of  nature  are  calculated  to  promote : 
Suppose,  nevertheless,  almost  the  whole  race, 
either  by  the  imperfection  of  their  faculties,  the 
misfortune  of  their  situation,  or  by  the  loss  of  some 
prior  revelation,  to  want  this  knowledge,  and  not 
to  be  likely,  without  the  aid  of  a  new  revelation,  to 
attain  it :  Under  these  circumstances,  is  it  impro- 
bable that  a  revelation  should  be  made  ]  is  it  incredi- 
ble that  God  should  interpose  for  such  a  purpose] 
Suppose  him  to  design  for  mankind  a  future  state ; 
is  it  unlikely  that  he  should  acquaint  him  with  it? 

Now  in  what  way  can  a  revelation  be  made,  but 
by  miracles  1  In  none  which  we  are  able  to  con- 
ceive. Consequently,  in  whatever  degree  it  is 
probable,  or  not  very  improbable,  that  a  revelation 
should  be  communicated  to  mankind  at  all ;  in  the 
same  degree  is  it  probable,  or  not  very  impro- 
bable, that  miracles  should  be  wrought.  There- 
fore, when  miracles  are  related  to  have  been 
wrought  in  the  promulgating  of  a  revelation  mani- 
festly wanted,  and,  if  true,  of  inestimable  value, 
the  improbability  which  arises  from  the  miraculous 
nature  of  the  things  related,  is  not  greater  than 
the  original  improbability  that  such  a  revelation 
should  be  imparted  by  God. 

I  wish  it,  however,  to  be  correctly  understood, 
m  what  manner,  and  to  what  extent,  this  argu- 
ment is  alleged.  We  do  not  assume  the  attributes 
of  the  Deity,  or  the  existence  of  a  future  state,  in 
order  to  prove  the  reality  of  miracles.  That  re- 
ality always  must  be  proved  by  evidence.  We 
assert  only,  that  in  miracles  adduced  in  support  of 
revelation,  there  is  not  any  such  antecedent  im- 
prol)ability  as  no  testimony  can  surmount.  And 
for  the  purpose  of  maintaining  this  assertion,  we 
contend,  that  the  incredibility  of  miracles  related 
to  have  been  wrought  in  attestation  of  a  message 
from  God,  conveying  intelligence  of  a  future  state  of 
rewards  and  punishments,  and  teaching  mankind 
how  to  prepare  themselves  for  that  state,  is  not  in 
itself  greater  than  the  event,  call  it  either  probable 
or  improbable,  of  the  two  following  propositions 
being  true :  namely,  first,  that  a  future  state  of  ex- 
istence should  be  destined  by  God  for  his  human 
creation ;  and,  secondly,  that,  being  so  destined,  he 
should  acquaint  them  with  it.  It  is  not  necessary 
for  our  purpose,  that  these  propositions  be  capable 
of  proof,  or  even  that,  by  arguments  drawn  from 
the  light  of  nature,  they  can  be  made  out  to  be 
probable ;  it  is  enough  that  we  are  able  to  say  con- 
cerning them,  that  they  are  not  so  violently  im- 
probable, so  contradictory  to  what  we  already  be- 
lieve of  the  divine  power  and  character,  that  either 
the  propositions  themselves,  or  facts  strictly  con- 
nected with  the  propositions  (and  therefore  no 
further  improbable  than  they  are  improbable,) 
ought  to  be  rejected  at  first  sight,  and  to  be  reject- 
ed by  whatever  strength  or  complication  of  evi- 
dence they  be  attested. 

This  is  the  prejudication  we  would  resist.  For 
to-  this  length  does  a  modern  objection  to  miracles 
go,  viz.  that  no  human  testimony  can  in  any  case 
render  them  credible.  I  think  the  reflection  above 
stated,  that,  if  there  be  a  revelation,  there  must  be 
miracles,  and  that  under  the  circumstances  in 
which  the  human  species  are  placed,  a  revelation 
IS  not  improbable,  or  not  improbable  in  any  great 
degree,  to  be  a  fair  answer  to  the  whole  objection. 

But  since  it  is  an  objection  which  stands  in. the 
very  threshold  of  our  argument,  and  if  admitted, 


is  a  bar  to  every  proof,  and  to  all  future  reasoning 
upon  the  subject,  it  may  be  necessary,  before  we 
proceed  further,  to  examine  the  principle  upon 
which  it  proti'sses  to  be  founded ;  which  principle 
is  concisely  this.  That  it  is  contrar}"  to  experience 
that  a  miracle  should  be  true,  but  not  contrary  to 
experience  that  testimony  should  be  false. 

Now  there  appears  a  small  ambiguity  in  the 
term  "  experience,"  and  in  the  phrases,  "  contrary 
to  experience,"  or  "  contradicting  experience," 
which  it  may  be  necessary  to  remove  in  the  first 
place.  Strictly  speaking,  the  narrative  of  a  fact  is 
then  only  contrary  to  experience,  when  the  fact  is 
related  to  have  existed  at  a  time  and  place,  at 
which  time  and  place  we  being  present,  did  not 
perceive  it  to  exist :  as  if  it  should  be  asserted,  that 
in  a  particular  room,  and  at  a  particular  hour  of  a 
certain  day,  a  man  was  raised  from  the  dead,  in 
which  room,  and  at  the  time  specified,  we  being 
present  and  looking  on,  perceived  no  such  event 
to  have  taken  place.  Here  the  assertion  is  con- 
trary to  experience  properly  so  called :  and  this  is 
a  contrariety  which  no  evidence  can  suniiount.  It 
matters  nothing,  whether  the  fact  be  of  a  miracu- 
lous nature  or  not.  But  although  this  be  the  ex- 
perience, and  the  contrariety,  which  Archbishop 
Tillotson  alleged  in  the  quotation  with  which 
Mr.  Hume  0[)ens  his  Essay,  it  is  certainly  not 
that  experience,  nor  that  contrariety,  which  Mr. 
Hume  himself  intended  to  object.  And,  short  of 
this,  I  know  no  intelligible  signification  which  can 
be  affixed  to  the  term  "  contrary  to  experience," 
but  one,  viz.  that  of  not  having  ourselves  expe- 
rienced any  thing  similar  to  the  thing  related,  or 
such  things  not  being  generally  experienced  by 
others.  I  say  "  not  generally :"  for  to  state  con- 
cerning the  fact  in  question,  that  no  such  thing 
was  ever  experienced,  or  that  universal  experience 
is  against  it,  is  to  assume  the  subject  of  the  con- 
troversy. 

Now  the  improbability  which  arises  from  the 
want  (for  this  properly  is  a  want,  not  a  contradic- 
tion) of  experience,  is  only  equal  to  the  probability 
there  is,  that,  if  the  thing  were  true,  we  should 
experience  things  similar  to  it,  or  that  such  things 
would  be  generally  experienced.  Suppose  it  then 
to  be  true  that  miracles  were  wrought  on  the  first 
promulgation  of  Christianity,  when  nothing  but 
miracles  could  decide  its  authority,  is  it  certain 
that  such  miracles  would  be  repeated  so  often,  and 
in  so  many  places,  as  to  become  objects  of  general 
experience  1  Is  it  a  probability  approaching  to 
certainty  1  is  it  a  probability  of  any  great  strength 
or  force  1  is  it  such  as  no  evidence  can  encounter"? 
And  yet  this  probability  is  the  exact  converse,  and 
therefore  the  exact  measure,  of  the  improbahility 
which  arises  from  the  want  of  experience,  and 
which  Mr.  Hume  represents  as  invincible  by  hu- 
man testimony. 

It  is  not  like  alleging  a  new  law  of  nature,  or  a 
new  experiment  in  natural  philosophy ;  because, 
when  these  are  related,  it  is  expected  that,  under 
the  same  circumstances,  the  same  effect  will  fol- 
low universally  ;  and  in  proportion  as  this  expect- 
ation is  justly  entertained,  the  want  of  a  corre- 
sponding experience  negatives  the  history.  Bui 
to  expect  concerning  a  miracle,  that  it  should  suc- 
ceed upon  a  repetition,  is  to  expect  that  which 
would  make  it  cease  to  be  a  miracle,  which  is  con- 
trary to  its  nature  as  such,  and  would  totally  de- 
stroy the  use  and  purpose  for  which  it  was  wrought. 

The  force  of  experience  as  an  objection  to  mi- 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


273 


racles,  is  founded  in  the  presumption,  cither  that 
that  the  course  of  nature  is  invariable,  or  that,  if 
it  be  ever  varied,  variations  will  be  frequent  and 
general.  Has  the  necessity  of  tliis  alternative 
been  demonstrated  1  Permit  us  to  call  the  course 
of  nature  the  agency  of  an  intelligent  Being ;  and 
is  there  any  good  reason  for  judgmg  this  state  of 
the  case  to  be  probable  1  Ought  we  not  rather  to 
expect  that  such  a  Being,  on  occasions  of  peculiar 
importance,  may  interrupt  the  order  which  he  had 
appointed ;  yet,  that  such  occasions  should  return 
seldom;  that  these  interruptions  consequently 
should  be  confined  to  the  experience  of  a  few ; 
that  the  want  of  it,  therefore,  in  many,  should  be 
matter  neither  of  surprise  nor  objection. 

But  as  a  continuation  of  the  argument  from  ex- 
perience, it  is  said  that,  when  we  advance  accounts 
of  miracles,  we  assign  effects  without  causes,  or 
we  attribute  eflects  to  causes  inadequate  to  the 
purpose,  or  to  causes,  of  the  operation  of  which  we 
have  no  experience.  Of  what  causes,  we  may 
ask,  and  of  what  effects  does  the  objection  speak  ! 
If  it  be  answered  that,  when  we  ascribe  the  cure 
of  the  palsy  to  a  touch,  of  blindness  to  the  anoint- 
ing of  the  eyes  with  clay,  or  the  raising  of  the 
dead  to  a  word,  we  lay  ourselves  open  to  this  im- 
putation ;  we  reply,  that  we  ascribe  no  such  effects 
to  such  causes.  We  perceive  no  virtue  or  energy 
in  these  things  more  than  in  other  things  of  the 
same  kind.  They  are  merely  si^ns  to  connect 
the  miracle  with  its  end.  The  eBect  we  ascribe 
simply  to  the  volition  of  the  Deity ;  of  whose  ex- 
istence and  power,  not  to  say  of  whose  presence 
and  agency,  we  have  previous  and  independent 
proof  We  have,  therefore,  all  we  seek  for  in  the 
works  of  rational  agents, — a  sufficient  power  and 
an  adequate  motive.  In  a  word,  once  believe  that 
there  is  a  God,  and  miracles  are  not  incredible. 

Mr.  Hume  states  the  case  of  miracles  to  be  a 
contest  of  opposite  improbabilities,  that  is  to  say,  a 
question  whether  it  be  more  improbable  that  the 
miracle  should  be  true,  or  the  testimony  false :  and 
this  i  think  a  fiir  account  of  the  controversy.  But 
herein  I  remark  a  want  of  argumentative  justice, 
that,  in  describing  the  improbability  of  miracles, 
he  suppresses  all  tho.se  circLimstances  of  extenua- 
tion, which  result  from  our  knowledge  of  the  exist- 
ence, power,  and  disposition  of  (he  Deity;  his 
concern  in  the  creation,  the  end  answered  by  the 
miracle,  the  importance  of  that  end,  and  its  sub- 
serviency to  the  plan  pursued  in  the  work  of 
nature.  As  Mr.  Hume  has  represented  the  ques- 
tion, miracles  are  alike  incredible  to  him  who  is 
previously  assured  of  the  constant  agency  of  a 
Divine  Being,  and  to  him  who  believes  that  no 
such  Being  exists  in  the  universe.  They  are 
equally  incredible,  whether  related  to  have  been 
wrought  ujwn  occasions  the  most  deserving,  and 
for  purposes  the  most  beneficial,  or  for  no  assign- 
able end  whatever,  or  for  an  end  confessedly  tri- 
fling or  pernicious.  This  surely  cannot  be  a  cor- 
rect statement.  In  adjusting  also  the  other  side 
of  the  balance,  the  strength  and  weight  of  testi- 
mony, this  author  has  provided  an  answer  to 
every  possible  accumulation  of  historical  proof  by 
telling  us,  that  we  are  not  obliged  to  explain  how 
the  story  of  the  evidence  arose.  Now  I  think  that 
we  are  obliged :'  not,  perhaps,  to  show  by  positive 
accounts  how  it  did,  but  by  a  probable  hj^othesis 
how  it  might  so  happen.  The  existence  of  the 
testimony  is  a  phenomenon ;  the  truth  of  the  fact 
solves  the  phenomenon.  If  we  reject  this  solu- 
^  2M 


tion,  we  ought  to  have  some  other  to  rest  in ;  and 
none,  even  by  our  adversaries,  can  be  admitted, 
which  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  principles  that 
regulate  human  affairs  and  hmnan  conduct  at 
present,  or  which  makes  men  then  to  have  been  a 
different  kind  of  beuigs  from  what  they  are  now. 

But  the  short  consideration  which,  independ- 
ently of  every  other,  con\inces  me  that  there  is  no 
solid  foundation  in  Mr.  Hume's  conclusion,  is  the 
following.  When  a  theorem  is  proposed  to  a 
mathematician,  the  first  thing  he  does  with  it  is 
to  try  it  upon  a  simple  case,  and  if  it  produce  a 
false  result,  he  is  sure  that  there  must  be  some 
mistake  in  the  demonstration.  Now,  to  proceed 
in  this  way  with  what  m^y  be  called  Mr.  Hume's 
theorem.  If  twelve  men,  whose  probity  and  good 
sense  I  had  long  known,  should  seriously  and 
circumstantially  relate  to  me  an  account  of  a  mi- 
racle wrought  before  their  eyes,  and  in  which  it 
was  impossible  that  they  should  be  deceived ;  if 
the  governor  of  the  country,  hearing  a  rumour  of 
this  account,  should  call  these  men  into  his  pre- 
sence, and  offer  them  a  short  proposal,  either  tc 
confess  the  imposture,  or  submit  to  be  tied  up  to 
a  gibbet ;  if  they  should  refuse  with  one  voice  to 
acknowledge  that  there  existed  any  falsehood  or 
imposture  in  the  case ;  if  this  threat  were  commu- 
nicated to  them  separately,  yet  with  no  different 
effect ;  if  it  was  at  last  executed  ;  if  I  myself  saw 
them,  one  after  another,  consenting  to  be  racked, 
burnt,  or  strangled,  rather  than  give  up  the  ti'uth 
of  their  account ;  still,  if  Mr.  Hume's  rule  be  my 
guide,  I  am  not  to  believe  them.  Now  I  under- 
take to  say  that  there  exists  not  a  sceptic  in  the 
world  who  would  not  believe  them,  or  who  would 
defend  sucli  incredulity. 

Instances  of  spurious  miracles  supjiorted  by 
strong  and  apparent  testimony,  undoubtedly  de- 
mand examination  ;  Mr.  Hume  has  endeavoured 
to  fortify  his  argument  by  some  examples  of  this 
kind.  I  hope  in  a  proper  place  to  show  that  none 
of  them  reach  the  strength  or  circumstances  of  the 
Christian  evidence.  In  these  however,  consistsi 
the  weight  of  his  objection  :  in  the  principle  itself^ 
1  am  persuaded,  there  is  none. 


PART  I, 

OF  THE  DIRECT  HISTORICAL  EVIDENCE  OF  CHRIS- 
TIANITY, AND  WHEREIN  IT  IS  DISTINGUISHED 
PROM  THE  EVIDENCE  ALLEGED  FOR  OTHER  MI- 
RACLES. 

The  two  propositions  which  I  shall  endeavour 
to  establish  are  these : 

I.  That  there  is  satisfactory  evidence  that 
many,  professing  to  he  original  witnesses  of  the 
Christian  Miracles,  passed  their  lives  in  labours, 
dangers,  and  sufferings,  voluntarily  undergone  in 
attestation  of  the  accounts  which  they  delivered, 
and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of  those 
accounts ;  and  that  they  also  submitted,  from  the 
same  motives,  to  new  rules  of  conduct. 

II.  That  there  is  not  satisfictory  evidence, 
that  persons  professing  to  be  original  witnesses  of 
other  miracles,  in  their  nature  as  certain  as  these 
are,  have  ever  acted  in  the  same  manner,  in  at- 
testation of  the  accounts  wliich  they  delivered,  and 


274 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


properly  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of  those 
accounts. 

The  first  of  these  propositions,  as  it  forms  the 
argument,  will  stand  at  the  head  of  the  following 
nine  cliapters. 


CHAPTER  I. 

There  is  satisfactory  evidence  that  many,  pro- 
fessing to  be  original  m'tnesses  of  the  Chris- 
*ian  miracles,  passed  their  lives  in  labours,  dan- 
gers, and  sufferings,  voluntarily  undergone 
in  attestation  of  the  accounts  which  they  de- 
livered, and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  be- 
lief of  those  accounts ;  and  that  they  also  sub- 
milted,  from  the  same  motives,  to  new  rules  of 
conduct. 

To  support  this  proposition,  two  points  are  ne- 
cessary to  be  made  out :  first,  that  the  Founder  of 
the  institution,  his  associates  and  immediate  fol- 
lowers, acted  the  part  which  the  proposition  im- 
putes to  them :  secondly,  that  they  did  so  in  attest- 
ation of  the  miraculous  history  recorded  in  our 
Scriptures,  and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  be- 
lief of  the  truth  of  this  history. 

Before  we  produce  any  particular  testimony  to 
the  activity  and  sufierings  wliich  compose  the  sub- 
ject of  our  first  assertion,  it  will  he  proper  to  con- 
sider the  degree  of  probability  which  the  assertion 
derives  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  that  is,  by  in- 
ferences from  those  parts  of  the  case  which,  in 
point  of  fact,  are  on  all  hands  acknowledged. 

First,  then,  the  Christian  religion  exists,  ar'd 
therefore  by  some  means  or  other  was  established. 
Now  it  either  owes  the  principle  of  its  establish- 
ment, i.  e.  its  first  publication,  to  the  activity  of  the 
Person  who  was  the  founder  of  the  institution,  and 
of  those  who  were  joined  with  him  in  the  under- 
taking, or  we  are  driven  upon  the  strange  supposi- 
tion, that,  although  they  might  lie  by,  others  would 
take  it  up;  although  they  were  quiet  and  silent, 
other  persons  busied  themselves  in  the  success 
and  propagation  of  their  story.  This  is  perfectly 
incredible.  To  me  it  appears  little  less  than  cer- 
tain, that,  if  the  first  announcing  of  the  religion 
by  the  Founder  had  not  been  followed  up  by  the 
zeal  and  industry  of  his  immediate  disciples,  the 
attempt  must  have  expired  in  its  birth.  Then  as 
to  the  kind  and  degree  of  exertion  which  was  em- 
ployed, and  the  mode  of  life  to  which  these  persons 
submitted,  we  reasonably  suppose  it  to  be  like 
that  which  we  observe  in  all  others  who  volunta- 
rily become  missionaries  of  a  new  faith.  Fre- 
quent, earnest,  and  laborious  preaching,  constant- 
ly conversing  with  religious  persons  upon  religion, 
a  sequestration  from  the  common  pleasures,  en- 
gagements, and  varieties  of  life,  and  an  addic- 
tion to  one  serious  object,  compose  the  habits  of 
such  men.  I  do  not  say  that  this  mode  of  life  is 
without  enjoyment,  but  I  say  that  the  enjoyment 
springs  from  sincerity.  With  a  consciousness  at 
the  bottom,  of  hollowness  and  falsehood,  the  fatigue 
and  restraint  would  become  insupportable.  I  am 
apt  to  believe  that  very  few  hypocrites  engage  in 
these  undertakings  ;  or,  however,  persist  in  them 
long.  Ordinarily  speaking,  nothing  can  overcome 
the  mdolence  of  mankind,  the  love  which  is  natural 
to  most  tempers  of  cheerful  society  and  cheerful 


scenes,  or  the  desire,  which  is  common  to  all,  of 
personal  ease  and  freedom,  but  conviction. 

Secondly,  it  is  also  highly  probable,  from  the 
nature  of  the  case,  that  the  propagation  of  the 
new  religion  was  attended  with  difiiculty  and  dan- 
ger. As  addressed  to  the  Jews,  it  was  a  system 
adverse  not  only  to  their  habitual  opinions,  but  to 
those  opinions,  u[ion  which  their  hopes,  their  i)ar- 
tialities,  their  pride,  their  consolation,  was  founded. 
This  jjcople,  with  or  without  reason,  had  worked 
themselves  into  a  persuasion,  that  some  signal  and 
greatly  advantageous  change  was  to  be  eflected  in 
tiie  condition  of  their  country,  by  the  agency  of  a 
l<ing -promised  messenger  from  heaven.  *  The  ru- 
lers of  the  Jews,  their  leading  sect,  their  priesthood, 
had  been  the  authors  of  this  persuasion  to  the 
common  people.  So  that  it  was  not  merely  the 
conjecture  of  theoretical  divines,  or  the  secret  ex- 
pectation of  a  few  recluse  devotees,  but  it  was  be- 
come the  popular  hope  and  passion,  and  like  all 
popular  opinions,  undoubting,  and  impatient  of 
contradiction.  They  clung  to  this  hope  under 
every  misfortune  of  their  country,  and  with  more 
tenacity  as  their  dangers  or  calamities  increased. 
To  find,  therefore,  that  expectations  so  gratifying 
were  to  be  worse  than  disappointed  ;  that  they 
were  to  end  in  the  difiusion  of  a  mild  unambitious 
religion,  which,  instead  of  victories  and  triumphs, 
instead  of  exalting  their  nation  and  institution 
above  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  to  advance  those 
whom  they  despised  to  an  equality  with  them- 
selves, in  those  very  points  of  comparison  in  which 
they  most  valued  their  own  distinction,  could  be 
no  "very  pleasing  discovery  to  a  Jewish  mind  ;  nor 
could  the  messengers  of  such  intelligence  expect 
to  be  well  received  or  easily  credited.  The  doc- 
trine was  equally  harsh  and  novel.  The  extend- 
ing of  the  kingdom  of  God  to  those  who  did  not 
conform  to  the  law  of  Moses,  was  a  notion  that 
had  never  before  entered  into  the  thoughts  of  a 
Jew. 

The  character  of  the  new  institution  was,  in 
other  respects  also,  ungrateful  to  Jewish  habits 
and  principles.  Their  own  religion  was  in  a  high 
degree  technical.  Even  the  enlightened  Jew  placed 
a  great  deal  of  stress  upon  the  ceremonies  of  his 
law,  saw  in  them  a  great  deal  of  virtue  and  effi- 
cacy ;  the  gross  and  vulgar  had  scarcely  any  thing 
else ;  and  the  hypocritical  and  ostentatious  mag- 
nified them  above  measure,  as  being  the  instru- 
ments of  their  own  reputation  and  influence. 
The  Christian  scheme,  without  formally  repeal- 
ing the  Levitical  code,  lowered  its  estimation  ex- 
tremely. In  the  place  of  strictness  and  zeal  in 
performing  the  observances  whicli  that  code  pre- 
scribed, or  which  tradition  had  added  to  it,  the 
new  sect  preached  up  faith,  well-regulated  all'ec- 
tions,  inward  purity,  and  moral  rectitude  of  dis 
position,  as  the  true  ground,  on  the  part  of  tl.a 
worshipper,  of  merit  and  acceptance  with  God. 
This,  however  rational  it  may  appear,  or  recom- 
mending to  us  at  present,  did  not  by  any  means 
faciUtate  the  plan  then.  On  the  contrary,  to  dis- 
parage those  qualities  which  the  highest  charac- 
ters in  the  country  valued  themselves  most  upon 


*  "  Percrebiieiat  oriente  toto  vetuset  constans  opinio, 
esse  in  fati?,  lit  eo  tempore  Judiea  profecti  rerum  poti 
rentiir." — Siieton   Vespasian,  cap.  4 — 8. 

"Pluribiis  persuasio  inerat,  antiquis  sacerdotiim  11- 
tPiiscoiitiiieri,  eo  ipso  tempore  fore,  ut  valesce.'et  oriciis 
profectique  Judwa  rerum  potirentur." — Tacit.  Histor 
lib.  V.  cap.  9—13. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


275 


was  a  sure  way  of  making  powerful  enemies.  As 
if  the  frustration  of  the  national  hope  was  not 
enoucrh,  the  long- esteemed  merit  of  ritual  zeal  and 
punctuality  was  to  be  decried,  and  that  by  Jews 
preaching  to  Jews. 

The  ruling  party  at  Jerusalem  had  just  before 
crucified  the  Founder  of  the  religion.  That  is  a 
fact  which  will  not  be  disputed.  They,  therefore, 
who  stood  forth  to  preach  the  religion,  must  ne- 
cessarily reproach  these  rulers  with  an  execution, 
which  they  could  not  but  represent  as  an  unjust 
and  cruel  murder.  This  would  not  render  their 
office  more  easy,  or  their  situation  more  safe. 

With  regard  to  the  interference  of  the  Roman 
government  which  was  then  established  in  Judea, 
I  should  not  expect,  that,  despising  as  it  did  the 
religion  of  the  country,  it  would,  if  leil  to  itself, 
animadvert,  either  with  much  vigilance  or  much 
severity,  upon  the  schisms  and  controversies 
which  arose  within  it.  Yet  there  was  that  in 
Christianity  which  might  easily  afford  a  handle 
of  accusation  with  a  jealous  government.  The 
Christians  avowed  an  unqualified  obedience  to  a 
new  master.  They  avowed  also  that  he  was  the 
person  who  had  been  foretold  to  the  Jews  under 
the  suspected  title  of  King.  The  spiritual  nature 
of  this  kingdom,  the  consistency  of  this  obedience 
with  civil  subjection,  were  distinctions  too  refined 
to  be  entertained  by  a  Roman  president,  who 
viewed  the  business  at  a  great  distance,  or  through 
the  medium  of  very  hostile  representations.  C)ur 
histories  accordingly  inform  us,  that  this  was  the 
turn  which  the  enemies  of  Jesus  gave  to  his  cha- 
racter and  pretensions  in  their  remonstrances  with 
Pontius  Pilate.  And  Justin  Martyr,  about  a  hun- 
dred years  afterwards,  complains  that  the  same 
mistake  f)revailed  in  his  time :  "  Ye,  having  heard 
that  we  are  waiting  for  a  kingdom,  suppose,  with- 
out distinguishing,  that  we  mean  a  human  king- 
dom, when  in  truth  we  speak  of  that  which  is 
with  God."*  And  it  was  undoubtedly  a  natural 
source  of  calumny  and  misconstruction. 

The  preachers  of  Christianity  had,  therefore,  to 
contend  with  prejudice  backed  by  power.  They 
had  to  come  forward  to  a  disappointed  people,  to 
a  priesthood  possessing  a  considerable  share  of 
municipal  authority,  and  actuated  by  strong  mo- 
tives of  opposition  and  resentment;  and  they  had 
to  do  this  under  a  foreign  government,  to  whose 
favour  they  made  no  pretensions,  and  which  was 
constantly  surrounded  by  their  enemies.  The 
well-known,  because  the  experienced  fate  of  re- 
formers, whenever  the  reformation  subverts  some 
reigning  opinion,  and  does  not  proceed  upon  a 
change  that  has  already  taken  place  in  the  sen- 
timents of  a  country,  will  not  allow,  much  less 
lead  us  to  suppose,  that  the  first  propagators  of 
Christianity  at  Jerusalem  and  in  Judea.  under  the 
difficulties  and  the  enemies  they  had  to  contend 
with,  and  entirely  destitute  as  they  were  of  force, 
authority,  or  protection,  could  execute  their  mis- 
sion with  personal  ease  and  safety. 

Let  us  next  inquire,  what  might  reasonably  be 
expected  by  the  preachers  of  Christianity  when 
they  turned  themselves  to  the  heathen  public. 
Now  the  first  thing  that  strikes  us  is,  that  the  re- 
ligion they  carried  with  them  was  exclusive.  It 
denied  without  reserve  the  truth  of  every  article 
of  heathen  mythology,  the  existence  of  every  ob- 

*  Ap.  Ima  p.  16.  Ed.  Thirl. 


ject  of  their  worship.  It  accepted  no  compromise  ; 
it  admitted  no  comprehension.  It  must  prevail, 
if  it  prevailed  at  all,  by  the  overthrow  of  every 
statue,  altar,  and  temple,  in  the  world.  It  will 
not  easily  be  credited,  that  a  design,  so  bold  as 
this  was,  could  in  any  age  be  attempted  to  be  car- 
ried into  execution  with  impunity. 

For  it  ought  to  be  considered,  that  this  was  not 
setting  forth,  or  magnifying  the  character  and 
worship  of  some  new  competitor  for  a  place  in 
the  Pantheon,  whose  pretensions  might  be  dis- 
cussed or  asserted  without  questioning  the  reality 
of  any  others  ;  it  was  pronouncing  all  other  gods 
to  be  false,  and  all  other  worship  vain.  From  the 
focility  with  which  the  polytheism  of  ancient  na- 
tions admitted  new  objects  of  worship  into  the 
number  of  their  acknowledged  divinities,  or  the 
patience  with  which  they  might  entertain  projio- 
sals  of  this  kind,  we  can  argue  nothing  as  to  their 
toleration  of  a  system,  or  of  the  publishers  and 
active  })ropagators  of  a  system,  which  swept  away 
the  very  foundation  of  the  existing  establishment. 
The  one  was  nothing  more  than  what  it  would 
be,  in  popish  countries,  to  add  a  saint  to  the  calen- 
dar; the  other  was  to  abolish  and  tread  under 
foot  the  calendar  itself 

Secondly,  it  ought  also  to  be  considered,  that 
this  was  not  the  case  of  philosophers  propounding 
in  their  books,  or  in  their  schools,  doubts  concern- 
ing the  truth  of  the  popular  creed,  or  even  avow- 
ing their  disbelief  of  it.  These  philosophers  did 
not  go  about  from  place  to  place  to  collect  prose- 
lytes from  amongst  the  common  people ;  to  form 
in  the  heart  of  the  country  societies  professing 
their  tenets;  to  provide  for  the  order,  instruction, 
and  permanency  of  these  societies ;  nor  did  they 
enjoin  their  followers  to  withdraw  themselves  from 
the  public  worship  of  the  temples,  or  refuse  a  com- 
pliance with  rites  instituted  bj  the  laws.*  These 
things  are  what  the  Christians  did,  and  what  the 
philosophers  did  not ;  and  in  these  consisted  the 
activity  and  danger  of  the  enterprise. 

Thirdly,  it  ought  also  to  be  considered,  that 
this  danger  proceeifed  not  merely  from  solemn 
acts  and  public  resolutions  of  the  state,  but  from 
sudden  bursts  of  violence  at  particular  places, 
from  the  license  of  the  populace,  the  rashness  of 
some  magistrates,  and  negligence  of  others;  from 
the  influence  and  instigation  of  interested  adver- 
saries, and.  in  general,  from  the  variety  and  warmth 
of  opinion  which  an  errand  so  novel  and  extraor- 
dinary could  not  fail  of  exciting.  I  can  conceive 
that  the  teachers  of  Christianity  might  both  fear 
and  suflt^r  much  from  these  causes,  without  any 
general  persecution  being  denounced  against  them 
by  imperial  authority.  Some  length  of  time,  I 
should  suppose,  might  pass,  before  the  vast  ma- 
chine of  the  Roman  empire  would  be  put  in  mo- 
tion, or  its  attention  be  obtained  to  religious  con- 
troversy :  but  during  that  time,  a  great  deal  of 
ill  usage  might  be  endured,  by  a  set  of  friendless, 
unprotected  travellers,  telling  men,  wherever  they 
came,  that  the  religion  of  their  ancestors,  the  re- 
ligion in  which  they  had  been  brought  up,  the  re- 


*  The  best  of  the  ancient  philosophers,  Plato.  Cicero, 
and  Epictetiis,  allowed,  or  rather  enjoined,  men  to  wor- 
ship the  gods  of  the  country,  and  in  the  established 
form.  See  passaires  to  this  purpose,  collected  from  their 
works  by  Dr.  Clarke,  Nat.  and  Rev.  Rel.  p.  180.  ed.  5. — 
Except  Socrates,  they  all  thought  it  wiser  to  comply 
with  the  laws  than  to  contend. 


276 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


ligion  of  the  state,  and  of  the  magistrate,  the  rites 
which  they  fre(iuei]ti'(],  the  pomp  which  they 
admired,  was  throughout  a  system  of  folly  and 
delusion. 

Nor  do  I  think  that  the  teachers  of  Christianity 
would  find  protection  in  that  general  disbelief  of 
the  popular  theology,  which  is  supposed  to  have 
prevailed  amongst  the  intelUgent  part  of  the  hea- 
then public.  It  is  by  no  means  true  that  unbe- 
lievers are  usually  tolerant.  They  are  not  dis- 
posed (and  why  should  they  1)  to  endanger  the 
present  state  of  things,  by  sufleriiig  a  religion  of 
which  they  believe  nothing,  to  be  disturbed  by 
another  of  which  they  believe  as  little.  They  are 
ready  them.selves  to  conform  to  any  thing;  and 
are,  oftentimes,  amongst  the  foremost  to  procure 
conformity  from  others,  by  any  method  which  they 
think  likely  to  be  efKcacious.  When  was  ever  a 
change  of  religion  patronized  by  infidels  1  How 
little,  notwithstanding  the  reigning  scepticism,  and 
the  magnified  liberality  of  that  age,  the  true  prin- 
ciples of  toleration  were  understood  by  the  wisest 
men  amongst  them,  may  be  gathered  from  two 
emiirent  and  uncontested  examples.  The  younger 
Pliny,  polished  as  he  was  by  all  tlie  literature  of 
that  soft  and  elegant  period,  could  gravely  pro- 
nounce tliis  monstrous  judgment: — "  Those  who 
persisted  in  declaring  themselves  Christians,  I 
ordered  to  be  led  away  to  punishment,  (i.  e.  to 
execution,)  for  I  did  not  doubt,  whatever  it  was 
that  they  confessed,  that  contumacy  and  injiexi- 
hle  obstinacy  ought  to  be  punished."  His  master, 
Trajan,  a  mild  and  accomplished  prince,  went, 
nevertheless,  no  further  in  his  sentiments  of  mo- 
deration and  equity,  than  what  appears  in  the 
following  rescript :  "  The  Christians  are  not  to 
be  sought  for;  but  if  any  are  brought  before  you, 
and  convicted,  they  are  to  be  punished."  And 
this  direction  he  gives,  after  it  had  been  reported 
to  him  by  his  own  president,  that,  by  the  most 
strict  examination  nothing  could  be  discovered  in 
the  principles  of  these  persons,  but  "  a  bad  and 
excessive  superstition,"  accompanied,  it  seems, 
with  an  oath  or  mutual  federation,  "to  allow 
themselves  in  no  crime  or  immoral  conduct  what- 
ever." The  truth  is,  the  ancient  heathens  con- 
sidered religion  entirely  as  an  affair  of  state,  as 
nmch  under  the  tuition  of  the  magistrate,  as  any 
other  part  of  the  police.  The  religion  of  that  age 
was  not  merely  allied  to  the  state ;  it  was  incor- 
porated into  it.  Many  of  its  offices  were  adminis- 
tered by  the  magistrate.  Its  titles  of  pontiffs, 
augurs,  and  flamens,  were  borne  by  senators, 
consuls,  and  generals.  Without  discussing,  there- 
fore, the  truth  of  the  theology,  they  resented  every 
atlront  put  upon  the  established  worship,  as  a 
direct  opposition  to  the  authority  of  government. 

Add  to  which,  that  the  religious  systems  of 
those  times,  however  ill  supported  by  evidence, 
had  been  long  established.  The  ancient  religion 
of  a  country  has  always  many  votaries,  and  some- 
times not  the  fewer,  because  its  origin  is  hidden 
in  remoteness  and  obscurity.  Men  have  a  natu- 
ral veneration  for  antiquity,  especially  in  matters 
of  religion.  What  Tacitus  says  of  the  Jewish, 
was  more  applicable  to  the  heathen  establishment : 
"  Hi  ritus,  quoquo  modo  inducti,  sntiquitate  de- 
fenduntur."  It  was  also  a  splendid  and  sumptuous 
worship.  It  had  Its  priesthood,  its  endowments, 
its  temples.  Statuary,  painting,  architecture,  and 
music,  contributed  their  effect  to  its  ornament  and 
magnificence.     It  abounded  in  festival  shows  and 


solemnities,  to  which  the  common  people-  are 
greatly  addicted,  and  which  were  of  a  nature  to  en- 
gage them  much  more  than  any  thing  of  that  sort 
among  us.  These  things  would  retain  great  num- 
bers Oil  it.s  side  by  the  fascination  of  spectacle  and 
pomp,  as  well  as  interest  many  in  its  preservation 
by  the  advantage  which  they  drew  from  it.  "  It 
was  moreover  interwoven,"  as  Mr.  Gibbon  right- 
ly represents  it,  "  with  every  circumstance  of  bu- 
siness or  pleasure,  of  public  or  private  life,  with 
all  the  offices  and  amusements  of  society."  On 
the  due  celebration  also  of  its  rites,  the  people  were 
taught  to  believe,  and  did  believe,  that  the  pros- 
perity of  their  country  in  a  great  measure  de- 
pended. 

I  am  willing  to  accept  the  account  of  the  matter 
which  is  given  by  Mr.  Gibbon :  "The  various 
modes  of  worship  which  prevailed  in  the  Roman 
world,  were  all  considered  by  the  people  as  equally 
true,  by  the  philosopher  as  equally  false,  and  by 
the  magistrate  as  equally  useful :"  and  I  would 
ask  from  which  of  these  three  classes  of  men  were 
the  Christian  missionaries  to  look  for  protection  or 
impunity  1  Could  they  expect  it  from  the  people, 
"  whose  acknowledged  confidence  in  the  public 
religion"  they  subverted  from  its  foundation  1 
From  the  philosopher,  who,  "  considering  all  reli- 
gions as  equally  false,"  would  of  course  rank  theirs 
among  the  number,  with  the  addition  of  regarding 
them  as  busy  and  troublesome  zealots  1  Or  from 
the  magistrate,  who,  satisfied  with  the  "utility" 
of  the  subsisting  religion,  would  not  be  likely  to 
countenance  a  spirit  of  proselytism  and  innova- 
tion ; — a  system  which  declared  war  against  every 
other,  and  which,  if  it  prevailed,  must  end  ir/  a 
total  rupture  of  public  opinion ;  an  upstart  reli- 
gion, in  a  word,  which  was  not  content  with  its 
own  authority,  but  must  disgrace  all  the  settled 
religions  of  the  world  1  It  was  not  to  be  imagined 
that  he  would  endure  with  patience,  that  the  reli- 
gion of  the  emperor  and  of  the  state  should  be  ca- 
kunniated  and  borne  down  by  a  company  of 
superstitious  and  despicable  Jews. 

Lastly,  the  nature  of  the  case  afTords  a  strong 
proof,  that  the  original  teachers  of  Christianity,  in 
consequence  of  their  new  profession,  entered  upon 
a  new  and  singular  course  of  life.  We  may  l)e 
allowed  to  presume,  that  the  institution  which 
they  preached  to  others,  they  conformed  to  in  their 
own  persons ;  because  this  is  no  more  than  what 
every  teacher  of  a  new  religion  both  does,  and 
must  do,  in  order  to  obtain  either  proselytes  or 
hearers.  The  change  which  this  would  }jroduce 
was  very  considerable.  It  is  a  change  whiih  we 
do  not  easily  estimate,  because,  ourselves  and  all 
about  us  being  habituated  to  the  institutions  from 
our  infancy,  it  is  what  we  neither  experience  nor 
oliserve.  After  men  became  Christians,  much  of 
their  time  was  spent  in  prayer  and  devotion,  in 
religious  meetings,  in  celebrating  the  eucharist,  in 
conferences,  in  exhortations,  in  preaching,  in  an 
affectionate  intercourse  with  one  another,  and 
correspondence  with  other  societies.  Perhaps  their 
mode  of  life,  in  its  form  and  habit,  was  not  very 
unlike  the  Unitas  Fratrum,  or  the  modern  Metho-. 
dists.  Think  then  what  it  was  to  become  such 
at  Corinth,  at  Ephesus,  at  Antioch.  or  even  at 
Jerusalem.  How  new  !  how  alien  from  all  their 
former  habits  and  ideas,  and  from  those  of  every 
i)ody  about  them !  What  a  revolution  there  must 
have  been  of  opinions  and  prejudices  to  bring  the 
matter  to  this ! 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


2'n 


We  know  what  the  precepts  of  the  religion 
are ;  how  pure,  how  benevolent,  how  disinterested 
a  conduct  they  enjoin ;  and  that  this  purity  and 
benevolence  are  extended  to  the  very  thoughts 
and  atiections.  We  are  not,  perhaps,  at  liberty 
to  take  for  granted  that  the  lives  of  the  preachers 
of  Christianity  were  as  perfect  as  their  lessons ; 
but  we  are  entitled  to  contend,  that  the  observable 
part  of  their  behaviour  must  have  agreed  in  a 
great  measure  with  the  duties  which  they  taught. 
There  was,  therefore,  (which  is  all  that  we  as,sert,) 
a  course  of  life  pursued  by  them,  ditli^rent  from 
that  which  they  before  led.  And  this  is  of  great 
importance.  Men  are  brought  to  any  thing  almost 
sooner  than  to  change  their  habit  of  life,  especial- 
ly when  the  change  is  either  inconvenient,  or 
made  against  the  force  of  natural  inclination,  or 
with  the  loss  of  accustomed  indulgences.  "  It  is 
the  most  difficult  of  all  things  to  convert  men  from 
vicious  habits  to  virtuous  ones,  as  every  one  may 
judge  from  what  he  feels  in  himself,  as  well  as 
from  what  he  sees  in  others."*  It  is  almost  like 
making  men  over  again. 

Left  then  to  myself,  and  without  any  more  in- 
formation than  a  knowledge  of  the  existence  of 
the  religion,  of  the  general  story  upon  which  it  is 
founded,  and  that  no  act  of  power,  force,  and  au- 
thority, was  concerned  in  its  first  success,  I  should 
conclude,  from  the  very  nature  and  exigency  of 
the  case,  that  the  Author  of  the  religion,  during 
his  life,  and  his  immediate  disciples  after  his 
death,  exerted  themselves  in  spreading  and  pub- 
lishing the  institution  throughout  the  country  in 
which  it  began,  and  into  which  it  was  first  car- 
ried :  that;  in  the  prosecution  of  this  purpose,  the}' 
undervs'ent  the  labours  and  troubles  which  we  ob- 
serve the  propagators  of  new  sects  to  undergo ; 
that  the  attempt  niust  necessarily  have  also  been 
in  a  highJegrctnTangerous ;  that,  from  the  sub- 
^ect  ot  the  mission,  compared  with  the  fixed  opi- 
nions and  prejudices  of  those  to  whom  the  mis- 
sionaries were  to  address  themselves,  they  could 
hardly  fail  of  encountering  strong  and  frequent 
opposition;  that,  by  the  hand  of  government,  as 
well  as  from  the  sudden  fury  and  unbridled  license 
of  the  people,  they  would  oftentimes  experience 
injurious  and  cruel  treatment ;  that,  at  any  rate, 
tliey  must  have  always  had  so  much  to  fear  for 
their  personal  safety,  as  to  have  passed  their  lives 
ill  a  state  of  constant  peril  and  anxiety  ;  and  last- 
ly, that  their  mode  of  life  and  conduct,  visibly  at 
least,  corresponded  with  the  institution  which 
they  delivered,  and,  so  far,  was  both  new,  and  re- 
quired continual  self-denial. 


CHAPTER  II. 

There  is  satisfactory  evidence  that  viavy  'profess- 
ing to  be  original  witnesses  of  the  Christian 
miracles. passed  their  lires  in  labours,  dangers, 
and  sufferings,  voluntarily  undergone  in  at- 
testation of  the.accounts  which  they  delirered, 
and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of 
those  accounts;  and  that  they  also  submitted 
from  the  same  motives,  to  new  rules  of  conduct. 

After  thus  considering  what  was  likely  to 
happen,  we  are  next  to  inquire  how  the  transac- 


*  Hartley's  Essays  on  Man,  p.  190. 


tion  is  represented  in  the  several  accounts  that 
have  come  down  to  us.  And  this  inquiry  is  pro- 
perly preceded  by  the  other,  for  as  much  as  the 
reception  of  these  accounts  may  depend  in  part  on 
the  credibility  of  what  they  contain. 

The  obscure  and  distant  view  of  Christianity, 
which  some  of  the  heathen  writers  of  that  age 
had  gained,  and  which  a  few  passages  in  their  re- 
maining works  incidentally  discover  to  us,  otters 
itself  to  our  notice  in  the  first  place:  because,  so 
far  as  this  evidence  goes,  it  is  the  concession  of 
adversaries ;  the  source  from  which  it  is  drawn  is 
unsuspected.  Under  this  head,  a  quotation  from 
Tacitus,  well  known  to  every  scholar,  must  be 
inserted,  as  deserving  particular  attention.  The 
reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  this  passage  was 
written  about  seventy  years  after  Christ's  death, 
and  that  it  relates  to  transactions  which  took  place 
about  thirty  years  after  that  event. — Speaking  of 
the  fire  which  happened  at  Rome  in  the  time  of 
Nero,  and  of  the  suspicions  which  were  enter- 
tained that  the  emperor  himself  was  concerned  in 
causing  it,  the  historian  proceeds  in  his  narrative 
and  observations  thus : 

"  But  neither  these  exertions,  nor  his  largesses 
to  the  people,  nor  his  offerings  to  the  gods,  did 
away  the  infamous  imputation  under  which  Nero 
lay,  i>f  having  ordered  the  city  to  be  set  on  fire. 
To  pi  ^  an  end,  therefore,  to  this  report,  he  laid 
the  guilt,  and  inflicted  the  most  cruel  punishments, 
upon  a  set  of  people,  who  were  holden  in  abhor- 
rence for  their  crimes,  and  called  by  the  vulgar, 
Christians.  The  founder  of  that  name  was 
Christ,  who  suffered  death  in  the  reign  of  Tibe- 
rius, under  his  procurator  Pontius  Pilate.  This 
pernicious  superstition,  thus  checked  for  a  while, 
broke  out  again  ;  and  spread  not  only  over  Judea, 
where  the  evil  originated,  but  through  Rome  also, 
whither  every  thing  bad  upon  the  earth  finds  its 
way,  and  is  practised.  Some  who  confessed  their 
sect,  were  first  seized,  and  afterwards,  by  their  in- 
formation, a  vast  multitude  were  apprehended, 
who  were  convicted,  not  so  much  of  the  crime  of 
burning  Rome,  as  of  hatred  to  mankind.  Their 
sufferings  at  their  execution  were  aggravated  by 
insult  and  mockery ;  for,  some  were  disguised  in 
the  skins  of  wild  beasts,  and  worried  to  (ieath  by 
dogs ;  some  were  crucified ;  and  others  were 
wrapt  in  pitched  shirts,*  and  set  on  fire  when  the 
day  closed,  that  they  might  serve  as  lights  to  illu- 
minate the  night.  Nero  lent  his  own  gardens  for 
these  executions,  and  exhibited  at  the  same  time 
a  mock  Circensian  entertainment ;  being  a  spec- 
tator of  the  whole,  in  the  dress  of  a  charioteer, 
sometimes  mingling  with  the  crowd  on  foot,  and 
sometimes  viewing  the  spectacle  from  his  car. 
This  conduct  made  the  sufferers  pitied;  and 
though  they  were  criminals,  and  deserving  the 
severest  punishments,  yet  they  were  considered  as 
sacrificed,  not  so  much  out  of  a  regard  to  the  pub- 
lic good,  as  to  gratify  the  cruelty  of  one  njan." 

Our  concern  with  this  passage  at  present  is 
only  so  far  as  it  affords  a  presunijition  in  support 
of  the  proposition  which  we  maintain,  concerning 
the  activity  and  sufferings  of  the  first  teachers  ot 
Christianity.  Now  considered  in  this  view,  it 
proves  three  things:  1st,  that  the  Founder  of  the 


*  This  is  rather  a  paraphrase,  but  is  justified  by  what 
the  Scholiast  upon  Juvenal  says  ;  "  Nero  maleficos  ho- 
mines ta^iia  et  papyro  et  cera  siipervcstiehat,  et  sic  ad 
i^neni  adnioveri  jubebat." — Laid.  Jewish  and  Keath 
Test,  vol,  i.  p.  359.  ^  , 


278 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


institution  was  put  to  death ;  2clly,  that  in  the 
same  country  in  which  he  was  put  to  death,  the 
religion,  after  a  short  check,  broke  out  again  and 
spread;  3dly,  that  it  so  spread,  as  that,  within 
thirty-four  years  from  the  author's  death,  a  very 
great  number  of  Christians  (ingens  eorum  multl- 
tudo)  were  found  at  Rome.  From  whicli  lact, 
the  two  tbilowing  inl'erenccs  may  be  fairly  drawn  : 
iirst,  that  if,  in  the  space  of  thirty-four  years  irom 
its  conuniMH-ement,  the  religion  had  spread  through- 
out Judea,  had  extended  itself  to  Rome,  and  there 
had  numbered  a  great  multitude  of  converts,  tlie 
original  teachers  and  missionaries  of  the  institu- 
tion could  not  have  been  idle ;  secondly,  that  when 
the  Author  of  the  undertaking  was  put  to  death 
as  a  malefactor  for  his  attempt,  the  endeavours  of 
his  followers  to  establish  his  religion  in  the  same 
country,  amongst  the  same  people,  and  in  the 
same  age,  could  not  but  be  attended  with  danger. 

Suetonius,  a  writer  contemporary  with  Tacitus, 
describing  the  transactions  of  the  same  reign,  uses 
these  words:  "  Afii?cti  suppliciis  Christiani,  ge- 
nus hominum  superstitionis  nova  et  malehcoe.*'" 
— "  The  Christians,  a  set  of  men  of  a  new  and 
mischievous  (or  magical)  superstition,  were  pu- 
nished." 

Since  it  is  not  mentioned  here  that  the  burning 
of  the  city  was  the  pretence  of  the  punishment  ol' 
the  Christians,  or  that  they  were  the  Christians 
of  Rome  who  alone  sutiered,  it  is  probable  that 
Suetonius  refers  to  some  more  general  persecution 
than  the  short  and  oc(;asional  one  which  Tacitus 
describes. 

Juvenal,  a  writer  of  the  same  age  with  the  two 
former,  and  intending,  it  should  seem,  to  comme- 
morate the  cruelties  exercised  under  Nero's  go- 
vernment, has  the  following  lines  ;l 

"  Pone  Tigelliniim,  tsda  liicebis  in  ill;'i, 
Qiii'i  stantes  ardent,  qui  fixo  gulture  fiimant, 
Et  latum  media  sulcum  deducitj;  arena. 

"  Describe  Tigellinus  (a  creature  of  Nero,)  and 
you  shall  suffer  the  same  punishment  with  tho.se 
who  stand  burning  in  their  own  flame  and  smoke, 
their  head  being  held  up  by  a  stake  fixed  to  their 
chin,  till  they  make  a  long  stream  of  blood  and 
melted  sulphur  on  the  ground." 

If  this  passage  were  considered  by  itself,  the 
subject  of  allusion  might  be  doubtful ;  but  when 
connected  with  the  testimony  of  Suetonius,  as  to 
the  actual  punishment  of  the  Christians  by  Nero, 
and  with  the  account  given  by  Tacitus  of  the 
species  of  punishment  which  they  were  made  to 
undergo,  I  think  it  sufficiently  probable,  that  these 
were  the  executions  to  which  the  poet  refers 

These  things,  as  has  already  been  observed, 
tix)k  place  within  thirty-one  years  after  Christ's 
death,  that  is,  according  to  the  course  of  nature, 
in  the  life-time,  probably,  of  some  of  the  apostles, 
and  certainly  in  the  life-time  of  those  who  were 
converted  by  the  apostles,  or  who  were  convert- 
ed in  their  time.  If  then  the  Founder  of  the 
religion  was  ))ut  to  death  in  the  execution  of 
his  design ;  if  the  first  race  of  converts  to  the  re- 
ligion, many  of  them,  suffered  the  greatest  ex- 
tremities for  their  profession  ;  it  is  hardly  credible, 
that  those  who  came  hetxceen  the  two,  who  were 
companions  of  the  Author  of  the  institution  dur- 
ing his  life,  and  the  teachers  and  propagators  of 
the  in.stitution  after  his  death,  could  go  about  their 
undertaking  with  ease  and  safety. 


*  Suet.  Nero.  cap.  Hi. 
I  Forsan  "  deducis." 


t  Sat.  i.  ver.  155. 


The  testimony  of  the  younger  Pliny  belongs  k 
a  later  period  ;  for  although  he  was  contemporary 
with  Tacitus  and  Suetonius,  yet  his  account  does 
not,  like  theirs,  go  back  to  the  transactions  of 
Nero's  reign,  but  is  confined  to  the  affairs  of  his 
own  time.  His  celebrated  letter  to  Trajan  was 
written  about  seventy  years  after  Christ's  death; 
and  the  information  to  be  drawn  from  it,  so  far  as 
it  is  connected  with  our  argument,  relates  princi- 
pally to  two  jjoints ;  finst,  to  the  number  of  Chris- 
tians in  Bithynia  and  Pontus,  which  was  so  con- 
siderable as  to  induce  the  governor  of  these  pro- 
vinces to  speak  of  them  in  the  following  terms ; 
"  Multi,  omnis  setatis,  utriusque  sexus  etiam ; — 
neque  enim  civitates  tantum,  sed  vicos  etiam  ct 
agros,  superstitionis  istius  contagio  pcrvagata  est." 
"  There  are  many  of  every  age  and  of  both  sexes; 
nor  has  the  contagion  of  this  superstition  seized 
cities  only,  but  smaller  towns  also,  and  the  open 
country."  Great  exertions  must  have  been  used 
by  the  preachers  of  Christianity  to  produce  this 
state  of  things  within  this  time.  Secondly,  to  a 
point  which  has  been  already  noticed,  and  which 
1  think  of  impiortance  to  be  observed,  namely,  the 
sufl'erings  to  which  Christians  were  exposed,  loith- 
out  any  public  persecution  being  denounced  against 
them  by  sovereign  authority.  For,  from  Pliny's 
doubt  how  he  was  to  act,  his  silence  concerning 
any  subsisting  law  on  the  subject,  his  requesting 
the  emperor's  rescript,  and  the  emperor,  agreeably 
to  his  request  propounding  a  rule  for  his  direction, 
without  reference  to  any  prior  rule,  it  may  be  in- 
ferred, that  there  was,  at  that  time,  no  public  edict 
in  force  against  the  Christians.  Yet  from  this 
same  epistle  of  Pliny  it  appears,  "  that  accusations, 
trials,  and  examinations,  were  and  had  been, 
going  on  against  them  in  the  provinces  over  which 
he  presided ;  that  schedules  were  delivered  by 
anonymous  infijrmers,  containing  the  names  of 
persons  who  were  suspected  of  holding  or  of  fa- 
vouring the  religion ;  that,  in  consequence  of  these 
informations,  many  had  been  ajiprehended,  of 
whom  some  boldly  avowed  their  profession,  and 
died  in  the  cause ;  others  denied  that  they  were 
Christians ;  others,  acknowledging  that  they  had 
once  been  Christians,  declared  that  they  had  long 
ceased  to  he  such."  All  which  demonstrates,  that 
the  profession  of  Christianity  was  at  that  time  (in 
that  country  at  least)  attended  with  fear  and  dan- 
ger: and  yet  this  took  place  without  any  edict 
from  the  Roman  sovereign,  commanding  or  au- 
thorising the  persecution  of  Christians.  This 
observation  is  further  confirmed  by  a  rescript  of 
Adrian  to  Miimcius  Fundanus,  the  proconsul 
of  Asia:*  from  which  rescri[)t  it  appears  that  the 
custom  of  the  people  of  Asia  was  to  proceed 
against  the  Christians  with  tumult  and  uproar. 
"This  disorderly  practice,  I  say,  is  recognised  in 
the  edict,  because  the  emperor  enjoins,  that,  for 
the  future,  if  the  Christians  were  guilty,  they 
should  be  legally  brought  to  trial,  and  not  be  pur- 
sued by  importunity  and  clamour. 

Martial  wrote  a  few  years  before  the  younger 
Pliny  :  and,  as  his  manner  was,  made  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  Christians  the  subject  of  his  ridiculc.-f 

^Lard.  Heath.  Test.  vol.  ii.  p.  110. 
I  In  matutini  nupsr  spectatus  arena 

Mucins,  imposuit  qui  sua  menihra  focis, 
Si  patiens  forlisqiie  libi  diirusque  videtur, 

Ab[leiitan;p  pectorn  plebis  liabes  ; 
Nam  cam  dicatur,  tiinic;!  prsescnte  molestil, 
Ure  X  man  inn  :  plus  est  dicere,  Non  facio. 
X  Forsan  "  tliure  manum." 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


279 


Nothing,  however,  could  show  the  notoriety  of  the 
fact  with  more  certainty  than  this  does.  Marti;il's 
testimony,  as  well  indeed  as  Phny's,  goes  also  to 
another  point,  viz.  that  the  deaths  of  these  men 
were  martyrdoms  in  the  strictest  sense,  that  is  to 
eay,  were  so  voluntary,  that  it  was  in  their  power, 
at  the  time  of  pronouncing  the  sentence,  to  have 
averted  the  execution  by  consenting  to  join  in 
heathen  sacrifices. 

The  constancy,  and  by  consequence  the  sufier- 
ings  of  the  Christians  of  this  period,  is  also  refer- 
red to  by  Epictetus.  who  imputes  their  intrepidity 
to  madness,  or  to  a  kind  of  fashion  or  habit,  and 
about  hfty  years  afterwards,  by  Marcus  Aurelius, 
who  ascribes  it  to  obstinacy.  "  Is  it  possible 
(Epictetus  asks)  that  a  man  may  arrive  at  this 
temper,  and  become  indifferent  to  those  things 
from  madness  or  from  habit,  as  the  Galileans  ?'* 
"  Let  this  preparation  of  the  mind  (to  die)  arise 
from  its  own  judgment,  and  not  from  obstinacy 
like  the  Christians.''^ 


CHAPTER  III. 

There  is  satisfactory  evidence  that  many,  pro- 
Jessing  to  be  original  witnesses  of  the  Chris- 
tian miracles,  passed  their  lives  in  labours, 
dangers,  and  sujferiyigs,  voluntarily  under- 
gone in  attestation  of  the  accounts  which  they 
delivered,  and  solely  in  consequence  of  their 
belief  of  those  accounts  ;  and  that  they  also 
submitted,  from  tlie  same  motives,  to  new  rules 
of  conduct. 

Op  the  primitive  condition  of  Christianity,  a 
distant  only  and  general  view  can  be  acquired  from 
heathen  writers.  It  is  in  our  own  books  that  the 
detail  and  interior  of  the  transaction  must  be 
sought  for.  And  this  is  nothing  different  from 
what  might  be  expected.  Who  would  write  a 
history  of  Christianity,  but  a  Christian  1  Who 
was  likely  to  record  the  travels,  sutlerings,  labours, 
or  successes  of  the  apostles,  but  one  of  their 
own  number,  or  of  their  followers  7  Now  these 
books  come  up  in  their  accounts  to  the  full  extent 
of  the  proposition  which  we  maintain.  We  have 
four  histories  of  Jesus  Christ.  We  have  a 
history  taking  up  the  narrative  from  his  death, 
and  carrying  on  an  account  of  the  propagation 
of  the  religion,  and  of  some  of  the  most  eminent 
persons  engaged  in  it,  for  a  space  of  nearly  thirty 
years.  We  have,  what  some  may  think  still  more 
original,  a  collection  of  letters,  written  by  certain 
principal  agents  in  the  business,  upon  the  business, 
and  in  the  midst  of  their  concern  and  connexion 
with  it.  And  we  have  these  writings  severally 
attesting  the  point  which  we  contend  for,  viz.  the 
suli'eriniTS  of  the  witnesses  of  the  history,  and 
attesting  it  in  every  variety  of  form  in  which  it 
can  be  conceived  to  appear :  directly  and  indirectly, 
expressly  and  incidentally,  by  assertion,  recital, 
and  allusion,  by  narratives  of  facts,  and  by  argu- 
ments and  discourses  built  upon  these  facts,  either 
referring  to  them,  or  necessarily  presupposi'ig 
them. 

I  remark  this  variety,  because,  in  examining 
ancient  records,  or  indeed  any  species  of  testimo- 
ny, it  is,  in  my  0))inion,  of  the  greatest  importance 
to  attend  to  the  information  or  grounds  of  ar^u- 


*  Epicl  I.  iv.  c.  7.         t  -Marc.  Aur.  Med.  I.  .\i.  c.  3. 


ment  which  are  casually  and  undesignedly  dis- 
closed ;  forasmuch  as  this  species  of  proof  is,  of 
all  others,  the  least  liable  to  be  corrupted  by  fraud 
or  misrepresentation. 

I  may  be  allowed  therefore,  in  the  inquiry 
which  is  now  before  us,  to  suggest  some  conclu- 
sion of  this  sort,  as  preparatory  to  more  direct 
testimony. 

1.  Our  books  relate,  that  Jesus  Christ,  the 
founder  of  the  religion,  was,  in  consequence  of 
his  undertaking,  put  to  death,  as  a  malefactor,  at 
Jerusalem.  This  point  at  least  will  be  granted, 
because  it  is  no  more  than  what  Tacitus  has  re- 
corded. They  then  proceed  to  tell  us,  that  tlie 
religion  was,  notwithstanding,  set  forth  at  this 
same  city  of  Jerusalem,  proj)agated  thence  through- 
out Judea,  and  afterwards  preached  in  other  parts 
of  the  Roman  empire.  These  points  also  are 
fully  confirmed  by  Tacitus,  who  informs  us,  that 
the  religion,  after  a  short  check,  broke  out  again 
in  the  country  where  it  took  its  rise  ;  that  it  not 
only  spread  throughout  Judea,  but  had  reached 
Rome,  and  that  it  had  there  great  multitudes  of 
converts ;  and  all  this  within  thirty  years  after  its 
commencement.  Now  these  facts  aflbrd  a  strong 
inference  in  behalf  of  the  proposition  which  we 
maintain.  'What  could  the  disciples  of  Christ  ex- 
pect for  themselves  when  they  saw  their  Master 
put  to  death  1  Could  they  hope  to  escape  the 
dangers  in  which  he  had  perished  ]  If  they  have 
persecuted  me,  they  will  also  persecute  you,  was 
the  warning  of  common  sense.  With  this  ex- 
ample before  their  eyes,  they  could  not  be  without 
a  full  sense  of  the  peril  of  their  future  enterprise. 

2.  Secondly,  all  the  histories  agree  in  represent- 
ing Christ  as  foretelling  the  persecution  of  his  fol- 
lowers : — 

"  Then  shall  they  deliver  j'ou  up  to  be  afflicted, 
and  shall  kill  you,  and  ye  shall  be  hated  of  all  na- 
tions for  my  name's  sake."* 

"  When  affliction  or  persecution  ariseth  for  the 
word's  sake,  immediately  they  are  ollended  ''t 

"  They  shall  lay  hands  on  you,  and  persecute 
vou,  delivering  you  up  to  the  synagogues,  and 
into  prisons,  being  brought  before  kings  and  rulers 
for  mv  name's  sake : — and  ye  shall  be  betrayed 
both  by  parents  and  brethren,  and  kinsfolks  and 
friends,  and  some  of  you  shall  they  cause  to  be  put 
to  death. "t 

"  The  time  cometh,  that  he  that  killeth  you, 
will  think  that  he  doeth  God  service.  And  these 
things  will  they  do  unto  you,  because  they  have 
not  known  the  Father,  nor  me.  But  these  things 
have  I  told  you,  that  when  the  time  shall  come,  ye 
may  remember  that  I  told  you  of  them."'§ 

I  am  not  entitled  to  argue  from  these  passages, 
that  Christ  actually  did  foretell  these  events,  and 
that  they  did  accordingly  come  to  pass  ;  because 
that  would  be  at  once  to  assume  the  truth  of  the 
rehgion  :  but  I  am  entitled  to  contend,  that  one  side 
or  other  of  the  following  disjunction  is  true ;  either 
that  the  Evangelists  have  delivered  what  Christ 
really  spoke,  and  that  the  event  corresponded  with 
the  prediction  ;  or  that  they  put  the  prediction  into 
Christ's  mouth,  because,  at  the  time  of  writing 
the  history,  the  event  had  turned  out  so  to  be : 
for,  the  only  two  remaining  suppositions  appear  in 
the  highest,  degree  incredible ;  which  are.  either 

*  Mat.  xxiv.  9. 

t  Mark  iv.  17.    See  also  chap.  .t.  30. 

I  Luke  xxi.  12— IG.    See  also  chap.  xi.  49. 

§  John  xvi.  4     See  also  chap.  xv.  20 ;  xvi.  33. 


280 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


that  Christ  fillrtl  the  mimls  of  his  followers  with 
fears  and  apprehensions,  without  any  reason  or 
authority  for  what  he  said,  and  contrary  to  the 
truth  of  the  case :  or  that,  although  Christ  had 
never  foretold  any  such  thing,  and  the  event  would 
have  contradicted  him  if  he  had,  yet  historians 
who  lived  in  the  age  when  the  event  was  known, 
falsely,  as  well  as  officiously,  ascribed  these  words 
to  him. 

3.  Third!}',  these  books  abound  with  exhorta- 
tior;=  to  patience,  and  with  topics  of  comfort  under 
distress. 

"  Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ  1 
Shall  tribulation,  or  distress,  or  persecution,  or  fa- 
mine, or  nakedness,  or  peril,  or  sword  1  Nay,  in 
all  these  things  we  are  more  than  conquerors 
through  Him  that  loved  us."* 

"  We  are  troubled  on  every  side,  yet  not  dis- 
tressed ;  we  are  perplexed,  but  not  in  despair ;  per- 
secuted, but  not  forsaken;  cast  down,  but  not 
destroyed ;  always  bearing  about  in  the  body  the 
dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  that  the  life  also  of  Je- 
sus might  be  made  manifest  in  our  body ; — know- 
ing that  he  which  raised  up  the  Lord  Jesus  shall 
raise  us  up  also  by  Jesus,  and  shall  present  us 
with  you. — For  which  cause  we  faint  not;  but, 
though  our  outward  man  perish,  yet  the  inward 
man  is  renewed  day  by  day.  For  our  light  afflic- 
tion, which  is  but  for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a 
far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory. "t 

"  Take,  my  brethren,  the  prophets,  who  have 
spoken  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  for  an  example 
of  suffering  affliction,  and  of  patience.  Behold, 
we  count  them  happy  which  endure.  Ye  have 
'  heard  of  the  patience  of  Job,  and  have  seen  the 
end  of  the  Lord ;  that  the  Lord  is  very  pitiful,  and 
of  tender  mercy. "t 

"  Call  to  remembrance  the  former  days,  in 
which,  after  ye  were  illuminated,  ye  endured  a 
great  light  of  afflictions,  partly  whilst  ye  were 
made  a  gazing-stock  both  by  reproaches  and  afflic- 
tions, and  partly  whilst  ye  became  companions  of 
them  that  were  so  used ;  for  ye  had  compassion  of 
me  in  my  bonds,  and  took  joyfully  the  spoiling  of 
your  goods,  knowing  in  yourselves,  that  ye  have 
in  heaven  a  better  and  an  enduring  substance. 
Cast  not  away,  therefore,  your  confidence,  which 
hath  great  recompense  of  reward ;  for  ye  have 
need  of  patience,  that,  after  ye  have  done  the  will 
of  God,  ye  might  receive  the  promise."! 

"  So  that  we  ourselves  glory  in  you  in  the 
churches  of  God,  for  your  patience  and  faith  in  all 
your  persecutions  and  tribulations  that  ye  endure. 
Which  is  a  manifest  token  of  the  righteous  judg- 
ment of  God,  that  ye  may  be  counted  worthy  cf 
the  kingdom  for  which  ye  also  suffer. "II 

We  rejoice  in  hope  of  the  glory  of  God;  and 
rot  only  so,  but  we  glory  in  tribulations  also; 
knowing  that  tribulation  worketh  patience,  and 
patience  experience,  and  experience  hope."ir 

"  Beloved,  think  it  not  strange  concerning  the 
fiery  trial  which  is  to  try  you,  as  though  some 
strange  thing  happened  unto  you ;  but  rejoice,  in- 
asinnch  as  ye  are  partakers  of  Christ's  sufferings. 
— Wherefore  let  th(>ni  that  suffer  according  to  the 
will  of  God,  commit  the  kee|)ing  of  their  souls  to 
him  in  well  doing,  as  unto  a  faithfulCreator."** 

What  could  all  these  texts  mean,  if  there  was 


*  Rnm.  viii.3.5— 37. 

I  James  v.  10,  11. 

II  2  Thdss.  i.  4,  5. 

**  1  Pet.  iv.  12,  13.  19. 


t  2  0or.  iv.  8— 10.  14.  16,  17. 
§  Hfib.  X.  32—36. 
ir  Rom.  V.  3,  4. 


nothing  in  the  circumstances  of  the  times  whicij 
required  patience, — which  called  for  the  exercise 
of  constancy  and  resolution"?  Or  will  it  be  pre- 
tended that  these  exhortations  (which,  let  it  be 
observed,  come  not  from  one  author,  but  from 
many)  were  put  in,  merely  t,o~  induce  a  belief  in 
after-ages,  that  the  Christians  were  exposed  to 
dangers  which  they  were  not  exposed  to,  or  under- 
went sufferings  which  they  did  not  undergo  1  If 
these  books  belong  to  the  age  to  which  they  lay 
claim,  and  in  which  age,  whether  genuine  or  spu- 
rious, they  certainly  did  appear,  this  supposition 
cannot  be  maintained  for  a  moment;  because  I 
think  it  impossible  to  believe,  that  passages,  which 
must  be  deemed  not  only  unintelligible,  but  false, 
by  the  persons  into  whose  hands  the  books  upon 
their  publication  were  to  come,  should  nevertheless 
be  inserted,  for  the  purpose  of  producing  an  effect 
upon  renjote  generations.  In  forgeries  which  do 
not  appear  till  many  ages  after  that  to  which  they 
pretend  to  belong,  it  is  possible  that  some  con- 
trivance of  that  sort  may  take  place ;  but  in  no 
others  can  it  be  attempted. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

There  is  satisfaclory  evidence  that  mavy,  pro- 
fessing to  be  original  iDitnesses  of  the  Christian 
7niractes,  passed  their  lives  in  labours,  dangers, 
and  sufferings,  roluntarity  undergone  in  at- 
testation of  the  accoxmts  xcliich  they  delivered, 
and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of  those 
accounts  ;  and  that  they  also  submitted,  from 
the  same  motives,  to  new  rules  of  conduct. 

The  account  of  the  treatment  of  the  religion, 
and  of  the  exertions  of  its  first  preachers,  as  stated 
in  our  Scriptures  (not  in  a  prolessed  history  of  per- 
secutions, or  in  the  connected  manner  in  which  1 
am  about  to  recite  it,  but  dispersedly  and  occasion- 
ally, in  the  course  of  a  mixed  general  history, 
which  circumstance  alone  negatives  the  supposi- 
tion of  any  fraudulent  design,)  is  the  following: 
"  That  the  Founder  of  Christianity,  from  the  com- 
mencement of  his  ministry  to  the  time  of  his  vio- 
lent death,  employed  himself  wholly  in  publishing 
the  institution  in  Judea  and  Galilee ;  that,  in  order 
to  assist  him  in  this  purpose,  he  made  choice  out 
of  the  number  of  his  followers,  of  twelve  persons, 
who  might  accompany  him  as  he  travelled  from 
place  to  place ;  that,  except  a  short  absence  upon 
a  journey  in  which  he  sent  them,  two  by  two,  to 
announce  his  mission,  and  one  of  a  few  days,  when 
they  went  before  him  to  Jerusalem,  these  persons 
were  steadily  and  constantly  attending  upon  hiin  ; 
that  they  were  with  him  at  Jerusalem  when  he 
was  apprehended  and  put  to  death ;  and  that  they 
were  commissioned  by  him,  when  his  own  minis- 
try was  concluded,  to  publish  his  Gospel,  and  col- 
lect disciples  to  it  from  all  countries  of  the  world." 
The  account  then  proceeds  to  state,  "  that  a  lew 
days  after  his  departure,  these  jjersons,  with  some 
of  his  relations,  and  some  who  had  regularly  fre- 
quented their  society,  assembled  at  Jerusalem ; 
that,  considering  the  office  of  preaching  the  religion 
as  now  devolved  upon  them,  and  one  of  their  num- 
ber having  deserted  the  cause,  and,  repenting  of 
his  perfidy,  having  destroyed  himself,  they  proceed- 
ed to  elect  another  into  his  place,  and  that  they 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


281 


were  careful  to  make  their  election  out  of  the  num- 
ber of  those  who  had  accompanied  their  Master 
from  the  first  to  the  last,  in  order,  as  they  alleged, 
that  he  might  be  a  witness,  together  with  them- 
selves, of  the  principal  facts  wliich  they  were 
about  to  produce  and  relate  concerning  him  ;*  that 
they  began  their  work  at  Jerusalem  by  pubhcly 
asserting  that  this  Jesus,  whom  the  rulers  and  in- 
habitants of  that  place  had  so  lately  crucified,  was, 
in  truth,  the  person  m  whom  all  their  projihecies 
and  long  expectations  terminated ;  that  he  had 
been  sent  amongst  them  by  God ;  and  that  he  was 
appointed  by  God  the  future  judge  of  the  human 
species  ;  that  all  who  were  solicitous  to  secure  to 
themselves  happiness  after  death,  ought  to  receive 
him  as  such,  and  to  make  profession  of  their  be- 
lief, by  being  baptized  in  his  name."t  The  his- 
tory goes  on  to  relate,  "  that  considerable  numbers 
accepted  this  proposal,  and  that  they  who  did  so, 
formed  amongst  themselves  a  strict  union  and  so- 
ciety ;t  that  the  attention  of  the  Jewish  govern- 
ment being  soon  drawn  upon  them,  two  of  the 
principal  persons  of  the  twelve,  and  who  also  had 
lived  most  intimately  and  constantly  with  the 
Founder  of  the  religion,  were  seized  as  they  were 
discoursing  to  the  people  in  the  temple;  that,  after 
being  kept  all  night  in  prison,  they  were  brought 
the  next  day  before  an  assembly  composed  of  the 
chief  persons  of  the  Jewish  magistracy  and  priest- 
hood ;  that  this  assembly,  after  some  consultation, 
found  notliing,  at  that  time,  better  to  be  done  to- 
wards suppressing  the  growth  of  the  sect,  than  to 
threaten  their  prisoners  with  punishment  if  thej^ 
persisted ;  that  these  men,  after  expressing,  in  de- 
cent but  firm  language,  the  obligation  under  which 
they  considered  themselves  to  be,  to  declare  what 
they  knew,  '  to  speak  the  things  which  they  had 
seen  and  heard,'  returned  from  the  council,  and 
reported  what  had  passed  to  their  companions; 
that  this  report,  whilst  it  apprized  them  of  the 
danger  of  their  situation  and  undertaking,  had  no 
other  eftijct  upon  their  conduct  than  to  produce  in 
them  a  general  resolution  to  persevere,  and  an 
earnest  prayer  to  God  to  furnish  them  with  assist- 
ance, and  to  inspire  them  with  fortitude,  propor- 
tioned to  the  increasing  exigency  of  the  service.  "§ 
A  very  short  time  after  this,  we  read  "  that  all  the 
twelve  apostles  were  seized  and  cast  into  prison  ;ll 
that  being  brought  a  second  time  before  the  Jew- 
ish Sanhedrim,  they  were  upbraided  with  their 
disobedience  to  the  injunction  which  had  been  laid 
upon  them,  and  beaten  for  their  contumacy  ;  that, 
being  charged  once  more  to  desist,  they  were  suf- 
fered to  depart ;  that  however  they  neither  quitted 
Jerusalem,  nor  ceased  from  preaching,  both  daily 
in  the  temple,  and  from  house  to  house  ;ir  and  that 
the  twelve  considered  themselves  as  so  entirely 
and  exclusively  devoted  to  this  office,  that  they 
now  transferred  what  may  he  called  the  temporal 
affairs  of  the  society  to  other  hands.'** 


*  Acts  i.  21,  22.  t  Acts  xi.  %  Acts  iv.  32. 

«Actsiv.  II  Acts  V.  18.        IT  Acts  v.  42 

**  I  do  not  know  that  it  lias  ever  been  insinuated,  that 
the  Christian  mission,  in  the  hands  of  the  apostles,  was 
a  sclienie  for  niakinjf  a  fortune,  or  for  getting  money. — 
B;it  it  may  nevertheless  be  fit  to  remark  upon  this  pas- 
sage of  their  history,  how  perfectly  free  they  appear  to 
have  been  from  any  pecuniary  or  interested  views  what- 
ever. Tiie  most  temptin;;  opportunity  which  occurred, 
of  making  a  gain  of  their  converts,  was  by  the  custody 
and  management  of  the  public  funds,  when  some  of  the 
richer  members,  intending  to  contribite  their  fortunes 
to  the  common  support  of  the  society,  sold  their  posses- 

2N 


Hitherto  the  preachers  of  the  new  religion  seem 
to  have  had  the  common  people  on  their  side; 
which  is  assigned  as  the  reason  why  the  Jewish 
rulers  did  not,  at  this  time,  think  it  prudent  to 
proceed  to  greater  extremities.  It  was  not  long, 
however,  before  the  enemies  of  the  institution 
found  means  to  represent  it  to  the  people  as  tend- 
ing to  subvert  their  law,  degrade  their  lawgiver, 
and  dishonour  their  temple.*  And  these  insinua- 
tions were  dispersed  with  so  much  success,  as  to 
induce  the  people  to  join  with  their  superiors  in 
the  stoning  of  a  very  active  member  of  the  new 
community. 

The  death  of  this  man  was  the  .signal  of  a 
general  persecution,  the  activity  of  which  may  he 
judged  of  from  one  anecdote  of  the  time: — "As 
for  Saul,  he  made  havoc  of  the  church,  entering 
into  evei-y  house,  and  haling  men  and  women, 
committed  them  to  prison."!  This  persecution 
raged  at  Jerusalem  with  so  much  furv,  as  to  drive 
most  of  the  new  converts  out  of  the  place,  except 
the  twelve  apostles. ±  The  converts,  thus  "scat- 
tered abroad,"  preached  the  religion  wherever  they 
came ;  and  their  preaching  was,  in  effect,  the 
preaching  of  the  twelve;  for  it  was  so  far  carried 
on  in  concert  and  correspondence  with  thevi.  that 
when  they  heard  of  the  success  of  their  emissaries 
in  a  particular  country,  they  sent  two  of  their 
number  to  the  place,  to  complete  and  confirm  the 
mission. 

An  event  now  took  place,  of  great  importance 
in  the  future  history  of  the  religion.  The  perse- 
cutions which  had  begun  at  Jerusalem,  followed 
the  Christians  to  other  cities,  in  which  the  autho- 
rity of  the  Jewish  Sanhedrim  over  those  of  their 
own  nation  was  allowed  to  be  exercised.  A 
young  man,  who  had  signalized  himself  by  his 
hostility  to  the  profession,  and  had  procured  a 
commission  from  the  council  at  Jerusalem  to  seize 
any  converted  Jews  whom  he  might  find  at  Da- 
mascus, suddenly  became  a  proselyte  to  the  reli- 
gion which  he  was  going  about  to  extirpate.  The 
new  convert  not  only  shared,  on  this  extraordina- 
ry change,  the  fate  of  his  companions,  but  brought 
upon  himself  a  double  measure  of  enmity  fi-om 
the  party  which  he  had  left.  The  Jews  at  Da- 
mascus, on  his  return  to  that  city,  watched  the 
gates  night  and  day,  with  so  much  diligence,  that 
he  escaped  from  their  hands  only  by  being  let 
down  in  a  basket  by  the  wall.  Nor  did  he  find 
himself  in  greater  safety  at  Jerusalem,  whither  he 
immethately  repaired. — Attempts  were  there  also 
soon  set  on  foot  to  destro}'  him ;  from  the  danger 


sions,  and  laid  down  the  prices  at  the  apostles"  feet. 
Yet,  so  insensible,  or  undesirous,  were  they  of  the  ad- 
vantage which  that  confidence  aflbrded,  that  we  lind 
they  very  soon  disposed  of  the  trust,  by  putting  it  into 
the  hands,  not  of  nominees  of  their  own,  but  of  stew- 
ards formally  elected  for  the  purpose  by  the  society  at 
larce. 

We  may  add  also,  that  this  excess  of  generosity,  w  hich 
cast  private  property  into  the  public  stock,  was  so  fai 
from  being  required  by  the  apostles,  or  imposed  as  a  law 
of  Christianity,  that"  Peter  reminds  Ananias  that  he 
had  been  guilty,  in  his  behaviour,  of  an  officious  and 
voluntary  prevarication ;  "for  whilst,"  says  he,  "thy 
estate  reinained  unsold,  was  it  not  thine  own  ?  and  after 
it  was  sold,  was  it  not  in  thine  own  power?" 

*Actsvi.  12.  tActsviii.  3. 

X  Acts  viii.  1.  "  And  they  were  ail  scattered  abroad  :" 
but  the  term  "  all"  is  not.  I  think,  to  be  taken  strictly 
as  denoting  more  than  the  generality ;  in  like  manner  as 
in  Act?  ix  35  "  .'Vnd  all  that  dwelt  at  Lydda  and  Sa 
ron  saw  him,  and  turned  to  the  Lord." 

(jActsix.  ^^^ 


28'J 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


of  which  he  was  preserved  by  being  sent  away  to 
Cilicia,  his  native  country. 

For  some  reason,  not  mentioned,  perhaps  not 
known,  but  probably  connected  with  the  civil  his- 
tory of  the  Jews,  or  with  some  danger*  which 
engrossed  the  public  attention,  an  intermission 
about  tliis  time  took  place  in  the  sufferings  of  the 
Christians.  This  happened,  at  the  most,  only 
seven  or  eight,  perliaps  only  three  or  four,  years 
after  Christ's  death. — Within  which  period,  and 
notwithstanding  that  the  late  persecution  occupied 
part  of  it,  churches,  or  societies  of  believers,  had 
been  ii)r;ned  in  all  Judea,  Galilee,  and  Samaria ; 
ibr  we  read  that  the  churches  in  these  countries 
"  had  now  rest,  and  were  edified,  and  walking  in 
the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  in  the  comfort  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  were  multiplied. "t  The  original 
preachers  of  the  religion  did  not  remit  their  la- 
hours  or  activity  during  this  season  of  quietness ; 
for  we  find  one,  and  he  a  very  principal  person 
a  inong  them,  passing  throughout  all  quarters.  We 
find  also  those  who  had  been  before  expelled  from 
Jerusiilein  by  the  persecution  which  raged  there, 
travelling  as  far  as  Phosnice,  Cyprus,  and  Anti- 
och  ;+  and,  lastly,  we  find  Jerusalem  again  in  the 
centre  of  the  mission,  the  place  whither  the 
preachers  returned  from  their  several  excursions, 
where  they  reported  the  conduct  and  effects  of 
their  ministry,  where  questions  of  public  concern 
were  canvassed  and  settled,  whence  directions 
were  sought,  and  teachers  sent  forth. 

The  time  of  this  tranquillity  did  not,  however, 
continue  long.  Herod  Agrippa,  who  had  lately 
ac-ceiJi'd  to  tlie  government  of  Judea,  "  stretched 
forth  his  hand  to  vex  certain  of  the  church. ''§  He 
began  his  cruelty  by  beheading  one  of  the  twelve 
original  aymstles,  a  kinsman  and  constant  com- 
panion of  the  Founder  of  the  religion.  Perceiving 
that  this  execution  gratified  the  Jews,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  seize,  in  order  to  put  to  death,  another 
of  the  numlier, — and  him,  like  the  former,  associ- 
ated with  Christ  during  his  life,  and  eminently 
active  in  the  service  since  his  death.  This  man 
was  however  delivered  from  prison,  as  the  account 
states, II  miraculously,  and  made  his  escape  from 
Jerusalem. 

These  things  are  related,  not  in  the  general 
terms  under  which,  in  giving  the  outlines  of  the 
history,  we  have  here  mentioned  them,  but  with 
the  utmost  particularity  of  names,  persons,  places, 
and  circumstances ;  and,  what  is  deserving  of 
notice,  without  the  smallest  discoverable  propensi- 
ty in  the  historian  to  magnify  the  fortitude,  or  ex- 
aggerate the  sufferings  of  his  party.  When  they 
fled  for  their  hves,  he  tells  us.  When  the 
churches  had  rest,  he  remarks  it.  When  the  peo- 
ple took  their  part,  he  does  not  leave  it  without 
notice.  When  the  apostles  were  carried  a  second 
time  before  the  Sanhedrim,  he  is  careful  to  ob- 
serve that  they  were  brought  without  violence. 
When  milder  counsels  were  suggested,  he  gives 
us  the  author  of  the  advice,  and  the  speech  which 
contained  it.  When,  in  consequence  of  this  ad- 
vice, the  rulers  contented  themselves  with  threat- 


*  Dr.  Lardtier  (in  which  he  is  foUovvorl  also  by  Dr. 
Benson)  ascribes  this  cessation  of  the  iii^rsi'cution  of  the 
Christians  to  the  attempt  of  Calistala  to  set  np  liis  own 
siatne  in  the  temple  of  Jerusalem,  ami  to  the  conster- 
nation thereby  e.xciteil  in  the  miiiils  of  the  Jewish  pi^o- 
ple:  which  consternation  for  a  season  suspended  every 
otiier  contest. 

t.\ctsi.x.  31  lActs  xi.  19. 

JActsxii.  1  I  Acts  xii.  3— 17. 


ening  the  apostles,  and  commanding  them  to  oe 
beaten  with  stripes,  without  urging  at  that  time 
the  persecution  further,  the  historian  candidly  and 
distinctly  records  their  forbearance.  When,  there- 
fore, in  other  instances,  he  states  heavier  persecu- 
tions, or  actual  martyrdoms,  it  is  reasonable  to  be- 
lieve that  he  states  them  because  they  were  true, 
and  not  from  any  wish  to  aggravate,  in  his  ac- 
count, the  sufftrings  which  Christians  sustained, 
or  to  extol,  more  than  it  deserved,  their  patience 
under  them. 

Our  history  now  pursues  a  narrower  path. 
Leaving  the  rest  of  the  apostles,  and  the  original 
associates  of  Christ,  engaged  in  the  propagation 
of  the  new  faith  (and  who  there  is  not  the  least 
reason  to  believe  abated  in  their  diligence  or 
courage,)  the  narrative  proceeds  with  the  separate 
memoirs  of  that  eminent  teacher,  whose  extraor- 
dinary and  sudden  conversion  to  the  religion,  and 
corresponding  change  of  conduct,  liadTDefore  been 
circumstantially  described.  This  person,  in  con- 
junction with  another,  who  appeared  among  the 
earlier  members  of  the  society  at  Jerusalem,  and 
amongst  the  immediate  adherents*  of  the  twelve 
apostles,  set  out  from  Antioch  ujwn  the  express 
business  of  carrying  the  new  religion  through  the 
various  provinces  of  the  Lesser  Asia.t  During 
this  expedition,  we  find  that,  in  almost  every  place 
to  which  they  came,  their  persons  were  insulted, 
and  their  lives  endangered.  After  being  expelled 
from  Antioch  in  Pisidia,  they  repaired  to  Ico- 
nium.t  At  Iconium,  an  attempt  was  made  to 
stone  them;  at  Lystra,  whither  they  fled  from 
Iconium,  one  of  them  actually  was  stoned,  and 
drawn  out  of  the  city  for  dead. 9  These  twonieti, 
though  not  themselves  original  apostles,  were 
acting  in  connexion  and  conjunction  with  the 
original  apostles;  for  after  the  completion  of  their 
journey,  being  sent  on  a  particular  commission  to 
Jerusalem,  they  there  related  to  the  a))ostlesll  and 
elders  the  events  and  success  of  their  ministry, 
and  were,  in  return,  recommended  by  them  to  the 
churches,  "  as  men  who  had  liazarded  their  lives 
in  the  cause." 

The  treatment  which  they  had  experienced  in 
the  first  progress,  did  not  deter  them  from  pre- 
paring for  a  second.  Upon  a  dispute,  however, 
arising  between  them,  but  not  connected  with  the 
common  subject  of  their  labours,  they  acted  as 
wise  and  sincere  men  would  act ;  they  did  not  re- 
tire in  disgust  from  the  service  in  which  they  were 
engaged,  but,  each  devoting  his  endeavours  to  the 
advancement  of  the  religion,  they  parted  from  one 
another,  and  set  forwards  upon  se|)arate  routes. 
The  history  goes  along  with  one  of  them;  and 
the  second  enterprise  to  him  was  attended  with 
the  same  dangers  and  persecutions  as  both  had 
met  with  in  the  first.  The  apostle's  travels  hi- 
therto had  been  confined  to  Asia.  He  now  crosses, 
for  the  first  time,  the  ^gean  sea,  and  carries  with 
him,  amongst  others,  the  person  whose  accounts 
supply  the  information  we  are  stating. H  The  first 
place  in  Greece  at  which  he  appears  to  have 
stopped,  was  Philij)pi  in  Macedonia.  Here  him- 
.self  and  one  of  his  companions  were  cruelly 
whipped,  cast  into  prison,  and  kept  there  under 
the  most  rigorous  custody,  being  thrust,  whilst 
yet  smarting  with  their  wounds,  into  the  inner 


*  Acts  i  v.  36. 

I  Acts  xiii.  51. 

II  Acts  XV.  12—26. 


J  Acts  xiii.  2. 
§  .'Vets  .\iv.  v.). 
IT  Acts  xvi.  il. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


283 


duncreon,  and  their  feet  made  fest  in  the  stocks.* 
JN'otwitlistanding  this  unequivocal  specimen  of 
the  usage  which  they  had  to  look  for  in  that  coun- 
try, tliey  went  forward  in  the  execution  of  their 
errand.  After  passing  through  Amphipohs  and 
AjioUonia,  they  came  to  Thessalonica;  in  which 
city,  the  house  in  which  they  lodged  was  assailed 
by  a  party  of  their  enemies,  in  order  to  bring  them 
out  to  the  populace.  And  when,  fortunately  lor 
their  preservation,  they  were  not  found  at  home, 
the  master  of  the  house  was  dragged  before  the 
magistrate  for  admitting  them  within  his  doors.t 
Their  reception  at  the  next  city  was  something 
belter  :  but  neither  had  they  continued  long  before 
their  turbulent  adversaries,  the  Jews,  excited 
against  them  such  commotions  amongst  the  in- 
habitants, as  obliged  the  apostle  to  make  his  es- 
cape by  a  private  journey  to  Athens.*  The  ex- 
tremity of  the  progress  was  Corinth.  His  abode 
in  this  city,  for  some  time,  seems  to  have  been 
witiiout  molestation.  At  length,  however,  the 
Jews  found  means  to  stir  up  an  insurrection 
against  him,  and  to  bring  him  before  the  tribunal 
of  the  Roman  president.l  It  was  to  the  contempt 
which  that  magistrate  entertained  for  the  Jews 
and  their  controversies,  of  which  he  accounted 
Christianity  to  be  one,  that  our  apostle  owed  his 
deliverance.il 

This  indefatigable  teacher,  after  leaving  Corinth, 
returned  by  Ephesus  into  Syria ;  and  again  visited 
Jerusalem,  and  the  society  of  Christians  in  that 
city,  which,  as  hath  been  repeatedly  observed,  still 
continued  the  centre  of  the  mission. IT  It  suited 
nut,  however,  with  the  activity  of  his  zeal  to  re- 
main long  at  Jerusalem.  We  find  him  going 
thence  to  Antioch,  and,  after  some  stay  there, 
tra\ersing  once  more  the  northern  provinces  of 
Asia  Minor.**  This  progress  ended  at  Ephesus  ; 
in  which  city,  the  apostle  continued  in  the  daily 
exercise  of  his  ministry  two  years,  and  until  his 
success,  at  length,  excited  the  apprehensions  of 
those  who  were  interested  in  the  support  of  the 
national  worship.  Their  clamour  produced  a  tu- 
mult, in  which  he  had  nearly  lost  his  life.tt  Un- 
dismayed, however,  by  the  dangers  to  which  he 
saw  himself  exposed,  he  was  driven  from  Ephesus 
only  to  renew  his  lahours  in  Greece.  After  pass- 
ing over  Macedonia,  he  thence  proceeded  to  his 
former  station  at  Corinth. tJ  When  he  had  formed 
his  design  \f  returning  by  a  direct  course  from 
Corinth  into  Syria,  he  was  compelled  by  a  conspi- 
racy of  the  Jews,  who  were  prepared  to  intercept 
him  on  his  way,  to  trace  back  his  steps  through 
Macedonia  to  Phihppi,  and  thence  to  take  shipping 
into  Asia.  Along  the  coast  of  Asia,  he  pursued 
his  voyage  with  all  the  expedition  he  could  com- 
mand, in  order  to  reach  Jerusalem  against  the 
feast  of  Pentecost.§§  His  reception  at  Jerusalem 
was  of  a  piece  with  the  usage  he  had  experienced 
from  the  Jews  in  other  places.  He  had  been  only 
a  few  days  in  that  city,  when  the  populace,  insti- 
gated by  some  of  his  old  opponents  in  Asia,  who 
attended  this  lea.5t,  seized  him  in  the  temple, 
forced  him  out  of  it,  and  were  ready  immediately 
to  have  destroyed  him,  had  not  the  sudden  pre- 
sence of  the  Roman  guard  rescued  him  out  of  their 


*  Acts  xvi.  23,  24.  33. 
t  Acts  xvii.  13. 
11  .-Vets  .wiii.  15. 
+*  Acts  xviii.23. 
it  Acts.\x.  1,2. 


t  Acts  xvii.  1 — 5. 
§  Acts  xviii.  12. 
IT  Acts  xviii.  22. 
ft  Actsxix.  1.9,10. 
§§  Acts  XX.  IG. 


hands.*  The  officer,  however,  who  had  thus 
seasonably  interposed,  acted  from  his  care  of  the 
public  peace,  with  the  preservation  of  which  he 
was  charged,  and  not  from  any  favour  to  the  apos- 
tle, or  indeed  any  disposition  to  exercise  either 
justice  or  humanity  towards  him  :  for  he  had  no 
sooner  secured  his  person  in  the  fortress,  than  he 
was  proceeding  to  examine  him  by  torture.t 

From  this  time  to  the  conclusion  of  the  history, 
the  apostle  remains  in  public  custody  of  the  Ro- 
man government.  After  escaping  assassination 
by  a  fortunate  discovery  of  the  plot,  and  delivering 
himself  from  the  influence  of  his  enemies  by  an 
ajjpeal  to  the  audience  of  the  emperor,*  he  was 
sent,  but  not  until  he  had  suffered  two  years'  im- 
prisonment, to  Rome.§  He  reached  Italy,  after  a 
tedious  voyage,  and  after  encountering  in  his  pas- 
sage the  perils  of  a  desperate  shipwreck. li  But 
although  still  a  prisoner,  and  his  fate  still  depend- 
ing, neither  the  various  and  long  continued  suiier- 
ings  which  he  had  undergone,  nor  the  danger  of 
his  present  situation,  deterred  hnn  from  persisting 
in  preaching  the  religion  ;  for  the  historian  closes 
the  account  by  telling  us,  that,  for  two  years,  he 
received  all  tliat  came  unto  him  in  his  own  hired 
house,  where  he  was  permitted  to  dwell  with  a 
soldier  that  guarded  him,  "  preaching  the  kingdom 
of  God,  and  teaching  those  things  which  concern 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  with  all  confidence." 

Now  the  historian  from  whom  we  have  drawn 
this  account,  in  the  part  of  his  narrative  which  re- 
lates to  Saint  Paul,  is  supported  by  the  strongest 
corroborating  testimony  that  a  history  can  receive. 
We  are  in  possession  of  letters  written  by  Saint 
Paul  himself  upon  the  subject  of  his  ministry,  and 
either  written  during  the  period  which  the  history 
comprises,  or  if  written  afterwards,  reciting  and 
referring  to  the  transactions  of  that  period.  These 
letters,  without  borrowing  from  the  history,  or  the 
history  from  them,  unintentionally  conhrm  the 
account  which  the  history  delivers,  in  a  great  va- 
riety of  particulars.  What  belongs  to  our  present 
purpose  is  the  description  exhibited  of  the  apos- 
tles  sufferings :  and  the  representation,  given  in 
the  history,  of  the  dangers  and  distresses  which 
he  underwent,  not  only  agrees,  in  general,  with 
the  language  which  he  himself  uses  whenever  he 
speaks  of  his  life  or  ministry,  but  is  also,  in  many 
instances,  attested  by  a  specific  correspondency  of 
time,  place,  and  order  of  events.  If  the  historian 
put  down  in  his  narrative,  that  at  Philippi,  the 
apostle  "  was  beaten  with  many  stripes,  cast  into 
prison,  and  there  treated  with  rigour  and  indigni- 
ty fM  we  find  him,  in  a  letter  to  a  neighbouring 
church,**  reminding  his  converts,  that,  "  after  he 
had  sufTered  before,  and  was  shamefully  entreated 
at  Philippi,  he  was  bold,  nevertheless,  to  speak 
unto  them  (to  whose  city  he  next  came)  the  Gos- 
pel of  God."  If  the  history  relate,tt  that,  at  Thes- 
salonica, the  house  in  which  the  apostle  was 
lodged,  when  he  first  came  to  that  place,  was  as- 
saulted by  the  populace,  and  the  master  of  it  drag- 
ged before  the  magistrate  for  admitting  such  a 
guest  within  his  doors;  the  apostle,  in  his  letter  to 
the  Christians  of  Thessalonica,  calls  to  their  re- 
membrance "  how  they  had  receixed  the  Gospel  in 
much  affliction."tt     If  the  history  deliver  an  ac- 


*  Acts  xxi.  27—33.  t  Acts  xxii.  24. 

I  Acts  XXV.  9.  11.  §  Acts  xxiv.  27. 

Jl  Acts  xxvii.  IT  Acts  xvi.  23,  24. 

**  1  Tliess.  ii.  2.  tt  Acts  xvii.  5. 

Jl  1  Thess.  i.  0. 


284 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


count  of  an  insurrection  at  Ephesus,  which  had 
nearly  cost  the  apostle  his  life ;  we  have  the  apos- 
tle himself,  in  a  letter  written  a  short  time  after 
his  departure  from  that  city,  describing  his  despair, 
and  returning  thanks  for  his  deliverance.*  If  the 
history  inform  us,  that  the  apostle  was  expelled 
from  Antiofh  in  Pisidia,  attempted  to  be  stoned  at 
Iconium,  and  actually  stoned  at  Lystra ;  there  is 
preserved  a  letter  from  him  to  a  favourite  convert, 
whom,  as  the  same  history  tells  us,  he  first  met 
with  in  these  parts  ;  in  which  letter  he  appeals  to 
that  disciple's  knowledge  "  of  the  persecutions 
which  befell  him  at  Antioch,  at  Iconium,  at  Lys- 
tra."t  If  the  history  make  the  apostle,  in  his 
speech  to  the  Ephesian  elders,  remind  them,  as 
one  proof  of  the  disinterestedness  of  his  views,  that, 
to  their  knowledge,  he  had  supplied  his  own  and 
the  necessities  of  his  comjianions  by  personal  la- 
bour ;$  we  find  the  same  apostle,  in  a  letter  writ- 
ten during  his  residence  at  Ephesus,  asserting  of 
himse'lf,  "  that  even  to  that  hour  he  laboured, 
working  with  his  own  hands."§ 

These  coincidences,  together  with  many  rela- 
tive to  other  parts  of  the  apostle's  history,  and  all 
drawn  from  independent  sources,  not  only  confirm 
the  truth  of  the  account,  in  the  particular  points 
as  to  which  they  are  observed,  but  add  much  to 
the  credit  of  the  narrative  in  all  its  parts:  and  sup- 
port the  author's  profession  of  being  a  contempo- 
rary of  the  person  whose  history  he  writes,  and, 
throughout  a  material  portion  of  his  narrative,  a 
companion. 

What  the  epistles  of  the  apostles  declare  of  the 
suffering  state  of  Chrjytianity,  the  writings  which 
remain  of  their  companions  and  Linmcdiate  follow- 
ers, expressly  confirm. 

Clement,  who  is  honourably  mentioned  by  Saint 
Paul  in  his  Epistle  to  the  P'hilippians,!!  hath  left 
us  his  attestation  to  this  point,  in  the  following 
words  :  "  Let  us  take  (says  lie)  the  examples  of 
our  own  age.  Through  zeal  and  envy,  the  most 
faithful  and  righteous  pillars  of  the  church  have 
been  persecuted  even  to  the  most  grievous  deaths. 
Let  us  set  before  our  eyes  the  hohj  apostles.  Peter, 
by  unjust  envy,  underwent,  not  one  or  two,  but 
many  sufferings;  till  at  last,  being  martyred,  he 
went  to  the  place  of  glory  that  was  due  unto  him. 
For  the  same  cause  did  Paul,  in  like  manner,  re- 
ceive the  reward  of  his  patience.  Seven  times  he 
was  in  bonds  ;  he  was  whipt,  was  stoned  ;  he 
preached  both  in  the  East  and  in  the  West,  leav- 
ing behind  him  the  glorious  report  of  his  faith ; 
and  so  having  taught  the  whole  world  righteous- 
ness, and  for  that  end  travelled  even  unto  the  ut- 
mo.st  bounds  of  the  West,  he  at  last  suffered  mar- 
tyrdom by  the  command  of  the  governors,  and  de- 
parted out  of  the  world,  and  went  unto  his  holy 
place,  being  become  a  most  eminent  pattern  of 
patience  unto  all  ages.  To  these  holy  apostles 
were  joined  a  very  great  number  of  others,  who, 
having  through  envy  undergone,  in  like  manner, 
many  pains  and  torments,  have  left  a  glorious  ex- 
ample to  us.  For  this,  not  only  men,  but  women 
have  been  persecuted ;  and,  having  sufll^rpd  very 
grievous  and  cruel  punishments,  have  finished  the 
fonvse  of  their  faith  with  firmness. '"IT 

Hermas,  saluted  by  Saint  Paul  in  his  Epistle  to 


*  Acts  xix.    2  Cor.  8—10. 

t  Actsxiii.  .50;  xiv.  5.  19.    2  Tim.  iii.  10,  U. 

X  Af:ls  XX.  -M.  §  1  Cor.  iv.  II,  12. 

i:  Pliilipii.  \v.X 

1  Clem,  ad  Cor.  c.  v,  vi.    Abp.  Wake's  Trans, 


the  Romans,  in  a  piece  very  little  connected  with 
historical  recitals,  thus  speaks:  "  Such  as  have  be- 
lieved and  suffered  death  for  the  name  of  Christ, 
and  have  endured  with  a  ready  mind,  and  haAe 
given  up  their  lives  with  all  their  hearts."* 

Pelycarp,  the  disciple  of  John  (though  all  that 
remains  of  his  works  be  a  very  short  epistle,)  has 
not  left  this  subject  unnoticed.  "  I  exhort  (says 
he)  all  of  you,  that  ye  obey  the  word  of  righteous- 
ness, and  exercise  all  patience,  which  ye  have  seen 
set  forth  before  your  eyes,  not  only  in  the  blessed 
Ignatius,  and  Lorimus,  and  Rufus,  but  in  others 
among  yourselves,  and  in  Paul  himself  and  Ihe 
rest  of  the  apostles ;  being  confident  in  thi.s,  that 
all  these  have  not  run  in  vain,  but  in  faith  and 
righteousness ;  and  are  gone  to  the  place  that  was 
due  to  them  from  the  Lord,  with  whom  also  they 
suffered.  For  they  loved  not  this  present  world, 
but  Him  who  died,  and  was  raised  again  by  God 
for  us."t 

Ignatius,  the  contemporary  of  Polycarp,  recog- 
nises the  same  toj)ic,  briefly  indeed,  but  positively 
and  precisely.  "  For  this  cause,  (i.  e.  having  felt 
and  handled  Christ's  body  after  his  resurrection, 
and  being  convinced,  as  Ignatius  expresses  it,  both 
by  his  flesh  and  spirit,)  they  (i.e.  Peter,  and  those 
who  were  present  with  Peter  at  Christ's  a[)pear- 
ance)  despised  death,  and  were  found  to  be  above 
it."t 

Would  the  reader  know  what  a  persecution  in 
these  days  was,  I  would  refer  him  to  a  circular 
letter,  written  by  the  church  of  Smyrna  soon  after 
the  death  of  Polycarp,  who,  it  will  be  remembered, 
had  lived  with  Saint  John  ;  and  which  letter  is  en- 
titled a  relation  of  that  bishop's  martyrdom.  "  The 
sufierings  (say  they)  of  all  the  other  martyrs  were 
blessed  and  generous,  which  they  underwent  ac- 
cording to  the  will  of  God.  For  so  it  becomes  us, 
who  are  more  religious  than  others,  to  ascribe  the 
power  and  ordering  of  all  things  unto  him.  And 
indeed  who  can  choose  but  admire  the  greatness 
of  their  minds,  and  that  admirable  patience  and 
love  of  their  Master,  which  then  a[)peared  in  them  1 
Who,  when  they  were  so  flayed  with  whipping, 
that  the  frame  and  structure  of  their  bodies  were 
laid  open  to  their  very  inward  veins  and  arteries, 
nevertheless  endured  it.  In  like  manner,  these 
who  were  condemned  to  the  beasts,  and  kept  a 
long  time  in  prison,  underwent  many  cruel  tor- 
ments, being  forced  to  lie  upon  sharp  spikes  laid 
under  their  bodies,  and  tormented  with  divers 
other  sorts  of  punishments  ;  that  so,  if  it  were  jios- 
sible,  the  tyrant  by  the  length  of  their  sufferings, 
might  have  brought  them  to  deny  Christ."  § 


CHAPTER  V. 

There  js  satisfactory  evidence  that  many, profes- 
sing to  be  original  witnesses  of  ihe  Christian 
miracles^  passed  their  lives  in  labours,  dan- 
gers, and  sufferings,  voluntarily  undergone 
in  attestation  of  the  accounts  uhich  thc-y  de- 
livered, and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  be- 
lief of  those  accounts  ;  and  that  they  also  snb- 
mit ted,  from  the  same  motives,  to  new  rules  of 
conduct. 


*  Slipplierrl  of  Hennas,  c.  xxviii. 

t  P(il.  ad  Phil.  c.  ix.  |  19  Ep.  Smyr.c.  iii. 

§  Rel.  Mor.  Pol.  c.  ii. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


285 


On  the  history,  of  which  the  last  chapter  con- 
tains ail  aljstract,  there  are  a  few  observations 
wliich  it  may  be  proper  to  make,  l)y  way  of  apply- 
ing it  a  testimony  to  the  particular  propositions  tor 
which  we  contend. 

I.  AUhough  our  Scripture  history  leaves  the 
general  account  of  the  apostles  in  an  early  part  of 
t!ie  narrative,  and  proceeds  with  the  separate  ac- 
count of  one  particular  apostle,  yet  the  informa- 
tion which  it  delivers  so  far  extends  to  the  rest,  as 
it  shows  the  nature  of  the  service.  When  we  see 
one  apostle  suffering  persecution  in  the  discharge 
of  his  commission,  we  shall  not  believe,  without 
evidence,  that  the  same  office  could,  at  the  same 
time,  be  attended  with  ease  and  safety  to  others. 
And  this  fair  and  reasonable  inference  is  confirm- 
ed by  the  direct  attestation  of  the  letters,  to  which 
wc  have  so  often  referred.  The  writer  of  these 
letters  not  only  alludes,  in  numerous  passages,  to 
his  own  sufierings,  but  speaks  of  the  rest  of  the 
apostles  as  enduring  like  sufferings  with  himself 
"  1  think  that  God  hath  set  forth  us  the  apostles 
last,  as  it  were,  appointed  to  death ;  for  we  are 
made  a  spectacle  unto  the  world,  and  to  angels, 
and  to  men; — even  unto  this  present  hour,  we 
both  hunger  and  thirst,  and  are  naked,  and  are 
buflt'ted,  and  have  no  certain  dwelling-place ;  and 
labour,  working  with  our  own  hands:  being  revil- 
ed, we  bless;  being  persecuted,  we  suffer  it;  being 
defamed,  we  entreat :  we  are  made  as  the  filth  of 
the  world,  and  as  the  offscouring  of  all  things  unto 
this  day."  *  Add  to  which,  that  in  the  short  ac- 
count that  is  given  of  the  other  apostles  in  the  for- 
mer part  of  the  history,  and  within  the  short  pe- 
riod whi<  h  that  account  comprises,  we  find,  first, 
two  of  thorn  seized,  imprisoned,  brought  before  the 
Sanhedrim,  and  threatened  with  further  punish- 
ment ;t  then,  the  whole  number  imprisoned  and 
beaten  :  t  soon  afterwards,  one  of  their  adherents 
stoned  to  death,  and  so  hot  a  persecution  raised 
against  the  sect,  as  to  drive  most  of  thein  out  of 
the  place ;  a  short  time  only  succeeding,  before 
one  of  the  twelve  was  beheaded,  and  another  sen- 
tenced to  the  same  fate ;  and  all  this  passing  in 
the  single  city  of  Jerusalem,  and  within  ten  years 
after  the  Founder's  death,  and  the  commencement 
of  the  institution. 

II.  We  take  no  credit  at  present  for  the  mi- 
raculous part  of  the  narrative,  nor  do  we  insist 
upon  the  correctness  of  single  passages  of  it. 
If  the  whole  story  be  not  a  novel,  a  romance ; 
the  v/hole  action  a  drea-n ;  if  Peter  and  James, 
and  Paul,  and  the  rest  of  the  apostles  mentioned 
in  the  account,  be  not  all  imaginary  persons;  if 
their  letters  be  not  all  forgeries,  and,  what  is  more, 
forgeries  of  names  and  characters  which  never 
existed ;  then  is  there  evidence  in  our  hands  suf- 
ficient to  support  the  only  fact  we  contend  for 
(and  which,  I  repeat  again,  is  in  itself  highly 
probable,)  that  the  original  followers  of  Jesus 
Christ  exerted  great  endeavours  to  propagate  his 
religion,  and  underwent  great  labours,  dangers,  and 
sufferings,  in  consequence  of  their  undertaking. 

III.  The  general  reality  of  the  apostolic  history 
is  strongly  confirmed  by  the  consideration,  that  it, 
in  truth,  does  no  more  than  assign  adequate 
causes  for  effects  which  certainly  were  produced, 
and  describe  consequences  naturally  resulting 
from  situations  which  certainly  existed.     The  ef- 


*  1  Cor.  iv.  9,  ct  seq.  \  Acts  iv.  3.  21. 

1  Acts  V.  18.  40. 


fects  were  certainly  these,  of  which  this  history 
sets  forth  the  cause,  and  origin,  and  progress.  It  is 
acknowledged-  on  all  hands,  because  it  is  recorded 
by  other  testimony  than  that  of  the  Christians 
themselves,  that  the  religion  began  to  prevail  at 
that  time,  and  in  that  country.  It  is  very  dif- 
ficult to  conceive  how  it  could  begin,  or  prevail  at 
all,  without  the  exertions  of  the  Founder  and  his 
followers,  in  propagating  the  new  persuasion. 
The  history  now  in  our  hands  describes  these  ex- 
ertions, the  persons  employed,  the  means  and  c  n- 
deavours  made  use  of,  and  the  labours  undertaken 
in  the  prosecution  of  this  purpose.  Again,  the 
treatment  wliich  the  history  represents  the  first 
propagators  of  the  religion  to  have  expei'ienccd, 
was  no  other  than  what  naturally  resulted  from 
the  situation  in  which  they  were  confessedly 
placed.  It  is  admitted  that  the  religion  was 
adverse,  in  a  great  degree  to  the  reigning  oj)inions, 
and  to  the  hopes  and  wishes  of  the  nation  to 
which  it  was  first  introduced ;  and  that  it  over- 
threw, so  far  as  it  was  received,  tlie  established 
theology  and  worship  of  every  other  country.  We 
cannot  feel  much  reluctance  in  believing  that, 
when  the  messengers  of  such  a  system  went 
about  not  only  publishing  their  opinions,  but  col- 
lecting proselytes,  and  forming  regular  societies 
of  proselytes,  they  should  meet  with  opposition  in 
their  attempts,  or  that  this  opposition  should  some- 
times proceed  to  fatal  extremities.  Our  history 
details  examples  of  this  opposition,  and  of  the  suf- 
ferings and  dangers  which  the  emissaries  of  the 
religion  underwent,  perfectly  agreeable  to  what 
might  reasonably  be  expected,  from  the  nature  of 
their  undertaking,  compared  with  the  characiei 
of  the  age  and  country  in  which  it  was  carried  on 
IV.  The  records  before  us  supply  evidence  of 
what  formed  another  member  of  our  general  propo- 
sition, and  what,  as  hath  already  been  observed, 
is  highly  probable,  and  almost  a  necessary  conse- 
quence of  their  new  profession,  viz.  that,  togelhei 
with  acti\ity  and  courage  in  propagating  the  re- 
ligion, the  primitive  followers  of  Jesus  assumed, 
upon  their  conversion,  a  new  and  peculiar  course 
of  private  life.  Immediately  after  their  Master 
was  withdrawn  from  them,  we  hear  of  their  "  con- 
tinuing with  one  accord  in  prayer  and  supplica- 
tion ;"  *  of  their  '"  continuing  daily  with  one  ac- 
cord in  the  temple  ;"  t  of  "many  being  gathered 
together  praying."  t  We  know  what  strict  in- 
junctions were  laid  upon  the  converts  by  their 
teachers.  Wherever  they  came,  the  first  word  of 
their  preaching  was,  -'Repent!"  We  know  tiiat 
these  injunctions  obliged  them  to  refrain  from 
many  species  of  licentiousness,  which  were  not,  at 
that  time,  reputed  criminal.  We  know  the  rules 
of  purity,  and  the  maxims  of  benevolence,  which 
Christians  read  in  their  books  ;  concerning  which 
rules,  it  is  enough  to  observe,  that,  if  they  were, 
I  will  not  say  completely  obeyed,  but  in  any  de- 
gree regarded,  they  would  produce  a  sj'stem  of 
conduct^  and  what  is  more  difficult  to  preserve,  a 
disposition  of  mind,  and  a  regulation  of  affections, 
different  from  any  thing  to  which  they  had  hither- 
to been  accustomed,  and  different  from  what  they 
would  see  in  others.  The  change  and  distinction 
of  manners,  which  resulted  from  their  new  cha- 
racter, is  perpetually  referred  to  in  the  letters  of 
their  teachers.  "And  you  hath  he  quickened 
who  were  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  wherein  in 


*  Acts  i.  14.  +  Acts  ii.  46.  t  Acts  sii.  12. 


286 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


times  past  ye  walked,  according  to  the  course  of 
this  world,  according  to  the  jirince  of  the  power 
of  the  air,  the  spirit  that  now  workelh  in  the  chil- 
dren of  disiohedience;  among  whom  also  we  had 
our  conversation  in  times  past,  in  the  lust  of  our 
flesh,  fuliilling  the  desires  of  the  flesh  and  of  the 
mind,  and  were  by  nature  the  children  of  wrath, 
even  as  others."* — "  For  the  time  past  of  our  life 
may  suffice  us  to  have  wrought  the  will  of  the 
gentiles,  when  we  walked  in  lasciviousness,  lusts, 
excess  of  wine,  revellings,  banquetings,  and  abomi- 
nable idolatries;  wherein  they  think  it  strange 
that  ye  run  not  with  them  to  the  same  excess  of 
riot.''f  Saint  Paul,  in  his  first  letter  to  the  Co- 
rinthians, after  enumerating,  as  his  manner  was,  a 
catalogue  of  vicious  characters,  adds,  "Such  icere 
some  of  you  ;  but  ye  are  washed,  but  ye  are  sanc- 
tified." t  In  like  manner,  and  alluding  to  the 
same  change  of  practices  and  sentiments,  he  asks 
the  Roman  Christians,  "  what  fruit  they  had  in 
those  things,  whereof  they  are  now  ashamed '?"  § 
The  phrases  which  the  same  writer  employs  to 
describe  the  moral  condition  of  Christians,  com- 
pared with  their  condition  before  they  became 
Christians,  such  as  "  newness  of  hfe,"  being  "freed 
from  sin,"  being  "dead  to  sin;"  "the  destruction 
of  the  body  of  sin,  that,  for  the  future,  they 
should  not  serve  sin;"  "children  of  light  and  of 
the  day,"  as  opposed  to  "children  of  darkness  and 
of  the  night;"  "  not  sleeping  as  others;"  imply,  at 
least,  a  new  system  of  obligation,  and,  probably,  a 
new  series  of  conduct,  commencing  with  their 
conversion. 

The  testimony  which  Pliny  bears  to  the  be- 
haviour of  the  new  sect  in  his  time,  and  which 
testimony  comes  not  more  than  fifty  years  after 
that  of  St.  Paul,  is  very  applicable  to  the  subject 
under  consideration.  The  character  which  this 
writer  gives  of  the  Christians  of  that  age,  and 
which  was  drawn  from  a  pretty  accurate  inquiry, 
because  he  considered  their  moral  principles  as 
the  point  in  which  the  magistrate  was  interested, 
is  as  follows : — He  tells  the  emperor,  "  that  some 
of  those  who  had  relinquished  the  society,  or  who, 
to  save  themselves,  pretended  that  they  had  re- 
linquished it,  affirmed  that  they  were  wont  to 
meet  together,  on  a  stated  day,  before  it  was  light, 
and  sang  among  themselves  alternately  a  hymn 
to  Christ  as  a  god ;  and  to  bind  themselves  by  an 
oath,  not  to  the  (commission  of  any  wickedness, 
but  that  they  would  not  be  guilty  of  theft,  or  rob- 
bery, or  adultery ;  that  they  would  never  falsify 
their  word,  or  deny  a  pledge  committed  to  them, 
when  called  upon  to  return  it."  This  proves  that 
a  morality,  more  i)ureand  strict  than  was  ordinary, 
prevailed  at  that  time  in  Qliristian  societies.  And 
to  me  it  appears,  that  we  are  authorized  to  carry 
this  testiinony  back  to  the  age  of  the  apostles ;  be- 
cause it  is  not  probable  that  the  immediate  hearers 
and  disciples  of  Christ  were  more  relaxed  than 
their  successors  in  Pliny's  time,  or  the  missiona- 
ries of  the  religion,  than  those  whom  they  taught. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

There  is  satisfactory  evidence  that  many,  pro- 
fessing to  be  original  witnesses  of  the  Chris- 


*  Eph.  ii.  1—3.  See  also  Tit.  iii.  3.     t  •  Pet.  iv.  3,  4. 
X  1  Cor.  vi.  11.  §  Rom.  vi.  21. 


tian  -miracles,  passed  their  lires  in  labours 
dangers,  and  sufferings,  voluntarily  under- 
gone in  attestation  of  the  accounts  which  they 
delivered,  and  solely  in  consequence  of  their 
belief  of  those  accounts  ;  and  that  they  also  sub- 
mitted,  from  the  same  motives,  to  new  rules  vf 
conduct. 

When  we  consider,  first,  the  prevalcncy  of  the 
religion  at  this  hour;  secondly,  the  only  credible 
account  which  can  be  given  of  its  origin,  viz.  the 
activity  of  the  Founder  and  his  associates ;  thirdly, 
the  opposition  which  that  activity  must  naturally 
have  excited;  fourthly,  the  fate  of  the  Founder  of 
the  religion,  attested  by  heathen  writers  as  well 
as  our  own;  fifthly,  the  testimony  of  the  same 
writers  to  the  sufferings  of  Christians,  either  con- 
temporary with,  or  immediately  succeeding,  the 
original  settlers  of  the  institution ;  sixthly,  predic- 
tions of  the  sufferings  of  his  followers  ascribed  to 
the  Founder  of  the  religion,  which  ascription 
alone  proves,  either  that  such  predictions  w&re  de- 
livered and  fulfilled,  or  that  the  writers  of  Christ's 
life  were  induced  by  the  event  to  attribute  such 
predictions  to  him ;  seventhly,  letters  now  in  our 
possession,  written  by  some  of  the  principal  agents 
in  the  transaction,  referring  expressly  to  extreme 
labours,  dangers,  and  sufferings  sustained  by 
themselves  and  their  companions ;  lastly,  a  history 
purporting  to  be  written  by  a  fellow-traveller  of 
one  of  the  new  teachers,  and,  by  its  unsophistica- 
ted correspondency  with  letters  of  that  person  still 
extant,  ])roving  it.self  to  be  written  by  some  one 
well  acquainted  with  the  subject  of  the  narrative, 
which  history  contains  accounts  of  travels,  perse- 
cutions, and  martyrdoms,  answering  to  what  the 
former  reasons  lead  us  to  expect :  when  we  lay 
together  these  considerations,  which  taken  sepa- 
rately, are,  I  think,  correctly,  such  as  I  have  stated 
them  in  the  preceding  chapters,  there  cannot  much 
doubt  remain  upon  our  minds,  but  that  a  number 
of  persons  at  that  time  appeared  in  the  world, 
publiclv  advancing  an  extaordinary  story,  and  for 
the  sake  of  propagating  the  belief  of  that  story, 
voluntarily  incurring  great  personal  dangers,  tra- 
versing seas  and  kingdoms,  exerting  great  indus- 
try, and  sustaining  great  extremities  of  ill  usage 
and  persecution.  It  is  also  proved,  that  the  same 
persons,  in  consequence  of  their  persuasion,  or 
pretended  persuasion,  of  the  truth  of  what  they  as- 
serted, entered  upon  a  course  of  life  in  many  res- 
pects new  and  singular. 

From  the  clear  and  acknowledged  parts  of  the 
case,  I  think  it  to  be  likewise  in  the  highest  de- 
gree probable,  that  the  story,  for  which  these  per- 
sons voluntarily  expo.sed  themselves  to  the  fatigues 
and  hardships  which  they  endured,  was  a  mira- 
cidous  story;  I  mean,  that  they  pretended  to  mi- 
raculous evidence  of  some  kind  or  other.  They 
had  nothing  else  to  stand  upon.  The  designation 
of  the  person,  that  is  to  say,  that  Jesus  of  Naza- 
reth, rather  than  any  other  person,  was  the  Mes- 
siah, and  as  such  the  subject  of  their  ministry, 
could  only  be  founded  upon  supernatural  tokens 
attributed  to  him.  Here  were  no  victories,  no 
conquest,  no  revolutions,  no  surprising  elevation 
of  fortune,  no  achievements  of  valour,  of  strength, 
or  of  policy,  to  appeal  to ;  no  discoveries  in  any 
arts  or  science,  no  great  efforts  of  genius  or  learn- 
ing to  produce.  A  Galilean  peasant  was  announceA 
to  the  world  as  a  divine  lawgiver.  A  young  man 
of  mean  condition,  of  a  private  and  simple  life,  and 


J 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


287 


wlio  had  wrought  no  deliverance  for  the  Jewisli 
nation,  was  declared  to  be  their  Messiah.  This, 
without  ascribing  to  hiui  at  the  same  time  some 
proof's  of  his  mission,  (and  what  other  but  super- 
natural proofs  could  there  be  I)  was  too  absurd  a 
claim  to  be  either  imagined,  or  attempted,  or  cre- 
dited. In  whatever  degree,  or  in  whatever  part, 
the  religion  was  argumentative,  when  it  came  to 
the  question,  "  Is  the  carpenter's  son  of  Naza- 
reth the  person  whom  we  are  to  receive  and 
obey  1"  there  was  nothing  but  the  miracles  at- 
tributed to  him,  by  which  his  pretensions  could  be 
maintained  for  a  moment.  Every  controversy  and 
every  question  must  presuppose  these ;  for,  how- 
ever such  controversies,  when  they  did  arise, 
might,  and  naturally  would,  be  discussed  upon 
their  own  grounds  of  argumentation,  without 
citing  the  miraculous  evidence  which  had  been 
asserted  to  attend  the  Founder  of  the  religion, 
(which  would  have  been  to  enter  upon  another, 
and  a  more  general  question,)  yet  we  are  to  bear 
in  mind,  that  without  previously  supposing  the 
existence  or  the  pretence  of  such  evidence,  there 
could  have  been  no  place  for  the  discussion  of  the 
argument  at  all.  Thus,  for  example,  whether  the 
prophecies,  which  the  Jews  interpreted  to  belong 
to  the  Messiah,  were,  or  were  not  applicable  to  the 
history  of  Je.sus  of  Nazareth,  was  a  natural  subject 
of  debate  in  those  times ;  and  the  debate  would 
proceed,  without  recurring  at  every  turn  to  his 
miracles,  because  it  set  out  with  supposing  these; 
inasmuch  as  without  miraculous  marks  and  tokens, 
(real  or  pretended,)  or  without  some  such  great 
change  etiected  by  his  means  in  the  public  condi- 
tion of  the  country,  as  might  have  satisfied  the 
then  received  interpretation  of  these  prophecies,  I 
do  r.jt  see  how  the  question  could  ever  have  been 
entertained.  A^'ollos,  we  read,  "mightily  con- 
vinced the  Jews  snowing  by  the  Scriptures  that 
Je.sus  was  Christ  ;"♦  but  unless  Jesus  had  ex- 
hibited some  distinction  of  his  person,  some  proof 
if  supernatural  power,  the  argument  from  the  old 
Scrijjtures  could  have  had  no  place.  It  had  no- 
tiiing  to  attach  upon.  A  3'oung  man  calling  him- 
self the  Son  of  God,  gathering  a  crowd  about  him, 
and  delivering  to  them  lectures  of  morality,  could 
not  have  excited  so  much  as  a  doubt  among  the 
Jews,  whether  he  was  the  oiiject  in  whom  a  long 
series  of  ancient  prophecies  terminated,  from  the 
completion  of  which  they  had  formed  such  mag- 
niru-ent  expectations,  and  expectations  of  a  nature 
so  oppo.site  to  what  appeared;  I  mean,  no  such 
doubt  could  exist  when  they  had  the  whole  case 
before  them,  when  they  saw  him  put  to  death  for 
nis  offioiousness,  and  when  by  his  death  the  evi- 
dence concerning  him  was  closed.  Again  the  effect 
of  the  Messiah's  coining,  supposing  Jesus  to  have 
been  he,  upon  Jews,  upon  Gentiles,  upon  their 
relation  to  each  other,  upon  their  acceptance  with 
God,  upon  their  duties  and  their  expectations; 
his  nature,  authority,  office,  and  agency ;  were 
likely  to  become  subjects  of  much  consideration 
with  the  early  votaries  of  the  religion,  and  to  oc- 
cujjy  their  attention  and  writings.  I  should  not 
however  expect,  that  in  these  disquisitions,  whe- 
ther preserved  in  the  form  of  letters,  speeches,  or 
set  treatises,  frequent  or  very  direct  mention  of 
his  miracles  would  occur.  Still  miraculous  evi- 
dence lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  argument.  In  the 
primary  question,  miraculous  pretensions,  and 


miraculous  pretensions  alone,  were  what  they  had 
to  rely  upon. 

That  the  original  story  was  miraculous,  is  very 
fairly  also  inferred  from  the  miraculous  powers 
which  were  laid  claim  to  by  the  Christians  of  suc- 
ceeding ages.  If  the  accounts  of  these  miracles 
be  true,  it  was  a  continuation  of  the  same  powers ; 
if  they  be  false,  it  was  an  imitation,  I  will  not  say 
of  what  had  been  wrought,  but  of  what  had  been 
reported  to  have  been  wrought,  by  those  who  pre- 
ceded them.  That  imitation  should  follow  reality, 
fiction  should  be  grafted  upon  truth ;  that,  if  mira- 
cles were  jierformed  at  first,  miracles  should  be 
pretended  afterwards;  agrees  so  well  with  the 
ordinary  course  of  human  aftairs,  that  we  can 
have  no  great  difficulty  in  believing  it.  The  con- 
trary supposition  is  very  improl)able.  namely,  that 
miracles  should  be  pretended  to,  by  the  followers 
of  the  apostles  and  first  emissaries  of  the  religion, 
when  none  were  pretended  to,  either  in  their  own 
persons  or  that  of  their  Master,  by  these  apostles 
and  emissaries  themselves. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

There  is  satisfactory  evidence  that  many,  pro- 
Jessing  to  be  original  ^citncsses  of  the  Chris- 
tian, miracles,  passed  their  lives  -in  labours, 
dangers,  and  sufferings,  voluntarily  under- 
gone in  attestation  of  the  accounts  which  they 
delivered,  and  solely  in  consequence  of  their 
belief  of  those  accounts  ;  and  that  iliey  also 
submitted,  from  the  same  motives,  to  new  rules 
of  conduct. 

It  being  then  once  proved,  that  the  first  pro- 
pagators of  the  Christian  institution  did  exert  ac- 
ti\  ity,  and  subject  themselves  to  great  dangers  and 
sufferings,  in  consequence  and  for  the  sake  of  an 
extraordinary,  and,  I  tliink,  we  may  say,  of  a  mi- 
raculous story  of  some  kind  or  other;  the  next 
great  question  is.  Whether  the  account,  whii-h  our 
Scriptures  contain,  be  that  story ;  that  which  these 
men  delivered,  and  for  which  they  acted  and  suf- 
fered as  they  did  ]  This  question  is,  in  effect, 
no  other  than  whether  the  story  which  Chris- 
tians have  now,  be  the  story  which  Christians  had 
then  ?  And  of  this  the  following  proofs  may  be 
deduced  from  general  considerations,  and  from 
considerations  prior  to  any  inquiry  into  the  par- 
ticular reasons  and  testimonies  by  which  the  au- 
thority of  our  histories  is  supported. 

In  the  first  place,  there  exists  no  trace  or  vestige 
of  any  other  story.  It  is  not,  like  the  death  of 
Cyrus  the  Great,  a  competition  between  opposite 
accounts,  or  between  the  credit  of  different  his- 
torians. There  is  not  a  document,  or  scrap  of 
account,  either  contemporary  with  the  commence- 
ment of  (Christianity,  or  extant  within  many  ages 
after  that  commencement,  which  assigns  a  history 
substantially  different  from  ours.  The  remote, 
brief,  and  incidental  notices  of  the  affair,  which 
are  found  in  heathen  writers,  so  far  as  they  do  go, 
go  along  with  us.  They  bear  testimony  to  these 
facts: — that  the  institution  originated  from  Jesus; 
that  the  Founder  was  put  to  death,  as  a  malefac- 
tor, at  Jerusalem,  by  the  authority  of  the  Roman 
governor,  Pontius  Pilate ;  that  the  religion  never- 
theless spread  in  that  city,  and  throughout  Judea ; 
and  that  it  was  propagated  thence  to  distant  coun- 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


trios ;  that  the  converts  were  numerous ;  that  they 
suflercd  great  hardsliips  and  injuries  lor  their  pro- 
fession ;  and  that  all  this  took  place  in  tlie  age  of 
tlie  world  which  our  bocks  have  assigned.  They 
go  on  further,  to  describe  the  manners  of  Chris- 
tians in  terms  perfectly  conformable  to  the  ac- 
counts extant  in  our  books :  that  they  were  wont 
to  assemble  on  a  certain  day;  that  they  sang 
hymns  to  Christ  as  to  a  god ;  that  they  bound 
themselves  by  an  oath  not  to  commit  any  crime, 
but  to  abstain  from  theft  and  adultery,  to  adhere 
strictly  to  their  promises,  and  not  to  deny  money 
deposited  in  their  hands  ;*  that  they  worshipped 
him  who  was  crucified  in  Palestine;  that  this 
their  first  lawgiver  had  taught  them  that  they 
were  all  brethren ;  that  they  had  a  great  contempt 
for  the  things  of  this  world,  and  looked  upon 
them  as  common ;  that  they  flew  to  one  another's 
relief;  that  they  cherished  strong  hopes  of  im- 
mortality ;  that  they  despised  death,  and  surren- 
dered themselves  to  sufitjrings.t  This  is  the  ac- 
count of  writers  who  viewed  the  subject  at  a  great 
distance ;  who  were  uninformed  and  uninterested 
about  it.  It  bears  the  characters  of  such  an  account 
up(ja  the  face  of  it,  because  it  describes  effects, 
namely,  the  appearance  in  the  world  of  a  new  re- 
ligion, and  the  conversion  of  great  multitudes  to 
it,  without  descending,  in  the  smallest  degree,  to 
the  detail  of  the  transaction  upon  which  it  was 
founded,  the  interior  of  the  institution,  the  evi- 
dence or  arguments  offered  by  those  wlio  drew 
over  others  to  it.  Yet  still  here  is  no  contradic- 
tion of  our  story ;  no  other  or  different  story  set 
up  against  it:  but  so  far  a  confirmation  of  it,  as 
that,  in  the  general  points  on  which  the  heathen 
account  touches,  it  agrees  with  that  which  we 
find  in  our  own  books. 

The  same  may  be  observed  of  the  very  few 
Jewish  writers,  of  that  and  the  adjoining  period, 
which  have  come  down  to  us.  Wliatever  they 
omit,  or  whatever  difficulties  we  may  find  in  ex- 
plaining the  omission,  they  advance  no  other  his- 
tory of  the  transaction  than  that  which  we  acknow- 
ledge. Josephus,  who  wrote  his  Antiquities,  or 
History  of  the  Jews,  about  sixty  years  after  the 
commencement  of  Christianity,  in  a  passage  ge- 
nerally admitted  as  genuine,  makes  mention  of 
John  under  the  name  of  John  the  Baptist;  that 
he  was  a  preacher  of  virtue ;  that  he  baptized  his 
proselytes ;  that  he  was  well  received  by  the  peo- 
ple ;  that  he  was  imprisoned  and  put  to  death  by 
Herod ;  and  that  Herod  lived  in  a  criminal  co- 
habitation with  Herodias,  his  brother's  wife.t   In 


*  See  Pliny's  Letter. — Bonnet,  in  his  lively  way  of 
exprpssitifi  himself,  says, — "Comparing  Pliny's  Letter 
with  the  account  of  the  Acts,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  had 
not  taken  up  another  author,  but  that  I  was  still  read- 
ing the  historian  of  that  extraordinary  society."  This 
is  strnno; :  but  there  is  undoubtedly  an  affinityj  and  all 
the  affinity  that  could  be  expected. 

t  "  It  is  incredible  what  expedition  they  use  when 
any  of  their  friends  are  known  to  be  in  trouble.  In  a 
word,  they  spare  nothing  upon  such  an  occasion  ; — for 
these  miserable  men  have  no  doubt  they  shall  be  im- 
mortal and  live  for  ever:  therefore  they  contemn  death, 
and  many  surrender  themselves  to  sufferings.  More- 
over, their  first  lawgiver  has  taught  them  that  they  are 
all  bri-thren,  when  once  they  have  turned  and  renounced 
the  g(MU  of  the  Greeks,  and  worship  this  Master  of  theirs 
wlio  was  crucified,  and  engage  to  live  according  to  his 
laws.  Thi'v  have  also  a  sovereign  contempt  for  all  the 
things  of  this  world,  and  look  upon  them  ascommon." — 
Lucian  de  Morte  Peregrini,  t.  i.  p.  5(55.  ed.  Grtev. 

I  Antiq.  1.  xviii.  cap.  v.  sect.  1,  2. 


another  passage  allowed  by  many,  although  noi 
without  considerable  question  being  moved  about 
it,  we  hear  of  "James,  the  brother  of  him  who 
was  called  Jesus,  and  of  his  being  put  to  death."* 
In  a  third  passage,  extant  in  every  copy  that  re- 
mains of  Josephus's  History,  but  the  authenticity 
of  which  has  nevertheless  been  long  disputed,  we 
have  an  explicit  testimony  to  the  substance  of  our 
history  in  these  words: — "At  that  time  lived  Je- 
sus, a  wise  man,  if  he  may  be  called  a  man,  for  he 
performed  many  wonderful  works.  He  was  a 
teacher  of  such  men  as  received  the  truth  with 
pleasure.  He  drew  over  to  him  many  Jews  and 
Gentiles.  This  was  the  Christ;  and  when  Filate, 
at  the  instigation  of  the  chief  men  among  us,  liad 
condemned  him  to  the  cross,  they  who  before  had 
conceived  an  affection  for  him,  did  not  cease  to 
adhere  to  him ;  for,  on  the  third  day,  he  appeared 
to  them  alive  again,  the  divine  prophets  having 
foretold  these  and  many  wonderful  things  con- 
cerning him.  And  the  sect  of  the  Christians,  so 
called  from  him,subsiststo  this  time. ''t  Whatever 
become  of  the  controversy  concerning  the  genuine- 
ness of  this  passage;  whether  Josephus  go  the 
whole  length  of  our  history,  which,  if  the  passage 
be  sincere,  he  does ;  or  whether  he  proceed  only  a 
very  little  way  with  us,  which,  if  the  passage  be 
rejected,  we  confess  to  be  the  case ;  still  what  we 
asserted  is  true,  that  he  gives  no  other  or  difiercnt 
history  of  the  subject  from  ours,  no  other  or  dif- 
ferent account  of  the  origin  of  the  institution. 
And  1  think  also  that  it  may  with  great  reason 
be  contended,  either  that  the  passage  is  genuine, 
or  that  the  silence  of  Josephus  was  designed. 
For,  although  we  should  lay  aside  the  authority 
of  our  own  books  entirely,  yet  when  Tacitus,  who 
wrote  not  twenty,  perhaps  not  ten,  years  after  Jo- 
se})hus,  in  his  account  of  a  period  in  which  Jose- 
phus was  nearly  thirty  years  of  age,  tells  us,  that  a 
vast  multitude  of  Christians  were  cor.demned  at 
Rome ;  that  they  derived  their  denomination  from 
Christ,  who,  in  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  was  put  to 
death,  as  a  criminal,  by  the  procurator,  Pontius 
Pilate ;  that  the  superstition  had  spread  not  only 
over  Judea,  the  source  of  the  evil,  but  had  reached 
Rome  also  : — when  Suetonius,  an  historian  con- 
temporary with  Tacitus,  relates  that,  in  the  time 
of  Claudius,  the  Jews  were  making  disturbances 
at  Rome,  Christus  being  their  leader ;  and  that, 
during  the  reign  of  Nero,  the  Christians  were 
punished ;  under  both  which  emperors,  Josephus 
lived :  when  Pliny,  who  wrote  his  celebrated 
epistle  not  more  than  thirty  years  after  the  jmb- 
lication  of  Josephus's  hi-story,  found  the  Christians 
in  such  numbers  in  the  province  of  Bithynia,  as 
to  draw  from  him  a  complaint,  that  the  contagion 
had  seized  cities,  towns,  and  villages,  and  had  so 
seized  them  as  to  produce  a  general  desertion  of 
the  public  rites ;  and  when,  as  has  already  been 
observetl,  there  is  no  reason  for  imagining  that 
the  Christians  were  more  numerous  in  Bithynia 
than  in  many  other  parts  of  the  Roman  empire ; 
it  cannot,  I  should  suppose,  after  this,  be  believed, 
that  the  religion,  and  the  transaction  ujion  which 
it  was  founded,  were  too  obscure  to  engage  the 
attention  of  Josephus,  or  to  obtain  a  place  in  his 
history.  Perhaps  he  did  not  know  how  to  rej  ire- 
sent  the  business,  and  disposed  of  his  difticulties 
by  passing  it  over  in  silence.    Eusebius  wrote  the 

*  Antiq  1.  xx.  cap.  ix.  sect.  I. 
t  Antiq.  U  iviii.  cap.  iii.  sect.  3. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


289 


ifc  of  Constantine,  yet  omits  entirely  the  most 
remarkable  circumstance  in  that  life,  the  death  of 
his  son  Crispus :  undoubtedly  for  the  reason  here 
given.  The  reserve  of  Josephus  upon  the  subject 
of  Christianity  appears  also  in  his  passing  over 
the  banisliment  of  the  Jews  by  Claudius,  which 
Suetonius,  we  have  seen,  has  recorded  with  an 
express  reference  to  Christ.  This  is  at  least  as 
remarkable  as  his  silence  about  the  infants  of 
Bethlehem.*  Be,  however,  the  fact,  or  the  cause 
of  the  omission  in  Josephus,t  what  it  may,  no 
other  or  dilferent  history  on  the  suliject  has  been 
given  by  him,  or  is  pretended  to  have  been  given. 
But  further;  the  whole  series  of  Christian 
writers,  from  the  lirst  age  of  the  institution  down 
to  the  present,  in  their  discussions,  apologies, 
arguments,  and  controversies,  proceed  upon  the 
general  story  wliich  our  Scriptures  contain,  and 
upon  no  other.  The  main  facts,  the  principal 
agents,  are  alike  in  all.  This  argument  will  ap- 
pear to  be  of  great  force,  when  it  is  known  that 
we  are  able  to  trace  back  the  series  of  writers  to  a 
contact  with  the  historical  books  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, and  to  the  age  of  the  first  emissaries  of 
the  religion,  and  to  deduce  it,  by  an  unbroken 
continuation,  from  that  end  of  the  train  to  the 
present. 

The  remaining  letters  of  the  apostles,  (and 
what  more  original  than  their  letters  can  we 
have  ?)  though  written  without  tlie  remotest  de- 
sign of  transmitting  the  historj'  of  Christ,  or  of 
Christianity,  to  future  ages,  or  even  of  making  it 
known  to  their  contemporaries,  incidentally  dis- 
close to  us  the  following  circumstances : — Christ's 
descent  and  family  ;  his  innocence ;  the  meekness 
and  gentleness  of  his  character ;  (a  recognition 
which  goes  to  the  whole  Gospel  liistory ;)  his  ex- 
alted nature ;  his  circumcision ;  his  transfigura- 
tion ;  his  life  of  opposition  and  sufiering ;  his  pa- 
tience and  resignation ;  the  appointment  of  the 
euch-irist,  and  the  manner  of  it ;  his  agony ;  his 
confession  before  Pontius  Filate ;  his  stripes,  cru- 
cifixion, and  burial ;  his  resurrection ;  his  ap- 
pearance after  it,  first  to  Peter,  then  to  the  rest 
of  the  apostles  ;  his  ascension  into  heaven  ;  and 
his  designation  to  be  the  future  judge  of  man- 
kind ; — tlie  stated  residence  of  the  apostles  at  Je- 
rusalem; the  working  of  miracles  by  the  first 
preachers  of  the  Gospel,  who  were  also  the  hear- 
ers of  Christ  ;t — the  successful  propagation  of  the 


*  Michaolis  has  computed,  and,  as  it  should  seem, 
fairly  enoiijih,  that  probably  not  more  than  twenty 
children  perished  by  this  cruel  precaution. — Michaelis's 
Introduction  to  the  New  Testament,  translated  by 
Marsh,  vol.  i.  c.  ii.  sect.  11. 

T  There  is  no  notice  taker  of  Christianity  in  the 
Mishua,  a  collection  of  Jewish  traditions  compiled 
about  the  year  180  ;  although  it  contains  a  Tract  "De 
cuitu  peregrino,"  of  strange  or  idolatrous  worship ;  yet 
it  cannot  be  disputed  but  that  Christianity  was  per- 
fectly well  known  in  the  world  at  this  time.  There  is 
extremely  little  notice  of  the  subject  in  the  Jerusalem 
Talmud,  compiled  about  the  year  300,  and  not  much 
more  in  the  Babylonish  Talmud,  of  the  year  500  ;  al- 
though both  these  works  are  of  a  religious  nature,  and 
although,  when  the  first  was  compiled,  Christianity 
was  on  the  point  of  becoming  the  religion  of  the  state, 
and,  when  the  latter  was  published,  had  been  so  for:iOO 
years. 

I  Heb.  ii.  3.    "  How  shall  we  escape,  if  we  neglect  so 

§rcal  salvation,  which,  at  the  first,  began  to  be  spoken 
y  the  Lord,  and  was  confirmed  unto  us  by  them  that 
heard  him,  God  also  bearing  them  witness,  both  with 
signs  and  wonders,  and  with  divers  miracles,  and  gifts 
3{  the  Holy  Ghost?"  I  allege  this  epistle  without  hesi- 
2  O 


religion ;  the  persecution  of  its  followers ;  the  mi- 
raculous conversion  of  Paul ;  miracles  wrouglit 
by  himself  and  alleged  in  his  controversies  with 
his  adversaries,  and  in  letters  to  the  persons 
amongst  whom  they  were  wrought ;  finally,  that 
MmACLEs  were  the  signs  of  an  apostle* 

In  an  epistle,  bearing  the  name  of  Barnabas, 
the  companion  of  Paul,  probably  genuine,  cer- 
tainly belonging  to  that  age,  we  have  the  suf- 
ferings of  Christ,  his  choice  of  apostles  and  their 
number,  his  passion,  the  scarlet  robe,  the  vinegar 
and  gall,  the  mocking  and  piercing,  the  casting 
lots  for  his  coat,t  his  resurrection  on  the  eighth 
(i.  e.  the  first  day  of  the  week,?)  and  the  com- 
memorative distinction  of  that  day,  his  manifesta- 
tion after  his  resurrection,  and  lastly,  his  ascen- 
sion.' We  have  also  his  miracles  generally  but 
positively  referred  to  in  the  following  words : — 
"  Finally,  teaching  the  people  of  Israel,  and  do- 
ing many  wonders  and  signs  aviong  them,  he 
preached  to  them,  and  showed  the  exceeding 
great  love  which  he  bare  towards  them."§ 

In  an  epistle  of  Clement,  a  hearer  of  St.  Paul, 
although  written  for  a  purpose  remotely  connected 
with  the  Christian  Iiisfory,  we  have  the  resurrrec- 
tion  of  Christ,  and  the  subsequent  mission  of  the 
apostles,  recorded  in  these  satisfactory  terms: 
"  The  apostles  have  preaclied  to  us  from  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  from  God  : — For,  having  re- 
ceived their  command,  and  being  thoroughly 
assured  by  the  resurrection  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  they  went  abroad,  publishing  that  the 
kingdom  of  God  was  at  hand. "II  We  find  no- 
ticetl  also,  the  humility,  yet  the  power  of  Christ, IT 
his  descent  from  Abraham,  his  crucifixion.  Y^e 
have  Peter  and  Paul  represented  as  faithful  and 
righteous  pillars  of  the  church;  the  numerous 
sufferings  of  Peter ;  the  bonds,  stripes,  and  stoning 
of  Paul,  and  more  particularly  liis  extensive  and 
unwearied  travels. 

In  an  epistle  of  Polycarp,  a  disciple  of  St.  John, 
though  only  a  brief  hortatory  letter,  we  have  the 
humility,  patience,  sufferings,  resurrection,  and 
ascension  of  Christ,  together  with  the  apostolic 
character  of  St.  Paul,  distinctly  recognised.**  Of 
this  same  father  we  are  also  assured  by  Irena;us, 
that  he  (Irenseus,)  had  heard  him  relate,  "what 
he  had  received  from  eye-^witnesses  concerning 
the  Lord,  both  concerning  his  miracles  and  Ms 
doctrine. "tt 

In  the  remaining  works  of  Ignatius,  the  con- 
temporary of  Polycarp,  larger  than  those  of  Poly- 
carp (yet,  like  those  of  Polycarp,  treating  of  sub- 
jects in  nowise  leading  to  any  recital  of  the 
Christian  history,)  the  occasional  allusions  are 
proportionably  more  numerous. — The  descent  of 


tation  ;  for,  whatever  doubts  may  bave  been  raised 
about  its  author,  there  can  be  none  concorning  the  age 
in  which  it  was  written.  No  epistle  in  the  collection 
carries  about  it  more  indubitable  marks  of  antiquity 
than  this  does.  It  speaks,  for  instance,  througliout.  of 
the  temple  as  then  standing,  and  of  the  worship  of  the 
temple  as  then  subsisting.  Heb.  viii.  4 :  "  For,  if  he 
were  on  earth,  he  should  not  be  a  priest,  seeing  there 
are  priests  that  offer  according  to  the  law."  Again, 
Heb.  xiii.  10:  "We  have  an  altar  whereof  they  have 
no  right  to  eat  which  serve  the  tabernacle." 

*  "  Truly  the  signs  of  a?),  apostle  were  wrought  among 
you  in  all  patience,  in  signs,  and  wonders,  and  mighty 
deeds." — 2  Cor.  ,\ii.  12. 

t  Ep  Bar.  c.  vii.  I  Ibid  c.  vi.  §  Ibid.  c.  v, 

II  Ep  Clem  Rom.  c.  .xlii.      TT  Ep.  Clem.  Rom.  c.  xvt 

*■*  Pol.  Ep.  ad  Phil.  c.  v.  viii.  ii.  iii. 

■••t  Ir.  ad  Flor.  ap.  Euseb.  1.  v.  c.  20. 
(25) 


290 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


Christ  from  Davkl,  his  mother  Mary,  his  miracu- 
lous conception,  the  star  at  his  birtli,  his  baptism 
by  John,  the  reason  assigned  for  it,  his  appeal  to 
the  prophets,  the  ointment  poured  on  his  head, 
his  suOerings  under  Pontius  Pilate  and  Herod 
the  tetrarch,  his  resurrection,  the  Lord's  day 
called  and  kept  in  commemoration  of  it,  and  the 
eucharist,  in  both  its  parts. — are  unequivocally 
refern^d  to.  Upon  the  resurrection,  this  wsiter  is 
even  circumstantial.  He  mentions  the  apostles' 
eating  and  drinking  with  Christ  after  he  had 
risen,  their  feeling  and  their  handling  him ;  from 
which  last  circumstance  Ignatius  raises  this  just 
reliection; — "They  believed,  being  convinced 
both  by  his  flesh  and  spirit ;  for  this  cause,  they 
despised  death,  and  were  found  to  be  aliove  it."* 

Ciuadratus,  of  the  same  age  with  Ignatius,  has 
left  us  the  following  noble  testimony  : — "  The 
works  of  our  Saviour  were  always  conspicuous, 
for  they  were  real;  both  those  that  were  healed, 
and  those  that  were  raised  from  the  dead ;  who 
were  seen  not  only  when  they  were  healed  or 
raised,  but  for  a  long  time  afcervvards :  not  only 
whilst  he  dwelled  on  this  earth,  but  also  after  his 
departure,  and  for  a  good  while  after  it,  insomuch 
that  some  of  them  have  reached  to  our  times. "t 

Justin  Martyr  came  little  more  than  thirty 
years  after  Ciuadratus.  From  Justin's  works, 
which  are  still  extant,  might  be  collected  a  tole- 
rably complete  account  of  Christ's  life,  in  all  points 
agreeing  with  that  which  is  delivered  in  our 
Scriptures ;  taken  indeed,  in  a  great  measure,  from 
those  Scriptures,  but  still  proving  that  this  ac- 
count, and  no  other,  was  the  account  known  and 
extant  in  that  age.  The  miracles  in  particular, 
which  form  the  part  of  Christ's  history  most  ma- 
terial to  be  traced,  stand  fully  and  distinctly  re- 
cognised in  the  following  passage  : — "  He  healed 
those  who  had  been  blind,  and  deaf,  and  lame 
from  their  birth ;  causing,  by  his  word,  one  to 
leap,  another  to  hear,  and  a  third  to  see :  and  by 
raising  the  dead,  and  making  them  to  live,  he  in- 
duced, by  his  works,  the  men  of  that  age  to  know 
him."t 

It  is  unnecessary  to  carry  these  citations  lower, 
because  the  history,  after  this  time,  occurs  in  an- 
cient Christian  writings  as  familiarly  as  it  is  wont 
to  do  in  modern  sermons ; — occurs  always  the 
same  in  substance,  and  always  that  which  our 
evangelists  represent. 

This  is  not  only  true  of  those  writings  of  Chris- 
tians, which  are  genuine,  and  of  acknowledged 
authority  ;  but  it  is,  in  a  great  measure,  true  of 
all  their  ancient  writings  which  remain  ;  although 
some  of  these  may  have  been  erroneously  ascribed 
to  authors  to  whom  they  did  not  belong,  or  may 
contain  false  accounts,  or  may  appear  to  be  unde- 
serving of  credit,  or  never  indeed  to  have  obtained 
any.  Whatever  fables  they  have  mixed  with  the 
narrative,  they  preserve  the  material  jjarts,  the 
leading  facts,  as  we  have  them  ;  and,  so  far  as  they 
do  this,  although  they  be  evidence  of  nothing  else, 
they  are  evidence  that  these  points  were  fixed,  were 
received  and  acknowledged  by  all  Christians  in  the 
ages  in  which  the  books  were  written.  At  least, 
it  may  be  asserted,  that,  in  the  places  where  we 
were  most  likely  to  meet  with  such  things,  if 
such  things  had  existed,  no  relicks  appear  of 
any  story  substantially  different  from  the  present, 


*  Ad  Smyr.  c.  iii.  f  Ap.  Eiiscb.  H.  E  lib.  4.  c.  2. 

t  Just.  Dial,  cam  Tryph.  p.  2d8.  ed.  Tliirl. 


as  the  cause,  or  as  the  pretence  of  the  institu 
tion. 

Now  that  the  original  story,  the  story  delivered 
by  the  first  preachers  of  the  institution,  should 
have  died  away  so  entirely  as  to  have  left  no  re- 
cord or  memorial  of  its  existence,  although  so  many 
records  and  memorials  of  the  time  and  transaction 
remain ;  and  that  another  story  should  have  step- 
ped into  its  place,  and  gained  exclusive  possession 
of  the  belief  of  all  who  professed  themselves  dis- 
ciples of  the  institution,  is  l)eyond  any  example 
of  the  corruption  of  even  oral  tradition,  and  still 
less  consistent  with  the  experience  of  written  his- 
tory :  and  this  improl)ability,  which  is  very  great, 
is  rendered  still  greater  by  the  reflection,  that  no 
such  change  as  the  oblivion  of  one  story,  and  t!ie 
sulistitution  of  another,  took  place  in  any  future 
period  of  the  Christian  era.  Christianity  hath 
travelled  through  dark  and  turbulent  ages ;  never- 
theless it  came  out  of  the  cloud  and  the  storm, 
such,  in  substance,  as  it  entered  in.  Many  ad- 
ditions were  made  to  the  primitive  history,  and 
these  entitled  to  dilferent  degrees  of  credit ;  many 
doctrinal  errors  also  were  from  time  to  time  grafted 
into  the  public  creed ;  but  still  the  original  story 
remained,  and  remained  the  same.  In  all  its  princi- 
pal parts,  it  has  been  fixed  from  the  beginning. 

Thirdly :  The  religious  rites  and  usages  that 
prevailed  amongst  the  early  disciples  of  Chris- 
tianity, were  such  as  belonged  to,  and  sprung  out 
of,  tfie  narrative  now  in  our  hands ;  which  ac- 
cordancy  shows,  that  it  was  the  narrative  upon 
which  these  persons  acted,  and  which  they  had 
received  from  their  teachers.  Our  account  makes 
the  Founder  of  the  religion  direct  that  his  disci- 
ples should  be  baptised:  we  know,  that  the  lirst 
Christians  were  baptised.  Our  account  makes 
him  direct  that  they  should  hold  religious  assem- 
blies :  we  find,  that  they  did  hold  religious  as.sem- 
blies.  Our  accounts  make  the  apostles  assemble 
upon  a  stated  day  of  the  week:  we  find,  and  that 
from  information  perfectly  independent  of  our  ac- 
counts, that  the  Christians  of  the  first  century  did 
observe  stated  days  of  assembling.  Our  histories 
record  the  institution  of  tlie  rite  which  we  call  the 
Lord's  Supper,  and  a  command  to  repeat  it  in 
perpetual  succession :  we  find,  amongst  the  early 
Christians,  the  celebration  of  this  rite  universal. 
And  indeed,  we  find  concurring  in  all  the  above- 
mentioned  observances.  Christian  societies  of  many 
diiferent  nations  and  languages,  removed  iVoin  one 
another  by  a  great  distance  of  place  and  dissimili- 
tude of  situation.  It  is  also  extremely  material  to 
remark,  that  there  is  no  room  for  insinuating  that 
our  books  were  fabricated  with  a  studious  accom- 
modation to  the  usages  which  obtained  at  the  time 
they  were  written ;  that  the  authors  of  the  books 
found  the  usages  established,  and  framed  the  story 
to  account  for  their  original.  The  Scripture  ac- 
counts, especially  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  are  too 
short  and  cursory,  not  to  say  too  obscure,  and,  in 
this  view,  deficient,  to  allow  a  place  for  any  such 
suspicion.* 

Amongst  the  proofs  of  the  truth  of  our  proposi- 
tion, viz.  that  the  story,  which  we  have  noiv,  is,  in 
sul>stance,  the   story  which  the   Christians  had 


*  The  reader  who  is  conversant  is  these  researches, 
by  comparini;  the  sliort  Scripture  accounts  of  the  Chiin 
tian  rites  above-mentioned,  with  the  minute  and  cir- 
cumstantial directions  contained  in  the  pretended  apos- 
tolical constitutions,  will  see  the  force  of  this  observa 
tiun  :  the  ditFerence  bet»veen  truth  and  forgery. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


2'J\ 


then,  or,  in  other  worJs,  that  the  accounts  in  our 
Gospels  are,  as  to  their  principal  parts  at  least,  the 
accounts  which  the  apostles  and  original  teachers 
of  the  religion  delivered,  one  arises  from  observing, 
that  it  appears  b}'  the  Gospels  themselves,  that  the 
story  was  pubhc  at  the  time;  that  the  Christian 
community  was  already  in  possession  of  the  sub- 
stance and  principal  parts  of  the  narrative.  The 
Gospels  v/ere  not  the  original  cause  of  the  Chris- 
tian history  being  believed,  but  were  themselves 
among  the  consequences  of  that  belief  This  is 
expressly  affirmed  by  Saint  Luke,  in  his  brief, 
but.  as  I  think,  very  important  and  instructive 
preface  : — "  Forasmuch  (says  the  evangelist)  as 
many  have  taken  in  hand  to  set  forth  in  order  a 
declaration  of  those  things  which  are  most  surely 
bcliered  amongst  us,  even  as  they  delivered  them 
unto  us,  which,  from  the  beginning,  were  eye- 
witnesses and  ministers  of  the  word;  it  seemed 
good  to  me  also,  having  had  perfect  understand- 
ing of  all  things  from  the  very  lirst,  to  write  unto 
thee  in  order,  most  excellent  Tlieophilus,  that 
thou  micjhtest  know  the  certainty  of  those  things 
wherein  thou  hast  been  instructed." — This  short 
introduction  testifies,  that  the  substance  of  the 
history,  which  the  evangelist  was  about  to  write, 
was  already  believed  by  Christians;  that  it  was 
believed  upon  the  declarations  of  eye-witnesses 
and  ministers  of  the  word ;  that  it  formed  the  ac- 
count of  their  reliaion  in  which  Christians  were 
instructed ;  that  the  office  which  tlie  historian 
proposed  to  himself,  was  to  trace  each  particular 
to  its  origin,  and  to  fix  the  certainty  of  many 
things  which  the  reader  had  before  heard  of.  In 
Saint  John's  Gospel,  the  same  point  appears 
hence,  that  there  are  some  principal  facts,  to 
which  the  hi.storian  refers,  but  which  he  does  not 
relate.  A  remarkable  instance  of  this  kind  is  the 
ascension,  which  is  not  mentioned  by  Saint  John 
in  its  place,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  history ;  but 
which  is  plainly  referred  to  in  the  following  words 
of  the  sixth  chapter  :* — "  What  and  if  ye  shall  see 
the  Son  of  man  ascend  up  where  he  was  before  Y' 
And  still  more  positively  in  the  words  which 
Christ,  according  to  our  evangelist,  spoke  to  Mary 
after  his  resurrection,  "  Touch  me  not,  for  I  am 
not  yet  ascended  to  my  Father :  but  go  unto  my 
brethren,  and  say  unto  them,  I  ascend  unto  my 
Father  and  3'our  Father,  unto  my  God  and 
your  God."t  This  can  only  be  accounted  for 
bv  the  supposition  that  Saint  John  wrote  un- 
der a  sense  of  the  notoriety  of  Christ's  ascen- 
sion, amongst  those  by  whom  his  book  was  likely 
to  be  read.  The  same  account  must  also  be  given 
of  Saint  Matthew's  omission  of  the  same  import- 
ant fact.  The  thing  was  very  well  known,  and 
it  did  not  occur  to  the  historian  that  it  was  neces- 
sarv  to  add  any  particulars  concerning  it.  It 
agrees  also  with  this  solution,  and  with  no  other, 
that  neither  ^Matthew,  nor  John,  disposes  of  the 
person  of  our  Lord  in  any  manner  whatever. 
Other  intimations  in  Saint  John's  Gospel  of  the 
then  general  notoriety  of  the  story  are  the  ibllow- 
ing  :  His  manner  of  introducing  his  narrative  (ch. 
i.  ver.  1.5:)  "John  bare  witness  of  him,  and  cried, 
saying," — evidently  presupposes  that  his  readers 
knew  who  John  was.  His  rapid  parenthetical 
reference  to  John's  imprisonment,  "  for  John  was 
not  yet  cast  into  prison,"?  could  only  come  from  a 


writer  whose  mind  was  in  the  habit  of  consider 
ing  John's  imprisonment  as  perfectly  notorious 
The  description  of  Andrew  by  the  addition  "  Si- 
mon Peter's  brother,"*  takes  it  lor  granted,  that 
Simon  Peter  was  well  known.  His  name  had 
not  been  mentioned  before.  The  evangelist's 
noticingt  the  prevaihng  misconstruction  of  a  dis- 
course, which  Christ  held  with  the  beloved  dis- 
ciple, proves  that  the  characters  and  the  discourse 
were  already  public.  And  the  observation  which 
these  instances  afford,  is  of  equal  vahdity  for  tlie 
purpose  of  the  present  argument,  whoever  were 
the  authors  of  the  histories. 

These/our  circumstances ;  first,  the  recognition 
of  the  account  in  its  principal  parts,  by  a  series  of 
succeeding  WTiters;  secondly,  the  total  absence  of 
any  account  of  the  origin  of  the  religion  substan- 
tially diflierent  from  ours ;  thirdly,  the  early  and 
extensive  prevalence  of  rites  and  institutions, 
which  result  from  our  account ;  fourthly,  our  ac- 
count bearing,  in  its  construction,  proof  that  it  is 
an  account  of  facts,  which  were  known  and  be- 
lieved at  the  tune; — are  sufficient,  I  conceive,  to 
support  an  assurance,  that  the  story  which  we 
have  now,  is,  in  general,  the  story  which  Chris- 
tians had  at  the  beginning.  I  say  in  general  ; 
by  which  term  I  mean,  that  it  is  the  same  in  its 
texture,  and  in  its  principal  facts.  For  instance, 
I  make  no  doubt,  for  the  reasons  above  stated,  but 
that  the  resurrection  of  the  Founder  of  the  reli- 
gion was  always  a  part  of  the  Christian  story. 
Nor  can  a  doubt  of  tliis  remain  upon  the  mind  of 
any  one  who  reflects  that  the  resurrection  is,  in 
some  form  or  other,  asserted,  referred  to,  or  as- 
sumed, in  everj'  Christian  writing,  of  every  de- 
scription, which  hath  come  down  to  us. 

And  if  our  evidence  stopped  here,  we  should 
have  a  strong  case  to  offer :  for  we  should  have  to 
allege,  that  in  tue  reign  of  Tiberius  Caesar,  a  cer- 
tain number  of  persons  set  about  an  attempt  of 
establishing  a  new  religion  in  the  world:  in  the 
prosecution  of  which  purpose,  they  voluntarily 
encountered  great  dangers,  undertook  great  la- 
bours, sustained  great  sulTerings,  all./or  a  miracu- 
lous story  which  they  published  wherever  they 
came  ;  and  that  the  resurrection  of  a  dead  man, 
whom  during  his  life  they  had  followed  and  ac- 
companied, was  a  constant  part  of  this  story.  I 
know  nothing  in  the  above  statement  which  can, 
with  any  appearance  of  reason,  be  disputed  :  and 
I  know  nothing,  in  the  history  of  the  human  spe- 
cies, similar  to  it. 


*  Also  Jolin  iii.  13:  and  .xvi.  28. 
J  John  iii.  24. 


t  John  XX.  17. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TTiere  is  satisfactory  evidence  that  many  -profess- 
ing to  he  original  witnesses  of  tlie  Christian 
miracles,  passed  their  lives  in  labours,  dangers, 
and  sufferings,  voluntarily  undergone  ni  at- 
testation of  the  accounts  which  they  delivered, 
and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of 
tliose  accounts  ;  and  tliat  they  also  submitted, 
from  the  same  motives,  to  new  rules  of  conduct. 

That  the  story  which  we  have  now  is,  in  the 
main,  the  story  which  the  apostles  published,  is 
I  think,  nearly  certain,  from  the  consideration? 
which  have  been  proposed.  But  whether,  whei 
we  come  to  the  particulars,  and  the  detail  of  tl.« 


John  i.  40. 


t  Ibid,  xxi  24. 


292 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


mrrative,  the  historical  books  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament be  deserving  of  credit  as  liistories,  so  that 
a  fact  ought  to  be  accounted  true,  because  it  is 
fouifll  in  them;  or  whether  they  are  entitled  to  be 
considered  as  representing  the  accounts  which, 
true  or  false,  the  apostles  published; — whether 
their  authority,  in  either  of  these  views,  can  be 
trusted  to,  is  a  point  which  necessarily  depends 
upon  what  we  know  of  the  books,  and  of  their 
authors. 

Now,  in  treating  of  this  part  of  our  argument, 
the  first  and  most  material  observation  upon  the 
subject  is,  that  such  was  the  situation  of  the  au- 
thors to  whom  the  four  Gospels  are  ascribed,  that, 
if  any  one  of  the  four  be  genuine,  it  is  sufficient 
for  our  purpose.  The  received  author  of  the  first, 
was  an  original  apostle  and  emissary  of  the  re- 
ligion. The  received  author  of  the  second,  was 
an  inhabitant  of  Jerusalem  at  the  time,  to  whose 
house  the  apostles  were  wont  to  resort,  and  him- 
self an  attendant  upon  one  of  the  most  eminent 
of  that  number.  The  received  author  of  the  third, 
was  a  stated  companion  and  fellow-traveller  of  the 
most  active  of  all  the  teachers  of  the  religion,  and 
in  the  course  of  his  travels  frequently  in  the 
society  of  the  original  apostles.  The  received  au- 
thor of  the  fourth,  as  well  as  of  the  first,  was  one  of 
these  apostles.  No  stronger  evidence  of  the  truth 
of  a  history  can  arise  from  the  situation  of  the 
historian,  than  what  is  here  offered.  The  authors 
of  all  the  histories  lived  at  the  time  and  upon  the 
spot.  The  authors  of  two  of  the  histories  were 
present  at  many  of  the  scenes  which  they  de- 
scribe; eye-witnesses  of  the  facts,  ear-witnesses 
of  the  discourses ;  writing  from  personal  know- 
ledge and  recollection;  and,  what  strengthens 
their  testimony,  writing  upon  a  subject  in  which 
their  minds  were  deeply  engaged,  and  in  which, 
as  they  must  have  been  very  frequently  repeating 
the  accounts  to  others,  the  passages  of  the  history 
would  be  kept  continually  alive  in  their  memory. 
Whoever  reads  the  Gospels  (and  they  ought  to  be 
read  for  this  particular  purpose,)  will  find  in  them 
not  merely  a  general  affirmation  of  miraculous 
powers,  but  detailed  circumstantial  accounts  of 
miracles,  with  specifications  of  time,  place,  and 
persons ;  and  these  accounts  many  and  various. 
In  the  Gospels,  therefore,  which  bear  the  names 
of  Matthew  and  John,  these  narratives,  if  they 
really  proceeded  from  these  men,  must  either  be 
true,  as  far  as  the  fidelity  of  human  recollection  is 
usually  to  be  depended  upon,  that  is,  must  be  true 
in  substance,  and  in  their  principal  parts  (which 
is  sufficient  for  the  purpose  of  proving  a  super- 
natural agency,)  or  they  must  be  wilful  and  medi- 
tated falsehoods.  Yet  the  writers  wlio  fabricated 
and  uttered  these  falsehoods,  if  they  be  such,  are 
of  the  number  of  those  who,  unless  the  whole 
contexture  of  the  Christian  story  be  a  dream,  sa- 
crificed their  ease  and  safety  in  the  cause,  and  for 
a  purpose  the  most  inconsistent  that  is  possible 
with  dishonest  intentions.  They  were  villains 
for  no  end  but  to  teach  honesty,  and  martyrs 
without  the  least  prospect  of  honour  or  advan- 
tage. 

The  Gospels  which  bear  the  name  of  Mark 
and  Luke,  although  not  the  narratives  of  eye-wit- 
nesses, are,  if  genuine,  removed  from  that  only 
by  one  degree.  They  are  the  narratives  of  con- 
temporary writers ;  or  writers  themselves  mixing 
with  the  business;  one  of  the  two  probably  living 
m  the  place  which  was  the  principal  scene  of  ac- 


tion; both  living  in  habits  of  society  and  corres« 
pondencc  with  those  who  had  been  present  at  the 
transactions  which  they  relate.  The  latter  of  them 
accordingly  tells  us,  (and  with  apparent  sincerity, 
because  he  tells  it  without  pretending  to  ]jersonal 
knowledge,  and  without  claiming  for  his  viork 
greater  authority  than  belonged  to  it,)  that  the 
things  which  were  believed  amongst  Christiairs, 
came  from  those  who  from  the  beginning  were 
eye-witnesses  and  ministers  of  the  word ;  that 
he  had  traced  accounts  up  to  their  source ;  and 
that  he  was  prepared  to  instruct  his  reader  in  the 
certainty  of  the  things  which  he  related.*  Very 
few  histories  lie  so  close  to  their  facts ;  very  lew 
historians  are  so  nearly  connected  with  the  sub- 
ject of  their  narrative,  or  possess  such  means  of 
authentic  information,  as  these. 

The  situation  oi'  the  writers  applies  to  the  truth 
of  the  facts  which  they  record.  But  at  present  we 
use  their  testimony  to  a  point  somewhat  short  of 
this,  namely,  that  the  facts  recorded  in  the  Gos- 
pels, whether  true  or  fiilse,  are  the  facts,  and  the 
sort  of  facts,  which  the  original  preachers  of  the 
religion  alleged.  Strictly  speaking,  I  am  con- 
cerned only  to  show,  that  what  the  Gospels  con- 
tain is  the  same  as  what  the  apostles  preached. 
Now,  how  stands  the  proof  of  this  point '?  A  set 
of  men  went  about  the  world,  pul)lishing  a  story 
composed  of  miraculous  accounts,  (for  miraculous 
from  the  very  nature  and  exigency  of  the  case 
they  must  have  been,)  and,  upon  the  strength  of 
these  accounts,  called  upon  mankind  to  quit  the 
religions  in  which  they  had  been  educated,  and  to 
take  up,  thenceforth,  a  new  system  of  opinions, 
and  new  rules  of  action.  What  is  more  in  attes- 
tation of  these  accounts,  that  is,  in  support  of  an 
institution  of  which  these  accounts  were  the  foun- 
dation, is  that  the  same  men  voluntarily  exposed 
themselves  to  harassing  and  perpetual  laboiu's, 
dangers,  and  sufferings.  We  want  to  know  what 
these  accounts  were.  We  have  tlie  particulars, 
i.  e.  many  particulars,  from  two  of  their  own  num- 
ber. We  have  them  from  an  attendant  of  one  of 
the  numl)er,  and  who,  there  is  reason  to  believe, 
was  an  inhabitant  of  Jerusalem  at  the  time.  We 
have  them  from  a  fourth  writer,  who  accompanied 
the  most  laborious  missionary  of  the  institution  in 
his  travels ;  vs^ho,  in  the  course  of  these  travels, 
was  frequently  brouglit  into  the  society  of  the 
rest ;  and  who,  let  it  be  observed,  begins  his  nar- ' 
rative  by  telling  us  that  he  is  about  to  relate  the 
things  which  had  been  delivered  by  those  who 
were  ministers  of  the  word,  and  eye-vidtnesses  of 
the  facts.  I  do  not  know  what  information  can 
be  more  satisfactory  than  this.  We  may,  perhaps, 
perceive  the  force  and  value  of  it  more  sensibly,  if 
we  reflect  how  requiring  we  should  have  lieen  if 
we  had  wanted  it.  Supposing  it  to  be  sufficiently 
proved,  that  the  religion  now  professed  among  us, 
owed  its  original  to  the  preaching  and  ministry 
of  a  number  of  men,  who,  about  eighteen  cen- 
turies ago,  set  forth  in  the  world  a  new  system  of 
religious  opinions,  founded  upon  certain  extraor- 
dinary things  which  they  related  of  a  wonderful 
person  who  had  appeared  in  Judea;  suppose  it  to 


*  Why  should  not  the  candid  and  modest  pre faLt"  of 
this  historian  be  believed,  as  well  as  that  which  Dion 
Cassius  prefi.xes  to  his  Life  of  Comniodus?  "These 
things  and  the  following  I  write  not  from  the  report  o! 
others,  hot  from  my  own  knowledge  and  observation." 
I  see  no  reason  to  doubt  but  that  both  passages  describa 
truly  enough  the  situation  of  the  authors. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


293 


be  also  sufficiently  proved,  that,  in  the  course  and 
prosecution  of  their  ministry,  these  men  had  sub- 
jected themselves  to  extreme  hardships,  fatigue, 
and  peril ;  but  suppose  the  accounts  which  they 
published  had  not  been  committed  to  writing  till 
some  ages  after  their  times,  or  at  least  that  no 
histories,  but  what  had  been  composed  some  ages 
afterwards,  had  reached  our  hands;  we  should 
have  said,  and  with  reason,  that  we  were  willina 
to  Ijelieve  these  men  imder  the  circumstances  in 
which  they  delivered  their  testunony,  but  that  we 
did  not.  at  this  day,  know  with  sufficient  evidence 
what  their  testimony  was.  Had  we  received  the 
particulars  of  it  from  any  of  their  own  number, 
from  any  of  those  who  lived  and  conversed  with 
them,  from  any  of  their  hearers,  or  even  from  any 
of  their  contemporaries,  we  should  have  had  some- 
thing to  rely  upon.  Now,  if  our  books  be  genuine, 
we  have  all  these.  We  have  the  very  species  of 
information  which,  as  it  appears  to  me.  our  imagi- 
nation would  have  caned  out  for  us,  if  it  had  been 
wanting. 

But  I  have  said,  that  if  any  one  of  the  four 
Gospels  be  genuine,  we  have  not  only  direct  his- 
torical testimony  to  the  point  we  contend  for,  but 
lestimony  which,  so  far  as  that  point  is  concerned, 
cannot  reasonably  be  rejected.  If  the  first  Gospel 
was  really  written  by  Matthew,  we  have  the  narra- 
tive of  oneof  the  number,  from  which  to  judge  what 
were  the  miracles,  and  the  kind  of  miracles,  which 
the  apostles  attributed  to  Jesus.  Although,  for 
argument's  sake,  and  only  for  argument's  sake, 
we  should  allow  that  this  Gospel  had  been  erro- 
neously ascribed  to  Matthew ;  yet,  if  the  Gospel 
of  Saint  .lohn  be  genuine,  the  ob.servation  holds 
with  no  less  strength.  Again,  although  the  Gos- 
pels botli  of  Matthew  and  John  could  be  suppoi-ed 
to  be  spurious,  yet,  if  the  Gospel  of  Saint  Luke 
were  truly  the  composition  of  that  person,  or  of 
any  person,  be  his  name  what  it  might,  who  was 
actually  in  the  situation  in  which  the  author  of 
that  Gospel  professes  himself  to  have  been,  or  if 
the  Gospel  which  bears  the  name  of  ]\Iark  really 
proceeded  from  him  ;  we  still,  even  upon  the  low- 
est supposition,  possess  the  accounts  of  one  writer 
at  least,  who  was  not  only  contemporary  with  the 
apostles,  but  associated  with  them  in  their  minis- 
try :  whif  h  authority  seems  sufficient,  when  the 
question  is  simply  what  it  was  which  these  apos- 
tles advanced. 

I  think  it  material  to  have  this  well  noticed. 
The  New  Testament  contains  a  great  number  of 
distinct  writings,  the  genuineness  of  any  one  of 
which  is  almost  sufficient  to  prove  the  truth  of  the 
religion :  it  contains,  however,  four  distinct  histo- 
ries, the  genuineness  of  any  one  of  which  is  per- 
fectly sufficient.  If  therefore,  we  must  be  con- 
sidered as  encountering  the  risk  of  error  in  as- 
signing the  authors  of  our  books,  we  are  entitled 
to  the  advantage  of  so  many  separate  probabilities. 
And  although  it  should  appear  that  some  of  the 
evang«>lists  had  seen  and  used  each  other's  works ; 
this  discovery,  whilst  it  subtracts  indeed  from 
their  characters  as  testimonies  strictly  independ- 
ent, diminishes,  I  conceive,  little,  either  their  se- 
parate authority  (by  which  I  mean  the  authority 
of  any  one  that  is  genuine,)  or  their  mutual  con- 
firmation. For,  let  the  most  disadvantageous 
supposition  possible  be  made  concerning  them ; 
let  it  be  allowed,  what  I  should  have  no  great  dif- 
ficulty in  admitting,  that  Alark  compiled  his  his- 
tory almost  entirely  from  those  of  Matthew  and 


Luke ;  and  let  it  also  for  a  moment  be  supposed 
that  these  histories  were  not,  in  fact,  written  by 
Matthew  and  Luke;  yet,  if  it  be  true  that  Mark, 
a  contemporary  of  the  apostles,  living  in  habits  of 
society  with  the  apostles,  a  fellow-traveller  and 
fellow-labourer  with  some  of  them;  if,  I  say,  it  be 
true  that  tliis  person  made  the  compilation,  it  fol- 
lows, that  the  writings  from  which  he  made  it 
existed  in  the  time  of  the  apostles,  and  not  only 
so,  but  that  they  were  then  in  such  esteem  and 
credit,  that  a  companion  of  the  apostles  formed  a 
history  out  of  them.  Let  the  Gospel  of  Mark  be 
called  an  epitome  of  that  of  Matthew;  if  a  person 
in  the  situation  in  which  Mark  is  described  to 
have  been,  actually  made  the  epitome,  it  aflbrds 
the  strongest  possible  attestation  to  the  character  ^ 
of  the  original. 

Again,  parallelisms  in  sentences,  in  words,  and 
in  the  order  of  words,  have  been  traced  out  between 
the  Gospel  of  Matthew  and  that  of  Luke ;  which 
concurrence  cannot  easily  be  explained  otherwise 
than  by  supposing,  either  that  Luke  had  consulted 
Matthew's  history,  or,  what  appears  to  me  in  no- 
wise incredible,  that  minutes  of  some  of  Christ's 
discourses,  as  well  as  brief  memoirs  of  some  pas- 
sages of  his  hfe,  had  been  committed  to  writing  at 
the  time ;  and  that  such  w  ritten  accounts  had  by 
both  authors  been  occasionally  admitted  into  their 
histories.  Either  supposition  is  perfectly  consist- 
ent with  the  acknowledged  formation  of  St.  Luke's 
narrative,  who  professes  not  to  write  as  an  eye- 
witness, but  to  have  investigated  the  original  of 
every  account  which  he  dehvers :  in  other  words, 
to  have  collected  them  from  such  documents  and 
testimonies,  as  he,  who  had  the  best  opportunities 
of  making  inquiries,  judged  to  be  authentic 
Therefore,  allowing  that  this  writer  also,  iu  some 
instances,  borrowed  from  the  Crospel  which  we 
call  Matthew's,  and  once  more  allowing,  for  the 
salve  of  stating  the  argument,  that  that  Gospel  was 
not  the  production  of  the  author  to  whom  we 
ascribe  it;  yet  still  we  have,  in  Saint  Luke's  Gos- 
pel, a  history  given  by  a  writer  immediately  con- 
nected with  the  transaction,  with  the  witnesses  of 
it,  with  the  persons  engaged  in  it,  and  composed 
from  materials  which  that  person,  thus  situated, 
deemed  to  be  safe  sources  of  intelligence :  in  other 
words,  whatever  supposition  be  made  concerning 
any  or  all  the  other  Gospels,  if  Saint  Luke's  Gos- 
pel be  genuine,  we  have  in  it  a  credible  evidence 
of  the  point  which  we  maintain. 

The  Gospel  according  to  Saint  John  appears  to 
he,  and  is  on  all  hands  allowed  to  be,  an  independ- 
ent testimony,  strictly  and  properly  so  called.  Not- 
withstanding, therefore,  any  connexion,  or  sup- 
posed connexion,  between  some  of  the  Gospels,  I 
again  repeat  what  I  before  said,  that  if  any  one  of 
the  four  be  genuine,  we  have,  in  that  one  .strong 
reason,  from  the  character  and  situation  of  the 
writer,  to  believe  that  we  possess  the  accounts 
which  the  original  emissaries  of  the  religion  de- 
livered. 

Secondly :  In  treating  of  the  written  evidences 
of  Christianity,  next  to  their  separate,  we  are  to 
consider  their  aggregate  authority.  Now,  there 
is  in  the  evansxelic  history  a  cumulation  of  testi- 
mony which  belongs  hardly  to  any  other  history, 
but  which  our  habitual  mode  of  reading  the  Scriji- 
tures  sometmies  causes  us  to  overlook.  "When  a 
passage,  in  any  wise  relating  to  the  historj'  of 
Christ,  is  read  to  us  out  of  the  epistle  of  Clemens 
Romanus,  the  epistles  of  Ignatius,  of  Polycarp,  or 
(25*) 


29-4 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


from  any  other  writing  of  that  age,  we  are  imme- 
diately sensible  of  the  confirmation  which  it  affords 
to  the  Scripture  account.  Here  is  a  new  witness. 
Nt)w,  if  we  had  been  accustomed  to  read  the  Gos- 
pel of  Matthew  alone,  and  had  known  that  of 
Luke  only  as  the  generality  of  Christians  know 
tbe  writings  of  the  apostolical  fathers,  that  is,  had 
known  that  such  a  writing  was  extant  and  ac- 
knowledged ;  when  we  came,  for  the  first  time,  to 
look  into  what  it  contained,  and  found  many  of 
the  facts  which  Matthew  recorded,  recorded  also 
there,  many  other  tacts  of  a  similar  nature  added, 
and  throughout  the  whole  work  the  same  general 
series  of  transactions  stated,  and  the  same  general 
character  of  the  person  who  was  the  subject  of  the 
history  preserved,  I  apprehend  that  we  should  feel 
our  minds  strongly  impressed  by  this  discovery  of 
fresh  evidence.  We  should  feel  a  renewal  of  the 
same  sentiment  in  first  reading  the  Gospel  of  Saint 
John.  That  of  Saint  Mark  perhaps  would  strike 
us  as  an  abridgment  of  the  history  with  which  we 
were  already  acquainted  ;  but  we  should  naturally 
redect,  that  if  that  history  was  abridged  by  such  a 
person  as  Mark,  or  by  any  person  of  so  early  an 
age,  it  allbrded  one  of  the  highest  possible  attest- 
ations to  the  value  of  the  work.  This  successive 
disclosure  of  proof  would  leave  us  assured,  that 
there  must  have  been  at  least  some  reality  in  a 
story  which  not  one,  but  many,  had  taken  in  hand 
to  commit  to  writing.  The  very  existence  of  four 
separate  histories  would  satisfy  us  that  the  subject 
had  a  foundation ;  and  when,  amidst  the  variety 
which  the  diflerent  information  of  the  different 
writers  had  supplied  to  their  accounts,  or  which 
their  different  choice  and  judgment  in  selecting 
their  materials  had  produced,  we  observed  many 
facts  to  stand  the  same  in  ah ;  of  these  facts,  at 
least,  we  should  conclude,  that  they  were  fixed  in 
their  credit  and  publicity.  If,  after  this,  we  should 
come  to  the  knowledge  of  a  distinct  history,  and 
that  also  of  the  same  age  with  the  rest,  taking  up 
the  subject  where  the  others  had  left  it,  and  carry- 
ing on  a  narrative  of  the  effects  produced  in  the 
world  by  the  extraordinary  causes  of  which  we 
had  already  been  informed,  and  which  eliects  sub- 
sist at  this  day,  we  should  think  the  reality  of  the 
original  story  in  no  little  degree  established  by  this 
supplement.  If  subsequent  inquiries  should  bring 
to  our  knowledge,  one  after  another,  letters  writ- 
ten by  some  of  the  principal  agents  in  tlie  business, 
upon  the  business,  and  during  the  time  of  their 
activity  and  concern  in  it,  assuming  all  along  and 
recognising  the  original  story,  agitating  the  ques- 
tions that  arose  out  of  it,  pressing  the  obligations 
which  resulted  from  it,  giving  advice  and  direc- 
tions to  those  who  acted  upon  it ;  I  conceive  that 
we  should  find,  in  every  one  of  these,  a  still  fur- 
ther support  to  the  conclusion  we  had  formed.  At 
present,  the  weight  of  this  successive  confirmation 
is,  in  a  great  measure,  unperceived  by  us.  The 
evidence  does  not  appear  to  us  what  it  is ;  for,  beino- 
from  our  infancy  accustomed  to  regar(f  the  New 
Testament  as  one  book,  we  see  in  it  only  one  testi- 
mony. T  he  whole  occurs  to  us  as  a  single  evidence ; 
and  its  dill'erent  parts,  not  as  distinct  attestations, 
Dut  as  diflerent  portions  only  of  the  same.  Yet  in 
this  conception  of  the  subject,  we  are  certainly 
mistaken ;  for  the  ver}^  discrepancies  among  the 
several  documents  which  form  our  volume,  prove, 
if  all  other  proof  were  wanting,  that  in  their  origi- 
nal composition  they  were  separate,  and  most  of 
them  independent  productions. 


If  we  dis])ose  our  ideas  in  a  different  order,  the 
matter  stands  thus; — Whilst  the  transaction  was 
recent,  and  the  origin.il  witnesses  were  at  hand  to 
relate  it ;  and  whilst  the  apostles  were  busied  in 
preaching  and  travelling,  in  collecting  disciples,  in 
forming  and  regulating  societies  of  converts,  ir 
supporting  themselves  against  opposition ;  whilst 
they  exercised  their  ministry  under  the  haras.singg 
of  frequent  persecution,  and  in  a  state  of  almost 
cx)ntinual  alarm,  it  is  not  probable  that,  in  this  en- 
gaged, anxious,  and  unsettled  condition  of  life, 
the  J' would  think  immediately  of  writing  histories 
for  I  he  information  of  the  public  or  of  posterity.* 
But  it  is  very  probable,  that  emergencies  might 
draw  from  some  of  them  occasional  letters  upon 
the  subject  of  their  mission,  to  converts,  or  to  so- 
cieties of  converts,  with  which  they  were  connect- 
ed ;  or  that  they  might  address  written  discourses 
and  exhortations  to  the  disciples  of  the  institution 
at  large,  which  would  be  received  and  read  with  a 
respect  proportioned  to  the  character  of  the  writer. 
Accounts  in  the  mean  time  would  get  abroad  of 
the  extraordinary  things  that  fiad  been  passing, 
written  with  different  degrees  of  information  and 
correctness.  The  extension  of  the  Christian  so- 
ciety, which  could  no  longer  be  instructed  by  a 
personal  intercourse  with  the  apostles,  and  the 
possible  circulation  of  imperfect  or  erroneous  nar- 
ratives, would  soon  teach  some  amongst  them  the 
exi)ediency  of  sending  forth  authentic  memoirs  of 
the  life  and  doctrine  of  their  Master.  Vs^hen  ac- 
counts appeared  authorized  by  the  name,  and  cre- 
dit, and  situation  of  tlie  writers,  recommended  or 
recognised  by  the  ajiostles  and  first  preachers  of 
the  religion,  or  found  to  coincide  with  what  tlie 
apostles  and  first  preachers  of  the  religion  had 
taught,  other  accounts  would  fall  into  disuse  and 
neglect ;  whilst  these  niaintaining  their  reputation 
(as,  if  genuine  and  well  founded,  they  would  do) 
inider  the  test  of  time,  inquiry,  and  contradiction, 
might  be  expected  to  make  their  way  into  the 
hands  of  Christians  of  all  countries  of  the  world. 

This  seems  the  natural  progress  of  the  business ; 
and  with  this  the  records  in  our  possession,  and 
the  evidence  concerning  them,  correspond.  We 
have  remaining,  in  the  first  place,  many  letters 
of  the  kind  above  described,  which  have  been  pre- 
served with  a  care  and  fidelity  answering  to  the 
respect  witli  which  we  may  suppose  that  such  let- 
ters would  be  received.  But  as  these  letters  were 
not  written  to  prove  the  truth  of  the  Christian  re- 
hgion,  in  the  sense  in  which  we  regard  that  ques- 
tion :  nor  to  convey  inforjnation  of  facts,  of  which 
those  to  whom  the  letters  were  written  had  been 
previously  informed ;  v/e  are  not  to  look  in  theui 
for  any  thing  more  than  incidental  allusions  to 
the  Christian  history.  We  are  able,  however,  to 
gather  from  these  documents,  various  particular 
attestations  which  have  been  already  enumerated; 
and  this  is  a  species  of  written  evidence,  as  far  as 
it  goes,  in  the  highest  degree  satisfactory,  and  in 
point  of  time  perha])s  the  first.  But  for  our  more 
circumstantial  information,  we  have  in  the  next 
place  five  direct  histories,  bearing  the  names  of 
persons  acquainted,  by  their  situation,  with  the 
truth  of  what  they  relate,  and  three  of  them  pur- 
porting, in  the  very  body  of  the  narrative,  to  be 


*This  thoiisiht  occurred  to  Eusebius  :  "Nor  were  tlie 
apostle.s  of  Christ  greatly  concerned  about  the  writing 
of  books,  bi'ing  engaged  in  a  more  e.\ccllent  ministry 
which  is  above  all  human  power." — Ecdes.  Hist.  1.  iii 
c.  iJ4  Thp  same  consideration  accounts  also  for  the  pau 
city  of  Christian  writings  in  the  first  century  of  its  era. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


295 


written  hy  yuch  persons ;  of  which  books  we  know, 
that  some  were  in  the  hands  of  those  who  were 
contemporaries  of  tlie  apostles,  and  that,  in  tlie  age 
immediately  posterior  to  tiiat,  they  were  in  tlie 
hands,  we  may  say,  of  every  one,  and  received  by 
Christians  with  so  much  respect  and  detcrence,  as 
to  be  constantly  quoted  and  referred  to  by  them, 
without  any  doubt  of  the  truth  of  their  accounts. 
They  were  treated  as  sucli  histories,  proceeding 
from  such  authorities,  might  expect  to  be  treated. 
In  tlie  preface  to  one  ol'our  histories,  we  have  in- 
timations left  us  of  the  existence  of  some  ancient 
accounts  which  are  now  lost.  There  is  nothing 
in  this  circumstance  that  can  surprise  us.  It  was 
to  be  expected,  from  the  magnitude  and  novelty  of 
the  occasion,  that  such  accounts  would  swarm. 
When  better  accounts  came  forth,  these  died 
away.  Our  present  histories  superseded  others. 
They  soon  acquired  a  character  and  established  a 
reputation  which  does  not  appear  to  have  belonged 
to  any  ot  her :  that,  at  least,  can  be  proved  concerning 
them,  which  cannot  be  proved  concerning  any  other. 

But  to  return  to  the  point  which  led  to  these 
reflections.  By  considering  our  records  in  either 
of  the  two  views  in  which  we  have  represented 
them,  we  shall  perceive  that  we  possess  a  collec- 
tion of  proofs,  and  not  a  naked  or  solitary  testi- 
mony ;  and  that  the  written  evidence  is  of  such  a 
kind,  and  comes  to  us  in  such  a  state,  as  the  na- 
tural order  and  progress  of  things,  in  the  intancy 
of  the  institution,  might  be  expected  to  produce. 

Thirdly:  The  genuineness  of  the  historical 
books  of  the  New  Testament  is  undoubtedly  a 
point  of  importance,  because  the  strength  of  their 
evidence  is  augmented  by  our  knowledge  of  the 
situation  of  their  authors,  their  relation  to  the  sub- 
ject, and  the  part  which  they  sustained  in  the 
transaction;  and  the  testimonies  which  we  are 
able  to  produce,  compose  a  linn  ground  of  per- 
suasion, that  the  Gospels  were  written  by  the 
persons  whose  names  they  bear.  Nevertheless,  I 
must  be  allowed  to  state,  that  to  the  argument 
which  I  am  endeavouring  to  maintain,  this  point 
is  not  essential ;  I  mean,  so  essential  as  that  the 
flite  of  the  argument  depends  upon  it.  The  ques- 
tion before  us  is,  whether  the  Gospels  exhibit  the 
story  which  the  apostles  and  first  emissaries  of  the 
religion  published,  and  for  which  they  acted  and 
sutii'red  in  the  manner  in  which,  for  some  mira- 
culous story  or  other,  they  did  act  and  sufier. 
Now  let  us  suppose  that  we  possessed  no  other 
information  concerning  these  books  than  tliat  they 
were  written  by  early  disciples  of  Christianity ; 
that  they  were  known  and  read  during  the  time, 
or  near  the  time,  of  the  original  apostles  of  the  re- 
ligion ;  that  by  Christians  whom  the  apostles  in- 
structed, by  societies  of  Christians  which  the 
apostles  founded,  these  books  were  received,  (by 
which  term  "received,"  I  mean  that  they  were 
believed  to  contain  authentic  accounts  of  the  trans- 
actions upon  which  the  religion  rested,  and  ac- 
counts which  were  accordingly  used,  repeated,  and 
relied  upon,)  this  reception  would  be  a  valid  proof 
that  these  books,  whoever  were  the  authors  of 
them,  must  have  accorded  with  what  the  ajjostles 
taught.  A  reception  by  the  first  race  of  Chris- 
tians, is  evidence  that  they  agreed  with  what  the 
first  teachers  of  the  religion  delivered.  In  parti- 
cular, if  they  had  not  agreed  with  what  the  apos- 
tles themselves  preached,  how  could  they  have 
gained  credit  in  churches  and  societies  which  the 
apostles  established  1 


Now  the  fact  of  their  early  existence,  and  not 
only  of  their  existence  but  their  reputation,  is 
made  out  by  some  ancient  testimonies  which  do 
not  happen  to  specit'y  the  names  of  the  writers: 
add  to  which,  what  hath  been  already  hinted,  that 
two  out  of  the  four  Gospels  contain  averments  in 
the  body  of  the  history,  which,  though  they  do  not 
disclose  the  names,  lix  the  time  and  situation  of 
the  authors,  viz.  that  one  was  written  by  an  eye- 
witness of  the  sufferings  of  Chri.st,  the  other  by  a 
contemporary  of  the  apostles.  In  the  Gospel  of 
Saint  John,  (xix.  35,)  after  descriliing  the  cruci- 
fixion, with  the  particular  circumstance  of  piercing 
Christ's  side  with  a  spear,  the  hi.storian  adds,  as 
for  himself,  "and  he  that  saw  it  bare  record, 
and  his  record  is  true,  and  he  knoweth  that  he 
saith  true,  that  ye  might  believe."  Again,  (xxi. 
24,)  after  relating  a  conversation  which  passed 
between  Peter  and  "  the  disciple,"  as  it  is  there 
expressed,  "  whom  Jesus  loved,"  it  is  added,  "this 
is  the  disciple  which  testifieth  of  these  things, 
and  wrote  these  things."  This  testimony,  let  it 
be  remarked,  is  not  the  less  worthy  of  regard,  be- 
cause it  is.  in  one  view,  impertect.  The  name  is 
not  mentioned  ;  which,  if  a  fraudulent  purjwse 
had  been  intended,  would  have  been  done.  The 
third  of  our  present  Gospels  purports  to  have  been 
written  by  the  person  who  wrote  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles ;  in  which  latter  history,  or  rather,  lattel 
part  of  the  same  history,  the  author,  by  using,  in 
various  places,  the  first  person  plural,  declares 
himself  to  have  been  a  contemporary  of  all,  and  a 
companion  of  one,  of  the  original  preachers  of  the 
religion. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

There  is  satisfactory  evidence  that  many,  ■pro- 
fessing to  be  original  witnesses  of  the  Christian 
miracles,  passed  their  lives  in  labours,  dangers, 
and  sufferings,  voluntarily  undergone  in  at- 
testation of  the  accounts  tchich  they  delivered, 
and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of 
those  accounts  ;  and  that  they  also  submitted, 
from  the  same  motives,  to  new  rules  of  conduct. 

THE  AUTHENTICITY  OP  THE  SCRIPTURES. 

Not  foriietting,  therefore,  what  credit  is  due  to 
the  evangelical  history,  supposing  even  any  v.ne 
of  the  four  Gospels  to  be  genuine ;  what  credit  is 
due  to  the  Gospels,  even  supposing  nothing  to  be 
known  concerning  them  but  that  they  were  writ- 
ten hy  early  disciples  of  the  religion,  and  received 
with  deterence  by  early  Christian  churches  :  more 
especially  not  forgetting  what  credit  is  due  to  the 
New  Testament  in  its  capacity  of  cM??iw/<3;a-e  evi- 
dence ;  we  now  proceed  to  state  the  proper  and 
distinct  proofs,  which  show  not  only  the  general 
value  of  these  records,  but  their  specific  authority, 
and  the  high  probability  there  is  that  they  actual- 
ly came  from  the  persons  whose  names  they  bear. 

There  are,  however,  a  few  preliminary  rcllec- 
tions,  by  which  we  may  draw  up  with  more  regu- 
larity to  the  propositions  upon  which  the  close 
and  particular  discussion  of  the  subject  depends. 
Of  which  nature  are  the  following: 

I.  We  are  able  to  produce  a  great  number  of 
ancient  manuscripts,  found  in  many  different 
countries,  and  in  countries  widely  distant  from 
each  other,  all  of  them  airterior  to  the  art  of  print- 


296 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


ing,  some  certainly  seven  or  eight  hundred  years 
old,  and  some  which  have  been  preserved  probably 
above  a  thousand  years.*  We  have  also  many 
ancient  rersions  of  these  books,  and  some  of  them 
into  languages  which  are  cot  at  present,  nor  f(3r 
many  ages  have  been,  spoken  in  any  part  of  the 
world.  The  existence  of  these  manuscripts  and 
vei'feions  proves  that  the  Scriptures  were  not  the 
production  of  any  modern  contrivance.  It  does 
away  also  the  uncertainty  which  hangs  over  such 
publications  as  the  works,  real  or  pretended,  of 
Ossian  and  Rowley,  in  which  the  editors  are 
challenged  to  produce  their  manuscripts,  and  to 
show  where  they  obtained  their  copies.  The 
number  of  manuscripts,  far  exceeding  those  of  any 
other  book,  and  their  wide  dispersion,  afford  an  ar- 
gument, in  some  measure  to  the  senses,  that  the 
Scriptures  anciently,  in  like  manner  as  at  tliis 
day,  were  more  read  and  sought  after  than  any 
other  books,  and  that  also  in  many  diflercnt  coun- 
tries. The  greatest  part  of  spurious  Christian 
writings  are  utterly  lost,  the  rest  preserved  by 
some  single  manuscript.  There  is  weight  also  in 
Dr.  Bentley's  observation,  that  the  New  Testa- 
ment has  suffered  less  injury  by  the  errors  of 
transcribers,  than  the  works  of  any  profane  author 
of  the  same  size  and  antiquity  ;  that  is,  there  ne- 
ver was  any  writing,  in  the  preservation  and  pu- 
rity of  which  the  world  was  so  interested  or  so 
careful. 

II.  An  argimient  of  great  weight  with  those 
who  are  judges  of  the  proofs  upon  which  it  is 
founded,  and  capable,  through  their  testimonj',  of 
being  addressed  to  every  understanding,  is  that 
which  arises  from  the  style  and  language  of  the 
New  Testament.  It  is  just  such  a  language  as 
might  be  expected  from  the  apostles,  from  persons 
of  their  age  and  in  their  situation,  and  from  no 
other  persons.  It  is  the  style  neither  of  classic 
autliors,  nor  of  the  ancient  Christian  Fathers,  but 
Greek  coming  from  men  of  Hebrew  origin; 
abounding,  that  is,  with  Hebraic  and  Syriac 
idioms,  such  as  would  naturally  be  found  in  the 
writings  of  men  who  used  a  language  spoken  in- 
deed where  they  lived,  but  not  the  common  dia- 
lect of  the  country.  This  happy  peculiarity  is  a 
strong  [iroof  of  the  genuineness  of  these  writings : 
for  who  should  forge  theml  The  Christian  fa- 
tliers  were  for  the  most  part  totally  ignorant  of 
Hebrew,  and  therefore  were  not  likely  to  insert 
Hebraisms  and  Syriasms  into  their  writings.  The 
few  who  had  a  knowledge  of  the  Hebrew,  as  Jus- 
tin Martyr,  Origen,  and  Epiphanius,  wrote  in  a 
language  which  bears  no  resemblance  to  that  of 
the  New  Testament.  The  Nazarenes,  who  un- 
dei-stood  Hebrew,  used  chiefly,  perhaps  almost 
entirely,  the  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew,  and  therefore 
cannot  be  suspected  of  forging  the  rest  of  the  sa- 
crt.'d  writings.  The  argument,  at  any  rate,  proves 
the  antiquity  of  these  liooks ;  that  they  belonged 
to  the  age  of  the  apostles ;  that  they  could  be 
composed  indeed  in  no  other.t 

III.  Why  should  we  question  the  genuineness 
of  these  books  1  Is  it  for  that  they  contain  accounts 
of  supernatural  events  1  I  apprehend  that  this,  at 
the  bottom,  is  the  real,  though  secret,  cause  of  our 

*  The  Alexandrian  manuscript,  now  in  the  British 
Museum,  was  written  probably  in  the  fourth  or  fifth 
century. 

t  See  this  argument  stated  more  at  large  in  Micliaelis's 
lutroihiction  (Marsh's  translation,)  vol.  i.  c.  ii.  sect.  10, 
from  whicli  these  observations  are  taKen 


hesitation  about  them :  for,  had  the  writings  in- 
scribed with  the  names  of  Matthew  and  John,  re- 
lated nothing  but  ordinary  history,  there  would 
have  been  no  more  doubt  whether  these  writings 
were  theirs,  than  there  is  concerning  the  acknow- 
ledged works  of  Joscphus  or  Philo ;  that  is,  there 
would  have  been  no  doubt  at  all.  Now  it  ought 
to  be  considered  that  tliis  reason,  however  it  may 
apply  to  the  credit  which  is  given  to  a  writer's 
judgment  or  veracity,  affects  the  question  of 
genuineness  very  indirectly.  The  works  of  Bede 
exhibit  many  wonderful  relations :  but  who,  tor 
that  reason,  doubts  that  they  were  written  by 
Bede  1  The  same  of  a  multitude  of  other  authors. 
To  which  may  be  added,  that  we  ask  no  more  for 
our  books  than  what  we  allow  to  other  books  in 
some  sort  similar  to  ours :  we  do  not  deny  the  ge- 
nuineness of  the  Koran;  we  admit  that  the  history 
of  ApoUonius  Tyanseus,  purporting  to  be  written 
by  Philostratus,  was  really  written  by  Pliilostratus. 

IV.  If  it  had  been  an  easy  thing  in  the  early 
times  of  the  institution  to  have  forged  Christian 
writings,  and  to  have  obtained  currency  and  re- 
ception to  the  forgeries,  we  should  have  had  many 
appearing  in  the  name  of  Christ  himself.  No 
writings  would  have  been  received  with  so  much 
avidity  and  respect  as  these :  consequently  none 
afforded  so  great  temptation  to  forgery.  Yet  have 
we  heard  but  of  one  attempt  of  this  sort,  deserving 
of  the  smallest  notice,  that  in  a  piece  of  a  very  few 
lines,  and  so  far  from  succeeding,  1  mean,  from 
obtaining  acceptance  and  reputation,  or  an  accept- 
ance and  reputation  in  any  wise  similar  to  that 
which  can  be  proved  to  have  attended  the  books 
of  the  New  Testament,  that  it  is  not  so  much  as 
mentioned  by  any  writer  of  the  first  three  centu- 
ries. The  learned  reader  need  not  be  informed 
that  I  mean  the  epistle  of  Christ  to  Abgarus,  king 
of  Edessa,  found  at  present  in  the  work  of  Euse- 
bius,*  as  a  piece  acknowledged  by  him,  though 
not  without  considerable  doubt  whether  the  whole 
passage  be  not  an  interpolation,  as  it  is  most  cer- 
tain, that,  after  the  publication  of  Eusebius's  work, 
this  epistle  was  universally  rejectcd.1" 

V.  If  the  ascription  of  the  Gospels  to  their  res- 
pective authors  had  been  arbitrary  or  conjectural, 
they  would  have  been  ascribed  to  more  eminent 
men.  This  observation  holds  concenring  the 
first  three  Gospels,  the  reputed  authors  of  which 
were  enabled,  by  their  situation,  to  obtain  true  in- 
telligence, and  were  likely  to  deliver  an  honest  ac- 
count of  what  they  knew,  but  were  persons  not 
distinguished  in  the  history  by  extraordinary 
marks  of  notice  or  comir.endation.  Of  the  apos- 
tles, I  hardly  know  any  one  of  whom  less  is  said 
than  of  Matthew,  or  of  whom  the  little  that  is 
said,  is  less  calculated  to  magnify  his  character. 
Of  Mark,  nothing  is  said  in  the  Gospels ;  and 
what  is  said  of  any  person  of  that  name  in  tlie 


*Hist.  Eccl.  lib.  i.e.  15. 

t  Aucustin,  A  D.  895,  (De  Consens.  Evang.  c.  34.)  had 
heard  that  the  I'afjans  pretended  to  be  possessed  of  an 
epistle  from  Christ  to  Peter  and  Taiil ;  but  he  had  never 
seen  it,  and  appears  to  doubt  nf  the  existence  of  any 
such  piece,  either  Pennine  or  spurious.  No  other  an 
cient  writer  mentions  it.  He  also,  and  he  alone,  ndijus, 
and  that  in  order  to  coni.emn  it,  an  epistle  a^cl]l^;•d 
to  Christ  by  the  Manichees,  A.  D.  270,  and  a  short  hymn 
attributed  to  him  bv  the  priscillianists,  A.  D.  :57H.  |  cdiit. 
Faust.  Man.  lib.  xxviii.  c.  4.]  The  lateness  of  the  w  ri- 
ter  who  notices  these  things,  the  manner  in  which  lie 
notices  them,  and,  above  all,  the  silence  of  every  prcce- 
aing  writer,  render  them  unworthy  of  consideration 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


297 


Acts,  and  in  the  Epistles,  in  no  part  bestows 

£  raise  or  eminence  upon  him.  The  name  of 
lUke  is  mentioned  only  in  Saint  Paul's  Epistles,  * 
and  that  very  transiently.  The  judgment,  there- 
fore, wliich  assigned  these  writings  to  these  au- 
thors proceeded,  it  may  be  presumed,  upon  proper 
knowledge  and  evidence,  and  not  upon  a  voluntary 
choice  oi  names. 

VI.  Christian  writers  and  Christian  churches 
appear  to  have  soon  arrived  at  a  very  general 
agreement  upon  the  subject,  and  that  without  the 
interposition  of  any  public  authority. — When  the 
diversity  of  opinion,  which  prevailed,  and  prevails 
among  Christians  in  other  points  is  considered, 
their  concurrence  in  the  canon  of  Scripture  is  re- 
markable, and  of  great  weight,  especially  as  it 
seems  to  have  been  the  result  of  private  and  free 
inquiry.  We  have  no  knowledge  of  any  interfe- 
rence of  authority  in  the  question,  before  the 
council  of  Laodicea  in  the  year  3G3.  Probably 
the  decree  of  this  council  rather  declared  than  re- 
gulated the  public  judgment,  or,  more  properly 
speaking,  the  judgment  of  some  neighbouring 
churches  ;  the  council  itself  consisting  of  no  more 
than  thirty  or  forty  bishops  of  Lydia  and  the  ad- 
joining countries,  t  Nor  does  its  authority  seem 
to  have  extended  further ;  for  we  find  numerous 
Christian  writers,  after  tliis  time,  discussing  the 
question,  "  What  books  were  entitled  to  be  re- 
ceived as  Scripture,"  with  great  freedom,  upon 
proper  grounds  of  evidence,  and  without  any  re- 
ference to  the  decision  at  Laodicea. 


These  considerations  are  not  to  be  neglected : 
but  of  an  argument  concerning  the  genuineness  of 
ancient  writings,  the  substance,  undoubtedly,  and 
strength,  is  ancient  testimony. 

This  testimony  it  is  necessary  to  exhibit  some- 
what in  detail;  for  when  Christian  advocates 
merely  tell  us,  that  we  have  the  same  reason  for 
belie  nng  the  Gospels  to  be  written  by  the  evan- 
gelists whose  name  they  bear,  as  we  have  for  be- 
lieving the  Commentaries  to  be  Cffisar's,  the 
.iEneid  Virgil's,  or  the  Orations  Cicero's,  they 
content  themselves  with  an  imperfect  representa- 
tion. They  state  nothing  more  than  what  is  true, 
but  they  do  not  state  the  truth  correctly.  In  the 
number,  variety,  and  early  date  of  our  testimonies, 
we  far  exceed  all  other  ancient  books.  For  one, 
which  the  most  celebrated  work  of  the  most  cele- 
brated Greek  or  Roman  writer  can  allege,  we  pro- 
duce many.  But  then  it  is  more  requisite  in  our 
books,  than  in  theirs,  to  separate  and  distinguish 
them  from  spurious  competitors.  The  result,  I 
am  convinced,  will  be  satisfactory  to  every  fair  in- 
quirer :  but  this  circumstance  renders  an  inquiry  ] 


ti  place  before  the  reader,  in  one  view,  the  propo- 
sitions which  comprise  the  several  heads  of  our 
testuiiony,  and  afterwards  to  repeat  the  same  pro- 
positions in  so  many  distinct  sections,  with  the 
necessary  authorities  subjoined  to  each.* 

The  ibllowing,  then,  are  the  allegations  upon 
the  subject,  which  are  capable  of  being  established 
by  proof: —  f 

I.  That  the  historical  books  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, meaning  thereby  the  four  Gospels  and 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  are  quoted,  or  alluded 
to,  by  a  series  of  Christian  writers,  beginning  with 
those  who  were  contemporary  with  the  a};ust!es, 
or  who  immediately  followed  them,  and  proceed- 
ing in  close  and  regular  succession  from  their  time 
to  the  present. 

II.  That  when  they  are  quoted,  or  alluded  to, 
they  are  quoted  or  alluded  to  with  peculiar  respect, 
as  books  sui  generis ;  as  possessing  an  authority 
which  belonged  to  no  other  books,  and  as  conclu- 
si\'e  in  all  questions  and  controversies  amongst 
Christians. 

III.  That  they  were,  in  very  early  times,  col- 
lected into  a  distinct  volume. 

IV.  That  they  were  distinguished  by  appropri- 
ate names  and  titles  of  res})ect. 

V.  That  they  were  publicly  read  and  expound- 
ed in  the  religious  assemblies  of  the  early  Chris- 
tians. 

VI.  That  commentaries  were  written  upon 
them,  harmonies  formed  out  of  them,  'diflercnt 
copies  carefully  collated,  and  versions  of  them 
made  into  different  languages. 

VII.  That  they  were  received  by  Christians 
of  different  sects,  by  many  heretics  as  well  as 
catholics,  and  usually  appealed  to  by  both  sides  in 
the  controversies  which  arose  in  those  days. 

VIII.  That  the  four  Gospels,  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  thirteen  Ejnstles  of  Saint  Paul,  the  first 
Epistle  of  John,  and  the  first  of  Peter,  were  re- 
ceived, without  doubt,  by  those  who  doubted  con- 
cerning the  other  books  which  are  included  m  our 
present  canon. 

IX.  That  the  Gospels  were  attacked  by  the 
early  adversaries  of  Christianity,  as  books  contain- 
ing the  accounts  upon  which  the  religion  was 
founded. 

X.  That  formal  catalogues  of  authentic  Scrip- 
tures were  published  ;  in  all  which  our  present 
sacred  histories  were  included. 

XI.  That  these  propositions  cannot  be  affirm- 
ed of  any  other  books  claiming  to  be  books  of 
Scripture  ;  by  which  are  meant  those  books  which 
are  commonly  called  apocryphal  books  of  the  New 
Testament 


necessary.  1 

In  a  work,  however,  like  the  present,  there  is  a  j 
difficulty  in  finding  a  place  for  evidence  of  this 
kind.  To  pursue  the  details  of  proofs  throughout, 
would  be  to  transcribe  a  great  part  of  Dr.  Lard- 
ner's  eleven  octavo  volumes :  to  leave  the  argu- 
ment without  proofs,  is  to  leave  it  without  effect ; 
for  the  persuasion  produced  by  this  species  of 
evidence  depends  upon  a  view  and  induction  of  the 
particulars  which  compose  it. 

The  method  wliich  I  propose  to  myself  is,  first 


*  Col.  iv.  14.    2  Tim.  iv.  11.    Pliilem.24. 
t  Lardner.Cred.  vol.  viii.p.  291.  et  seq. 
2P 


SECTION  I. 

TAe  historical  books  of  the  New  Testament, 
meaning  thereby  the  Jour  Gospels  and  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles,  are  quoted,  or  alluded  to,  by  a 
series  of  Christian  writers,  beginning  with, 
those  who  were  contemporary  xcith  the  apostles, 
or  who  immed lately  fulloiced  them,  and  pro- 
ceeding in  close  and  regular  succession  from 
their  time  to  the  present. 

*  The  reader,  when  he  has  the  propositions  before  him, 
will  observe  that  the  argument,  if  he  should  omit  the 
sections,  proceeds  couuectedly  from  this  point. 


298 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


The  metlium  of  proof  stated  in  this  proposition 
is,  of  all  others,  the  most  unquestionable,  the  least 
liable  to  any  practices  of  fraud,  and  is  not  dimi- 
nished by  the  lapse  of  ages.  Bishop  Burnet,  in 
the  History  of  his  Own  Times,  inserts  various  ex- 
tracts from  Lord  Clarendon's  History.  One  such 
insertion  is  a  proof,  that  Lord  Clarendon's  Histo- 
ry Was  extant  at  the  time  when  Bishop  Burnet 
wrote,  that  it  had  been  read  by  Bishop  Burnet, 
that  it  was  received  by  Bishop  Burnet  as  a  work 
of  Lord  Clarendon,  and  also  regarded  by  him  as 
an  authentic  account  of  the  transactions  which  it 
relates ;  and  it  will  be  a  proof  of  these  points  a 
thousand  years  hence,  or  as  long  as  the  books 
exist,  (iuintillian  having  quoted  as  Cicero's,  * 
that  well-known  trait  of  dissembled  vanity: — 

"  Si  quid  est  in  ine  ingenii,  Judices,  quod  sentio  quam 
sit  exiguuui ;" — 

the  quotation  would  be  strong  evidence,  were  there 
any  doubt,  that  the  oration  which  opens  with  this 
address,  actually  came  from  Cicero's  pen.  These 
instances,  however  simple,  may  serve  to  point  out 
to  a  reader,  who  is  little  accustomed  to  such  re- 
searches, the  nature  and  value  of  the  argument. 

The  testimonies  which  we  have  to  bring  for- 
ward under  this  proposition  are  the  following : 

I.  There  is  extant  an  epistle  ascribed  to  Barna- 
bas, t  the  companion  of  Paul.  It  is  quoted  as  the 
epistle  of  Barnabas,  by  Clement  of  Alexandria, 
A.  D.  cxciv;  by  Origen,  A.  D.  ccxxx.  It  is 
mentioned  by  Euscbius,  A.  D.  cccxv,  and  by 
Jerome,  A.  D.  cccxcii,  as  an  ancient  work  in 
their  time,  bearing  the  name  of  Barnabas,  and  as 
well  known  and  read  amongst  Christians,  though 
not  accounted  a  part  of  Scripture.  It  purports  to 
have  been  written  soon  after  the  destruction  of 
Jerusalem,  during  the  calamities  which  followed 
that  disaster ;  and  it  bears  the  character  of  the 
age  to  which  it  professes  to  belong. 

In  this  epistle  appears  the  following  remarka- 
ble passage ; — "  Let  us,  therefore,  beware  lest  it 
come  upon  us,  as  it  is  writlcn;  There  are  many 
called,  lew  chosen."  From  the  expression,  "  as  it 
is  written,"  we  infer  with  certainty,  that  at  the 
time  when  the  author  of  this  epistle  lived,  there 
was  a  book  extant,  well  known  to  Christians, 
and  of  authority  amongst  them,  containing  these 
words: — "  Many  are  called,  few  chosen."  Such 
a  book  is  our  present  Gospel  of  Saint  Matthew, 
in  which  tiiis  text  is  twice  found,  t  and  is  found  in 
no  otlier  book  now  known.  There  is  a  further 
observation  to  be  made  upon  the  terms  of  the  quo- 
tation. The  writer  of  the  epistle  was  a  Jew. 
The  phrase  "  is  written,"  was  the  very  form  in 
which  the  Jews  quoted  their  Scriptures.  It  is 
not  probable,  therefore,  that  he  would  have  used 
this  phrase,  and  without  qualification,  of  any 
books  but  what  had  acquired  a  kind  of  Scriptural 
authority.  If  the  passage  remarked  in  this  an- 
cient writing  had  been  found  in  one  of  St.  Paul's 
Epistles,  it  would  have  been  esteemed  by  every 
one  a  high  testimony  to  Saint  Matthew's  Gospel. 
It  ought,  therefore,  to  be  remembered,  that  the 
writing  in  which  it  is  found  was  probably  by  very 
few  years  posterior  to  those  of  Saint  Paul. 


*  Guint.  lib.  xi.  c.  i. 

t  Ijardner,  Cred  edit.  1755,  vol.  i.  p.  S3,  et  seq.  The 
reader  will  observe  from  the  references,  that  the  inate- 
rials  of  these  sections  are  almost  entirely  extracted  from 
Dr.  Lardner's  work ; — my  office  consisted  in  arrange- 
ment and  selection. 

t  Matt.  XX.  10 ;  xxM.  14. 


Beside  this  passage,  there  are  also  in  tho 
epistle  before  us  several  others,  in  which  the  sen- 
timent is  the  same  with  what  we  meet  with  in 
Saint  Matthew's  Gospel,  and  two  or  three  in 
which  we  recognise  the  same  words.  In  particu- 
lar, the  author  of  the  epistle  repeats  the  precept, 
"  Give  to  every  one  that  asketh  thee ;"  *  and  siiiih 
that  Christ  chose  as  his  apostles,  who  were  to 
preach  the  Gospel,  men  who  were  great  sinner.s, 
that  he  might  show  that  he  came  "not  to  call  the 
rigliteous,  but  sinners  to  repentance."  + 

II.  We  are  in  possession  of  an  epistle  written 
by  Clement,  bishop  of  Rome,t  whom  ancient 
writers,  without  any  doubt  or  scruple,  assert  to 
have  been  the  Clement  whom  Saint  Paul  mentions, 
Phil.  iv.  3 ;  "  with  Clement  also,  and  other  my 
fellow-labourers,  whose  names  are  in  the  book  ot 
hfe."  This  epistle  is  spoken  of  by  the  ancients  as 
an  epistle  acknowledged  by  all ;  and,  as  Irena;us 
well  represents  its  value,  "written  by  Clement, 
who  had  seen  the  blessed  apostles,  and  conversed 
with  them  ;  who  had  the  preaching  of  the  apostles 
still  sounding  in  his  ears,  and  their  traditions  be- 
fore his  e^es."  It  is  addressed  to  the  church  of 
Corinth;  and  what  alone  may  seem  almost  deci- 
sive of  its  authenticity,  Dionysius,  bishop  of  Co- 
rinth, about  the  year  170,  i.  e.  about  eighty  or 
ninety  years  ailer  the  epistle  was  written,  bears 
witness,  "  that  it  had  been  wont  to  be  read  in  that 
church  from  ancient  times." 

This  epistle  affords,  amongst  others,  the  follow- 
ing valuable  passages : — "  Especially  remembering 
the  words  of  the  Lord  Jesus  which  he  spake, 
teaching  gentleness  and  long-suflering :  for  thus 
he  said  :§  '  Be  ye  merciful,  that  ye  may  obtain 
mercy ;  forgive,  that  it  may  be  forgiven  unto  you  ; 
as  you  do,  so  shall  it  be  done  unto  you ;  as  you 
give,  so  shall  it  be  given  tmto  you;  as  ye  judge,  so 
shall  ye  be  judged;  as  ye  show  kindness,  so  shall 
kindness  be  shown  unto  you ;  with  what  measure 
ye  mete,  with  the  same  shall  it  be  measured  to 
j'ou.'  By  this  command,  and  by  these  rules,  let 
us  establish  ourselves,  that  we  may  always  walk 
obediently  to  his  holy  words." 

Again;  "Remember  the  words  of  the  Lord  Je- 
sus, for  he  said, '  Wo  to  that  man  by  whom  oflences 
come  ;  it  were  better  for  him  that  he  had  not  been 
born,  than  that  he  should  ofiend  one  of  ni}'  ele(  t ; 
it  were  better  for  him  that  a  mill-stone  should  be 
tied  about  his  neck,  and  that  he  should  be  drowned 
in  the  sea,  than  that  he  should  ofiend  one  of  my 
little  ones.'  "II 

In  both  these  passages,  we  perceive  the  high 
respect  paid  to  the  words  of  Christ  as  recorded  by 
the  evangelists ;  "  Remember  the  words  of  the 
Lord  Jesus ; — by  this  command,  and  by  these  rules, 
let  us  establish  ourselves,  that  we  may  always  walk 

*  Matt.  V.  42.  t  Matt.  ix.  13. 

t  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  i.  p.  62,  et  seq. 

§  "Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain 
mercy,"  Matt.  v.  7.  "Forgive,  and  ye  shall  be  forsiven; 
give,  and  it  shall  be  given  unto  you,"  Luke  vi.  37,  3d. 
"  Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged ;  for  with  what  judg- 
ment ye  judge,  ye  shall  be  judged  ;  and  with  what  mea- 
sure ye  mete,  it  shall  be  measured  to  you  again,"  Matt. 
vii.  1,2. 

II  Matt,  xviii.  6.  "  But  whoso  shall  offend  one  ofthese 
lille  ones  which  believe  in  me,  it  were  better  fer  liiu; 
that  a  mill-stone  were  hanged  about  his  neck,  and  thai 
he  were  cast  into  the  sea."  The  latter  part  of  the  pas 
sage  in  Clement  agrees  more  exactly  with  Luke  x^  ii  2 
"  It  were  better  for  him  that  a  mill-stone  were  hiiiigi'd 
about  his  neck,  and  he  cast  into  the  sea,  than  thai  he 
should  offend  one  of  these  little  ones  " 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


21)9 


oliedicntly  to  his  holy  words."  We  perceive  also 
in  CieiiieiU  a  total  unconsciousness  of  doubt,  whe- 
ther these  were  the  real  words  of  Christ,  which 
are  read  as  such  in  the  Gospels.  This  ohservation 
indeed  helongs  to  the  whole  series  of  testimony, 
and  especially  to  the  most  ancient  part  of  it. 
Whenever  any  thing  now  read  in  the  Gospels  is 
met  with  in  an  early  Christian  writing,  it  is  al- 
ways ol)served  to  stand  there  as  acknowledged 
truth,  i.  c  to  be  introduced  without  hesitation, 
doubt,  or  apology.  It  is  to  be  observed  also,  that, 
as  this  epistle  was  written  in  the  name  of  the 
church  of  Rome,  and  addressed  to  the  church  of 
Corinth,  it  ought  to  be  taken  as  exhibiting  the 
judgment  not  only  of  Clement,  who  drew  up  the 
letter,  but  of  these  churches  themselves,  at  least 
as  to  the  authority  of  the  books  referred  to. 

It  may  be  said,  that,  as  Clement  has  not  used 
woi'ds  of  quotation,  it  is  not  certain  that  he  refers 
to  any  book  whatever.  The  words  of  Christ, 
which  he  has  put  down,  he  might  himself  have 
heard  from  the  apostles,  or  might  have  received 
through  the  ordinary  medium  of  oral  tradition. 
This  has  been  said :  but  that  no  such  inference 
can  be  drawn  from  the  absence  of  words  of  quota- 
tion, is  proved  by  the  three  following  considera- 
tions:—  First,  that  Clement,  in  the  very  same 
manner,  namely,  without  any  mark  of  reference, 
uses  a  passage  now  found  in  the  epistle  to  the  Ro- 
mans;* which  passage,  from  the  peculiarity  of  the 
words  which  compose  it,  and  from  their  order,  it 
is  manifest  that  he  must  have  taken  from  the  hook. 
The  same  remark  may  be  rejieated  of  some  very 
singular  sentiments  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews. 
Secondly,  that  there  are  many  sentences  of  Saint 
Paul's  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  standing  in 
Clement's  epistle  without  any  sign  of  quotation, 
which  yet  certainly  are  quotations  ;  because  it  ap- 
pears that  Clement  had  Saint  Paul's  epistle  before 
him,  inasmuch  as  in  one  place  he  mentions  it  in 
terms  too  express  to  leave  us  in  any  doubt : — 
"  Take  into  your  hands  the  epistle  of  the  blessed 
apostle  Paul"  Thirdly,  that  this  method  of 
adopting  words  of  Scripture  without  reference  or 
acknowledgment,  was,  as  will  appear  in  the  sequel, 
a  method  in  general  use  amongst  the  most  ancient 
Christian  writers. — These  analogies  not  only  re- 
pel the  objection,  but  cast  the  presumption  on  the 
other  side,  and  afford  a  considerable  degree  of  posi- 
tive proof,  that  the  words  in  question  have  been 
borrowed  from  the  places  of  Scripture  in  which 
we  now  find  them. 

But  take  it  if  you  will  the  other  way,  that  Cle- 
ment had  heard  these  words  from  the  apostles  or 
first  teachers  of  Christianity;  with  respect  to  the 
precise  point  of  our  argument,  viz.  that  the  Scrip- 
tures contain  what  the  apostles  taught,  this  suppo- 
sition may  serve  almost  as  well. 

ni.  Near  the  conclusion  of  the  Epistle  to  the 
Romans,  Saint  Paul,  amongst  others,  sends  the 
following  salutation:  "Salute  Asyncritus,  Phle- 
gon.  Hennas,  Patrobas,  Hermes,  and  the  brethren 
which  are  with  them." 

Of  Hennas,  who  appears  in  this  catalogue  of 
Roman  Christians  as  contemporary  with  Saint 
Paul,  a  book  bearing  the  name,  and  it  is  most  pro- 
b.dile  rightly,  is  still  remaining.  It  is  called  the 
Shepherdjt  or  Pastor  of  Hennas.  Its  antiquity  is 
incontestahle,  from  the  quotations  of  it  in  IreiiKUS, 


*  Romans  i.  29. 

t  Lardner,  CreJ.  vol.  i.  p.  111. 


A.  D.  178;  Clement  of  Alexandria,  A.  D.  101; 
Tertullian,  A.  D.  200 ;  Origen,  A.  D.  230.  The 
notes  of  time  extant  in  the  epistle  itself,  agree 
with  this  title,  and  with  the  testimonies  concern- 
ing it,  for  it  purports  to  have  been  written  during 
the  life-time  of  Clement. 

In  this  piece  are  tacit  allusions  to  Saint  Mat- 
thew's, Saint  Luke's,  and  Saint  John's  Gospels ; 
that  is  to  say,  there  are  applications  of  thoughts 
and  exjiressions  found  in  these  Gospels,  without 
citing  the  place  or  writer  from  which  they  were 
taken.  In  this  form  appear  in  Hennas,  the  con- 
fessing and  denying  of  Christ;*  the  parable  of  the 
seed  sown  ;t  the  comparison  of  Christ's  disciples  to 
little  children;  the  saying,  "  he  that  putteth  away 
his  wife,  and  marrieth  another,  committeth  adul- 
tery ;t  the  singular  expression  "having  received 
all  power  from  his  Father,"  in  probable  allusion  to 
Matt,  xxviii.  18 ;  and  Christ  being  the  "  gate,"  or 
only  way  of  coming  "  to  God,"  in  plain  allusion  to 
John  xiv.  G;  X.  7.  9.  There  is  also  a  probable  al- 
lusion to  Acts  v.  32. 

This  piece  is  the  representation  of  a  vision,  and 
has  by  many  been  accounted  a  weak  and  fiinciful 
performance.  I  therefore  observe,  that  the  charac- 
ter of  the  writing  has  little  to  do  with  the  purpose 
for  which  we  adduce  it.  It  is  the  age,  in  which  it 
was  composed,  that  gives  the  value  to  its  testimony. 

IV.  Ignatius,  as  it  is  testified  by  ancient  Chris- 
tian writers,  became  bishop  of  Antioch  about 
thirty-seven  years  alter  Christ's  ascension  ;  and, 
therefore,  from  his  time,  and  place,  and  station,  it 
is  probable  that  he  had  known  and  conversed  with 
many  of  the  apostles.  Epistles  of  Ignatius  are  re- 
ferred to  by  Poly  carp,  his  contemporary.  Pas- 
sages found  in  the  epistles  now  extant  under  his 
name,  arc  quoted  by  Irena;us,  A.  D.  178 ;  by  Ori- 
gen, A.  D.  230 :  and  the  occasion  of  writing  the 
epistles  is  given  at  large  by  Eusebius  and  Jerome. 
What  are  called  the  smaller  epistles  of  Ignatius, 
are  generally  deemed  to  be  those  which  were  read 
by  Irenreus,  Origen,  and  Eusebius. § 

In  these  epistles  are  various  undoubted  allusions 
to  the  Gospels  of  Saint  Matthew  and  Saint  John ; 
yet  so  far  of  the  same  form  with  those  in  the  pro- 
ceding  articles,  that,  like  them,  they  are  not  ac- 
companied with  marks  of  quotation. 

Of  these  allusions  the  following  are  clear  speci- 
mens : 

"  Christ  was  baptized  of  John,  that  all 
jh teous?iess  vi  ight  befulfiUcd  by  h  im." 
"  Be  ye  as  icise  as  serpents  in  all 
things,  and  karniless  as  a  dove." 

"  Yet  the  Spirit  is  not  deceived,  being 
from  God :  for  it  knows  whence  it  comes, 
and  irhither  it  goes." 
John.'S  <;  "  He  (Christ)  is  the  door  of  the  Fa- 
ther, by  which  enter  in  Abraham,  and 
Isaac,  and  Jacob,  and  the  apostles  and 
the  church." 


*  Matt.  X.  3-2,  33,  or,  Luke  .\ii.  8,  9. 

t  Matt.  xiii.  3,  or,  Luke  viii.  5. 

t  Luke  xvi.  18.  §  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  i.  p.  147. 

|(  Cliap.  iii.  1.1.  "  For  thus  it  beconieth  us  to  fulfil  all 
righteousness." 

Chap.  X.  16.  "  Be  ye  therefore  wise  as  serpents,  and 
harmless  as  doves." 

V  Chap.  iii.  8.  "The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth, 
and  thou  heaifst  the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell 
whence  it  comefh  and  icliither  it  goetli ;  so  is  every  one 
that  is  born  ol'the  Spirit." 

Chap  X.  !i.  "  1  am  the  door ;  by  me  if  any  man  ente» 
in,  he  shall  be  saved." 


Matt.\ 


fw 


3ao 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


As  to  the  manner  of  quotation,  this  is  observ- 
ablp ; — Ignatius,  in  one  place,  speaks  of  Saint  Paul 
in  tenns  of  high  respect,  and  quotes  his  Epistle  to 
the  Ephesians  by  name ;  yet,  in  several  other 
places,  he  borrows  words  and  sentiments  from  the 
same  epistle  without  mentioning  it ;  which  shows, 
that  this  was  his  general  manner  of  using  and  ap- 
plying writings  then  extant,  and  then  of  high  au- 
thority. 

V.  Polycarp*  had  been  taught  by  the  apostles ; 
had  conversed  with  many  who  had  seen  Christ ; 
was  also,  by  the  apostles,  appointed  bishop  of 
Smyrna.  This  testimony  concerning  Polycarp  is 
given  by  IrenfBUs,  who  in  his  youth  had  seen  him  : 
— "  I  can  tell  the  place,"  saith  Ircnseus,  "in  which 
the  Ijlessed  Polycarp  sat  and  taught,  and  his  going 
out  and  coming  in,  and  the  manner  of  his  life  and 
the  form  of  his  person,  and  the  discourses  he  made 
to  the  people,  and  how  he  related  his  conversation 
with  John,  and  others  who  had  seen  the  Lord, 
and  how  he  had  related  their  sayings,  and  what 
he  had  heard  concerning  the  Lord,  both  concern- 
ing his  miracles  and  his  doctrine,  as  he  had  re- 
ceived them  from  the  eye-witnesses  of  the  word  of 
lile :  all  which  Polycarp  related  agreeable  to  the 
Scriptures." 

Of  Polycarp,  whose  proximity  to  tlie  age  and 
country  and  persons  of  the  apostles  is  thus  attested, 
we  have  one  undoulifed  epistle  remaining.  And 
this,  though  a  short  letter,  contains  nearly  forty 
clear  allusions  to  books  of  the  New  Testament; 
which  is  strong  evidence  of  the  respect  which 
Christians  of  that  age  bore  for  these  books. 

Amongst  these,  although  the  writings  of  Saint 
Paul  are  more  frequently  used  by  Polycarp  than 
any  other  parts  of  Scripture,  there  are  copious  al- 
lusions to  the  Gospel  of  Saint  Matthew,  some  to 
passages  found  in  the  Gospels  both  of  Matthew 
and  Luke,  and  some  which  more  nearly  resemble 
the  words  in  Luke. 

I  select  t  he  following,  as  fixing  the  authority  of 
the  Lord's  jirayer,  and  the  use  of  it  amongst  the 
primitive  Christians  :  "  If  therefore  we  pray  the 
Lord,  that  he  will  forgive  ws,  we  ought  also  to 
forgive." 

"With  supplication  beseeching  the  all-seeing 
God  not  to  lead  us  into  temptation." 

And  the  following,  for  the  sake  of  repeating  an 
observation  already  made,  that  words  of  our  Lord 
found  in  our  Gospels,  were  at  this  early  day  quoted 
as  spoken  by  him  ;  and  not  only  so,  but  quoted 
with  so  little  question  or  consciousness  of  doubt 
about  their  being  really  his  words,  as  not  even  to 
mention,  nmch  less  to  canvass,  the  authority  from 
which  they  were  taken  : 

"  But  remembering  what  the  Lord  said,  teach- 
ing, Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged ;  forgive, 
and  ye  shall  be  forgiven ;  be  ye  merciful,  that  ye 
may  olitain  mercy  ;  with  what  measure  ye  mete, 
it  shall  be  measured  to  you  again. "t 

Supposing  Polycarp  to  have  had  these  words 
from  the  books  in  which  we  now  find  them,  it  is 
manifest  that  these  books  were  considered  by  him, 
and.  as  he  thought,  considered  by  his  readers,  as 
authentic  accounts  of  Christ's  discourses;  and  that 
that  point  was  incontestable. 

The  following  is  a  decisive,  though  what  we 
fall  a  tacit,  reference  to  Saint  Peter's  speech  in 


*  I,ar(lner,  Crert.  vol.  i.  p.  102. 

t  Mail.  vii.  1,  2.  v.  7.    Luke  vi.  37,  ZS. 


the  Acts  of  the  Apostles : — "  whom   God  hath 
raised,  having  loosed  the  pains  of  death."* 

VI.  PapiaSjt  a  hearer  of  Joiin,  and  companion 
of  Polycarp,  as  Irenseus  attests,  and  of  that  acre,  as 
all  agree,  in  a  passage  quoted  by  Eusebius,  from  a 
work  now  lost,  expressly  ascribes  the  respective 
Gospels  to  Matthew  and  Mark;  and  in  a  manner 
which  proves  that  these  Gospels  must  have  pub- 
licly borne  the  names  of  these  authors  at  that 
time,  and  probably  long  before ;  for  Papias  does 
not  say  that  one  Gospel  was  written  by  Matthew, 
and  another  by  Mark ;  but,  assuming  this  as  per- 
fectly well  known,  he  tells  us  from  what  materials 
Mark  collected  his  account,  viz.  from  Peter's 
preaching,  and  in  what  language  Matthew  wrote, 
viz.  in  Hebrew.  Whether  Papias  was  well  in- 
formed in  this  statement,  or  not :  to  the  point  for 
which  I  ])roduce  this  testimony,  namely,  that  these 
books  bore  these  names  at  this  time,  his  authority 
is  complete. 

The  writers  hitherto  alleged,  had  all  lived  and 
conversed  with  some  of  the  apostles.  The  works 
of  theirs  wliich  remain,  are  in  general  very  short 
pieces,  yet  rendered  extremely  valuable  by  their 
antiquity;  and  none,  short  as  they  are,  but  what 
contain  some  important  testimony  to  our  histori- 
cal Scriptures. t 

VII.  Not  long  after  these,  that  is,  not  much 
more  than  twenty  years  after  the  last,  follows 
Justin  Mart)a".§  His  remaining  works  are  much 
larger  than  any  that  have  yet  been  noticed.  Al- 
though the  nature  of  his  two  principal  writings, 
one  of  which  was  addressed  to  heatlicns,  and  the 
other  was  a  conference  with  a  Jew,  did  not  lead 
him  to  such  frequent  appeals  to  Christian  books, 
as  would  have  appeared  in  a  discourse  intendeil 
for  Christian  readers;  we  nevertheless  reckon  up 
in  them  between  twenty  and  thirty  quotations  of 
the  Gospels  and  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  certain, 
distinct,  and  copious :  if  each  verse  be  counted 
separately,  a  much  greater  number ;  if  each  ex- 
pression, a  very  great  one. II 

We  meet  with  quotations  of  three  of  the  Gos- 
pels within  the  compass  of  half  a  page:  "  And  in 
other  words  he  says.  Depart  from  me  into  outer 
darkness,  which  the  Father  hath  prepared  for 
Satan  and  his  angels,"  (which  is  from  Matthew 
XXV.  41.)  "  And  again  he  said  in  other  words,  I 
give  unto  you  power  to  tread  upon  serpents,  and 
scorpions,  and  venomous  beasts,  and  upon  all  the 
power  of  the  enemy."  (This  from  Luke  x.  19.) 
''  And  before  he  was  crucified,  he  said.  The  Son 
of  Man  must  suifer  many  things,  and  be  rejected 
of  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  and  be  crucified, 

*  Acts  ii.  24.  t  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  i.  p.  'i'X\. 

X  That  the  qnotalinns  are  more  thinly  strown  in 
these,  than  in  the  writings  of  the  next  and  of  succi'ediiii; 
ages,  is  in  a  wood  inea.^nre  accounted  for  by  the  observa- 
tion, that  the  Pcriplurrs  of  thfi  New  Testament  had  not 
?/ct,  nor  by  their  rcri'ncy  hardly  cnuld  have,  become  a 
general  part  of  Christian  education  ;  read  as  the  Old 
Testament  was  by  Jews  and  Christians  from  their 
childhood,  and  thereby  intiuKilely  mixing,  as  tliat  had 
long  done,  with  all  their  reliuious  ideas.  ,ind  with  Ihoir 
language  upon  religiou.s  subjects.  In  process  of  time, 
and  as  soon  perhaps  as  could  be  expected,  this  came  to 
be  the  case.  And  then  wr  perceive  the  effect,  in  a  pro- 
portionably  greater  frequency,  as  well  as  copiousness  of 
allusion.  IT 

5  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  i.  p.  258. 

\\  "  He  cites  our  present  canon,  and  particularly  our 
four  Gospels,  continually,  I  dare  say,  above  two  hun- 
dred times."  Jones's  New  and  full  ftlethod.  Append. 
vol.  i.  p.  589  ed.  (72ii. 

TT  Mich.  Introd.  c.ii,  sect.  vi. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


301 


and  rise  again  the  third  day."  (This  from  Mark 
viii.  31.) 

In  anothe'"  place,  Justin  quotes  a  passage  in 
the  history  of  Christ's  birth,  as  delivered  bj'  Alat- 
thew  and  John,  and  fortifies  his  quotation  by  this 
remarkable  testimony :  "  As  they  have  taught, 
who  ha\'e  written  the  history  of  all  tilings  con- 
cerning our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ:  and  we  be- 
lieve them." 

(Quotations  are  also  found  from  the  Gospel  of 
Saint  John. 

"What,  moreover,  seems  extremely  material  to 
be  observed  is,  that  in  all  Justin's  works,  from 
which  might  be  extracted  almost  a  complete  life 
of  Christ,  there  are  but  two  instances,  in  which 
he  reiers  to  any  thing  as  said  or  done  by  Christ, 
which  is  not  related  concerning  him  in  our  pre- 
sent Gospels :  which  shows,  that  these  Gospels, 
and  these;  we  may  say,  alone,  were  the  authori- 
ties from  which  the  Christians  of  that  day  drew 
the  information  upon  which  they  depended.  One 
of  these  instances  is  of  a  saying  of  Christ,  not 
met  with  in  any  book  now  extant.*  The  other, 
of  a  circumstance  in  Christ's  baptism,  namely,  a 
fiery  or  luminous  appearance  upon  the  water, 
which,  according  to  Epiphanius,  is  noticed  in  the 
Gospel  of  the  Hebrews:  and  which  might  lie 
true :  but  which,  whether  true  or  false,  is  men- 
tioned by  Justin,  with  a  plain  mark  of  diminution 
when  compared  with  what  he  quotes  as  resting 
upon  Scripture  authority.  The  reader  will  ad- 
vert to  this  distinction :  "  And  then,  when  Je- 
sus came  to  the  river  Jordan,  where  Jolm  was 
baptizing,  as  Jesus  descended  into  the  water,  a 
fire  also  was  kindled  in  Jordan ;  and  wlien  he 
came  up  out  of  the  water,  the  apostles  of  this  our 
Christ  have  icri'ten,  that  the  Holy  Ghost  hghted 
upon  him  as  a  dove." 

All  the  references  in  Justin  are  made  without 
mentioning  the  author;  which  proves  that  these 
books  were  perfectly  notorious,  and  that  there 
were  no  other  accounts  of  Christ  then  extant,  or, 
at  .Vast,  no  others  so  received  and  credited  as  to 
make  it  necessary  to  distinguish  these  from  the 
rest 

But  although  Justin  mentions  not  the  author's 
name,  he  calls  the  books,  "  Memoirs  composed 
by  the  Apostles;"  "Memoirs  composed  by  the 
Apostles  and  their  Companions ;"  which  descrip- 
tions, the  latter  especially,  exactly  suit  with  the 
titles  which  the  Gospels  and  Acts  of  the  Apostles 
now  bear. 

VIII.  Hegesippust  came  about  thirty  years 
after  Justin.  His  testimony  is  remarkable  only 
for  tliis  particular ;  that  he  relates  of  himself,  that, 


*  "  Wherefore  also  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has  said,  in 
whatsoever  I  shall  find  you,  in  the  samel  will  also  judge 
you."  Possibly  Justin  designed  not  to  quote  any  text, 
but  to  represent  the  sense  of  many  of  our  Lord's  sayings. 
Fabricus  has  observed,  that  this  saying  has  been  quoted 
by  many  writers,  and  that  Justin  is  the  only  one  who 
ascribes  it  to  our  Lord,  and  that  perhaps  by  a  slip  of  his 
ine\nory. 

Words  resembling  these  are  read  repeatedly  in  Eze- 
kiel:  "I  will  judge  them  according  to  their  ways ;"' 
(chap.  vii.  3  ;  x.xxiii.  20.)  It  is  remarkable  that  Justin 
had  just  before  expre.-sly  quoted  Ezekiel.  Mr.  Jones 
upon  this  circumstance  founded  a  conjecture,  that  Jus- 
tin wrote  only  "  the  Lord  hath  said,"  intending  to  quote 
the  words  of  God,  or  rather  the  sense  of  those  words  in 
Ezekiel ;  and  that  some  transcriber,  imagining  these  to 
be  the  words  of  Christ,  inserted  in  his  copy  the  addition 
"  Jesus  Christ."    Vol.  i.  p.  539. 

t  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  i.  p.  314. 


travelling  from  Palestine  to  Rome,  he  visited,  on 
his  journey,  many  bishops;  and  that,  "in  every 
succession,  and  in  every  city,  the  same  doctrine  is 
taught,  which  the  Law  and  the  Prophets,  and  the 
jLorJteacheth."  This  is  an  important  attestati^-n, 
from  good  authority,  and  of  high  antiquit}'.  It  is 
generally  understood,  that  by  the  v/ord  "Lord,'' 
Hegesippus  intended  some  writing  or  writings, 
contauiing  the  teaching  of  Christ,  in  winch  sense 
alone  the  term  combines  with  the  other  terms 
"Law  and  Prophets,''  which  denote  writings; 
and  together  with  them  admit  of  the  verb  "  tcach- 
cth"  in  the  present  tense.  Then  that  these 
writings  w-ere  some  or  all  of  the  books  of  the 
New  Testament,  is  rendered  probable  from 
hence,  that  in  the  fragments  of  his  works,  which 
are  preserved  in  Eusebius,  and  in  a  writer  of  the 
nmth  century,  enough,  though  it  be  little,  is  left 
to  show,  that  Hegesipjms  expressed  divers  things 
in  the  style  of  the  Gospels,  and  of  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles;  that  he  referred  to  the  history  in  the 
second  chapter  of  Matthew,  and  recited  a  text  of 
that  Gospel  as  spoken  by  our  Lord. 

IX.  At  this  time,  viz.  about  the  year  170,  the 
churches  of  Lyons  and  Vienne,  in  France,  sent 
a  relation  of  the  sufierings  of  their  mart}Ts  to  the 
churches  of  Asia  and  Phrygia.  *  The  epistle  is 
preserved  entire  by  Eusebius.  And  what  carries 
in  some  measure  the  testimony  of  these  churches 
to  a  higher  age,  is,  that  they  had  now  for  their 
bishop,  Pothinus,  who  was  ninety  years  old,  and 
whose  early  life  consequently  must  have  lunne- 
diately  joined  on  with  the  times  of  the  apostles. 
In  this  epistle  are  exact  references  to  the  Gospels 
of  Luke  and  John,  and  to  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles ;  the  form  of  reference  the  same  as  in  all  the 
preceding  articles.  That  from  Saint  John  is  iii 
these  words  :  "  Then  was  fulfilled  that  which  was 
spoken  by  the  Lord,  that  whosoever  killeth  you, 
will  think  that  he  doeth  God  service."  t 

X.  The  evidence  now  opens  upon  us  full  and 
clear.  Irenseust  succeeded  Potbjnus  as  bishop 
of  L3-ons.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  a  disciple  of 
Polycarp,  who  was  a  disciple  of  John.  In  the 
time  in  which  he  lived,  he  was  distant  not  much 
more  than  a  century  from  the  pubhcation  of  the 
Gospels ;  in  his  instruction,  only  by  one  step  sepa- 
rated from  the  persons  of  the  apostles.  He  as- 
serts of  himself  and  his  contcmporaiies,  that  they 
were  able  to  reckon  up,  in  all  the  principal 
churches,  the  succession  of  bishops  from  the  first.  § 
I  remark  these  particulars  concerning  Irensus 
with  more  formality  than  usual ;  because  the  tes- 
timony which  this  writer  affords  to  the  liistorical 
books  of  the  New  Testament,  to  their  authorit}-, 
and  to  the  titles  which  they  bear,  is  express,  posi- 
tive, and  exclusive.  One  principal  passage,  in 
which  this  testimony  is  contained,  opens  with  a 
precise  assertion  of  the  point  which  we  have  laid 
down  as  the  foundation  of  our  argument,  viz.  that 
the  story  which  the  Gospels  exliibit,  is  the  story 
which  the  apostles  told.  "  We  have  not  received," 
saith  Irenseus,  "  the  knowledge  of  the  way  of  our 
salvation  by  any  others  than  those  by  whom  the 
Gospel  has  been  brought  to  us.  Which  Gospel 
they  first  preached,  and  afterwards,  by  the  will  of 
God,  committed  to  writing,  that  it  might  be  for  time 
to  come  the  foundation  and  pillar  of  our  faith.- 


*  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  i.  p  332. 
t  John  xvi.  2.  |  Lardner,  vol.  i.  p.  314. 

6  Adv   Hieres.  1.  iii.  c.  3. 
26 


30-2 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


For  after  that  our  Lord  rose  from  the  dead,  and 
they  (the  apostles)  were  endowed  from  above  with 
the  power  of  the  bloly  Ghost  coming  down  upon 
them,  they  received  a  perfect  knowledge  of  all 
things.  They  then  went  forth  to  all  the  ends  of 
the  earth,  declaring  to  men  the  blessing  of  hea- 
venly peace,  having  all  of  them,  and  every  one, 
alike  the  Gospel  of  God.  Matthew,  then  among 
the  Jews,  wrote  a  Gospel  in  their  own  language, 
while  Peter  and  Paul  were  preaching  the  Gospel 
at  Rome,  and  founding  a  church  there  :  and  after 
their  exit,  Mark  also,  the  disciple  and  interpreter 
of  Peter,  delivered  to  us  in  writing  the  things  that 
had  been  preached  by  Peter ;  and  Luke,  the  com- 
panion of  Paul,  put  down  in  a  book  the  Gospel 
preached  by  him  (Paul.)  Afterwards  John,  the 
disciple  of  tlie  Lord,  who  also  leaned  upon  his 
breast,  he  likewise  published  a  Gospel  while  he 
dwelt  at  Ephesus  in  Asia."  If  any  modern  divine 
should  write  a  book  upon  the  genuineness  of  the 
Gospels,  he  could  not  assert  it  more  expressly,  or 
state  their  original  more  distinctly,  than  Irenseus 
h:Uhdone  within  little  more  than  a  hundred  years 
after  they  were  published. 

The  correspondency,  in  the  days  of  Irenseus,  of 
the  oral  and  written  tradition,  and  the  deduction 
of  the  oral  tradition  through  various  channels 
from  the  age  of  the  apostles,  which  was  then  late- 
ly passed,  and,  by  consequence,  the  probability 
that  the  books  truly  delivered  what  the  apostles 
taught,  is  inferred  also  with  strict  regularity  from 
another  passage  of  his  works.  "  The  tradition  of 
the  apostles,"  this  father  saith,  "  hath  spread  it- 
self over  the  whole  universe;  and  all  they,  who 
search  after  the  sources  of  truth,  will  find  this 
tradition  to  be  held  sacred  in  every  church.  We 
might  enumerate  all  those  who  have  been  appoint- 
ed bishops  to  these  churches  by  the  apostles,  and 
all  their  successors  up  to  our  days.  It  is  by  this  un- 
interrupted succession  that  we  have  received  the 
tradition  which  actually  exists  in  the  church,  as 
also  the  doctrines  of  truth,  as  it  was  preached  by 
the  apostle.*."*  The  reader  will  observe  upon 
this,  that  the  same  Irenoeus,  who  is  now  stating 
the  strength  and  uniformity  of  the  tradition,  we 
have  before  seen  recognizing,  in  the  fullest  man- 
ner, the  authority  of  the  written  records ;  from 
which  we  are  entitled  to  conclude,  that  they  were 
then  conformable  to  each  other. 

I  have  said,  that  the  testimony  of  Irenaeus  in 
favour  of  our  Gospels  is  exclusive  of  all  others.  I 
alhide  to  a  remarkable  passage  in  his  works,  in 
which  for  some  reasons  sufficiently  fanciful,  he 
endeavours  to  show,  that  there  could  he  neither 
more  nor  fewer  Gospels  than  four.  With  his 
argument  we  have  no  concern.  The  position 
itself,  proves  that  four,  and  only  four.  Gospels  were  at 
that  time  publicly  read  and  acknowledged.  That 
these  were  our  Gospels,  and  in  the  state  in  which 
we  now  have  them,  is  shown,  from  many  other 
places  of  this  writer  beside  that  which  we  have 
already  alleged.  He  mentions  how  Matthew 
beijins  his  Gospel,  how  Mark  begins  and  ends  his, 
and  their  supposed  reasons  for  so  doing.  He  enu- 
merates at  length  the  several  passages  of  Christ's 
history  in  Luke,  which  are  not  found  in  any  of 
the  other  evangelists.  He  states  the  particular 
design  with  which  St.  John  composed  his  Gospel, 
and  accounts  for  the  doctrinal  declarations  which 
precede  the  narrative. 


*  Iren.  in  Hser.  1.  iii.  c.  3 


To  the  book  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  its 
author,  and  credit,  the  testimony  of  Irenaeus  is  no 
less  explicit.  Referring  to  the  account  of  Saint 
Paul's  conversion  and  vocation,  in  the  ninth  chap- 
ter of  that  book,  "  Nor  can  they,"  says  he,  mean- 
ing the  ])arties  with  whom  he  argues,  "  show  that 
he  is  not  to  be  credited,  who  has  related  to  us  the 
truth  with  the  greatest  exactness."  In  another 
place,  he  has  actually  collected  the  several  texts, 
in  which  the  writer  of  the  history  is  represented 
as  accompanying  St.  Paul ;  which  leads  him  to 
deliver  a  summary  of  almost  the  whole  of  the  last 
twelve  chapters  of  the  book. 

In  an  author  thus  abounding  with  references 
and  allusions  to  the  Scriptures,  there  is  not  one 
to  any  apocryphal  Christian  writing  whatever. 
This  is  a  broad  line  of  distinction  between  our 
sacred  books,  and  the  pretensions  of  all  others. 

The  force  of  the  testimony  of  the  period  which 
we  have  considered,  is  greatly  strengthened  by 
the  observation,  that  it  is  the  testimony,  and  the 
concurring  testimony,  of  writers  who  lived  in  coun- 
tries remote  from  one  another.  Clement  flourish- 
ed at  Rome,  Ignatius  at  Antioch,  Polycarp  at 
Smyrna,  Justin  Martyr  in  Syria,  and  Irena3us  in 
France. 

XI.  Omitting  Athenagoras  and  Theophilus, 
who  lived  about  this  time;*  in  the  remaining 
works  of  the  former  of  whom  are  clear  references 
to  Mark  and  Luke;  and  in  the  works  of  the  lat- 
ter, who  was  bishop  of  Antioch,  the  sixth  in  suc- 
cession from  the  apostles,  evident  allusions  to 
Matthew  and  John,  and  probable  allusions  to 
Luke,  (which,  considering  the  nature  of  the  com- 
positions, that  they  were  addressed  to  heathen 
readers,  is  as  much  as  could  be  expected ;)  observ- 
ing also,  that  the  works  of  two  learned  Christian 
writers  ofthe  same  age,  Miltiades,  and  Pantanust 
are  now  lost;  of  which  Miltiades,  Eusebius 
records,  that  his  writings  "  were  monuments  of 
zeal  for  the  Divine  Oracles ;"  and  which  Pan- 
trenus,  as  Jerome  testifies,  was  a  man  of  prudence 
and  learning,  both  in  the  Divine  Scriptures  and 
secular  hterature,  and  had  left  many  commenta- 
ries upon  the  Ploly  Scriptures  then  extant ;  passing 
by  these  without  further  remark,  we  come  to  one  of 
the  most  voluminous  of  ancient  Christian  writers, 
Clement  of  Alexandria,  t  Clement  followed  Ire- 
naeus at  the  distance  of  only  sixteen  years,  and 
therefore  may  be  said  to  maintain  the  series  of  tes- 
timony in  an  uninterrupted  continuation. 

In  certain  of  Clement's  works  now  lost,  but  of 
which  various  parts  are  recited  by  Eusebius,  there 
is  given  a  distinct  account  of  the  order  in  which 
the  four  Gospels  were  written.  The  Gospels 
which  contain  the  genealogies,  were  (he  says) 
written  first ;  Mark  s  next,  at  the  instance  of 
Peter's  followers ;  and  John's  the  last :  and  this 
account  he  tells  us  that  he  had  received  from  pres- 
byters of  more  ancient  times.  This  testimony 
proves  the  following  points ;  that  these  Gospels 
were  the  histories  of  Christ  then  pubHcly  received, 
and  relied  upon  ;  and  that  the  dates,  occasions,  and 
circumstances  of  their  publication,  were  at  that 
time  subjects  of  attention  and  inquiry  amongst 
Chri.stians.  In  the  works  of  Clement  which  re- 
main, the  four  Gospels  are  repeatedly  quoted  by  the 
names  of  their  authors,  and  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 


*  I.ardner,  vol  i.  p.  400.  422. 
t  Lardner,  vol.  i.  p.  413.  450. 
j  Lardner,  vol.  ii.  p.  409. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


303 


ties  is  expressly  ascribed  to  Luke.  In  one  place, 
after  mentioning  a  particular  circumstance,  he  adds 
these  remarkable  words  :  "  We  have  not  tiiis  pas- 
sage in  the  four  Gospels  delivered  to  us,  but  in 
that  according  to  the  Egyptians;"  which  puts  a 
marked  distinction  between  the  four  Gospels  and 
all  other  histories,  or  pretended  histories,  of  Christ. 
In  another  part  of  his  works,  the  perfect  confi- 
dence, with  which  he  received  the  Gospels,  is  sig- 
nilicd  by  him  in  these  words  :  "  That  this  is  true, 
a]5pears  from  hence,  that  it  is  written  in  the  Gos- 
pel according  to  St.  Luke  ;'"  and  again,  "  I  need 
not  use  many  words,  but  only  to  allege  the  evan- 
gelic voice  of  the  Lord."  His  quotations  are  nu- 
merous. The  sayings  of  Christ,  of  which  he 
alleges  many,  are  all  taken  from  our  Gospels  ;  the 
single  exception  to  this  observation  appearing  to 
be  a  loose  *  quotation  of  a  passage  in  Saint  Alat- 
thew's  Gospel. 

XII.  In  the  age  in  which  they  lived,  t  Tertul- 
lian  joins  on  with  Clement.  The  number  of  the 
Gospels  then  received,  the  names  of  the  evangelists, 
and  their  proper  descriptions,  are  exhibited  by 
this  writer  in  one  short  sentence  :  "  Among  the 
apostles,  John  and  Alatthew  teach  us  the  laith  ; 
among  apostolical  nieii,  Luke  and  Mark  refresh  it." 
The  next  passage  to  be  taken  from  Tertullian, 
alibrds  as  complete  an  attestation  to  the  authenti- 
city of  our  books  as  can  be  well  imagined.  After 
enumerating  the  churches  which  had  been  foimd- 
ed  by  Paul,  at  Corinth,  in  Galatia,  at  Philippi, 
Thessalonica,  and  Ephesus  ;  the  church  of  Rome 
established  by  Peter  and  Paul,  and  other  churches 
derived  from  John ;  he  proceeds  thus  : — ''  I  say 
then,  that  with  them,  but  not  with  them  only 
which  are  apostolical,  but  with  all  who  have  fel- 
lowship with  them  in  the  same  faith,  is  that  Gos- 
pel of  Luke  received  from  its  first  publication, 
which  we  so  zealously  maintain :"  and  presently 
afterwards  adds;  "The  same  authority  of  the 
apostolical  churches  will  support  the  other  Gospels, 
which  we  have  from  them  and  according  to  them, 
I  mean  John's  and  Matthew's ;  although  that 
likewise  which  Mark  published  may  be  said  to  be 
Peter's,  whose  interpreter  Mark  was."  In  another 
place  Tertullian  atSrms,  that  the  three  other 
Gospels  were  in  the  hands  of  the  churches  from 
the  beginning,  as  well  as  Luke's.  This  noble 
testimony  fixes  the  universality  with  which  the 
Gospels  were  received,  and  their  antiquity  ;  that 
thev  were  in  the  hands  of  all,  and  had  been  so 
from  the  first.  And  this  evidence  appears  not 
more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  j'ears  after  the 
publication  of  the  books.  The  reader  must  be 
given  to  understand,  that  when  Tertullian  speaks 
of  maintaining  or  defending  (fifcnrfi)  the  Gospel 
of  Suint  Luke,  he  only  means  maintaining  or 
defending  the  integrity  of  the  copies  of  Luke  re- 
ceived bv  Christian  churches,  in  opposition  to  cer- 
tain curtailed  copies  used  by  Marcion,  against 
whom  he  writes. 

This  author  frequently  cites  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles  under  that  title,  once  calls  it   Luke's 


*  "  Ask  great  thinss,  and  the  small  shall  be  added 
unto  you."  Clement  rather  chose  to  expound  the  words 
of  .Miitthew  (chap.  vi.  3S,)than  literally  to  cite  them  ; 
and  this  is  most  undeniablj'  proved  by  another  place  in 
the  ?aiiie  Clement,  whore  he  both  produces  the  text  and 
tho^e  words  as  an  exposition  : — "  Seek  ye  first  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  and  its  righteousness,  for  these  are  the 
groat  things;  but  the  small  things,  and  things  relating 
ti  tlii?  life^  shall  be  added  unto  you." — Jones's  New  and 
Full  iNIethod,  vol.  i.  p.  5.5:?. 
Lardner,  vol.  ii.  p.  561. 


Commentary,  and  obser\'es  how  Saint  Paul's 
epistles  confirm  it. 

After  this  general  evidence,  it  is  unnecessary 
to  add  particular  quotations.  These,  however, 
are  so  numerous  and  ample,  as  to  have  led  Dr. 
Lardner  to  observe,  "that  there  are  more,  and 
larger  quotations  of  the  small  volume  of  the  New 
Testament  in  this  one  Christian  author,  than 
there  are  of  all  the  works  of  Cicero  m  writers  of 
all  characters  for  several  ages."  * 

Tertullian  quotes  no  Christian  writing  as  of 
equal  authority  with  the  Scriptures,  and  no  spu- 
rious books  at  all ;  a  broad  line  of  distinction,  we 
may  once  more  observe,  between  our  sacred  books 
and  all  others. 

We  may  again  likewise  remark  the  wide  ex- 
tent through  which  the  reputation  of  the  Gospels, 
and  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  had  spread,  and 
the  perfect  consent,  in  this  point,  of  distant  and 
independent  societies.  It  is  now  only  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  since  Christ  w  as  crucified  ; 
and  within  this  period,  to  say  nothing  of  the  apos- 
tolical fathers  who  have  been  noticed  alreadv,  we 
have  Justin  Martyr  at  iN'eapolis,  Theophiius  at 
Antioch,  Irenajus  in  France,  Clement  at  Alexan- 
dria, Tertullian  at  Carthage,  quoting  the  same 
books  of  historical  Scriptures,  and,  I  may  say, 
quoting  these  alone. 

XIll.  An  interval  of  only  thirt}'  years,  and  that 
occupied  by  no  small  number  of  Christian  writers  t 
whose  works  only  remain  in  fragments  and  quo- 
tations, and  in  every  one  of  which  is  some  re- 
ference or  other  to  the  Gospels,  (and  in  one  of 
them,  Hippolytus,  as  preserved  in  Theodoret,  is  an 
abstract  of  the  whole  Gospel  history,)  brings  us 
to  a  name  of  great  celebrity  in  Christian  antiquity, 
Origen  t  of  Alexandria,  who  in  the  quantity  of 
his  writings,  exceeded  the  most  laborious  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  authors.  Nothing  can  be  more 
peremptory  upon  the  subject  now  under  consider- 
ation, and,  from  a  writer  of  his  learning  and  in- 
formation, more  satisfactory,  than  the  declaration 
of  Origen,  preserved,  in  an  extract  from  his  works, 
by  Eusebius ;  "  That  the  four  Gospels  alone  are 
received  without  dispute  by  the  whole  church  of 
God  under  heaven  :"  to  which  declaration  is  im- 
mediately subjoined  a  brief  history  of  the  respect- 
ive authors,  to  whom  they  were  then,  as  they  are 
now,  ascribed.  The  language  holden  concerning 
the  Gospels,  throughout  the  works  of  Origen 
which  remain,  entirely  corresponds  with  the  tes- 
timony here  cited.  His  attestation  to  the  Acts  of 
the  Apostles  is  no  less  positive  :  "  And  Luke  also 
once  more  sounds  the  trumpet,  relating  the  acts 
of  the  apostles."  The  universality  with  which 
the  Scriptures  were  then  read,  is  well  signified  by 
this  writer,  in  a  passage  in  which  he  Las  occasion 
to  observe  against  Celsus,  "  That  it  is  not  in  any 
private  books,  or  such  as  are  read  by  a  few  only, 
and  those  studious  persons,  but  in  books  read  by 
every  body,  that  it  is  written.  The  invisible  things 
of  God,  from  the  creation  of  the  world,  are  clearly 
seen,  being  understood  by  things  that  are  made." 
It  is  to  no  purpose  to  single  out  quotations  of 
Scripture  from  such  a  writer  as  this.  We  might 
as  well  make  a  selection  of  the  quotations  of 
Scripture  in  Dr.  Clarke's  Sermons.     They  are  so 


*  Lardner,  vol.  ii.  p.  647. 

t  Minucius  Felix,  Apollonius,  Caius,  Asterius,  Ur 
banus,  Alexander  bishop  of  Jerusalem,  Hippolytus 
Ammonias,  Julius  Africanus. 

I  Lardner,  vol.  iii.  p.  234. 


304 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


thii^kly  sown  in  the  works  of  Origen,  that  Dr. 
Mill  says.  "  If  we  had  all  his  works  remaining, 
we  should  have  before  us  almost  the  whole  text  of 
the  Bible."* 

Origen  notices,  in  order  to  censure,  certain 
apocryiihaJ  Gospels.  He  also  uses  four  writings 
of  tliis  sort ;  that  is,  throughout  his  large  works 
he  once  or  twice,  at  the  most,  quotes  each  of  the 
four;  but  always  with  some  mark,  either  of  direct 
reprobation  or  of  caution  to  his  readers,  manifest- 
ly esteeming  them  of  little  or  no  authority. 

XIV.  Gregory,  bishop  of  Ncocaesarea,  and 
Dionysius  of  Alexandria,  were  scholars  of  Origen. 
Their  testimony,  therefore,  though  full  and  parti- 
cular, may  be  reckoned  a  repetition  only  of  his. 
The  scries,  however,  of  evidence,  is  continued  by 
Cyprian,  bishop  of  Carthage,  who  flourished  with- 
in twenty  years  after  Origen.  "  The  church." 
says  this  father,  "  is  watered,  like  Paradise,  by 
four  rivers,  that  is,  by  four  Gospels."  The  Acts 
of  the  Apostles  is  also  frequently  quoted  by  Cy- 
prian under  that  name,  and  underthenameofthe 
"Divine  Scriptures."  In  his  various  writings  are 
such  constant  and  copious  citations  of  Scripture, 
as  to  place  this  part  of  the  testimony  beyond  con- 
troversy. Nor  is  there,  in  the  works  of  this  emi- 
nent African  bishop,  one  quotation  of  a  spurious 
or  apocryphal  Christian  writing. 

XV.  Passing  over  a  crowdt  of  writers  following 
C\'prian  at  different  distances,  but  all  within  forty 
years  of  his  time ;  and  who  all,  in  the  impericct 
remains  of  their  works,  either  cite  the  historical 
Scriptures  of  the  New  Testament,  or  speak  of 
tliem  in  terms  of  profound  respect ;  I  single  out 
Victorin,  bishop  of  Pettaw  in  Germany,  merely 
on  account  of  the  remoteness  of  his  situation  from 
that  of  Origen  and  Cyprian,  who  were  Africans; 
by  which  circumstance  his  testimony,  taken  in 
coujunction  with  theirs,  proves  that  the  Scripture 
histories,  and  the  same  histories,  were  known  and 
received  from  one  side  of  the  Christian  world  to 
the  other.  This  bishopt  lived  about  the  year  290 : 
and  in  a  commentary  upon  this  text  of  the  Reve- 
lation, "  The  first  was  like  a  lion,  the  second  was 
like  a  calf,  the  third  like  a  man,  and  the  fourth 
like  a  flying  eagle,"  he  makes  out  that  by  the  four 
creatures  are  intended  the  four  Gospels ;  and  to 
show  the  propriety  of  the  symbols,  he  recites  the 
subject  with  which  each  evangelist  opens  his  his- 
tory. The  explication  is  fanciful,  but  the  testi- 
mony positive.  He  also  expressly  cites  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles. 

XVI.  Arnobius  and  Lactantius,§  about  the 
year  300,  composed  formal  arguments  upon  the 
credibility  of  the  Christian  rehgion.  As  these 
arguments  were  addressed  to  Gentiles,  the  au- 
thors abstain  from  quoting  Christian  books  hy 
name ;  one  of  them  giving  this  very  reason  for  his 
reserve ;  but  when  they  come  to  state,  for  the  in- 
formation of  their  readers,  the  outlines  of  Christ's 
history,  it  is  apparent  that  they  draw  their  ac- 
counts from  our  Gospels,  and  from  no  other 
sources ;  for  these  statements  exhibit  a  summary 
of  almost  every  thing  which  is  related  of  Christ's 
actions  and  miracles  by  the  four  evangelists.  Ar- 
nobius  vindicates,  without  mentioning  their  names. 


*  Mill,  Proleg.  cap.  vi.  p.  66. 

fNovatus,  Rome,  A.  D.  251 ;  Dionysius,  Rome,  A.  D. 
2-5".);  Commodian,  A.  D.  270;  Anatolius,  Laodicea,  A. 
D.  270;  Theognnstus,  A.  D.  282 ;  Methodius,  Lycia,  A. 
D.  290 ;  Phileas,  Egypt,  A.  D.  296. 

X  Lardner,  vol.  v.  p.  214.        §  lb.  vol.  vii.  p.  43.  201. 


the  credit  of  these  historians ;  obscning,  that  they 
were  eye-witnesses  of  the  facts  which  they  relate, 
and  that  their  ignorance  of  the  arts  of  composition 
was  rather  a  confirmation  of  their  testimonj',  tlian 
an  objection  to  it.  Lactantius  also  argues  in  de- 
fence of  the  religion,  from  the  consistency,  simpli- 
city, disinterestedness,  and  sufferings  of  the 
Christian  historians,  meaning  by  that  term  our 
evangelists. 

XVII.  We  close  the  scries  of  testimonies  with 
that  of  Eusebius,*  bishop  of  CiEsarea,  who  flou- 
rished ill  the  year  315,  contemporary  with,  or 
posterior  only  by  fifteen  years  to,  the  two  authors 
last  cited.  Tliis  voluminous  writer,  and  most  di- 
ligent collector  of  the  writings  of  others,  beside  a 
variety  of  large  works,  composed  a  history  of  the 
affairs  of  Christianity  from  its  origin  to  his  own 
time.  His  testimony  to  the  Scri|)tures  is  the  tes- 
timony of  a  man  much  conversant  in  the  works  of 
Christian  authors,  written  during  the  first  three 
centuries  of  its  era,  and  who  had  read  many 
which  are  now  lost.  In  a  passage  of  his  Evange- 
lical Demonstration,  Eusebius  remarks,  with  great 
nicety,  the  delicacy  of  two  of  the  evangelists  in 
their  manner  of  noticing  any  circumstance  which 
regarded  themselves ;  and  of  Mark,  as  writhig  un- 
der Peter's  direction,  in  the  circumstances  which 
regarded  him.  The  illustration  of  this  remark 
leads  him  to  bring  together  long  quotations  from 
each  of  the  evangelists ;  and  the  whole  passage  is 
a  proof,  that  Eusebius,  and  the  Christians  of  those 
days,  not  only  read  the  Gospels,  but  studied  them 
with  attention  and  exactness.  In  a  passage  of  his 
Ecclesiastical  History,  he  treats,  in  form,  and  at 
large,  of  the  occasions  of  writing  the  four  Gospels, 
and  of  the  order  in  which  they  were  written. 
The  title  of  the  chapter  is,  "  Of  the  Order  of  the 
Gospels;"  and  it  begins  thus:  "Let  us  observe 
the  writings  of  this  apostle  John,  which  are  not 
contradicted  by  any;  and,  first  of  all,  must  be 
mentioned,  as  acknowledged  by  all,  tlie  Gospel 
according  to  him,  well  known  to  all  the  churches 
under  heaven  ;  and  that  it  has  been  justly  placed 
by  the  ancients  the  fourth  in  order,  and  after  the 
other  three,  may  be  made  evident  in  tliis  man- 
ner."— Eusebius  then  proceeds  to  show  that  John 
wrote  the  last  of  the  four,  and  that  liis  Gospel  was 
intended  to  supply  the  omissions  of  the  otheis; 
especially  in  the  part  of  our  Lord's  ministiy, 
which  took  place  before  the  imprisonment  of  John 
the  Baptist.  He  observes,  "that  the  apostles  of 
Christ  w^ere  not  studious  of  the  ornaments  of  com- 
position, nor  indeed  forward  to  write  at  all,  being 
wholly  occupied  with  their  ministry." 

This  learned  author  makes  no  use  at  all  of 
Christian  writings,  forged  with  the  names  of 
Christ's  apostles,  or  their  companions. 

We  close  this  branch  of  our  evidence  here,  be- 
cause, after  Eusebius.  there  is  no  room  for  any 
question  upon  the  subject;  the  works  of  Christian 
writers  being  as  full  of  texts  of  Scripture,  and  of 
references  to  Scripture,  as  the  discourses  of  modern 
divines.  Future  testimonies  to  the  books  of  Scrip- 
ture could  only  prove  that  they  never  lost  their 
character  or  authority. 


SECTION  II. 

When  the  Scriptures  are  quoted,  or  alluded  to, 
they  are  quoted  with  peculiar  respect,  as  bucks 


*  Lardner,  vol.  viii.  p.  33. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


305 


sui  generis ;  as  possessing  an  authority/  wh  ich 
belonged  to  no  other  books,  and  as  conclusive 
in  all  questions  and  controversies  amongst 
Christians. 

Beside  the  general  strain  of  reference  and  quo- 
tation, which  uniformly  and  strongly  indicates 
this  distinction,  the  following  may  be  regarded  as 
specitic  testimonies : 

I.  Theophilus,*  bishop  of  Antioch,  the  sixth  in 
succession  from  the  apostles,  and  who  flourished 
little  more  than  a  centurj'  after  the  books  of  the 
New  Testament  were  written,  having  occasion  to 
quote  one  of  our  Gospels,  writes  thus :  "  These 
things  the  Holy  Scriptures  teach  us,  and  all  who 
were  moved  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  among  whom 
John  says,  In  the  beginning  was  the  Word,  and 
the  Word  was  with  God."  Again  :  "  Concerning 
the  righteousness  which  the  law  teaches,  the  like 
things  are  to  be  found  in  the  Prophets  and  the 
Gospels,  because  that  all,  being  inspired,  spoke  by 
one  and  the  same  Spirit  of  God."t  No  words  can 
testify  more  strongly  than  these  do,  the  high  and 
peculiar  respect  in  which  these  books  were  holdcn. 

II.  A  writer  against  Artemon,t  who  may  be 
supposed  to  come  about  one  hundred  and  fifty- 
eight  years  after  the  publication  of  the  Scripture, 
in  a  passage  quoted  by  Eusebius,  uses  these  ex- 
pressions :  "  Possibly  what  they  (our  adversaries) 
say,  might  have  been  credited,  if  first  of  all  the 
Divine  Scriptures  did  not  contradict  them  ;  and 
then  the  writings  of  certain  brethren  more  ancient 
thiin  the  times  of  Victor."  The  brethren  men- 
tioned by  name,  are  Justin,  Miltiadcs,  Tatian, 
Clement,  Irenasus,  Melito,  with  a  general  appeal 
to  many  more  not  named.  This  passage  proves, 
first,  that  there  was  at  that  time  a  collection  called 
Divine  Scriptures ;  secondly,  that  these  Scrip- 
tures were  esteemed  of  higher  authority  than  the 
writings  of  the  most  early  and  celebrated  Chris- 
tians. 

in.  In  a  piece  ascribed  to  Hippolytus,§  who 
lived  near  the  same  time,  the  author  professes,  in 
gi\ing  his  correspondent  instruction  in  the  things 
about  which  he  inquires,  "to  draw  out  of  the  sa- 
cred fountain ,  and  to  set  before  him  from  the  Sa- 
cred Scriptures,  what  may  afford  him  satisfaction." 
He  then  quotes  immediately  Paul's  epistles  to 
Timothy,  and  afterwards  many  books  of  the  New 
Testament.  This  preface  to  the  quotations  car- 
ries in  it  a  marked  distinction  between  the  Scrip- 
tures and  other  books. 

IV.  "  Our  assertions  and  discourses,"  saith 
Origen,ll  "are  unworthy  of  credit;  we  must  re- 
ceive the  Scriptures  as  witnesses.''  After  treat- 
ing of  the  duty  of  prayer,  he  proceeds  with  his 
argument  thus :  "  What  we  have  said,  may  be 
proved  from  the  Divine  Scriptures."  In  his  books 
against  Celsus,  we  find  this  passage :  "  That  our 
reliirion  teaches  us  to  seek  after  wisdom,  shall  be 
shown,  both  out  of  the  ancient  Jewish  Scriptures, 
which  we  also  use,  and  out  of  those  written  since 
Jesus,  which  are  believed  in  the  churches  to  be 
divine."  These  expressions  afibrd  abundant  evi- 
dence of  the  peculiar  and  exclusive  authority 
which  the  Scriptures  possessed. 

V.  Cyprian,  bishop  of  Carthage,!!  whose  age 


lies  close  to  that  of  Origcn,  earnestly  exhorts  Chris- 
tian teachers,  in  all  doubtful  cases,  "  to  go  back  to 
the  fountain ;  and  if  the  truth  has  in  any  case 
been  shaken,  to  recur  to  the  Gospels  and  apostolic 
writings." — The  precepts  of  the  Gospel,"  says  he 
in  another  place,  "  are  nothing  less  than  authori- 
ta,tive  divine  lessons,  the  foundations  of  our  hope, 
the  supports  of  our  faith,  the  guides  of  our  way, 
the  safeguards  of  our  course  to  heaven." 

VI.  Novatus,*  a  Roman,  contemporary  with 
Cyprian,  appeals  to  the  Scriptures,  as  the  authori- 
ty by  which  all  errors  were  to  be  repelled,  and 
disputes  decided.  "  That  Christ  is  not  only  man, 
but  God  also,  is  proved  by  the  sacred  authority  of 
the  Divine  Writings." — "  The  Divine  Scripture 
easily  detects  and  confutes  the  frauds  of  heretics." 
— "  It  is  not  by  the  fault  of  the  heavenly  Scrip- 
tures, which  never  deceive."  Stronger  assertions 
than  these  could  not  be  used. 

VII.  At  the  distance  of  twenty  years  from  the 
writer  last  cited,  Anatolius,t  a  learned  Alexan- 
drian, and  bishop  of  Laodicea,  speaking  of  the 
rule  for  keeping  Easter,  a  question  at  that  daj' 
agitated  with  much  earnestness,  says  of  those 
whom  he  opposed,  "  They  can  by  no  means  prove 
their  point  by  the  authority  of  the  Divine  Scrip- 
ture." 

VIII.  The  Arians,  who  sprung  up  about  filly 
3'cars  after  this,  argued  strenuously  against  the 
use  of  the  words  consubstantial  and  essence,  and 
like  phrases ;  "  because  they  were  not  in  Scrip- 
ture.^t  And  in  the  same  strain  one  of  their  ad- 
vocates opens  a  conference  with  Augustine,  after 
the  following  manner :  "If  you  say  what  is  rea- 
sonable, I  must  submit.  If  you  allege  any  thing 
from  the  Divine  Scriptures,  which  are  common  to 
both,  I  must  hear.  But  unscri^jtural  expressions 
(qua3  extra  Scripturam  sunt)  deserve  no  regard." 

Athanasius,  the  great  antagonist  of  Arianism, 
after  having  enumerated  the  books  of  the  Old  and 
New  Testament,  adds,  "  These  arc  the  fountain 
of  salvation,  that  he  who  thirsts  may  be  satisfied 
with  the  oracles  contained  in  them.  In  these 
alone  the  doctrine  of  salvation  is  proclaimed.  Let 
no  man  add  to  them  or  take  any  thing  from  them."9 

IX.  Cyril,  bishop  of  Jerusalem,!!  who  wrote 
about  twenty  years  after  the  appearance  of  Arian- 
ism, uses  these  remarkable  words : — "  Concerning 
the  divine  and  holy  mysteries  of  faith,  not  the 
least  article  ought  to  be  delivered  without  the  Di- 
vine Scriptures."  We  are  assured  that  Cyril's 
Scriptures  were  the  same  as  ours,  for  he  has  left 
us  a  catalogue  of  the  books  included  under  that 
name. 

X.  EpiphaniuSjTT  twenty  years  after  Cyril, 
challenges  the  Arians,  and  the  followers  of  Ori- 
gen,  "  to  produce  any  passage  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testament,  favouring  their  sentiments." 

XI.  Poebadius,  a  Gallic  bishop,  who  lived  about 
thirty  years  after  tiie  council  of  Nice,  testilics, 
that  "  the  bishops  of  that  council  first  consulted 
the  sacred  volumes,  and  then  declared  their  faith.'** 

XII.  Basil,  bisho[)  of  Ca^sarea,  in  Cappadocia, 
contemporary  with  Epiphanius,  says,  "that  hear- 
ers instructed  in  the  Scriptures  ought  to  examine 
what  is  said  by  their  teachers,  and  to   embrace 


*  Lardner,  Cred.  part  ii.  vol.  i.  p.  429. 

t  lb.  vol.  i.  p.  448.  }  lb.  vol.  iii.  p.  40. 

?  lb,  vol.  iii  p.  112.  II  lb.  vol.  iii.  p.  287—289. 

IT  tb.  vol.  iv.  p.  840. 


*  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  v.  p.  102. 
t  lb  p,  140,  t  lb,  vol.  vii.  p.  2B3.  284. 

§  lb,  vol,  sii  p,  182.        |(  lb.  vol.  viii.  p.  276. 
IT  lb,  vol,  viii.  p.  314,      **  lb,  vol,  ix.  p.  52. 
2G* 


306 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


what  is  agreeable  to  the  Scriptures,  and  to  reject 
what  is  otherwise."* 

XIII.  Ej)hraim,  the  Sj'rian,  a  celebrated  writer 
of  tlie  same  times,  bears  this  conclusive  testimony 
to  the  proposition  which  forms  the  subject  of  our 
present  chapter :  "  The  truth  written  in  the  Sa- 
cred Volume  of  the  Gospel,  is  a  perfect  rule.  No- 
thing can  he  taken  from  it  nor  added  to  it,  without 
great  guilt."t 

XIV.  If  we  add  Jerome  to  these,  it  is  only  for 
the  evidence  which  he  affords  of  the  judgment  of 
preceding  ages.  Jerome  observes,  concerning  the 
quotations  of  ancient  Christian  writers,  that  is,  of 
writers  who  were  ancient  in  the  year  400,  that 
they  made  a  distinction  between  books ;  some  they 
quoted  as  of  authority,  and  others  not :  which  ob- 
servation relates  to  the  books  of  Scripture,  com- 
pared with  other  writings,  apocryphal  or  heathen. t 


SECTION  III. 

The  Scriptures  were  in  very  early  times  collected 
into  a  distinct  volume. 

Ignatius,  who  was  bishop  of  Antioch  within 
forty  years  after  the  Ascension,  and  who  had 
lived  and  conver.sed  with  the  apostles,  speaks  of 
the  Gospel  and  of  the  apostles  in  terms  which 
render  it  very  probable  that  he  meant  by  the  Gos- 
pel, the  book  or  volume  of  the  Gospels,  and  by 
the  Apostles,  the  book  or  volume  of  their  Epistles. 
His  words  in  one  place  are,§  "Fleeing  to  the 
Gospel  as  the  flesh  of  Jesus,  and  to  the  apostles  as 
the  presbytery  of  the  church;"  that  is,  asLeClerc 
interprets  them,  "  in  order  to  understand  the  will 
of  God,  he  fled  to  the  Gospels,  which  he  believed 
no  less  than  if  Christ  in  the  flesh  had  lieen  speak- 
ing to  him;  and  to  the  writings  of  the  apostles, 
whom  he  esteemed  as  the  presbytery  of  the  whole 
Christian  church."  It  must  he.  observed,  that 
about  eighty  years  after  this,  we  have  direct  proof 
in  the  writings  of  Clement  of  Alexandria, li  that 
these  two  names,  "  Gospel,"  and  "  Apostles," 
were  the  names  by  which  the  writings  of  the  New 
Testament,  and  the  division  of  these  writings, 
'  were  usually  expressed. 

Another  passage  from  Ignatius  is  the  following: 
— "  But  the  Gospel  has  somewhat  in  it  more  ex- 
cellent, the  appearance  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
his  passion  and  resurrection. "IT 

And  a  third  :  "  Ye  ought  to  hearken  to  the  Pro- 
phets, but  especially  to  the  Gospel,  in  which  the 
passion  has  been  manifested  to  us,  and  the  resur- 
rection perfected."  In  this  last  passage,  the  Pro- 
phets and  the  Gospel  are  put  in  conjunction ;  and 
.R.S  Ignatius  undoubtedly  meant  by  the  Prophets  a 
collection  of  writings,  it  is  probable  that  he  meant 
the  same  by  the  Gospel,  the  two  terms  standing 
ui  evident  parallelism  with  each  other. 

This  interpretation  of  the  word  "Gospel,"  in 
the  passages  above  quoted  from  Ignatius,  is  con- 
firmed bv  a  piece  of  nearly  equal  antiquity,  the 
relation  of  the  martyrdom  of  Polycarp  by  the 
church  of  Smyrna.  "  All  things,"  say  they, 
"  that  went  before,  were  done,  that  the  Lord 
might  show  us  a  martyrdom  according  to  the  Gos- 

*  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  ix.  p.  124. 

t  Ib.vol.ix.  p.  202.  t  lb.  vol.  x.  p.  IS.-?,  124. 

§  lb.  part  ii.  vol.  i,  p.  180.        \  lb.  vol.  ii.  p.  516. 
ir  lb.  vol.  ii.  p.  182. 


pel,  for  he  expected  to  be  delivered  up  as  the 
Lord  also  did."*  And  in  another  place,  "  We  do 
not  commend  those  who  offer  themselves,  foras- 
much as  the  Gospel  teaches  us  no  such  thing. "t 
In  both  these  places,  what  is  called  the  Gospels, 
seems  to  be  the  history  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  of 
his  doctrine. 

If  this  be  the  true  sense  of  the  passages,  they 
are  not  only  evidences  of  our  propositions,  but 
strong  and  very  ancient  proofs  of  the  high  esteem 
in  which  the  books  of  the  New  Testament  were 
holden. 

II.  Eusebius  relates,  that  Gluadratus  and  some 
others,  who  were  the  immediate  successors  of  the 
apostles,  travelling  al)road  to  preach  Christ,  car- 
ried the  Gospels  with  them,  and  delivered  them 
to  their  converts.  The  words  of  Eusebius  are : 
"  Then  travelling  abroad,  they  performed  the  work 
of  evangelists,  being  ambitious  to  preach  Christ, 
and  deliver  the  Scripture  of  the  divine  Gospcls.''t 
Eusebius  had  before  him  the  writings  both  of 
Gluadratus  himself,  and  of  many  others  of  that 
age,  which  are  now  lost.  It  is  reasonable,  there- 
fore, to  believe,  that  he  had  good  grounds  for  his 
assertion.  What  is  thus  recorded  of  the  Gospels, 
took  place  within  sixty,  or,  at  the  most,  seventy 
years  after  they  were  published :  and  it  is  evid.*>nt 
that  they  must,  before  this  time  (and,  it  is  proba- 
ble, long  before  this  time,)  have  been  in  general 
use,  and  in  high  esteem  in  the  churches  planted 
by  the  apostles,  inasmuch  as  they  were  now,  we 
find,  collected  into  a  volume  ;  and  the  immediate 
successors  of  the  apostles,  they  who  preached  the 
religion  of  Christ  to  those  who  had  not  already 
heard  it,  carried  the  volume  with  them,  and  de- 
livered it  to  their  converts. 

III.  IrenfEus,  in  the  year  178,§  puts  the  evan- 
gelic and  apostolic  writings  in  connexion  with  the 
Law  and  tlie  Prophets,  manifestly  intending  by 
the  one  a  code  or  collection  of  Christian  sacred 
writings,  as  the  other  expressed  the  code  or  col- 
lection of  Jewish  sacred  writings.     And, 

IV.  Melito,  at  this  time  bishop  of  Sardis,  writ- 
ing to  one  Onesimus,  tells  his  correspondent, h 
that  he  had  procured  an  accurate  account  of  the 
books  of  the  Old  Testament.  The  occurrence,  in 
this  passage,  of  the  term  Old  Testament,  has 
been  brought  to  prove,  and  it  certainly  does  prove, 
that  there  was  then  a  volume  or  collection  of 
writings  called  the  New  Testament. 

V.  In  the  time  of  Clement  of  Alexandria,  about 
fifteen  years  after  the  last-quoted  testimony,  it  is 
apparent  that  the  Christian  Scriptures  were  di- 
vided into  two  parts,  under  the  general  titles  of  the 
Gospels  and  Apostles ;  and  that  both  these  were 
regarded  as  of  the  highest  authority.  One,  out  of 
many  expressions  of  Clement,  alluding  to  this 
distribution,  is  the  following  : — "  There  is  a  con- 
sent and  harmony  between  the  Law  and  the  Pro- 
phets, the  Apostles  and  the  Gospel. "IT 

VI.  The  same  division,  "  Prophets,  Gospels, 
and  Apostles,"  appears  in  Tertullian,**  the  con- 
temporary of  Clement.  The  collection  of  the 
Gospels  is  Hkewise  called  by  this  writer  the 
"Evangelic  Instrument ;"tt the  whole  volume,  the 
"  New  Testament;"  and  the  two  parts,  the  "Gos- 
pels and  Apostles. "tt 


*  Ignat.  Ep.  c.  i.  t  lb.  c.  iv. 

t  Lardner,  Cred.  part  ii.  vol.  i.  p.  236. 
§  lb.  vol.  i.  p.  383.  |(  lb.  p.  331. 

TT  Fb.  vol.  ii.  p.  516.  **  lb.  p.  631. 

tt  lb.  p.  574.  it  lb.  p.  632. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


307 


VII.  From  many  writers  also  of  the  third  cen- 
tury, and  especially  from  Cyprian,  who  lived  in 
the  middle  of  it,  it  is  collected  that  the  Christian 
Scriptures  were  divided  into  two  codes,  or  volumes, 
one  called  the  "  Gospels  or  Scriptures  of  the  Lord," 
the  other,  the  "  Apostles,  or  Epistles  of  the  Apos- 
tles.'"* 

VIII.  Eusebius,  as  we  have  already  seen,  takes 
some  pains  to  show,  that  the  Gospel  of  Saint  John 
had  been  justly  placed  by  the  ancients  "  the  fourth 
in  order,  and  after  the  other  three.t  These  are 
the  terras  of  his  proposition  :  and  the  very  introduc- 
tion of  such  an  argument  proves  inconteslably, 
that  the  four  Gospels  had  been  collected  into  a 
volume,  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  ;  that  their 
order  in  the  volume  had  been  adjusted  with  much 
consideration ;  and  tliat  this  had  been  done  by 
those  who  were  called  ancients  in  the  time  of  Eu- 
sebius. 

In  the  Diocletian  persecution,  in  the  year  303, 
the  Scriptures  were  sought  out  and  burnt :  t 
nKiny  sutTered  death  rather  than  deliver  them  up ; 
and  those  who  betrayed  them  to  the  persecutors, 
were  accounted  as  lapse  and  apostate.  On  the 
other  hand,  Constantine,  after  his  conversion, 
gave  directions  for  nmltiplying  copies  of  the  Di- 
vine Oracles,  and  for  magnificently  adorning  them 
at  the  expense  of  the  imperial  treasury.  §  What 
the  Christians  of  that  age  so  richly  embellished 
in  their  prosperity,  and,  which  is  more,  so  tena- 
ciously preserved  under  persecution,  was  the  very 
volume  of  the  New  Testament  wliich  we  now 
read. 


SECTION  IV. 

Our  present  Sacred  Writings  were  soon  distin- 
guished by  appropriate  names  and  titles  of 
respect. 

PoLYc.\Rp.  "I  trust  that  ye  are  well  exercised 
in  tlie  Holy  Scriptures ; — as  in  these  Scriptures 
it  is  said.  Be  ye  angry  and  sin  not,  and  let  not  the 
sun  go  down  on  your  wrath."  II  This  passage  is 
extremely  important ;  because  it  proves  that,  in 
the  time  of  Polycarp,  who  had  lived  with  the 
apostles,  there  were  Christian  writings  distin- 
guished by  the  name  of  "  Holy  Scriptures,"  or  Sa- 
cred Writings.  Moreover,  the  text  quoted  by 
Polycarp  is  a  text  found  in  the  collection  at  this 
day.  What  also  the  same  Polycarp  hath  else- 
where quoted  in  the  same  manner,  may  be  con- 
sidered as  proved  to  belong  to  the  collection  ;  and 
this  comprehends  Saint  Matthew's,  and,  probably. 
Saint  Luke's  Gospel,  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles, 
ten  epistles  of  Paul,  the  First  Epistle  of  Peter, 
and  the  First  of  John. IT  In  another  place,  Poly- 
carp has  these  words :  "  Whoever  perverts  the 
Oracles  of  the  Lord  to  his  own  lusts,  and  says 
there  is  neither  resurrection  nor  judgment,  he  is 
the  first-born  of  Satan."** — It  does  not  appear 
what  else  Polycarp  could  mean  by  the  '"  Oracles 
of  the  Lord,"  but  those  same  "  Holy  Scriptures,'' 
or  Sacred  Writings,  of  which  he  had  spoken 
before. 

II.  Justin  Martyr,  whose  apology  was  written 
nbout  thirty  years    after  Polycarp's    epistle,  ex- 

*   Lardner,  vol.  iv.  p.  P4r>.  f  Ih.  vol.  viii.  p  90. 
t  lb.  vol.  vii.  p.  214,  &c.  5  lb  p.  43->. 

IJ  lb.  vol.  i.  p.  -203.  ir  lb.  vol.  i.  p.  223. 

**  lb.  p.  222. 


pressly  cites  some  of  our  present  histories  under 
the  title  of  Go-spel,  and  that  not  as  a  name  bv 
him  first  ascribed  to  them,  hut  as  the  name  by 
which  they  were  generally  known  in  his  time. 
His  words  are  these : — "  For  the  apostles  in  the 
memoirs  composed  by  them,  which  are  called 
Gospels,  have  thus  delivered  it,  that  Jesus  com- 
manded them  to  take  bread,  and  give  thanks."  * 
There  exists  no  doubt,  but  that,  by  the  memoirs 
above  mentioned,  Justin  meant  our  present  histo- 
rical Scriptures ;  for  throughout  his  works,  he 
quotes  these,  and  no  others. 

III.  Dionysius,  bishop  of  Corinth,  who  came 
thirty  years  after  Justin,  in  a  passage  preserved  in 
Eusebius,  (for  his  works  are  lost,)  speaks  of  "  the 
Scriptures  of  the  Lord."  + 

IV.  And  at  the  same  time,  or  very  nearly  so, 
by  IrensBUs,  bishop  of  Lyons  in  France,  t  they 
are  called  "  Divine  Scriptures," — "  Divine  Ora- 
cles,"— "  Scriptures  of  the  Lord," — "  Evangelic 
and  Apostolic  Writings."  §  The  quotations  of 
Irena;us  prove  decidedly,  that  our  present  Gos- 
pels, and  these  alone,  together  with  the  Acts  of 
the  Apostles,  were  the  historical  books  compre- 
hended by  him  under  these  a[)pellations. 

V.  Saint  Matthew's  Gospel  is  quoted  by  The- 
ophilus,  bishop  of  Antioch,  contemporary  with 
IrensBUs,  under  the  title  of  the  "  Evangelic 
Voice ;"  i|  and  the  copious  works  of  Clement  of 
Alexandria,  published  within  fifteen  years  of  the 
same  time,  ascribed  to  the  books  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament the  various  titles  of  "  Sacred  Books," — 
"  Divine  Scriptures," — "  Divinely  inspired  Scrip- 
tures,"— '■  Scriptures  of  the  Lord," — '•  the  true 
Evangelical  Canon."  IT 

VI.  Tertullian,  who  joins  on  with  Clement, 
beside  adopting  most  of  the  names  and  epithets 
above  noticed,  calls  the  Gospels  "our  Digestia," 
in  allusion,  as  it  should  seem,  to  some  collection  of 
Roman  laws  then  extant.  ** 

VII.  By  Origen,  who  came  thirty  years  after 
Tertullian,  the  same,  and  other  no  less  strong 
titles,  are  apphed  to  the  Christian  Scriptures  :  and, 
in  addition  thereunto,  this  writer  frequently 
speaks  of  the  "  Old  and  New  Testament," — "the 
Ancient  and  New  Scriptures," — "the  Ancient 
and  New  Oracles." +t 

VIII.  In  Cyprian,  who  was  not  twenty  years 
later,  they  are  "  Books  of  the  Spirit," — "^ivine 
Fountains, " — "  Fountains  of  the  Divine  Ful- 
ness.'' tt 

The  expressions  we  have  thus  quoted,  are 
evidences  of  high  and  peculiar  respect.  They 
all  occur  within  two  centuries  from  the  publi- 
cation of  the  books.  Some  of  them  commence 
with  the  companions  of  the  apostles ;  and  they 
increase  in  number  and  variety,  through  a  series 
of  writers  touching  one  upon  another,  and  de- 
duced from  the  first  age  of  the  religion. 


SECTION  V. 

Our  Scriptures  were  publicly  read  and  expound- 
ed in  the  religious  assemblies  of  the  early 
Christians. 


*  Tjardner,  Cred.  vol  i.  p.  271.  t  lb.  p.  298. 

I  The  reader  will  observe  the  remoteness  of  these 
two  writers  in  coiintrv  and  situation. 

§  Lardner,  vol.  i.  p.  343,  &c.  ||  lb.  p.  427. 

if  lb.  vol.  ii.  p.  51.5.  *  *  lb.  p.  639. 

I I  lb.  vol.  iii.  p.  230.  i  |  lb.  vol.  iv.  p.  844. 


308 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


Justin  Martyr,  wlio  wrote  in  the  year  140, 
which  was  seventy  or  eighty  years  after  some, 
and  less,  probably,"  after  others  of  the  Gospels 
were  published,  giving,  in  his  first  apology,  an  ac- 
count, to  the  emjjeror,  of  the  Christian  worship, 
has  this  remarkable  passage  : 

"  The  Memoirs  of  the  Apostles,  or  the  Writ- 
ings of  the  Prophets,  arc  read  according  as  the 
time  allows:  and,  when  the  reader  has  ended,  the 
president  makes  a  discourse,  exhorting  to  the  imi- 
tation of  so  excellent  things."  * 

A  few  short  observations  will  show  the  value 
of  this  testimony. 

1.  The  "  Memoirs  of  the  Apostles,"  Justin  in 
another  place  expressly  tells  us,  are  what  are  call- 
ed "  Gospels  :"  and  that  they  were  the  Gospels 
which  we  now  u.se,  is  made  certain  by  Justin's 
numerous  quotations  of  thevi,  and  liis  silence 
about  any  others. 

2.  Justin  describes  the  general  usage  of  the 
Christian  church. 

3.  Justin  does  not  speak  of  it  as  recent  or  new- 
ly instituted,  but  in  the  terms  in  which  men  speak 
of  established  customs. 

II.  Tertullian,  who  followed  Justin  at  the  dis- 
tance of  about  fifty  years,  in  his  account  of  the 
religious  assemblies  of  Christians  as  they  were 
conducted  in  his  time,  says,  "  We  come  together 
to  recollect  the  Divine  Scriptures  ;  we  nourish 
our  faith,  raise  our  hope,  confirm  our  trust,  by  the 
Sacred  Word."  + 

III.  Eusebius  records  of  Origen,  and  cites  for 
•  his  authority  the  letters  of  bishops  conteniporary 

with  Origen,  that,  when  he  went  into  Palestine 
about  the  year  216,  which  was  only  sixteen  years 
after  the  date  of  Tertullian's  testimony,  he  was 
desired  by  the  bishops  of  that  country  to  discourse 
and  expound  the  Scriptures  publicly  in  the  church, 
though  he  was  not  yet  ordained  a  presbyter,  t 
This  anecdote  recognises  the  usage,  not  only  of 
reading,  but  of  expounding  the  Scriptures ;  and 
both  as  subsisting  in  full  force.  Origen  also  him- 
self bears  witness  to  the  same  practice.:  "  This," 
says  he,  "  we  do,  when  the  Scriptures  are  read 
in  the  church,  and  when  the  discourse  for  expli- 
cation is  delivered  to  the  people."  §  And  what  is 
a  still  more  ample  testimony,  many  homilies  of  his 
upon  the  Scriptures  of  the  New  Testament,  de- 
liverAl  by  him  in  the  assemblies  of  the  church,  are 
still  extant. 

IV.  Cyprian,  whose  age  was  not  twenty  years 
lower  than  that  of  Origen,  gives  his  people  an  ac- 
count of  having  ordained  two  persons,  who  were 
before  confessors,  to  be  readers ;  and  what  they 
were  to  read,  a{)pears  by  the  reason  which  he 
gives  for  his  choice  :  "  Nothing,"  says  Cyprian, 
"  can  be  more  fit,  than  that  he,  who  has  made  a 
glorious  confession  of  the  Lord,  should  read  pub- 
licly in  the  church  ;  that  he  who  has  shown  him- 
self willing  to  die  a  martyr,  should  read  the  Gospel 
of  Christ,  by  which  martyrs  are  made."  II 

V.  Intimations  of  the  same  custom  may  be  traced 
in  a  great  number  of  writers  in  the  beginning 
and  throughout  the  whole  of  the  fourth  century. 
Of  these  testimonies  I  will  only  use  one,  as  being, 
of  itself,  express  and  full.  Augustine,  who  ap- 
peared near  the  conclusion  of  the  century,  dis[)lays 
the  benefit  of  the  Christian  religion  on  this  very  ac- 


*  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  i.  p.  273. 
t  Ih.  vol.  ii.  p  028. 
§  lb.  p.  302. 


t  lb.  vol.  iii.  p.  68. 
I  lb.  vol.  iv.  p.  842. 


count,  the  public  reading  of  the  Scriptures  in  the 
churches,  "  where,"  says  he,  "is  a  confluence  of 
all  sorts  of  people  of  both  sexes  ;  and  where  they 
hear  how  they  ought  to  live  well  in  this  world, 
that  they  may  deserve  to  live  happily  and  eter- 
nally in  another."  And  this  custom  he  declares 
to  be  universal :  "  The  canonical  books  of  Scrip- 
ture being  read  every  where,  the  miracles  therein 
recorded  are  well  known  to  all  people."  * 

It  does  not  appear  that  any  books,  other  than 
our  present  Scriptures,  were  thus  publicly  read, 
except  that  the  epistle  of  Clement  was  read  in  the 
church  of  Corinth,  to  which  it  had  been  addressed, 
and  in  some  others;  and  that  the  Shepherd  of 
Hermas  was  read  in  many  churches.  Nor  does 
it  subtract  much  from  the  value  of  the  argument, 
that  these  two  writings  partly  come  within  it, 
because  we  allow  them  to  be  the  genuine  writ- 
ings of  apostolical  men.  There  is  not  the  least 
evidence,  that  any  other  Gospel,  than  the  four 
which  we  receive,  was  ever  admitted  to  this  dis- 
tinction. 


SECTION  VI. 

Commentaries  were  anciently  written  upon  the 
Scriptures;  harmonies  formed  out  of  them  ; 
different  copies  caref  illy  collated ;  and  versions 
made  of  them  into  different  languages. 

No  greater  proof  can  be  given  of  the  esteem  in 
which  these  books  were  holden  by  the  ancient 
Christians,  or  of  the  sense  then  entertained  of  their 
value  an<l  importance,  than  the  industry  bestowed 
upon  them.  And  it  ought  to  be  observed,  that 
the  value  and  iinportance  of  these  books  consisted 
entirely  in  their  genuineness  and  truth.  There 
was  nothing  in  them,  as  works  of  taste,  or  as  com- 
positions, which  could  have  induced  any  one  to 
have  written  a  note  upon  them.  Moreover  it 
shows  that  they  were  even  then  considered  as 
ancient  books.  Men  do  not  write  comments 
upon  publications  of  their  own  times :  therefore 
the  testimonies  cited  under  this  head,  aflbrd  an 
evidence  which  carries  up  the  evangelic  writings 
much  beyond  the  age  of  the  testimonies  them- 
selves, and  to  that  of  their  reputed  authors. 

I.  Tatian,  a  follower  of  Justin  Martyr,  and 
who  flourished  about  the  year  170,  composed  a 
harmony,  or  collation  of  the  Gospels,  which  he 
called  Diatessaron,  Of  the  four.1-  The  title,  as 
well  as  the  work,  is  remarkable  ;  because  it  shows 
that  then,  as  now,  there  were  four,  and  only  four. 
Gospels  in  general  use  with  Christians.  And  this 
was  little  more  than  a  hundred  years  after  the 
publication  of  some  of  them. 

II.  Panta3nus,  of  the  Alexandrian  school,  a  man 
of  great  reputation  and  learning,  who  came  twen- 
ty years  after  Tatian,  wrote  many  commentaries 
upon  the  Holy  Scriptures,  which,  as  Jerome  testi- 
fies, were  extant  in  his  time.t 

III.  Clement  of  Alexandria  wrote  short  ex- 
plications of  many  books  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testaments 

IV.  Tertullian  appeals  from  the  authority  of  a 
later  version,  then  in  use,  to  the  authentic  Greek.!! 

V.  An  anonymous  author,  quoted  by  Eusebius^ 


*  Lardnor,  Cred.  vol.  x.  p.  276,  et  seq. 

t  lb.  vol.  i.  p  307.  i  lb.  p.  455. 

§  lb.  vol.  ii.  p.  402.  (  lb.  p.  638. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


309 


and  who  appears  to  have  written  about  the  year 
'2I"2,  appeals  to  the  ancient  copies  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, in  rel'utation  of  some  corrupt  readings  al- 
leged by  the  followers  of  Artemon.* 

VI.  The  same  Eusebius,  mentioning  by  name 
several  writers  of  the  church  who  lived  at  this 
time,  and  concerning  whom  he  says,  "  There  still 
remain  divers  monuments  of  the  laudable  industry 
of  those  ancient  and  ecclesiastical  men"  (/.  e.  of 
Christian  writers  who  were  considered  as  ancient 
in  the  year  300.)  adds,  "  There  are,  besides,  trea- 
tises of  many  others,  whose  names  we  have  not 
been  able  to  learn,  orthodox  and  ecclesiastical 
men,  as  the  interpretations  of  the  Divine  Scrip- 
tures given  by  each  of  them  show.'t 

VII.  The  last  live  testimonies  may  be  referred 
to  the  year  200;  immediately  after  which,  a  period 
of  thirty  years  gives  us. 

Julius  Africanus,  who  wrote  an  epistle  upon 
the  a[)parent  difference  in  the  genealogies  in  Mat- 
thew and  Luke,  which  he  endeavours  to  reconcile 
by  the  distinction  of  natural  and  legal  descent, 
and  conducts  his  hypothesis  with  great  industry 
through  the  whole  series  of  generations,  J 

Ammonius,  a  learned  Alexandrian,  who  com- 
posed, as  Tatian  had  done,  a  harmony  of  tliefour 
Gospels ;  which  proves,  as  Tatian's  work  did,  that 
tliere  were  four  Gospels,  and  no  more,  at  this  time 
in  use  in  the  church.  It  affords  also  an  instance 
of  the  zeal  of  Christians  for  those  writings,  and  of 
their  solicitude  about  them.§ 

And,  above  both  these,  Origen,  who  wrote  com- 
mentaries, or  homilies,  upon  most  of  the  books 
included  in  the  New  Testament,  and  upon  no 
other  books  but  these.  In  particular,  he  wrote 
upon  Saint  John's  Gospel,  very  largely  upon  Saint 
Matthew's,  and  commentaries,  or  homilies,  upon 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles. II 

VIII.  In  addition  to  these,  the  third  century 
likewise  contains 

Dionysius  of  Alexandria,  a  very  learned  man, 
who  compared,  with  great  accuracy,  the  accounts 
in  the  four  Gospels  of  the  time  of  Christ's  resur- 
rection, adding  a  reflection  which  showed  his 
opinion  of  their  authority:  "  Let  us  not  think  that 
the  evangelists  disagree,  or  contradict  each  other, 
although  there  be  some  small  difference ;  but  let 
us  honestly  and  faithfully  endeavour  to  reconcile 
what  we  read. "IF 

Victorin,  bishop  of  Pettaw,  in  Germany,  who 
wrote  comments  upon  Saint  Matthew's  Gos- 
pel.** 

Lucian,  a  presbyter  of  Antioch;  and  Hesy- 
chius,  an  Egyptian  bishop,  who  put  forth  editions 
of  the  New  '"restament. 

IX.  The  fourth  century  supplies  a  cataloguett 
of  fourteen  writers,  who  expended  their  labours 
upon  the  books  of  the  New  Testament,  and  whose 
works  or  names  are  come  dovin  to  our  times ; 
amongst  which  number  it  may  be  sufficient,  for 
the  purpose  of  showing  the  sentiments  and  studies 


*  Lardner,  Cr.ed.  vol. 

iii.  p. 

46.        t  lb.  vol.  ii.  p.  551. 

1  lb.  vol.  iii.  p.  170. 

§  lb.  vol.  iii.  n.  122. 

II  11).  vol.  iii.  p.  35-2.  192.  202 

.246. 

IT  Ib^  vol.  iv.  p.  UiO. 

**  lb.  p.  195. 

tt  E-is8hius,  A  D.    - 

315 

Gresnry,  Nyssen,     -    371 

Jiivencus,  Spain, 

3:1(1 

Didiimisof  Aln.x,     -     370 

Thfodore,  Tliiace,    - 

3:^4 

Ambrose  of  Milan,      374 

Hilarv,  Pnictiers, 

3.54 

niodore  of  Tarsus,      378 

riirtiitiatus,         -      - 

340 

Gaiident  of  Brescia,     387 

Api)llinarius  of  Lao- 

Theodore  of  Cilicia      394 

(lic»a, 

3r.2 

Jerome,    -         -        -     3112 

Daniasus,  Rome, 

3(36 

Clirysostoin,     -        -    398 

of  learned  Christians  of  that  age,  to  notice  the 
following : 

Eusebius,  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  century, 
wrote  expressly  upon  the  discrepancies  observable 
in  the  Gospels,  and  likewise  a  treatise,  in  which 
he  pointed  out  what  things  are  related  by  lour, 
what  by  three,  what  by  two,  and  what  by  one 
evangelist.*  This  author  also  testifies  what  is 
certainly  a  material  piece  of  evidence,  "  that  the 
writings  of  the  apostles  had  obtained  such  an  es- 
teem, as  to  be  translated  into  every  language  both 
of  Greeks  and  Barbarians,  and  to  be  diligently 
studied  by  all  nations. "t  I'his  testimony  was 
given  about  the  year  300 ;  how  long  before  that 
date  these  translations  were  made,  does  not  ap])ear. 

Damasus,  bishop  of  Rome,  corresponded  with 
Saint  Jerome  upon  the  exposition  of  difficult 
texts  of  Scripture ;  and,  in  a  letter  still  remaining, 
desires  Jerome  to  give  him  a  clear  explanatfon  of 
the  word  Hosanna,  found  in  the  New  Testament ; 
"  he  (Damasus)  having  met  with  very  different 
interpretations  of  it  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  com- 
mentaries of  Catholic  writers  which  he  had  read."t 
This  last  clause  shows  the  number  and  variety  of 
commentaries  then  extant. 

Gregory  of  Nyssen,  at  one  time,  appeals  to  the 
most  exact  copies  of  Saint  Mark's  Gospel;  at 
another  time,  compares  together,  and  proposes  to 
reconcile,  the  several  accounts  of  the  resurrection 
given  by  the  four  Evangelists  ;  which  limitation 
proves,  that  there  were  no  other  histories  of  Christ 
deemed  authentic  beside  these,  or  included  in  the 
same  character  with  these.  This  writer  observes, 
acutely  enough,  that  the  disposition  of  the  clothes 
in  the  sepulchre,  the  napkin  that  was  about  our 
Saviour's  head,  not  lying  with  the  linen  clothes, 
but  wrapped  together  in  a  place  by  itself,  did  not 
bespeak  the  terror  and  hurry  of  thieves,  and  there- 
fore refutes  the  story  of  the  body  lieing  stolen. § 

Ambrose,  bishop  of  Milan,  remarked  various 
readings  in  the  Latin  copies  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, and  appeals  to  the  original  Greek ; 

And  Jerome,  towards  the  conclusion  of  this 
century,  put  forth  an  edition  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment in  Latin,  corrected,  at  least  as  to  the  Gospels, 
by  Greek  copies,  "  and  those  (he  says)  ancient." 

Lastly,  Chrysostom,  it  is  well  known,  deliver- 
ed and  published  a  great  many  homilies,  or  ser- 
mons, upon  the  Gospels  and  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles. 

It  is  needless  to  bring  down  this  article  lower; 
but  it  is  of  importance  to  add,  that  there  is  no  ex- 
ample of  Christian  writers  of  the  finst  three  centu- 
ries composing  comments  upon  any  other  books 
than  those  which  are  found  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, except  the  single  one  of  Clement  of  Alex- 
andria commenting  upon  a  book  called  the  Reve- 
lation of  Peter. 

Of  the  ancient  versions  of  the  New  Testament, 
one  of  the  most  valuable  is  the  Syriac.  Syriac 
was  the  language  of  Palestine  when  Christianity 
was  there  first  established.  And  although  the 
books  of  Scripture  were  written  in  Greek,  lor  the 
purpose  of  a  more  extended  circulation  than  within 
the  precincts  of  Judea,  yet  it  is  probable  that  they 
would  soon  be  translated  into  the  vulgar  language 
of  the  country  where  the  religion  first  prevailed. 
Accordingly,  a  Syriac  translation  is  now  extant, 
all  along,  so  far  as  it  appears,  used  by  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Syria,  bearing  many  internal  marks  of 


*  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  viii.  p.  46. 
1  lb.  vol.  ix.  p.  108. 


t  lb.  p.  201. 
§  lb.  p.  163 


310 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


high  antiquity,  supported  in  its  pretensions  by  the 
uniform  traditions  of  the  East,  and  confirmed  by 
tlie  discovery  of  many  very  ancient  manuscripts 
in  the  libraries  of  Europe.  It  is  about  200  years 
since  a  bishop  of  Antioch  sent  a  copy  of  this 
transhition  into  Europe,  to  be  printed;  and  this 
seems  to  be  the  first  time  that  the  translation  be- 
came generally  known  to  these  parts  of  the  world. 
The  bishop  of  Antioch's  Testament  was  found 
to  contain  all  our  books,  except  the  second  epistle 
of  Peter,  the  second  and  third  of  John,  and  the 
Revelation;  which  books,  however,  have  since 
been  discovered  in  that  language  in. some  ancient 
manuscripts  of  Europe.  But  in  this  collection,  no 
other  book,  beside  what  is  in  ours,  appears  ever  to 
have  had  a  place.  And,  which  is  very  worthy 
of  observation,  the  text,  though  preserved  in  a  re- 
mote country,  and  without  communication  with 
ours,  diners  from  ours  very  little,  and  in  nothing 
that  is  important.* 


SECTION  VII. 

Our  Scriptures  were  received  by  ancient  Chris- 
tiana of  different  sects  and  persuasions,  bi/ 
many  Heretics  as  well  as  Catholics,  and  were 
usually  appealed  to  by  both  sides  in  the  con- 
troversies which  arose  in  those  days. 

Thk  three  most  ancient  topics  of  controversy 
amongst  Christians,  were,  the  authority  of  the 
Jewish  constitution,  the  origin  of  evil,  and  the 
nature  of  Christ.  Upon  the  first  of  these  we  find, 
in  very  early  times,  one  class  of  heretics  rejecting 
the  Old  Testament  entirely ;  another  contending 
for  the  obligation  of  its  law,  in  all  its  parts, 
throughout  its  whole  extent,  and  over  every  one 
who  sought  acceptance  with  God.  Upon  the  two 
latter  subjects,  a  natural,  perhaps,  and  venial,  but 
a  fruitless,  eager,  and  impatient  curiosity,  prompt- 
ed by  the  philosophy  and  by  the  scholastic  habits 
of  the  age,  which  carried  men  much  into  bold  hy- 
potheses and  conjectural  solutions,  raised,  amongst 
some  who  professed  Christianity,  very  wild  and 
unfounded  opinions.  I  think  there  is  no  reason 
to  believe  that  the  number  of  these  bore  any  consi- 
derable proportion  to  the  body  of  the  Christian 
church ;  and  amidst  the  disputes  which  such 
opinions  necessarily  occasioned,  it  is  a  great  satis- 
faction to  perceive,  what,  in  a  vast  plurality  of  in- 
stances, we  do  perceive,  all  sides  recurring  to  the 
same  Scriptures. 

+  I.  Basilides  lived  near  the  age  of  the  apostles, 
about  the  year  120,  or,  perhaps,  sooner. t  He  re- 
jected the  Jewish  institution,  not  as  spurious,  but 
as  proceeding  from  a  being  inferior  to  the  true 
God ;  and  in  other  respects  advanced  a  scheme  of 
theology  widely  difierent  from  the  general  doctrine 
of  the  Christian  church,  and  which,  as  it  gained 
over  some  disciples,  was  warmly  opposed  by 
Christian  writers  of  the  second  and  third  century. 
In  these  writings,  there  is  positive  evidence  that 
Basilides  received  the  Gospel  of  Matthew ;  and 
there  is  no  sufHcient  proof  that  he  rejected  any  of 


*  Jones  on  the  Canon,  vol.  i.  c.  14. 

fTlie  materials  of  llie  former  part  of  this  section  are 
taken  from  Dr.  Lardner's  History  of  the  Heretic?  of  the 
two  first  Centuries,  published  since  his  death,  with  ad- 
ditions, by  tlie  Rev.  Mr.  Hoss,  of  Exeter,  and  inserted 
into  the  ninth  vohime  of  liis  works,  of  the  edition  of 
1778.  I  Lardner,  vol.  ix.  ed.  1788,  p.  271. 


the  other  three :  on  the  contrary,  it  appears  tha 
he  wrote  a  commentary  upon  the  Gos})el,  so  co- 
pious as  to  lie  divided  into  twenty-four  books.* 

II.  The  Valentinians  appeared  about  the  same 
time.t  Their  heresy  consisted  in  certain  notions 
concerning  angelic  natures,  which  can  hardly  be 
rendered  intelligible  to  a  modern  reader.  They 
seem,  however,  to  have  acquired  as  much  import- 
ance as  any  of  the  separatists  of  that  early  age. 
Of  this  sect,  Irensus,  who  wrote,  A.  D.  172,  ex- 
pressly records  that  they  endeavoured  to  fetch  ar- 
guments for  their  opinions  from  the  evangelic  and 
apostolic  writings,  t  Heracleon,  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  of  the  sect,  and  who  lived  probably  so 
early  as  the  year  12.5,  wrote  commentaries  upon 
Luke  and  John.l  Some  ob.servations  also  of  his 
upon  Matthew  are  preserved  by  Origen.ll  Nor  is 
there  any  reason  to  doubt  that  he  received  the 
whole  New  Testament. 

III.  The  Carpocratians  were  also  an  early  he- 
resy, little,  if  at  all,  later  than  the  two  preceding  11 
Some  of  their  opinions  resembled  what  we  at  this 
day  mean  by  Socinianism.  With  respect  to  the 
Scriptures,  they  are  specifically  charged,  by  Ire- 
nasus  and  by  Epiphanius,  with  endeavouring  to 
pervert  a  passage  in  Matthew,  which  amounts  to 
a  positive  proof  that  they  received  that  Gospel.** 
Negatively,  they  are  not  accused,  by  their  adver- 
saries, of  rejecting  any  part  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment. 

IV.  The  Sethians;  A.  D.  150  ;tt  theMonta- 
nists,  A.  D.  l5G;tt  the  Marcosians,  A.  D.  160:§§ 
Hermogenes,  A.  D.  180;illl  Praxias,  A.  D.  196  \'ilM 
Artemon,  A.  D.  200;***  Theodotus,  A.  D.  200; 
all  included  under  the  denomination  of  heretics, 
and  all  engaged  in  controversies  with  Catholic 
Christians,  received  the  Scriptures  of  the  New 
Testament. 

V.  Tatian,  who  lived  in  the  year  172,  went 
into  many  extravagant  opinions,  was  the  foimder 
of  a  sect  called  Encratites,  and  was  deeply  in- 
volved in  disputes  with  the  Christians  of  that  age ; 
yet  Tatian  so  received  the  four  Gospels,  as  to 
compose  a  harmony  from  them. 

VI.  From  a  writer,  quoted  by  Eusebius,  of 
about  the  year  300,  it  is  apparent  that  they  who  at 
that  time  contended  for  the  mere  humanity  of 
Christ,  argued  from  the  Scriptures ;  for  they  are 
accused  by  this  writer,  of  making  alterations  in 
their  copies,  in  order  to  favour  their  opinions. +tt 

VII.  Origen's  sentiments  excited  great  contro- 
versies,— the  bishops  of  Rome  and  Alexamlria, 
and  many  others,  condenming,  the  bishops  of  the 
East  espousing  them;  yet  there  is  not  the  smallest 
question,  but  that  both  the  advocates  and  adversa- 
ries of  these  opinions  acknowledged  the  same  au- 
thority of  Scrijrture.  In  his  time,  which  the  reader 
will  remember  was  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  after  the  Scriptures  were  published,  many 
dissensions  subsisted  amongst  Christians,  with 
which  they  were  reproached  by  Celsus  ;  yet  Ori- 
gen,  who  has  recorded  this  accusation  without 
contradicting  it,  nevertheless  testifies,  that  the  four 
Gospels  were  received  without  disjyute,  by  the 
whole  church  of  God  under  heaven. ttf 


*  I.ardner,  vol.  ix.  ed.  1788, 
t  lb.  p.  350,  a.'il. 
§Ib.  vol.  ix.  ed.  1788,  p.  3.52. 
TTIh.  309.  **  lb.  318. 

tt  11)-  482.  §?  lb.  348. 

Tnrib.433.  ***lb.  4i;6. 


XX\  lb.  vol.  iv.  p.  042 


30.5,  30(3. 

X  lb.  vol.  i.  p.  383. 

K  Th.  p.  .3.53. 

ft  Tb.  4.55. 

111(11).  473. 
ttf  lb.  vol 


p.  16 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


311 


VIII.  Paul  of  Samosata,  about  tliirty  years  after 
Origen,  so  Jistinguislicd  himself  in  the  controver- 
sy concerning  the  nature  of  Christ,  as  to  he  the 
subject  of  two  councils  or  synods,  assembled  at 
Antiocli  upon  his  opinions.  Yet  he  is  not  charged 
by  liis  adversaries  with  rejecting  any  book  of  the 
New  Testament.  On  the  contrary,  Epiphanius, 
who  wrote  a  history  of  heretics  a  hundred  years 
afterward,  says,  that  Paul  endeavoured  to  support 
his  doctrine  by  texts  of  Scripture.  And  Vincen- 
tius  Lirinensis,  A.  D.  4.34,  speaking  of  Paul  and 
other  heretics  of  the  same  age,  has  these  words  : 
"  Here,  perhaps,  some  one  may  ask,  whether  he- 
retics also  urge  the  testimony  of  Scripture.  They 
urge  it  indeed,  explicitly  and  vehemently;  for  you 
may  see  them  flying  through  every  book  of  the 
sacred  law."* 

IX.  A  controversy  at  the  same  time  existed 
with  the  Noetians  or  Sabellians,  who  seem  to 
have  gone  into  the  opposite  extreme  from  that  of 
Pau.  of  Samosata  and  his  followers.  Yet,  accord- 
ing to  the  express  testimony  of  Epiphanius,  Sa- 
bellius  received  all  the  Scriptures.  And  with 
both  sects  Catholic  writers  constantly  allege  the 
Scriptures,  and  reply  to  the  arguments  wliich 
their  opponents  drew  from  particular  texts. 

We  have  here,  therefore,  a  proof,  that  parties, 
who  were  the  most  opposite  and  irreconcilable  to 
one  another,  acknowledged  the  authority  ol'Scrip- 
ture  with  equal  deference. 

X.  A.nd  as  a  general  testimony  to  the  same 
point,  may  be  produced  what  was  said  by  one  of 
the  bishops  of  the  council  of  Carthage,  which  was 
holden  a  little  before  this  time, — "  I  am  of  opinion 
that  the  blasphemous  and  wicked  heretics,  who 
'pervert  the  sacred  and  adorable  words  of  the 
Scriptures,  should  be  execrated.t  Undoubtedly 
what  they  perverted  they  received. 

XI.  The  Millennium,  No vatianism,  the  baptism 
of  heretics,  the  keeping  of  Easter,  engaged  also 
the  attention  and  divided  the  opinions  of  Chris- 
tians, at  and  before  that  time  (and,  by  the  way,  it 
may  be  observed,  that  such  disputes,  though  on 
some  accounts  to  be  blamed,  showed  how  much 
men  were  in  earnest  upon  the  subject);  yet  every 
one  appealed  for  the  grounds  of  his  opinion  to 
Scripture  authority.  Dionysius  of  Alexandria, 
who  flourished  A.  D.  217,  describing  a  conference 
or  public  disputation  with  the  Miilennarians  of 
Egypt,  confesses  of  them,  though  their  adversarj^, 
"  that  they  embrace  whatever  could  be  made  out 
by  good  arguments  from  the  Holy  Scriptures."! 
Novatus,  A.  D.  251,  distinguished  by  some  rigid 
sentiments  concerning  the  reception  of  those  who 
had  lapsed,  and  the  founder  of  a  numerous  sect, 
in  his  few  remaining  works  quotes  the  Gospel 
with  the  same  respect  as  other  Christians  did; 
and  concerning  his  followers,  the  testimony  oi 
Socrates,  who  wrote  about  the  year  440,  is  posi- 
tive, viz.  "  That  in  the  disputes  between  the  Ca- 
tholics and  them,  each  side  endeavoured  to  sup- 
port itself  by  the  authority  of  the  divine  Scrip- 
tures."! 

XII.  The  Donatists,  who  sprung  up  in  the 
year  328,  used  the  same  Scriptures  as  we  do. 
"  Produce  (saith  Augustine)  some  proof  from  the 
Scriptures,  whose  authority  is  common  to  us  both. "li 

XIII.  It  is  perfectly  notorious  that,  in  the  Arian 

*  l.aidner.  vol.  xi.  p.  158.        t  lb.  vol.  xi.  p.  839. 

I  lb.  vol.  IV.  p.  6tit).  §  lb.  vol.  V.  p.  105. 

I  lb.  vol.  vii.  p.  243. 


controversy,  which  arose  soon  after  the  year  300, 
both  sides  appealed  to  the  same  Scriptures,  and 
with  equal  professions  of  deference  and  regard. 
The  Arians,  in  their  council  of  Antioch,  A.  D. 
341,  pronounce,  that,  "  if  any  one,  contrarj'  to  the 
sound  doctrine  of  the  Scriptures,  say,  that  the  Son 
is  a  creature,  as  one  of  the  creatures,  let  him  be 
an  anathema."*  They  and  the  Athanasians  mu- 
tually accuse  each  other  of  using  unscriptural 
phrases  ;  which  was  a  mutual  acknowledgment  of 
the  conclusive  authority  of  Scripture. 

XIV.  The  PrisciUianists,  A.  D.  378,t  the  Pe- 
lagians, A.  D.  405,t  received  the  same  Scriptures 
as  we  do. 

XV.  The  testimony  of  Chrysostom,  who  lived 
near  the  j'ear  400,  is  so  positive  in  affirmation  of 
the  proposition  which  we  maintain,  that  it  may 
form  a  proper  conclusion  of  the  argument.  "  The 
general  reception  of  the  Gospels  is  a  proof  that 
their  history  is  true  and  consistent ;  for,  since  the 
writings  of  the  Gospels,  many  heresies  have  arisen, 
holding  opinions  contrary  to  what  is  contained  in 
them,  who  yet  received  the  Gospels  either  entire 
or  in  part."§  I  am  not  moved  by  what  may  seem 
a  deduction  from  Chrysostom's  testimony,  the 
words,  "  entire  or  in  part ;"  for,  if  all  the  parts, 
which  were  ever  questioned  in  our  Gospels,  were 
given  up,  it  would  not  affect  the  miraculous  ori- 
gin of  the  religion  in  the  smallest  degree  :  e.  g. 

Cerinthus  is  said  by  Epiphanius  to  have  re- 
ceived the  Gospel  of  Matthew,  but  not  entire. 
What  the  omissions  were,  does  not  appear.  The 
common  opinion,  that  he  rejected  the  first  two 
chapters,  seems  to  have  been  a  mistake. II  It  is 
agreed,  however,  by  all  who  have  given  any  ac- 
count of  Cerinthus,  that  he  taught  that  the  Holy 
Ghost  (whether  he  meant  by  that  name  a  person 
or  a  power)  descended  upon  .Tesus  at  his  baptism; 
that  Jesus  from  this  time  perfonned  many  mira- 
cles, and  that  he  appeared  after  his  death.  He 
must  have  retained  therefore  the  essential  parts 
of  the  history. 

Of  all  the  ancient  heretics,  the  most  extraordi- 
nary was  Marcion.ir  One  of  his  tenets  was  the 
rejection  of  the  Old  Testament,  as  proceeding 
from  an  inferior  and  imperfect  deity :  and  in  pur- 
suance of  this  hypothesis  he  erased  from  the  New, 
and  that,  as  it  should  seem,  without  entering  into 
any  critical  reasons,  every  passage  which  recog- 
ni.*ed  the  Jewish  Scriptures.  He  spared  not  a 
text  which  contradicted  his  opinion.  It  is  reason- 
able to  believe  that  Marcion  treated  books  as  he 
treated  texts ;  yet  this  rash  and  wild  controversial- 
ist published  a  recension,  or  chastised  edition,  of 
Saint  Luke's  Gospel,  coiit;\ining  the  leading  facts, 
and  all  which  is  necessary  to  authenticate  the  re- 
ligion. This  example  affords  proof,  that  there 
were  always  some  points,  and  those  the  main 
points,  which  neither  wildness  nor  rashness,  nei- 
ther the  fury  of  opposition  nor  the  intemperance 
of  controversy,  would  venture  to  call  in  question. 
There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  Marcion,  though 
full  of  resentment  against  the  Catholic  Christians, 
ever  charged  them  with  forging  their  books.  "  The 
Gospel  of  Saint  Matthew,  the  Epistle  to  the  He- 
brews, with  those  of  Saint  Peter  and  Saint  James, 
as  well  as  the  Old  Testament  in  general  (he  said,) 


*  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  vii.  p.  277. 

t  lb.  vol.  ix.  p.  :!2o.  I  lb.  vol.  xi.  p.  52. 

§  lb.  vol  X.  p.  316.  II  lb.  vol.  ix.  ed.  1788,  p.  322 

IT  lb.  sect.  ii.  c.  x.  Also  Micliael.  vol.  i.  c.  i.  sect,  xviii. 


312 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


were  writings  not  for  Christians  but  for  Jews."* 
This  declaration  shows  the  ground  upon  which 
Marcijn  proceeded  in  his  mutilation  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, viz.  his  dislike  of  the  passages  or  the  books. 
Marcion  flourished  about  the  year  130. 

Dr.  Lardner,  in  his  general  Review,  sums  up 
this  head  of  evidence  in  the  following  words: 
"  Noctus,  Paul  of  Samosata,  Sabellius,  Maroellus, 
Photinus,  the  Novatians,  Donatists,  Manicheans,t 
Pris'.illianists,  beside  Artemon,  the  Audians,  the 
Arians,  and  divers  others,  all  received  mostor  all  the 
same  books  of  the  New  Testament  which  the  Ca- 
tholics received ;  and  agreed  in  a  like  res])ect  for 
them  as  written  by  apostles,  or  their  disciples  and 
companions. "t 


SECTION  VIII. 

The  four  Gospels,  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  thir- 
teen Epistles  of  Saint  Paul,  the  First  Epis- 
tle of  John,  and  the  First  of  Peter,  were  re- 
ceived without  doubt  by  those  who  doubted 
concerning  the  other  books  which  are  included 
in  our  present  canon. 

I  STATE  this  proposition,  because,  if  made  out, 
it  show^s  that  the  authenticity  of  their  books  was 
a  subject  amongst  the  early  Christians  of  consider- 
ation and  inquiry;  and  that,  where  there  was 
cause  of  doul)t,  they  did  doubt;  a  circumstance 
which  strengthens  very  much  their  testimony  to 
such  books  as  were  received  by  them  with  full 
acquiescence. 

I.  Jerome,  in  his  account  of  Caius,  who  was 
probably  a  presl)yter  of  Rome,  and  who  flourished 
near  the  year  200,  records  of  him,  that,  reckoning 
up  ordy  thirteen  epistles  of  Paul,  he  says  the  four- 
teenth, which  is  inscribed  to  the  Hebrews,  is  not 
his :  and  then  Jerome  adds,  "  With  the  Romans 
to  this  day  it  is  not  looked  upon  as  Paul's."  This 
agrees  in  the  main  with  the  account  given  by  Eu- 
sebius  of  the  same  ancient  author  and  his  work ; 
except  that  Eusebius  delivers  his  own  remark  in 
more  guarded  terms :  "  And  indeed  to  this  very 
time  by  some  of  the  Romans,  this  epistle  is  not 
thought  to  be  the  apostle's. "§ 

II.  Origen,  about  twenty  years  after  Caius, 
quoting  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews,  observes  that 
some  might  dispute  the  authority  of  that  epistle ; 
and  therefore  proceeds  to  quote  to  the  same  point, 
as  undoubted  books  of  Scripture,  the  Gospel  of 
Saint  Matthew,  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and 
Paul's  First  Epistle  to  the  Thessalonians.ll  And 
in  another  place,  this  author  speaks  of  the  Epistle 
to  the  Hebrews  thus : — "  The  account  come  down 
',0  us  is  various;  some  saying  that  Clement,  who 
was  bishop  of  Rome,  wrote  this  epistle  ;  others, 
that  it  was  Luke,  the  same  who  wrote  the  Gospel 
and  the  Acts."  Speaking  also,  in  the  same  para- 
graph, of  Peter,  "  Peter  (says  he)  has  left  one 
epistle,  acknowledged;  let  it  be  granted  likewise 
that  he  wrote  a  second,  for  it  is  doubted  of"  And 


*  I  have  transcribed  this  sentence  from  Michaelis(p. 
38,)  who  has  not,  however,  referred  to  the  authority 
'jpnn  which  he  attr-biites  these  words  to  Marcion. 

t  This  must  be  with  an  exception,  however,  of  Faust- 
js,  who  lived  so  lace  as  the  year  334. 

X  Lardner,  vol.  xii.  p.  12. — Dr  Lardner's  future  in- 
luiries  supplied  him  with  many  other  instances. 

§  lb.  vol.  iii.  p.  240.  |f  lb.  p.  24(j. 


of  John,  "  He  has  also  left  one  epistle,  of  a  very 
few  lines  ;  grant  also  a  second  and  a  third,  for  all 
do  not  allow  them  to  be  genuine."  Now  let  it  be 
noted,  that  Origen,  who  thus  discriminates,  and 
thus  confesses  his  own  doubts,  and  the  doubts 
which  subsisted  in  his  time,  expressly  witnesses 
concerning  the  four  Gospels,  "  that  they  alone  are 
received  without  dispute  by  the  whole  church  of 
God  under  heaven."* 

III.  Dionysius  of  Alexandria,  in  the  year  247, 
doubts  concerning  the  book  of  Revelation,  whe- 
ther it  was  written  by  Saint  John;  states  the 
grounds  of  his  doubt,  represents  the  diversity  of 
opinion  concerning  it,  in  his  own  time,  and  before 
his  timet  Yet  the  same  Dionysius  uses  and  col- 
lates the  four  Gospels  in  a  manner  which  shows 
that  he  entertained  not  the  smallest  suspicion  of 
their  authority,  and  in  a  manner  also  which  shows 
that  they,  and  they  alone,  were  received  as  au- 
thentic histories  of  Christ.i 

IV.  But  this  section  may  be  said  to  have  been 
framed  on  purj)ose  to  introduce  to  the  reader  two 
remarkable  passages  extant  in  Eusebius's  Eccle- 
siastical History.  The  first  passage  opens  with 
these  words: — "Let  us  observe  the  writings  of 
the  apostle  John  which  are  uncontradicted  ;  and 
first  of  all  must  be  mentioned,  as  acknowledged 
of  all,  the  Gospel  according  to  him,  well  known  to 
all  the  churches  under  heaven."  The  author 
then  proceeds  to  relate  the  occasions  of  writing 
the  Gospels,  and  the  reasons  for  placing  Saint 
John's  the  last,  manifestly  speaking  of  all  the  tour 
as  parallel  in  their  authority,  and  in  the  certainty 
of  their  original. §  The  second  passage  is  taken 
from  a  chapter,  the  title  of  which  is,  "  Of  the 
Scriptures  xinirersally  acknowledged,  and  of  those 
that  are  not  such."  Eusebius  begins  his  enume- 
ration in  the  following  manner: — "■In  the  first 
place,  are  to  be  ranked  the  sacred  four  Gospels; 
then  the  book  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  ;  after 
that  are  to  be  reckoned  the  Epistles  of  Paul.  In 
the  next  place,  that  called  the  First  Epistle  of 
John,  and  the  Epistle  of  Peter,  are  to  be  esteemed 
authentic.  After  this  is  to  be  placed,  if  it  be 
thought  fit,  the  Revelation  of  John,  about  which 
we  shall  observe  the  dilierent  opinions  at  projier 
seasons.  Of  the  controverted,  but  j-et  well  known 
or  approved  by  the  most,  are,  that  called  the  Epis- 
tle of  James,  and  that  of  Judc,  and  the  Second  of 
Peter,  and  the  Second  and  Third  of  John,  whe- 
ther they  are  written  by  the  evangelist,  or  another 
of  the  same  name. "II  He  then  proceeds  to  reckon 
up  five  others,  not  in  our  canon,  which  he  calls  in 
one  place  spurious,  in  another  controverted,  mean- 
ing, as  appears  to  me,  nearly  t!ic  same  thing  by 
these  two  words. IF 

It  is  manifest  from  this  passage,  that  the  four 
Gospels,  and  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  (the  parts 
of  Scripture  with  which  our  concern  principally 
lies),  were  acknowledged  without  dispute,  even 
by  those  who  raised  objections,  or  entertained 
doubts,  about  some  other  parts  of  the  same  collec- 
tii>n.  But  the  passage  proves  something  more 
than  this.     The  author  was  extremely  conversant 

*  Lardner,  vol.  iii.  p.  234.        f  lb.  vol.  iv.  p.  G70. 

X  Ih.  6(il.  §  lb.  vol.  viii.  p.  SiO.  \\  lb.  p.  39. 

IT  That  Eusehius  could  not  intend,  by  the  word  ren- 
dered "spurious,"  what  we  at  present  mean  by  it.  is 
evident  from  a  clause  in  this  very  chapter,  where,  speak- 
in?  of  the  GospHls  of  Peter,  and'Thnmas,  and  Mattliias, 
and  some  othuis,  he  says,  "  They  are  not  so  much  as  to 
be  reckoned  amon?  the  spurious,  but  are  to  be  rejected 
as  altogether  absurd  and  impious." — Vol.  viii.  p.  ;i8. 


J 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


313 


ill  the  writings  of  Christians,  which  had  been 
published  from  the  commencement  of  the  institu- 
tion to  his  own  time  :  and  it  was  from  these  writ- 
ings that  he  drew  his  linovvledge  of  the  character 
and  rci-cption  of  the  books  in  question.  That 
Eusebius  recurred  to  this  medium  of  information, 
and  that  he  had  examined  with  attention  tliis 
species  of  proof,  is  shown,  first,  h_v  a  passage  in 
the  very  chapter  wc  are  quoting,  in  which,  speak- 
ing of  the  books  which  iie  calls  spurious,  "  None 
(says  \\p^  of  the  ecclesiastical  writers,  in  the  suc- 
cession of  the  apostles,  have  vouchsafed  to  make 
iny  mention  of  them  in  their  writings ;"  and, 
secondly,  by  another  passage  of  the  same  work, 
wherein  speaking  of  the  First  Epistle  of  Peter, 
''  This  (says  he)  the  presbyters  of  ancient  times 
have  quoted  in  their  writings  as  undoul)tedly 
genuine  ;"*  and  then,  speaking  of  some  other 
writings  bearing  the  name  of  Peter,  "  We  know 
(he  says)  that  they  have  not  been  delivered  down 
to  us  in  the  number  of  Catholic  writings,  foras- 
much as  no  ecclesiastical  writer  of  the  ancients, 
or  of  our  times,  has  made  use  of  testimonies  out 
of  them."  "  But  in  the  progress  of  this  history," 
the  author  proceeds,  "  we  shall  make  it  our  busi- 
ness to  show,  together  with  the  successions  from 
the  apostles,  what  ecclesiastical  writers,  in  every 
age,  have  used  such  writings  as  these  which  are 
contradicted,  and  what  they  have  said  with  regard 
to  the  Scriptures  received  in  the  New  Testament, 
and  acknowledged  by  all,  and  with  regard  to 
those  which  are  not  such. 't 

After  this  it  is  reasonable  to  believe,  that  when 
Eusebius  states  the  four  Gospels,  and  the  Acts  of 
the  Apo.stles,  as  uncontradicted,  uncontested,  and 
acknowleilged  by  all ;  and  when  he  j)laces  them 
in  opposition,  not  only  to  those  which  were  spuri- 
ous, in  our  sense  of  that  term,  but  to  those  which 
were  controverted,  and  even  to  those  which  were 
well  known  and  approved  by  many,  yet  doubted 
of  by  some  ;  he  represents  not  only  the  sense  of 
his  own  age,  but  the  result  of  the  evidence  which 
the  writings  of  prior  ages,  from  the  apostles'  time 
to  his  own,  had  furnished  to  his  inquiries.  The 
opinion  of  Eusebius  and  his  contemporaries  ap- 
pears to  have  been  founded  upon  the  testimony  of 
writers  whom  they  then  called  ancient :  and  we 
may  observe,  that  such  of  the  works  of  these  writ- 
ers as  have  come  down  to  our  times,  entirely 
confirm  the  judgment,  and  support  the  distmction 
which  Eusebius  proposes.  The  books  which  lie 
calls  "  books  universally  acknowledg;^d."  are  in 
fait  used  and  quoted  in  the  remaining  works  of 
Christian  writers,  during  the  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  between  the  apostles.'  time  and  that  of 
Eusebius,  much  more  frequently  than,  and  in  a 
different  manner  from,  those,  the  authority  of 
which,  he  tells  us,  was  disputed. 


SECTION  IX. 

Our  historical  Scriptures  iccre  attached  hy  the 
early  adversaries  of  Christianity,  as  contain- 
ing the  accounts  upon  which  the  religion  was 
Jounded. 

Near  the  middle  of  the  second  century,  Cclsus, 
a  heathen  philosopher,  wrote  a  professed  treatise 


*  Laidiier,  vol.  viii.  p.  99. 
3R 


fib.  p.  111. 


against  Christianity.  To  this  treatise,  Origeu, 
who  came  about  fifty  years  after  him,  j)ublishea 
an  answer,  in  which  he  frequently  recites  his 
adversary's  words  and  arguments.  The  vvork  i^f 
Celsus  is  lost ;  but  that  of  Origcn  remains 
Origen  appears  to  have  given  us  the  words  oi 
Cclsus,  where  he  professes  to  give  them  very  faith- 
fully ;  and,  amongst  other  reasons  for  thinking 
so,  this  is  one,  that  the  objection,  as  stated  by  him 
from  Celsus,  is  sometimes  stronger  than  his  ov.  n 
answer.  I  think  it  also  probable,  that  Origcn,  in 
liis  answer,  has  retailed  a  large  portion  of  tlie 
work  of  Celsus  :  "  That  it  may  not  be  suspected 
(he  says)  that  we  pass  by  any  chapters,  because 
we  have  no  answers  at  hand,  I  have  thought  it 
best,  according  to  my  ability,  to  confute  every 
thing  proposed  by  him.  not  so  much  observing  the 
natural  order  of  things,  as  the  order  which  he  has 
taken  himself"* 

Celsus  wrote  about  one  hundred  years  after  the 
Gospels  were  published ;  and  therefore  any  notices 
of  these  books  from  him  are  extremely  important 
for  their  antiquity.  They  are,  however,  rendered 
more  so  by  the  character  of  the  author;  for,  the 
reception,  credit,  and  notoriety,  of  these  books 
must  have  been  well  established  amongst  Chris- 
tians, to  have  made  them  subjects  of  animadver- 
sion and  opposition  by  strangers  and  l)y  enemies. 
It  evinces  the  truth  of  what  Chrysostom,  two  cen- 
turies afterward,  observed,  that  "the  Gospels, 
when  written,  were  not  hidden  in  a  corner,  or 
buried  in  obscurity,  but  the}'  were  made  known 
to  all  the  world,  before  enemies  as  well  as  others, 
even  as  they  are  now."t 

1.  Celsus,  or  the  Jew  whom  he  personates, 
uses  these  words : — "  I  could  sa}'  many  things 
concerning  the  aflairs  of  Jesus,  and  tho.se,  too, 
difit^rent  from  those  written  by  the  disciples  of 
Jesus ;  but  I  purposely  omit  them."?  Upon  this 
passage,  it  has  been  rightly  observed,  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  believe,  that  if  Celsus  could  have  contra- 
dicted the  disciples  upon  good  evidence  in  any 
material  point,  he  would  have  omitted  to  do  so, 
and  that  the  assertion  is,  what  Origen  calls  it,  a 
mere  oratorical  flourish. 

It  is  sufficient,  however,  to  prove,  that,  in  the 
time  of  Celsus,  there  were  books  well  known,  and 
allowed  to  be  written  by  the  disciples  of  Jesus, 
which  hooks  contained  a  history  of  him.  By  the 
term  disciples,  Celsus  does  not  mean  the  followers 
of  Jesus  in  general;  for  them  he  calls  Christians, 
or  believers,  or  the  like  ;  but  tho.se  who  had  been 
taught  by  Jesus  himself,  i.  e.  his  apostles  and 
companions. 

2.  In  another  passage,  Celsus  accuses  the 
Christians  of  altering  the  Gospel. §  The  accusa- 
tion refers  to  some  variations  in  the  readings  of 
particular  passages ;  for  Celsus  goes  on  to  object, 
that  when  they  are  pressed  hard,  and  one  reading 
has  been  confuted,  they  disown  that,  and  fly  to 
another.  We  cannot  perceive  from  Origen,  that 
Celsus  specified  any  particular  instances,  and 
without  such  specification  the  charge  is  of  no 
value.  But  the  true  conclusion  to  lie  drawn  from 
it  is,  that  there  were  in  the  hands  of  the  Christians, 
histories,  which  were  even  then  of  some  standing : 
for  various  readings  and  corruptions  do  not  take 
place  in  recent  productions. 


*  Ori?.  cont.  Cels.  I.  i.  sect.  xli. 

t  In  Matt.  Horn.  1.  7. 

i  l.ardnpr,  Jewisli  and  Heathen  Test.  vol.  ii.  p  271. 

§  lb.  p.  275. 

27 


3U 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


The  foxHier  quotation,  the  reader  will  remem- 
ber, proves  that  these  books  were  composed  by 
the  disciples  of  Jesus  strictly  so  called  ;  the  pre- 
s:'nt  quotation  shows,  that,  though  objections 
were  taken  by  the  adversaries  of  the  religion  to 
the  integrity  of  these  books,  none  were  made  to 
their  genuineness. 

3.  in  a  third  passage,  the  Jew,  whom  Celsus 
introduces,  shuts  up  an  argument  in  this  man- 
ner : — "  These  things  then  we  have  alleged  to  you 
out  oi' your  own  writings,  not  needing  any  other 
weapons."*  It  is  manifest  that  this  boast  pro- 
ceeds upon  the  supposition  that  the  books,  over 
which  the  writer  aifects  to  triumph,  possessed  an 
authority  by  which  Christians  confessed  them- 
selves to  be  bound. 

4.  That  the  books  to  which  Celsus  refers  were 
no  other  than  our  present  Gospels,  is  made  out  by 
his  allusions  to  various  passages  still  found  in 
these  Gospf  Is.  Celsus  takes  notice  of  the  genea- 
logies, which  fixes  two  of  these  Gospels ;  of  the 
precepts.  Resist  not  him  that  injures  you,  and.  If 
a  man  strike  thee  on  the  one  cheek,  ofler  to  him 
the  otlier  also  ;t  of  the  woes  denounced  by  Christ; 
of  his  predictions ;  of  his  saying,  that  it  is  impos- 
sil)!e  to  serve  two  masters  ;$  of  the  purple  robe,  the 
crown  of  thorns,  and  the  reed  in  his  hand ;  of  the 
blood  that  flowed  from  the  body  of  Jesus  upon  the 
cross,9  which  circumstance  is  recorded  by  John 
alone  ;  and  (what  is  instar  omnium  for  the  pur- 
pose for  which  we  ]3roduce  it)  of  the  difl'erence  in 
the  accounts  given  of  the  resurrection  by  the  evan- 
gelists, some  mentioning  two  angels  at  the  sepul- 
chre, others  only  one.  II 

It  is  extremely  material  to  remark,  that  Celsus 
not  only  perpetually  referred  to  the  accounts  of 
Christ  contained  in  the  four  Gospels,*!!  but  that  he 
referred  to  no  other  accounts ;  that  he  founded 
none  of  his  objections  to  Christianity  upon  any 
thing  delivered  in  spurious  Gospels. 

II.  What  Celsus  was  in  the  second  century. 
Porphyry  became  in  the  third.  His  work,  which 
was  a  large  and  formal  treatise  against  the  Chris- 
tian religion,  is  not  extant.  We  must  be  content 
therefore  to  gather  his  objections  from  Christian 
writers,  who  have  noticed  in  order  to  answer  them  ; 
and  enough  remains  of  this  species  of  information, 
to  prove  completely,  that  Porphyry's  animadver- 
sions were  directed  against  the  contents  of  our 
present  Gospels,  and  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles; 
Porphyry  considering  that  to  overthrow ^/lem  was 
to  overthrow  the  religion.  Thus  he  objects  to  the 
re[>etition  of  a  generation  in  Saint  Matthew's  ge- 
neaology  ;  to  Matthew's  call ;  to  the  quotation  of  a 
text  from  Isaiah,  which  is  found  in  a  psalm  as- 
cribed to  Asaph;  to  the  calling  of  the  lake  of  Ti- 
berias a  sea;  to  the  expression  in  Saint  Matthew, 
"the  abomination  of  desolation;"  to  the  variation 
in  Matthew  and  Mark  upon  the  text,  "  The  voice 
of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness,"  Matthew  citing 
it  from  Isaias,  Mark  from  the  Prophets;  to  John's 
application  of  the  term  "Word;"  to  Christ's 
change  of  intention  about  going  up  to  the  feast  of 
tabernacles,  (John  vii.  8 ;)  to  the  judgment  de- 
nounced by  Saint  Peter  upon  Ananias  and  Sap- 
phira,  which  he  calls  an  imprecation  of  death.** 


«  T,ardiier,  Jewish  and  Heathen  Test.  vol.  ii.  p.  276. 
t  Ibid.  t  lb.  p.  277. 

§  lb.  p.  280,  231.  I  lb.  p.  283. 

IT  The  particulais,  of  which  tlie  above  are  only  a  few, 
are  well  collected  by  Mr.  ISryant.  p.  140. 
**  Jewish  and  Heathen  Test.  vol.  iii.  p.  1G13.  &c. 


The  instances  here  alleged,  serve,  in  some 
measure,  to  show  the  nature  of  Porphyry's  ob- 
jections, and  prove  that  Porphyry  had  read  the 
Gospels  with  that  sort  of  attention  which  a  writer 
would  employ  who  regarded  them  as  the  deposi- 
taries of  the  religion  which  he  attacked.  Beside 
these  specifications,  there  exists,  in  the  writings 
of  ancient  Christians,  general  evidence,  that  the 
places  of  Scripture  upon  which  Porphyry  had  re- 
marked were  very  numerous. 

In  some  of  the  above-cited  examples,  Porjjhyry, 
speaking  of  Saint  Matthew,  calls  him  yoiir  cron- 
gelist ;  he  also  uses  the  term  evangelists  in  the 
plural  number.  What  was  said  of  Celsus,  is  true 
likewise  of  Porphyry,  that  it  does  not  appear  that 
he  considered  any  history  of  Christ,  except  these, 
as  having  authority  with  Christians. 

III.  A  third  great  writer  against  the  Christian 
religion  was  the  emperor  Julian,  whose  work  was 
composed  about  a  century  after  that  of  Po-rphyry. 

In  various  long  extracts,  transcribed  from  this 
work  by  Cyril  and  Jerome,  it  appears,*  that  Julian 
noticed  by  name  Matthew  and  Luke,  in  the  dif- 
ference between  their  genealogies  of  Christ ;  that 
he  objected  to  Matthew's  application  of  the  pro- 
phecy, "Out  of  Egypt  have  I  called  my  son,"  (ii. 
\b,)  and  to  that  of  "A  virgin  shall  conceive;" 
(i.  23;)  that  he  recited  sayings  of  Christ,  and  vari- 
ous passages  of  his  history,  in  the  very  words  of 
the  evangelists ;  in  particular,  that  Jesus  healed 
lame  and  blind  people,  and  exorcised  demoniacs  in 
the  villages  of  Bethsaida  and  Bethany;  that  he 
alleged,  that  none  of  Christ's  disciples  ascrilied  to 
him  the  creation  of  the  world,  except  John  ;  that 
neither  Paul,  nor  Matthew,  nor  Luke,  nor  Mark, 
have  dared  to  call  Jesus,  God  ;  that  John  wrote 
later  than  the  other  evangelists,  and  at  a  time 
when  a  great  number  of  men  in  the  cities  of 
Greece  and  Italy  were  converted  ;  that  he  alludes 
to  the  conversion  of  Cornelius  and  of  Sergius 
Paulus,  to  Peter's  vision,  to  the  circular  letter 
sent  by  the  apostles  and  elders  at  Jerusalem, 
which  are  all  recorded  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles :  by  which  quoting  of  the  four  Gospels  and 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and  by  quotmg  no  other, 
Julian  shows  that  these  were  the  historical  books, 
and  the  only  historical  books  received  by  Chris- 
tians as  of  authority,  and  as  the  authentic  me- 
moirs of  Jesus  Christ,  of  his  apostles,  and  of  the 
doctrines  taught  by  them.  But  Julian's  testimony 
does  something  more  than  represent  the  judgment 
of  the  Christian  church  in  his  time.  It  discovers 
also  his  own.  He  himself  expressly  states  the 
early  date  of  these  records;  he  calls  them  by  the 
names  wliich  they  now  bear.  He  all  along  sup- 
poses, he  no  where  attempts  to  question,  their  ge- 
nuineness. 

The  argument  in  favour  of  the  books  of  the 
New  Testament,  drawn  from  the  notice  taken  of 
their  contents  by  the  early  writers  against  the  re- 
ligion, is  very  considerable.  It  proves  that  the 
accounts,  which  Christians  had  then,  were  the  ac- 
counts which  we  have  now ;  that  our  present 
Scriptures  were  theirs.  It  proves,  moreover,  that 
neither  Celsus  in  the  second.  Porphyry  in  the 
third,  nor  Julian  in  the  fourth  century,  suspected 
the  authenticity  of  these  books,  or  even  insinuated 
that  Christians  were  mistaken  in  the  authors  to 
whom  they  ascribed  them.  Not  one  of  them  e.v- 
pressed  an  opinion  upon  this  subject  dilliTcnt  i'rom 
that  which  was  holden  by  Christians.  And  when 

*  Jewish  and  Heathen  Test.  vol.  iv.  p.  77,  &;c. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


3i5 


we  consider  liow  much  it  would  have  availed  them 
to  have  cast  a  doubt  upon  this  point,  if  they  could  ; 
and  liow  ready  they  showed  themselves  to  be,  to 
take  every  advantage  in  their  power ;  and  that 
they  were  all  men  of  learning  and  inquiry  ;  their 
concession,  or  rather  their  suffrage,  upon  the  sub- 
ject, is  extremely  valuable. 

In  the  case  of  Porphyry,  it  is  made  still  stronger, 
by  the  consideration  that  he  did  in  fact  support 
hiiiist-lf  by  this  species  of  objection,  when  he  saw 
any  room  for  it,  or  when  his  acuteness  could  sup- 
ply an\'  pretence  for  alleging  it.  The  prophecy 
of  Daniel  he  attacked  upon  this  very  ground  of 
spuriousness,  insisting  that  it  was  written  aller 
the  lime  of  Antiochus  Epiphanes,  and  maintains 
his  cliarge  of  forgery  by  some  far-fetched  indeed, 
but  very  subtle  criticisms.  Concerning  the  writ- 
ings of  the  New  Testament,  no  trace  of  tlus  sus- 
picion is  any  where  to  be  found  in  him.* 


SECTION  X. 

Formal  catalogues  of  authentic  Scriptures  were 
published,  in  all  which  our  present  sacred  his- 
tories were  included. 

This  species  of  evidence  comes  later  than  the 
rest ;  as  it  was  not  natural  that  catalogues  of  any 
jiarticular  class  of  books  should  be  put  forth  until 
Christian  writings  became  numerous:  or  until 
some  writings  showed  themselves,  claiming  titles 
which  did  not  belong  to  them,  and  thereby  ren- 
dering it  necessary  to  separate  books  of  authority 
from  others.  But,  when  it  does  appear,  it  is  ex- 
reniely  satisfactory ;  the  catalogues,  though  nu- 
merous, and  made  in  countries  at  a  wide  distance 
from  one  another,  diilering  very  little,  differing  in 
nothing  which  is  material,  and  all  containing  the 
four  Gospels.  To  this  last  article  there  is  no  ex- 
ception. 

I.  In  the  writings  of  Origen  which  remain,  and 
in  some  extracts  preserved  by  Eusebius,  from 
works  of  his  which  are  now  lost,  there  are  enu- 
merations of  the  books  of  Scripture,  in  which  the 
four  Gospels  and  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  are 
distinctly  and  honourably  specified,  and  in  which 
no  books  appear  beside  what  are  now  received. + 
The  reader,  by  this  time,  will  easily  recollect  that 
the  date  of  Origeii's  works  is  A.  D.  230. 

II.  Athanasius,  about  a  century  afterward,  de- 
livered a  catalogue  of  the  books  oi'  the  New  Tes- 
tament in  form,  containing  our  Scriptures  and  no 
others;  of  which  he  says,  "-In  these  alone  the 
doctrine  of  religion  is  taught ;  let  no  man  add  to 
them  or  take  any  thing  from  them."t 

III.  About  twenty  years  after  Athanasius, 
Cyril,  bishop  of  Jerusalem,  set  forth  a  catalogue 
of  the  books  of  Scripture,  publicly  read  at  that 
time  in  the  church  of  Jerusalem,  exactly  the  same 
as  ours,  except  that  the  "Revelation"  is  omitted. § 

IV.  And  lifteen  years  after  Cyril,  the  council 
of  Laodicea  delivered  an  authoritative  catalogue 
of  canonical  Scripture,  like  Cyril's,  the  same  as 
ours,  with  the  omission  of  the  "Revelation.'' 

V.  Catalogues  now  became  frequent.    Within 

*  Michaelis's  Introduction  to  the  New  Testament, 
vol.  i.  p.  43  Marsh's  Translation. 
+  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  iii.  p.  234,  &c.;  vol.  viii.  p.  196. 
I  lb.  vol.  viii.  p.  223.  §  lb.  p.  270. 


thirty  years  after  the  last  date,  that  is,  from  the 
year  3t)3  to  near  the  conclusion  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury, we  have  catalogues  by  Epiphanius,*  by 
Gregory  Na7,ianzcn,t  by  Philaster,  bishop  of  Bres- 
cia in  Italy, t  by  Aniphilochius,  bishop  of  Iconium 
all,  as  they  are  sometimes  called,  clean  catalogues 
(that  is,  they  admit  no  books  into  the  number  be- 
side what  we  now  receive),  and  all,  for  every  pur- 
pose of  historic  evidence,  the  same  as  ours.§ 

VI.  Within  the  same  period,  Jerome,  the  most 
learned  Christian  writer  of  his  age,  delivered  a 
catalogue  of  the  books  of  the  New  Testament, 
recognising  every  book  now  received,  with  the 
intimation  of  a  doubt  concerning  the  Epistle  to  the 
Hebrews  alone,  and  taking  not  the  least  notice  of 
any  book  which  is  not  now  received. II 

VII.  Contemporary  with  Jerome,  who  lived  in 
Palestine,  was  Saint  Augustine,  in  Africa,  who 
published  likewise  a  catalogue,  without  joining  to 
the  Scriptures,  as  books  of  authority,  any  other 
ecclesiastical  writing  whatever,  and  without  omit- 
ting one  which  we  at  this  day  acknowledge. IT 

VIII.  And  with  these  concurs  another  contem- 
porary writer,  Rufen,  presbyter  of  Aquileia,  whose 
catalogue,  like  theirs,  is  perfect  and  unmixed,  and 
concludes  with  these  remarkable  words :  "  These 
are  the  volumes  which  the  fathers  have  included 
in  the  canon,  and  out  of  which  they  would  have 
us  prove  the  doctrine  of  our  faith."** 


SECTION  XI. 

These  propositions  cannot  he  predicated  of  any 
oj" those  books  ithich  are  commonly  called  the 
Apiocryphal  Books  of  the  New  Testament. 

I  DO  not  know  that  the  objection  taken  from 
the  apocryphal  writings  is  at  present  much  relied 
u[)on  by  scholars.  But  there  are  many,  who, 
hearing  that  various  Gospels  existed  in  ancient 
times  under  the  names  of  the  apostles,  may  have 
taken  up  a  notion,  that  the  .selection  of  our  present 
Gospels  from  the  rest,  was  rather  an  arbitrary  or 
accidental  choice,  than  founded  in  any  clear  and 
certain  cause  of  preference.  To  these  it  may  be 
very  useful  to  know  the  truth  of  the  case.  1  ob- 
serve, therefore, 

I.  That,  beside  our  Gospels  and  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  no  Christian  history,  claiming  to  be 
written  by  an  apostie  or  apostolical  man,  is  quoted 
within  three  hundred  years  after  the  birth  of 
Christ,  by  any  writer  now  extant,  or  known ;  or, 
if  quoted,  is  not  quoted  without  marks  of  censure 
and  rejection. 

I  have  not  advanced  this  assertion  without  in- 
quiry; and  I  doubt  not,  but  that  the  passages 
cited  by  Mr.  Jones  and  Dr.  Lardner,  under  the 
several  titles  which  the  apocryphal  books  bear;  or 
a  reference  to  the  places  where  they  are  mentioned 
as  collected  in  a  very  accurate  table,  published  in 
the  year  1773,  by  the  Rev.  J.  Atkinson,  vi\\\ 
make  out  the  truth  of  the  proposition  to  the  satis- 

*  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  viii.  p.  3G8. 

t  lb.  vol.  ix.  p.  132.  Jib.  p.  373. 

§Epiphanins  omits  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  This 
must  have  been  an  accidental  mistake,  either  in  him  or 
in  some  copyist  of  his  work;  for  he  elsewhere  e.\pressl> 
refers  to  this  book,  and  ascribes  it  to  Lnke. 

II  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  x.  p.  77-  i:  lb.  p.  213. 

**  lb.  p.  187. 


316 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


fuction  of  every  fuir  and  competent  judgment.  If 
tliPiv  he  any  book  which  may  seem  to  Ibrm  an  ex- 
ct'jttion  to  the  observation,  it  is  a  Hebrew  Gospel, 
wliich  was  circulated  under  the  various  titles  of 
the  Gospel  according  to  the  Hebrews,  the  Gospel 
of  the  Nazarenes,  of  the  Ebionites,  sometimes 
called  of  the  Twelve,  by  some  ascribed  to  Saint 
Matthew.  This  Gospel  is  once,  and  only  once, 
cited  by  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  who  Uved,  the 
reader  will  remember,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  se- 
cond century,  and  wliich  same  Clement  quotes 
one  or  other  of  our  four  Gospels  in  almost  every 
page  of  his  work.  It  is  twice  mentioned  by  Ori- 
gen,  A.  D.  230;  and  both  times  with  marks  of 
diminution  and  discredit.  And  this  is  the  ground 
upon  wliich  the  excepticm  stands.  But  what  is 
still  more  material  to  observe  is,  that  this  Gospel, 
in  the  main,  agreed  with  our  present  Gospel  of 
Saint  Matthew.* 

Now  if,  with  this  accovmt  of  the  apocryphal 
Gospels,  we  compare  what  we  have  read  concern- 
ing the  canonical  Scriptures  in  the  preceding  sec- 
tions; or  even  recollect  that  general  but  wellr 
founded  assertion  of  Dr.  Lardner,  "  That  in  the 
remaining  works  of  Irensus,  Clement  of  Alexan- 
dria, and  Tertullian,  who  all  lived  in  the  first  two 
centuries,  there  are  more  and  larger  quotations  of 
the  small  volume  of  the  New  Testament,  than  of 
all  the  works  of  Cicero,  by  writers  of  all  charac- 
ters, for  several  ages;"+  and  if  to  this  we  add, 
that,  notwithstanding  the  loss  of  many  works  of 
the  primitive  times  of  Christianity,  we  have,  with- 
in the  above-mentioned  period,  the  remains  of 
Christian  writers,  who  lived  in  Palestine,  Syria, 
Asia  Minor,  Egypt,  the  part  of  Africa  that  used 
the  Latin  tongue,  in  Crete,  Greece,  Italy,  and 
Gaul,  in  all  which  remains,  references  are  found 
to  our  evangelists  ;  I  apprehend,  that  we  shall  per- 
ceive a  clear  and  broad  line  of  division,  between 
those  writings,  and  all  others  pretending  to  simi- 
lar authority. 

II.  But  beside  certain  histories  which  assumed 
the  names  of  apostles,  and  which  were  forgeries 
properly  so  called,  there  were  some  other  Christian 
writings,  in  the  whole  or  in  part  of  an  historical 
nature,  which,  though  not  forgeries,  are  denomi- 
nated apocryphal,  as  being  of  uncertain  or  of  no 
authority. 

Of  this  second  class  of  writings,  I  have  found 
only  two  which  are  noticed  by  any  author  of  the 
first  three  centuries,  without  express  terms  of 
condemnation  ;  and  these  are,  the  one,  a  book  en- 
titled the  Preaching  of  Peter,  quoted  repeatedly 
by  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  A.  D.  196;  the  other, 
a  book  entitled  the  Revelation  of  Peter,  upon 
which  the  above-mentioned  Clemens  Alexandri- 
nus is  said,  by  Eusebius,  to  have  written  notes; 
and  which  is  twice  cited  in  a  work  still  extant, 
ascribed  to  the  same  author. 

I  conceive,  therefore,  that  the  proposition  we 
have  before  advanced,  even  after  it  had  been  sub- 
jected to  every  exception,  of  every  kind,  that  can 
be  alleged,  separates,  by  a  wide  interval,  our  his- 
torical Scriptures  from  all  other  writings  which 
profess  to  give  an  account  of  the  same  subject. 

We  may  be  permitted  however  to  add, 


*  In  applyini;  tn  tins  Gospel,  what  .leiome  in  ttie  lat- 
ter eiiil  of  thnfoiirtti  century  lias  nientioncdof  a  Hebrew 
OnsprM,  I  tliink  it  probalile  that  we  sometimes  confound 
if  with  a  ll-hmw  copy  of  Saint  Matthew's  Gospel, 
whether  an  orijrinal  or  version,  which  was  then  e.xtant. 

t  Lardner,  Oed.  vol,  xii.  p.  53. 


1.  That  there  is  no  evidence  that  any  spurious 
or  apocryphal  books  whatever  existed  in  the  first 
century  of  the  Christian  era,  in  which  century  all 
our  historical  books  are  proved  to  have  been  ex- 
tant. "  There  are  no  quotations  of  any  such 
books  in  the  apostolical  fathers,  by  whom  I  mean 
Barnalias,  Clement  of  Rome,  Hernjas,  Ignatius. 
and  Polycarp,  whose  writings  reach  from  about 
the  year  of  our  Lord  70,  to  the  year  108  (and 
some  of  whom  have  quoted  each  and  every  one  of 
our  historical  Scriptures) ;  I  say  this,"  adds  Dr. 
Lardner,  "  because  I  think  it  has  been  proved."* 

2.  These  apocryphal  writings  were  not  read  in 
the  churches  of  Christians ; 

3.  Were  not  admitted  into  their  volume; 

4.  Do  not  appear  in  their  catalogues  ; 

5.  Were  not  noticed  by  their  adversaries; 

6.  Were  not  alleged  by  different  parties  as  of 
authority  in  their  controversies; 

7.  Were  not  the  subjects,  amongst  them,  of 
commentaries,  versions,  collations,  expositions. 

Finally;  beside  the  silence  of  three  centuries,  or 
eviilence,  within  that  time,  of  their  rejection,  they 
were,  with  a  consent  nearly  universal,  reprobated 
by  Christian  writers  of  succeeding  ages. 

Although  it  be  made  out  by  these  observations, 
that  the  books  in  question  never  obtained  any  de- 
gree of  credit  and  notoriety  which  can  place  them 
in  competition  with  our  Scriptures  ;  yet  it  appears, 
from  the  writings  of  the  fourth  century,  that  many 
such  existed  in  that  century,  and  in  the  century 
preceding  it.  It  may  be  difhcnlt  at  this  distance 
of  time  to  account  for  their  origin.  Perhaps  the 
mo.st  probable  explication  is,  that  they  were  in 
general  composed  with  a  design  of  making  a  profit 
by  the  sale.  Whatever  treated  of  the  subject, 
would  find  purchasers.  It  was  an  advantage  taken 
of  the  pious  curiosity  of  unlearned  Christians. 
With  a  view  to  the  same  purpose,  they  were 
many  of  them  adapted  to  the  particular  opinions 
of  particular  sects,  which  would  naturally  promote 
their  circulation  amongst  the  favourers  of  those 
opinions.  After  all,  they  were  probably  much 
more  obscure  than  we  imagine.  Except  the  Gos- 
pel according  to  the  Hebrews,  there  is  none  of 
which  we  hear  more  than  the  Gospel  of  the 
Egyptians ;  yet  there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that 
Clement,  a  presbyter  of  Alexandria  in  Egypt.  A. 
D.  184,  and  a  man  of  almost  universal  reading, 
had  never  seen  it.t  A  Gospel  according  to  Peter, 
was  another  of  the  most  ancient  books  of  this  kind ; 
yet  Serapion,  bishop  of  Antioch,  A.  D.  200,  had 
not  read  it,  when  he  heard  of  such  a  book  being 
in  the  hands  of  the  Chri.«tians  of  Rhossus  in  Cili- 
cia  ;  and  speaks  of  obtaining  a  sight  of  this  Gospel 
from  some  sectaries  who  used  it.t  Even  of  the 
Gospel  of  the  Hebrevts,  wdiich  confessedly  stands 
at  the  head  of  the  catalogue,  .Terome,  at  the  end 
of  the  fourth  century,  was  glad  to  procure  a  copy 
bv  the  flavour  of  the  Nazarenes  of  Berea.  No- 
thing of  this  sort  ever  happened,  or  could  have 
happened  concerning  our  Gospels. 

One  thing  is  observable  of  all  the  apocryyihal 
Christian  writings,  tn:.  that  they  proceed  upon 
the  same  fundamental  history  of  Christ  and  his 
apostles,  as  that  which  is  disclosed  in  our  Scrip- 
tures. The  mission  of  Christ,  his  power  of  work- 
ing miracles,  his  communication  of  that  power  to 
the  apostles,  his  passion,  death,  and  resurrection, 


*I,ardner,  Cied.  vol.  xii,  p.  1.58. 

t  Jones,  vol.  i.  p.  2-13.     J  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  ii.  p.  557. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTTANIT  V. 


317 


are  assumed  or  asserted  by  every  one  of  them. 
The  names  under  which  some  of  them  came  forth, 
are  the  names  of  men  of  eminence  in  our  histories. 
What  these  books  give,  are  not  contradictions, 
but  unauthorized  additions.  The  principal  facts 
are  supposed,  the  principal  agents  the  same ;  which 
shows,  that  these  points  were  too  much  fixed  to 
be  altered  or  disputed. 

If  there  be  any  book  of  this  description,  which 
appears  to  have  imposed  upon  some  considerable 
number  of  learned  Christians,  it  is  the  Sibylline 
oracles;  but,  when  we  reflect  upon  the  circum- 
stances which  facilitated  that  imposture,  we  shall 
cease  to  wonder  either  at  the  attempt  or  its  success. 
It  was  at  that  time  universally  understood,  that 
such  a  prophetic  writing  existed.  Its  contents 
Were  kept  secret.  This  situation  afforded  to  some 
one  a  hint,  as  well  as  an  opportujiit}',  to  give  out 
a  writing  under  this  name,  favourable  to  the  al- 
ready established  persuasion  of  Christians,  and 
which  writing,  by  the  aid  and  reconmiendation  of 
these  circumstances,  would  in  some  degree,  it  is 
probable,  be  received.  Of  the  ancient  Ibrgery  we 
know  but  little:  what  is  now  produced,  could  not, 
in  my  opinion,  have  imposed  upon  any  one.  It 
is  nothing  else  than  the  Gospel  history,  woven 
into  verse;  perhaps  was  at  tirst  rather  a  fiction 
than  a  forgery ;  an  exercise  of  ingenuity,  more 
than  an  attempt  to  deceive. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Recapitulation. 

TrtE  reader  will  now  be  pleased  to  recollect, 
that  the  two  points  wliich  form  the  subject  of  our 
])resent  discussion,  are  first,  that  the  Founder  of 
Christianity,  his  associates,  and  immediate  follow- 
ers, passed  their  lives  in  labours,  dangers,  and  suf- 
ferings; secondly,  that  they  did  so,  in  attestation 
of  the  miraculous  history  recorded  in  our  Scrip- 
tures, and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of 
the  truth  of  that  history. 

The  argument,  by  which  these  two  propositions 
have  been  maintained  by  us,  stands  thus : 

No  historical  fact,  I  apprehend,  is  more  certain, 
than  that  the  original  propagators  of  Christianity 
voluntarily  subjected  themselves  to  lives  of  fatigue, 
danger,  and  suffering,  in  the  prosecution  of  their 
undertaking.  The  nature  of  the  undertaking; 
the  character  of  the  persons  employed  in  it ;  the 
opposition  of  their  tenets  to  the  fixed  opinions  and 
expectations  of  the  country  in  which  they  first  ad- 
vanced them;  their  undissembled  condemnation 
of  the  religion  of  all  other  countries ;  their  total 
want  of  power,  authority,  or  force ;  render  it  in 
the  highest  degree  probable  that  this  must  have 
been  the  case.  The  probability  is  increased,  by 
what  we  know  of  the  fate  of  the  Founder  of  the 
institution,  who  was  put  to  death  for  his  attempt; 
and  by  what  we  also  know  of  the  cruel  treatment 
of  the  converts  to  the  institution,  within  thirty 
years  after  its  connnencement;  both  which  points 
are  attested  by  heathen  writers,  and,  being  once 
admitted,  leave  it  very  incredible  that  the  primi- 
tive emissaries  of  the  religion,  who  exercised  their 
ministry,  first,  amongst  the  people  who  had  de- 
stroyed their  Master,  and,  afterward,  amongst 
those  who  persecuted  their  converts,  should  them- 


selves escape  with  impunity,  or  pursue  their  pur- 
pose in  ease  and  safety.  This  probability,  thus 
sustained  by  foreign  testimonj',  is  advanced,  j 
think,  to  historical  certainty,  hy  the  evidence  of 
our  own  books,  by  the  accounts  of  a  writer  who 
was  the  companion  of  the  persons  whose  suffer- 
ings he  relates;  by  the  letters  of  the  persons  them- 
selves; b)'  predictions  of  persecutions  ascribed  to 
the  Founder  of  the  religion,  which  predicti(*ns 
would  not  have  been  inserted  in  this  history, 
much  less  have  been  studiously  dwelt  upon,  if 
they  had  not  accorded  with  the  event,  and  wliich, 
even  if  falsely  ascribed  to  him,  could  only  have 
been  so  ascribed,  because  the  event  suggested 
them;  lastly,  by  incessant  exhortations  to  forti- 
tude and  patience,  and  by  an  earnestness,  repeti- 
tion, and  urgency,  upon  the  subject,  which  were 
unlikely  to  have  appeared,  if  there  had  not  been, 
at  the  time,  some  extraordinary  call  for  the  exer- 
cise of  these  virtues. 

It  is  made  out  also,  I  think,  with  sufficient  evi- 
dence, that  both  the  teachers  and  converts  of  the 
religion,  in  consequence  of  their  new  profession, 
took  up  a  new  course  of  life  and  behaviour. 

The  next  great  question  is,  what  they  did  this 
FOR.  That  it  was  jb?-  a  miraculous  story  of  some 
kind  or  other,  is  to  my  apprehension  extremely 
manifest;  because,  as  to  the  fundamental  article, 
the  designation  of  the  person,  viz.  that  this  parti- 
cular person,  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  ought  to  be  re- 
ceived as  the  Messiah,  or  as  a  messenger  from 
God,  they  neither  had,  nor  could  have,  any  thing 
but  miracles  to  stand  upon.  That  the  exertions 
and  sufferings  of  the  apostles  were  for  the  story 
which  we  have  now,  is  proved  by  the  considera- 
tion tliat  this  story  is  transmitted  to  us  by  two  of 
their  own  number,  and  by  two  others  personally 
connected  with  them;  that  the  particularity  of  the 
narrative  proves,  that  the  writers  claimed  to  i)os- 
sess  circumstantial  information,  that  from  tlieir 
situation  they  had  full  opportunity  of  acquiring 
such  information,  that  they  certainly,  at  least, 
knew  what  their  colleagues,  their  companions, 
their  masters,  taught;  that  each  of  these  books 
contains  enough  to  prove  the  truth  of  tlie  religion ; 
that,  if  any  one  of  them  therefore  be  genuine,  it  is 
sufTicient ;  that  the  genuineness,  however,  of  all 
of  them  is  made  out,  as  well  by  the  general  argu- 
ments which  evince  the  genuineness  of  the  most 
undisputed  remains  of  antiquity,  as  also  by  jjccu- 
liar  and  specific  proofs,  viz.  by  citations  from  them 
in  writings  belonging  to  a  period  immediately  con- 
tiguous to  that  in  which  they  were  published;  by 
the  distinguished  regard  paid  by  early  Christians 
to  the  authority  of  these  books,  (which  regard  was 
manifested  by  their  collecting  of  them  into  a  vo- 
lume, appropriating  to  that  volume  titles  of  pecu- 
liar respect,  translating  them  into  various  lan- 
guages, digesting  them  into  harmonies,  writing 
commentaries  upon  them,  and,  still  more  conspicu- 
ously, by  the  reading  of  them  in  their  public  as- 
semblies in  all  parts  of  the  world  ;)  by  a  universal 
agreement  with  respect  to  these  books,  whilst 
doubts  were  entertained  concerning  some  others ; 
by  contending  sects  appealing  to  them ;  by  the 
early  adversaries  of  the  religion  not  disputing 
their  genuineness,  but,  on  the  contrary,  treating 
them  as  the  depositaries  of  the  history  upon  which 
the  religion  was  founded ;  by  many  formal  ■  ata- 
logues  of  these,  as  of  certain  and  authoritative 
writings,  published  in  difl(?rent  and  distant  parts 
of  the  Christian  world;  lastly,  by  the  absence  or 
27* 


318 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


defeot  of  the  above-cited  topics  of  evidence,  when 
applird  to  any  other  histories  of  the  same  subject. 
These  are  strong  arguments  to  prove,  that  the 
books  actually  proceeded  from  the  authors  whose 
names  they  bear,  (and  have  always  borne,  for 
there  is  not  a  particle  of  evidence  to  show  that 
they  ever  went  under  any  other ;)  but  the  strict 
genuineness  of  the  books  is  perhaps  more  than  is 
necessary  to  the  support  of  our  proposition.  For 
even  sui)posing  that,  by  reason  of  the  silence  of 
antiquity,  or  the  loss  of  records,  we  know  not  who 
were  the  writers  of  the  four  Gospels,  yet  the  fact, 
that  they  were  received  as  authentic  accounts  of 
the  transaction  upon  which  the  religion  rested, 
and  were  received  as  such  by  Christians,  at  or 
near  the  age  of  the  apostles,  by  those  whom  the 
apostles  had  taught,  and  by  societies  which  apos- 
tles had  founded ;  this  fact,  I  say,  connected  with 
the  consideration,  that  they  are  corroborative  of 
each  other's  testimony,  and  that  they  are  farther 
corroborated  by  another  contemporary  history, 
taking  up  the  story  where  they  had  left  it,  and,  in 
a  narrative  built  upon  that  story,  accounting  for 
the  rise  and  production  of  changes  in  the  world, 
the  effects  of  which  subsist  at  this  day  ;  connected, 
moreover,  with  the  confirmation  which  they  re- 
ceive from  letters  written  by  the  apostles  them- 
selves, which  both  assume  the  same  general  story, 
and,  as  often  as  occasions  lead  them  to  do  so,  al- 
lude to  particular  parts  of  it;  and  connected  also 
with  the  reflection,  that  if  the  apostles  delivered 
any  different  story,  it  is  lost,  (the  present  and  no 
other  being  referred  to  by  a  series  of  Christian 
writers,  down  from  their  age  to  our  own ;  being 
likewise  recognised  in  a  variety  of  institutions, 
which  prevailed  early  and  universally  amongst  the 
disciples  of  the  religion ;)  and  that  so  great  a 
change,  as  the  oblivion  of  one  story  and  the  sub- 
stitution of  another,  under  such  circumstances, 
could  not  have  taken  place ;  this  evidence  would 
be  deemed,  I  apprehend,  sufficient  to  prove  con- 
cerning these  books,  that,  whoever  were  the  au- 
thors of  them,  they  exhibit  the  story  which  the 
apostles  told,  and  for  which,  consequently,  they 
acted,  and  they  suffered. 

If  it  be  so,  the  religion  must  be  true.  These 
men  could  not  be  deceivers. — By  only  not  bearing 
testimony,  they  might  have  avoided  all  these  suf- 
ferings, and  have  lived  quietly.  Would  men  in 
such  circumstances  pretend  to  have  seen  what 
they  never  saw  ;  assert  facts  which  they  had  no 
knowledge  of;  go  about  lying  to  teach  virtue ; 
and,  though  not  only  convinced  of  Christ's  being 
an  impostor,  but  having  seen  the  success  of  his 
imposture  in  his  crucifixion,  yet  persist  in  carry- 
ing it  on ;  and  so  persist,  as  to  bring  upon  them- 
selves, for  nothing,  and  with  a  full  knowledge  of 
the  consequence,  enmity  and  hatred,  danger  and 
death  1 


OF  THE   DIRECT   HISTORICAL  EVIDENCE   OF 
CHRISTIANITY. 


PROPOSITION     II. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Our  first  proposition  was,  "  That  there  is  satisfac- 
tory evidence  that  many,  ■pretending  to  be  origi- 
nal witnesses  of  the  Christian  miracles,  passed 


their  Uresin  labours,  dangers,  andsvjferings, 
voluntarily  undertaken  and  undergone  in  at- 
testation qftlie  accounts  which  they  delivered, 
and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of  the 
truth  of  those  accounts;  and  that  they  also 
submitted,  from  the  same  motires,  to  new 
rules  of  conduct.'" 

Our  second  proposition,  and  which  now  remains 
to  be  treated  of,  is,  "  That  there  is  not  satisfac- 
tory evidence,  that  persons  pretending  to  be 
original  witnesses  of  any  other  similar  mira- 
cles, have  acted  in  the  satne  manner,  in  attest- 
ation of  the  accounts  which  they  delivered, 
and  solely  in  consequence  of  their  belief  of  the 
truth  of  those  accounts." 

I  ENTER  upon  this  part  of  my  argument,  by 
declaring  how  far  my  belief  in  miraculous  iiciitunts 
goes.  If  the  reformers  in  the  time  of  Wiiklilie, 
or  of  Luther  ;  or  those  of  England,  in  the  time  of 
Henry  the  Eighth,  or  of  queen  Mary ;  or  the 
founders  of  our  religious  sects  since,  such  as  were 
Mr.  Whitfield  and  Mr.  Wesley  in  our  own  times ; 
had  undergone  the  life  of  toil  and  exertion,  of 
danger  and  suHerings,  which  we  know  that  many 
of  them  did  undergo, /or  a  miraculous  story  ;  that 
is  to  say,  if  they  had  founded  their  public  ministry 
upon  the  allegation  of  miracles  wrought  within 
their  own  knowledge,  and  upon  narratives  which 
could  not  be  resolved  into  delusion  or  mistake ; 
and  if  it  had  appeared,  that  their  conduct  really 
had  its  origin  in  these  accounts,  I  should  have 
believed  them.  Or,  to  borrow  an  instance  which 
will  be  familiar  to  every  one  of  my  readers,  if  the 
late  Mr.  Howard  had  undertaken  his  labours  and 
journeys  in  attestation,  and  in  consequence  of  a 
clear  and  sensible  miracle,  I  should  have  believed 
him  also.  Or,  to  represent  the  same  thing  under 
a  third  supposition ;  if  Socrates  had  professed  to 
perform  public  miracles  at  Athens ;  if  the  friends 
of  Socrates,  Fh»do,  Cebes,  Crito,  and  Simmias, 
together  with  Plato,  and  many  of  his  followers, 
relying  upon  the  attestations  which  these  mira- 
cles afforded  to  his  pretensions,  had,  at  the  hazard 
of  their  hves,  and  the  certain  expense  of  their  ease 
and  tranquillity,  gone  about  Greece,  after  his 
death,  to  publish  and  propagate  his  doctrines: 
and  if  these  things  had  come  to  our  knowledge, 
in  the  same  way  as  that  in  which  the  life  of 
Socrates  is  now  transmitted  to  us,  through  the 
hands  of  his  companions  and  disciples,  that  is,  by 
writings  received  without  doubt  as  theirs,  from 
the  age  in  which  they  were  published  to  the  pre- 
sent, I  should  have  believed  this  likewise.  And 
my  belief  would,  in  each  case,  be  much  strength- 
ened, if  the  subject  of  the  mission  were  of  import- 
ance to  the  conduct  and  happiness  of  human  life: 
if  it  testified  any  thing  which  it  behoved  mankind 
to  know  from  such  authority;  if  the  nature  of 
what  it  delivered,  required  the  sort  of  proof  which 
it  alleged ;  if  the  occasion  was  adequate  to  the 
interposition,  the  end  worthy  of  the  means.  In 
the  last  case,  my  faith  would  be  much  confirmed, 
if  the  effects  of  the  transaction  7-ewa/nefZ;  more 
especially,  if  a  change  had  been  wrought,  at  the 
time,  in  the  opinion  and  conduct  of  such  numbers, 
as  to  lay  the  foundation  of  an  institution,  and  of  a 
system  of  doctrines,  which  had  since  oversjiread 
tiie  greatest  part  of  the  civilized  world.  I  should 
have  believed.  I  say,  the  testimony  in  these  cases ; 
yet  none  of  them  do  more  than  come  up  to  the 
apostolic  history. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


Oi.i/ 


If  any  one  choose  to  call  assent  to  its  evidence 
credulity,  it  is  at  least  incumbent  upon  him  to 
produce  examples  in  which  tlie  same  evidence 
hath  turned  out  to  be  fallacious.  And  this  con- 
tains the  precise  question  which  we  are  now  to 
agitate. 

I  n  stating  the  comparison  between  our  evidence, 
and  what  our  adversaries  may  bring  into  compe- 
tition witii  ours,  we  will  divide  the  distinctions 
which  we  wish  to  propose  into  two  kinds, — those 
wlii.;h  relate  to  the  proof,  and  those  which  relate 
to  the  miracles.  Under  the  tbrmer  head  we  may 
lay  out  the  case. 

I.  Sucli  accounts  of  supernatural  events  as  are 
found  only  in  histories  by  some  ages  posterior  to 
the  tnins.iction,  and  of  which  it  is  evident  tliat  the 
historian  could  know  little  more  than  his  reader. 
Ours  is  contemporary  history.  This  dilference 
alone  removes  out  of  our  way,  the  miraculous  his- 
tory of  Pythagoras,  who  lived  live  hundred  years 
before  the  Christian  era,  written  by  Porphyry 
and  Jamblicus,  who  lived  three  hundred  years 
after  that  era;  the  prodigies  of  Livy's  historj^; 
the  fables  of  the  heroic  ages ;  the  whole  of  the 
Greek  and  Roman,  as  well  as  of  the  Gothic 
mythology;  a  great  part  of  the  legendary  history 
of  Popish  saints,  the  very  best  attested  of  which  is 
extracted  from  the  certificates  that  are  exhibited 
during  the  process  of  their  canonization,  a  cere- 
mony wiiich  seldom  takes  place  till  a  century  after 
their  deaths.  It  applies  also  with  considerable 
force  to  the  miracles  of  ApoUonius  Tyaneus, 
which  are  contained  in  a  solitary  history  of  his 
lite,  published  by  Philostratus,  above  a  hundred 
years  after  his  death ;  and  in  which,  whether 
Philostratus  had  any  prior  account  to  guide  him, 
depends  upon  his  single  unsupported  assertion. 
Also  to  some  of  the  miracles  of  tiie  third  century, 
e.sj)ecially  to  one  extraordinary  instance,  the  ac- 
count of  Gregory,  bishop  of  Neocesarea,  called 
Tliaumaturgus,  delivered  in  the  writings  of  Gre- 
gory of  Nyssen,  who  lived  one  hundred  and  tliirty 
years  after  the  subject  of  his  panegyric. 

The  value  of  this  circumstance  is  shown  to  have 
been  accurately  exemplilied  in  the  history  of  Igna- 
tius Loyola,  founder  of  the  order  of  Jesuits.*  His 
life,  written  by  a  companion  of  his,  and  by  one  of 
the  order,  was  published  about  fifteen  years  after 
his  death.  In  which  life,  the  author,  so  far  from 
asL-ribing  any  miracles  to  Ignatius,  industriously 
states  the  reasons  why  he  was  not  invested  with 
any  such  power.  The  life  was  republished  fifteen 
years  afterward,  with  the  addition  of  many  cir- 
cum.stances  which  were  the  fruit,  the  author  says, 
of  farther  inquiry,  and  of  diligent  examination  ; 
but  still  with  a  total  silence  about  miracles.  When 
Ignatius  had  been  dead  nearly  sixty  years,  the 
Jesuits,  conceiving  a  wish  to  have  the  founder  of 
their  order  placed  in  the  Roman  calendar,  began, 
as  it  should  seem,  for  the  first  time,  to  attribute  to 
him  a  catalogue  of  miracles,  which  could  not  then 
be  distinctly  disproved ;  and  which  there  was,  in 
those  who  governed  the  church,  a  strong  disposi- 
tion to  admit  upon  the  slenderest  proofs. 

II.  We  may  lay  out  of  the  case,  accounts  pub- 
lished in  one  country,  of  what  passed  in  a  distant 
country,  without  any  proof  that  such  accounts 
were  known  or  received  at  home.  In  the  case  of 
Christianity,  Judea,  which  was  the  scene  of  the 
transaction,  was  the  centre  of  the  mission.     The 


story  was  published  in  tb^  [^lace  in  which  it  was 
acted.  The  church  of  Cnri.st  was  first  planted  at 
Jerusalem  itself  With  that  church,  others  cor- 
responded. From  thence  the  jjiimitive  teachers 
of  the  institution  went  forth;  thither  they  assem- 
bled. The  church  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  several 
churches  of  Judea,  subsisted  from  the  beginning, 
and  for  many  ages;*  received  also  the  same  Looks 
and  the  same  accounts,  as  other  churches  did. 

This  distinction  disposes,  amongst  others,  of 
the  above-mentioned  miracles  of  ApoUonius  Tya- 
neus, most  of  which  are  related  to  have  been 
performed  in  India;  no  evidence  remaining  that 
either  the  miracles  ascribed  to  him,  or  the  history 
of  those  miracles,  were  ever  heard  of  in  India. 
Those  of  Francis  Xavier,  the  Indian  missionary, 
with  many  others  of  the  Romish  breviary,  are  lia- 
ble to  tbe  same  objection,  viz.  that  the  accounts 
of  them  were  published  at  a  vast  distance  from  the 
supposed  scene  of  the  wonders.! 

III.  We  lay  out  of  the  case  transient  rmnours. 
Upon  the  first  publication  of  an  extraordinary  ac- 
count, or  even  of  an  article  of  ordinary  intelligence, 
no  one,  who  is  not  personally  acquainted  with  the 
transaction,  can  knoyv  whether  it  be  true  or  false, 
because  any  man  may  publish  any  story.  It  is  in 
the  future  confirmation,  or  contradiction,  of  the 
account ;  in  its  permanency,  or  its  disappearance ; 
its  dying  away  into  silence,  or  its  increasing  in 
notoriety ;  its  being  followed  up  by  subsequent 
accounts,  and  being  repeated  in  different  and  in- 
dependent accounts ;  that  solid  truth  is  distinguish- 
ed from  fugitive  lies.  This  distinction  is  altogether 
on  the  side  of  Christianity.  The  story  did  not 
drop.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  succeeded  by  a 
train  of  action  and  events  dependent  upon  it. 
The  accounts,  which  we  have  in  our  hands,  were 
composed  after  the  first  reports  must  have  sub- 
sided. They  were  followed  by  a  train  of  writings 
upon  the  subject.  The  historical  testimonies  of 
the  transaction  were  many  and  various,  and  con- 
nected with  letters,  discourses,  controversies,  apo- 
logies, successively  produced  by  the  same  transac- 
tion. 

IV.  We  may  lay  out  of  the  case  what  I  call 
naked  history.  It  has  been  said,  that  if  the  pro- 
digies of  the  Jewish  history  had  been  found  only 
in  fragments  of  Manetho,  or  Berosus,  we  should 
have  paid  no  regard  to  them:  and  I  am  willing  to 
admit  this.  If  we  knew  nothing  of  the  fact,  but 
from  the  fragment ;  if  we  possessed  no  proof  that 
these  accounts  had  been  credited  and  acted  upon, 
from  times,  probably,  as  ancient  as  the  accounts 
themselves ;  if  we  had  no  visible  effects  connected 
with  the  history,  no  subsequent  or  collateral  testi- 
mony to  confirm  it ;  under  these  circumstances,  I 
think  that  it  would  be  undeserving  of  credit.  But 
this  certainly  is  not  our  case.  In  appreciating 
the  evidence  of  Christianity,  the  books  are  to  be 
combined  with  the  institution;  with  the  preva- 
lency  of  the  religion  at  this  day;  with  the  time 
and  place  of  its  origin ;  which  are  acknowledged 
points ;  with  the  circumstances  of  its  rise  and  pro- 
gress, as  collected  from  external  history ;  with  the 
fact  of  our  present  books  being  received  by  the 
votaries  of  the  institution  from  the  beginning; 
with  that  of  other  books  coming  after  these,  filled 


Douglas's  Ciiterion  of  Miracles,  p.  74. 


*  The  succession  of  many  eminent  bishops  of  Jerusa- 
lem in  the  first  three  centuries,  is  distinctly  preserved; 
as  Alexander,  A.  D.  212,  who  succeeded  Narcissus,  then 
116  vears  old. 

t  Douglas's  Crit  \,  fA. 


320 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


with  accounts  of  effects  and  consequences  result- 
;ing  from  the  transaction,  or  referring  to  the  trans- 
action, or  built  upon  it;  lastly,  with  the  consider- 
ation of  the  number  and  variety  of  the  books 
themselves,  the  difierent  writers  from  which  they 
proceed,  the  different  views  with  which  they  were 
written,  so  disagreeing  as  to  repel  the  suspicion  of 
confederacy,  so  agreeing  as  to  show  that  they  were 
founded  in  a  common  original,  i.  e.  in  a  story  sub- 
stantidly  the  same.  Whether  this  proof  be  satis- 
factory or  not,  it  is  properly  a  cumulation  of  evi- 
dence, b)'  no  means  a  naked  or  solitary  record. 

V.  A  mark  of  historical  truth,  although  only 
in  a  certain  way,  and  to  a  certain  degree,  is  par- 
ticulariti/,  in  names,  dates,  places,  circumstances, 
and  in  the  order  of  events  preceding  or  following 
the  transaction :  of  which  kind,  for  instance,  is 
the  particularity  in  the  description  of  Saint  Paul's 
voyage  and  shipwreck,  in  the  27th  chapter  of  the 
Acts,  which  no  man,  I  think,  can  read  without 
being  convinced  that  the  writer  was  there;  and 
also  in  the  account  of  the  cure  and  examination 
of  the  blind  man,  in  the  ninth  chapter  of  Saint 
John's  Gospel,  which  bears  every  mark  of  per- 
sonal knowledge  on  the  part  of  the  historian.*  I 
do  not  deny  that  fiction  has  often  the  particularity 
of  truth ;  but  then  it  is  of  studied  and  elaborate 
fiction,  or  of  a  formal  attempt  to  deceive,  that  we 
observe  this.  Since,  however,  experience  proves 
that  particularity  is  riot  confined  to  truth,  I  have 
stated  that  it  is  a  proof  of  truth  only  to  a  certain 
extent,  i.  e.  it  reduces  the  question  to  this,  whe- 
ther we  can  depend  or  not  upon  the  probity  of  the 
relater'^  which  is  a  considerable  advance  in  our 
present  argument ;  tor  an  express  attempt  to  de- 
ceive, in  which  case  alone  particularity  can  ap- 
pear without  truth,  is  charged  upon  the  evange- 
lists by  few.  If  the  historian  acknowledge  himself 
to  have  received  his  intelligence  from  others,  the 
particularity  of  the  narrative  shows,  prima  facie, 
the  accuracy  of  liis  inquiries,  and  the  fulness  of 
his  information.  This  remark  belongs  to  Saint 
Luke's  history.  Of  the  particularity  which  we 
allege,  many  examples  may  be  found  in  all  the 
Gospels.  And  it  is  very  difficult  to  conceive,  that 
such  numerous  particularities,  as  are  almost  every 
where  to  be  met  with  in  the  Scriptures,  should  be 
raised  out  of  nothing,  or  be  spun  out  of  the  imagi- 
nation without  any  fact  to  go  upon.t 

It  is  to  be  remarked,  however,  that  this  particu- 
larity is  only  to  be  looked  for  in  direct  history.  It 
is  not  natural  in  references  or  allusions,  which  yet, 
in  other  respects,  often  afford,  as  far  as  they  go, 
the  most  unsuspicious  evidence. 

VI.  We  lay  out  of  the  case  such  stories  of  su- 
pernatural events,  as  require,  on  the  part  of  the 
hearer,  nothing  more  than  an  otiose  assent ;  stories 
upon  which  nothing  depends,  in  which  no  inte- 

*  P.ntli  tliese  chapters  ought  to  be  read  for  the  sake 
of  tliis  very  observation. 

t  "There  is  always  some  truth  where  there  are  con- 
siderable particularities  related;  and  they  always  seem 
to  b«ar  some  proportion  to  one  anotlier.  Thus  there  is 
a  great  want  of  the  particulars  of  time,  place,  and  per- 
sons, in  Manelho's  account  of  the  Egyptian  Dynasties, 
Ctesias's  of  the  Assyrian  Kings,  and  those  which  the 
technical  chronologers  have  given  of  the  ancient  king- 
Jonis  of  Greece:  and  agreeably  thereto,  the  accounts 
have  much  fiction  and  falsehood,  with  some  truth : 
whereas,  Thiicydides's  History  of  the  Pelopnnnesian 
War,  andCifisar'sof  the  War  in  Gaul,  in  both  which 
the  particulars  of  time,  place,  and  persons,  are  mention- 
ed, are  universally  esteemed  true  to  a  great  degree  of 
exactness."— Hartley,  vol.  ii.  p.  109. 


rest  is  involved,  nothing  is  to  he  done  or  changed 
in  consequence  of  believing  them.  Such  stories 
are  credited,  if  the  careless  assent  that  is  given  to 
them  deserve  that  name,  more  by  the  indolence  of 
the  hearer,  than  by  his  judgment:  or,  though  not 
nmcli  credited,  are  passed  from  one  to  another 
without  inquiry  or  resistance.  To  this  case,  and 
to  this  case  alone,  belongs  what  is  called  the  love 
of  the  marvellous.  I  have  never  known  it  carry 
men  farther.  Men  do  not  suffer  pcrseeution  from 
the  love  of  the  marvellous.  Of  the  indifferent  na- 
ture we  are  speaking  of,  are  most  vulgar  errors 
and  popular  superstitions;  most,  for  instance,  of 
the  current  reports  of  apparitions.  Nothing  de- 
pends upon  their  being  true  or  false.  But  not, 
surely,  of  this  kind  were  the  alleged  miracles  of 
Christ  and  Iris  apostles.  They  decided,  if  true, 
the  most  important  question  upon  which  the  hu- 
man mind  can  fix  its  anxiety.  They  claimed  to 
regulate  the  opinions  of  mankind,  upon  subjects 
in  which  they  are  not  only  deeply  concerned,  but 
usually  refractory  and  obstinate.  Men  could  not 
be  utterly  careless  in  such  a  case  as  this.  If  a 
Jew  took  up  the  story,  he  found  his  darling  par- 
tiality to  his  own  nation  and  law  wounded  ;  if  a 
Gentile,  he  found  his  idolatry  and  polytheism  re- 
probated and  condemned.  Whoever  entertained 
the  account,  whether  Jew  or  Gentile,  could  not 
avoid  the  following  reflection: — "  If  these  things 
be  true,  I  must  give  up  the  opinions  and  princi- 
ples in  which  I  have  been  brought  up,  the  religion 
in  which  my  fathers  lived  and  died."  It  is  not 
conceivable  that  a  man  should  do  this  Ujfon  any 
idle  report  or  frivolous  account,  or  indeed,  without 
being  fully  satisfied  and  convinced  of  the  truth 
and  credibility  of  the  narrative  to  which  he  trust- 
ed. But  it  did  not  stop  at  opinions.  They  who 
believed  Christianity,  acted  upon  it.  Many  made 
it  the  express  business  of  their  lives  to  publish  the 
intelligence.  It  was  required  of  those  who  ad- 
mitted that  intelligence,  to  cliange  forthwith  their 
conduct  and  their  principles,  to  take  up  a  difier 
ent  course  of  life,  to  part  with  their  habits  anc 
gratifications,  and  begin  a  new  set  of  rules,  ant 
system  of  behaviour.  The  apostles,  at  least,  were 
interested  not  to  sacrifice  their  ease,  their  fortunes 
and  their  lives,  for  an  idle  tale ;  nmltitudes  besides 
them  were  induced,  by  the  same  tale,  to  encoun- 
ter ojiposition,  danger,  and  suffl'rings. 

If  it  be  said,  that  the  mere  pronrise  of  a  future 
state  would  do  all  tlris ;  I  answer,  that  the  mere 
promise  of  a  future  state,  without  any  evidence 
to  give  credit  or  assurance  to  it,  would  do  notliing. 
A  few  wandering  fishermen  talking  of  a  resurrec- 
tion of  the  dead,  could  produce  no  effect.  If  it  be 
farther  said,  that  men  easily  believe  what  they 
anxiously  desire;  I  again  answer  that,  in  my 
opinion,  the  very  contrary  of  this  is  nearer  to  the 
truth.  Anxiety  of  desire,  earnestness  of  expecta- 
tion, the  vastness  of  an  event,  rather  cause  men 
to  disbelieve,  to  doubt,  to  dread  a  fallacy,  to  dis- 
trust, and  to  examine.  When  our  Lord's  resur- 
rection was  first  reported  to  the  apostles,  they  did 
not  believe,  we  are  told,  for  joy.  This  was  natu- 
ral, and  is  agreeable  to  ex]jerience. 

VII.  We  have  laid  out  of  the  case  those  ac- 
counts which  require  no  more  than  a  simple  as- 
sent ;  and  we  now  also  lay  out  of  the  case  those 
which  come  merely  in  affirmance  of  opinions 
already  formed.  This  last  circumstance  is  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  notice  well.  It  has  long 
been  observed,  that  Popish  miracles  happen  in 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


321 


Popish  countries ;  that  they  make  no  converts : 
which  prove;3  that  stories  are  accepted,  when  they 
fall  in  witli  principles  already  fixed,  with  the  pub- 
lic sentiments,  or  with  the  sentiments  of  a  party 
already  engaged  on  the  side  the  miracle  supports, 
which  would  not  be  attempted  to  be  produced- in 
the  face  of  enemies,  in  opposition  to  reigning 
tenets  or  favourite  prejudices,  or  when,  if  they  be 
believed,  the  belief  nnist  draw  men  away  from 
their  preconceived  and  habitual  opinions,  from 
their  modes  of  life  and  rules  of  action.  In  the 
former  case,  men  may  not  only  receive  a  miracu- 
lous account,  bat  may  both  act  and  suffer  on  the 
side  and  in  tlie  cause,  which  the  miracle  supports, 
yet  not  act  or  suffer  for  the  miracle,  but  in  pur- 
suance of  a  prior  persuasion.  The  miracle,  like 
any  other  argument  which  only  confirms  what 
was  before  believed,  is  admitted  with  little  ex- 
amination. In  the  moral  as  in  the  natural  world, 
it  is  change  which  requires  a  cause.  Men  are 
easily  fortified  in  their  old  opinions,  driven  from 
them  with  great  difficulty.  Now  how  does  this 
apply  to  the  Christian  history  1  The  miracles, 
there  recorded,  were  wrought  in  the  midst  erf  ene- 
mies, under  a  government,  a  priesthood,  and  a 
magistracy,  decidedly  and  vehemently  adverse  to 
them,  and  to  the  pretensions  which  they  support- 
ed. They  were  Protestant  miracles  in  a  Popish 
country ;  they  were  Popish  miracles  in  tlie  midst 
of  Protestants.  They  produced  a  change;  they 
establi-shcd  a  society  upon  the  spot,  adhering  to 
the  beli^^f  of  them  ;  they  made  converts ;  and  those 
wiio  wer6  converted  gave  up  to  the  testimony 
their  most  fixed  opinions  and  most  favourite  pre- 
judices. They  who  acted  and  suffered  in  the 
cause,  acted  and  suffered  for  the  nnracles :  for 
there  was  no  anterior  persuasion  to  induce  them, 
no  prior  reverence,  prejudice,  or  partiality,  to  take 
hold  of  Jesus  had  not  one  follower  wlien  he  set 
up  his  claim.  His  miracles  gave  birth  to  his  sect. 
No  part  of  this  description  belongs  to  the  ordinary 
evidence  of  Heathen  or  Popish  miracles.  Even 
most  of  the  miracles  alleged  to  have  been  perform- 
ed by  Christians,  in  the  second  and  third  century 
of  its  era,  want  this  confirmation.  It  constitutes 
indeed  a  line  of  partition  between  the  origin  and 
the  progress  of  Christianity.  Frauds  and  falla- 
cies might  mix  themselves  with  the  progress, 
which  could  not  possibly  take  place  in  the  com- 
mencement of  the  religion  ;  at  least,  according  to 
any  laws  of  human  conduct  that  we  are  acquaint- 
ed with.  What  should  suggest  to  the  first  propa- 
gators of  Christianity,  especially  to  fishermen, 
tax-gatherers,  and  husbandmen,  such  a  thought 
as  that  of  changing  the  religion  of  tlie  world  ; 
what  could  hear  them  through  the  difficulties  in 
which  the  attempt  engaged  them ;  what  could 
procure  any  degree  of  success  to  the  attempt ;  are 
questions  which  apply,  with  great  force,  to  the 
setting  out  cf  the  institution,  with  less,  to  every 
future  stage  of  it. 

To  hear  some  men  talk,  one  wonld  suppose  the 
setting  up  of  a  religion  by  miracles  to  be  a  thing 
of  every  day's  experience  ;  whereas  the  whole  cur-  i 
rent  of  history  is  against  it.  Hath  any  founder 
of  a  new  sect  amongst  Christians  pretended  to 
miraculous  powers,  and  succeeded  by  his  preten- 
sions 1  "  Were  these  powers  claimed  or  exercised 
by  the  founders  of  the  sects  of  the  Waldenses 
and  Albigenses!  Did  Wickliffe  in  England  pre- 
tend to  it  i  Did  Huss  or  Jerome  in  Bohemia  1 
Did  Luther  in  Germany,  Zuinglius  in  Switzer- 
2S 


land,  Calvin  in  France,  or  any  of  the  reformers, 
advance  this  plea  "?"*  The  French  prophets,  in 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  t  venHired 
to  allege  miraculous  evidence,  and  immediately 
ruined  their  cause  by  their  temerity.  "  Concern- 
ing the  religion  of  ancient  Rome,  of  Turkey, 
of  Siain,  of  China,  a  single  miracle  cannot  be 
named,  that  was  ever  offered  as  a  test  of  any  of 
those  religions  before  their  establishment."  t 

We  may  add  to  what  has  been  observed  of  the 
distinction  which  we  are  considering,  that,  where 
miracles  are  alleged  merely  in  affirmance  of  a 
prior  opinion,  they  who  believe  the  doctrine  may 
sometimes  propagate  a  belief  of  the  miracles  which 
they  do  not  themselves  entertain.  This  is  the 
case  of  what  are  called  pious  frauds;  but  it  is  a 
case,  I  apprehend,  which  talies  place  solely  in 
support  of  a  persuasion  already  established.  At 
least  it  does  not  hold  of  the  apostolical  history.  If 
the  apostles  did  not  believe  the  miracles,  they  did 
not  lielieve  the  religion  ;  and,  without  this  belief, 
where  was  the  piety,  what  place  was  there  for  any 
thing  which  could  bear  the  name  or  colour  of 
piety,  in  puHishing  and  attesting  miracles  in  its 
behalf  1  If  it  be  said  that  any  promote  the  belief 
of  revelation,  and  of  any  accounts  which  favour 
that  belief,  because  they  think  them,  whether  well 
or  ill  founded,  of  public  and  political  utihty;  I 
answer,  tliat  if  a  character  exist,  v^hich  can  with 
less  justice  than  another  be  ascribed  to  the  foun- 
ders of  the  Christian  religion;itisthat  of  politicians, 
or  of  men  capable  of  entertaining  political  views. 
The  truth  is,  that  there  is  no  assignable  character 
which  will  account  for  the  conduct  of  the  apostles, 
supposing  their  story  to  be  false.  If  bad  men, 
what  could  have  induced  them  to  take  such  pains 
to  promote  virtue'?  If  good  men,  they  would  not 
ha^•e  gone  about  the  country  with  a  string  of  lies 
in  their  mouths. 

In  appreciating  the  credit  of  an}'  miraculous 
story,  these  are  distinctions  which  relate  to  the 
evidence.  There  are  other  distinctions,  of  great 
moment  in  the  question,  which  relate  to  the  mira- 
cles themselves.  Of  which  latter  kind  the  fol- 
lowing ought  carefully  to  be  retained. 

I.  It  is  not  necessary  to  admit  as  a  miracle, 
what  can  be  resolved  into  a  false  perception.  Of 
this  nature  was  the  demon  of  Socrates ;  the  visions 
of  Saint  Anthony',  and  of  many  others;  the  vision 
which  Lord  Flerbert  of  Cherbnry  describes  him- 
self to  have  seen  ;  Colonel  Gardner's  vision,  as  re- 
lated in  his  life,  written  b}'  Dr.  Doddridge.  All 
these  may  be  accounted  for  by  a  momentary 
insanity  ;  for  the  characteristic  symptom  of  huriian 
madness  is  the  rising  up  in  the  mind  of  images 
not  distinguishable  by  the  patient  from  impres- 
sions upon  the  senses. §  The  cases,  however,  in 
which  the  possibility  of  this  delusion  exists,  ore 
divided  from  the  cases  in  which  it  does  not  exist, 
by  many,  and  those  not  obscure  marks.  They 
are,  for  the  most  part,  cases  of  visions  or  voices. 
The  object  is  hardly  ever  touched.  The  vision 
submits  not  to  be  handled.  One  sense  does  not 
confirm  another.  They  are  likewise  almo.st  al- 
v\'avs  cases  of  a  solitary  witness.  It  is  in  the 
highest  degree  improbable,  and  I  know  not,  indeed, 
whether  it  hath  ever  been  the  fact,  that  the  same 
derangement  of  the  mental  organs  should  seize 


*  Campbell  on  Miracles,  p.  120.  ed.  1766. 
t  The  eighteenth.  J  Aflams  on  Mir.  p.  7S. 

§  Batty  on  Lunacy. 


122 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


(lifl'erent  persons  af  the  same  time;  a  derangement, 
I  meoJi,  so  much  the  same,  as  to  represent  to 
their  iinarrination  the  same  objects.  Lastly,  these 
are  always  cases  of  momentary  miracles;  by 
which  term  I  mean  to  denote  miracles,  of  which 
the  whole  existence  is  of  short  duration,  in  con- 
tradistinction to  miracles  which  are  attended  with 
permanent  effects.  The  appearance  of  a  spectre, 
the  hearing  of  a  supernatural  sound,  is  a  moment- 
ary miracle.  The  sensible  proof  is  gone,  when 
the  apparition  or  sound  is  over.  But  if  a  person 
born  blind  be  restored  to  sight,  a  notorious  cripple 
to  the  use  of  his  limbs,  or  a  dead  man  to  life,  here 
is  a  permanent  eflect  produced  by  supernatural 
means.  The  change  indeed  was  instantaneous, 
but  the  proof  continues.  The  subject  of  the  mira- 
cle remains.  The  man  cured  or  restored  is  there : 
his  former  condition  was  known,  and  his  present 
condition  may  he  examined.  This  can  by  no 
jiossibility  be  resolved  into  false  perception :  and 
of  this  kind  are  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  mi- 
racles recorded  in  the  New  I'estament.  >  When 
Lazarus  was  raised  from  the  dead,  he  did  not 
merely  move,  and  speak,  and  die  again ;  or  come 
out  of  the  grave,  and  vanish  away.  He  returned 
to  his  home  and  family,  and  there  continued  ;  for 
we  find  him,  some  time  afterward  in  the  same 
town,  sitting  at  table  with  Jesus  and  his  sisters ; 
visited  by  great  multitudes  of  the  Jews,  as  a  sub- 
ject of  curiosity;  giving  by  his  presence  so  much 
uneasiness  to  the  Jewish  rulers  as  to  heget  in 
them  a  design  of  destroying  him.  *  No  delusion 
can  account  for  this.  The  French  projihets  in 
England,  some  time  since,  gave  out  that  one  of 
their  teachers  would  come  to  life  again  ;  but  their 
enthusiasm  never  made  them  believe  that  they 
actually  saw  him  alive.  The  blind  man,  whose 
restoration  to  siaht  at  Jerusalem  is  recorded  in  the 
ninth  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel,  did  not  quit 
the  place  or  conceal  himself  from  inquiry.  On 
the  contrary,  he  was  forthcoming,  to  answer  the 
call,  to  satisfy  the  scrutiny,  and  to  sustain  the 
brow-beating  of  Christ's  angry  and  powerful 
enemies.  When  the  cripple  at  the  gate  of  the 
temple  was  suddenly  cured  by  Peter,  +  he  did  not 
immediately  relapse  into  his  former  lameness,  or 
disappear  out  of  the  city;  but  boldly  and  honestly 
produced  himself  along  with  the  apostles,  when 
they  were  brought  the  next  day  before  the  Jewish 
council,  t  Here,  though  the  miracle  was  sudden, 
the  proof  was  permanent.  The  lameness  had 
been  notorious,  the  cure  continued.  This  there- 
fore, could  not  be  the  effect  of  any  momentary  de- 
lirium, either  in  the  subject  or  in  the  witnesses  of 
the  transaction.  It  is  the  same  with  the  greatest 
number  of  the  Scripture  miracles.  There  are 
other  cases  of  a  mixed  nature,  in  which,  although 
the  principal  miracle  be  momentary,  some  circum- 
stance combined  with  it  is  permanent.  Of  this 
kind  is  the  history  of  St.  Paul's  conversion.  § 
The  sudden  light  and  sound,  the  vision  and  the 
voice,  upon  the  road  to  Damascus,  were  moment- 
ary :  but  Paul's  blindness  for  three  days  in  conse- 
quence of  what  had  happened;  the  communica- 
tion made  to  Ananias  in  antithcr  place,  and  by  a 
vision  independent  of  the  former;  Ananias  finding 
out  Paul  in  consequence  of  intelligence  so  receiv- 
ed, and  finding  him  in  the  condition  described, 
arwl  Paul's  recovery  of  his  sight  upon  Ananias's 


»  John  xii.  1,  2,  9,  10. 
t  lb.  iv.  14. 


t  Acts  iii.  2. 
§  lb.  ix. 


laying  his  hands  upon  him;  are  circumstances, 
which  take  the  transaction,  and  the  principal 
miracle  as  included  in  it,  entirely  out  of  the  case 
of  momentary  miracles,  or  of  such  as  may  be  ac- 
counted for  by  false  perceptions.  Exactly  the 
same  thing  may  be  observed  of  Peter's  vision  pre- 
paratory to  the  call  of  Cornelius,  and  of  its  con 
nexion  with  what  was  imparted  in  a  distant  place 
to  Cornelius  himself,  and  with  the  message  dis- 
patched by  Cornelius  to  Peter.  The  vision  might 
be  a  dream ;  the  message  could  not.  Either  com- 
munication, taken  separately,  might  be  a  delusion; 
the  concurrence  of  the  two  was  impossible  to  hap- 
pen without  a  supernatural  cause. 

Beside  the  risk  of  delusion  which  attaches  upon 
momentary  miracles,  there  is  also  much  more 
room  for  imposture.  The  account  cannot  be 
examined  at  the  moment ;  and,  when  that  is  also 
a  moment  of  hurry  and  confusion,  it  may  not  be 
diflicult  for  men  of  influence  to  gain  credit  to  any 
.story  which  they  may  wi.sh  to  have  believed.  This 
is  precisely  the  case  of  one  of  the  best  attested  of 
the  miracles  of  Old  Rome,  the  appearance  of  Cas- 
tor and  Pollux  in  the  battle  fought  by  Posthumius 
with  the  Latins  at  the  lake  Regillus.  There  is 
no  doubt  but  that  Posthumius  after  the  battle, 
spread  the  report  of  such  an  appearance.  No 
person  could  deny  it  whilst  it  was  said  to  last.  No 
person,  perhaps,  had  any  inclination  to  dispute  it 
afterward;  or,  if  they  had,  could  say  with  ]!Osi- 
tiveness,  what  was  or  what  was  not  seen,  by  some 
or  other  of  the  army,  in  the  dismay  and  amidst 
the  tumult  of  a  battle. 

In  assigning  false  perceptions  as  the  origin  to 
which  some  miraculous  accounts  may  be  referred, 
I  have  not  mentioned  claims  to  inspiration,  illu-: 
minations,  secret  notices  or  directions,  internal 
sensations,  or  consciousnesses  of  being  acted  upon 
by  spiritual  influences,  good  or  bad  ;  because 
these,  appealing  to  no  external  proof  however 
convincing  they  may  be  to  the  persons  themselves, 
form  no  part  of  what  can  be  accounted  miraculous 
evidence.  Their  own  credibility  stands  upon 
their  alliance  with  other  miracles.  The  discus- 
sion, therefore,  of  all  such  pretensions  may  be 
omitted. 

II.  It  is  not  necessary  to  bring  into  the  compa- 
rison what  may  be  called  tentative  miracles ;  that 
is,  where,  out  of  a  great  number  of  trials,  some 
succeeded  ;  and  in  the  accounts  of  which,  although 
the  narrative  of  the  successful  cases  be  alone  pre- 
served, and  that  of  the  unsuccessful  cases  sunk, 
yet  enough  is  staled  to  show  that  the  cases  pro- 
duced are  only  a  few  out  of  man}'  in  which  the 
.same  means  have  been  employed.  This  observa- 
tion bears,  with  considerable  force,  upon  the 
ancient  oracles  and  auguries,  in  which  a  single 
coincidence  of  the  event  with  the  prediction  is 
talked  of  and  magnified,  whilst  failures  are  for- 
gotten, or  suppressed,  or  accounted  for.  It  is  also 
applicable  to  the  cures  wrought  by  relics,  and  at 
the  tombs  of  saints.  The  boasted  efficacy  of  the 
king's  touch,  upon  which  Mr.  Hume  lays  some 
stress,  falls  under  the  same  description.  Nothing 
is  alleged  concerning  it,  which  is  not  alleged  of 
various  nostrums,  namely,  out  of  many  thousands 
who  have  used  them,  certified  proofs  of  a  few  who 
have  recovered  after  them.  No  solution  of  this 
sort  is  a[)plicable  to  the  miracles  of  the  Go.spel. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  narrative,  which  can 
induce,  or  even  allow  us  to  believe,  that  Christ 
attempted  cures  in  many  instances,  and  succeeded 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


3-33 


in  a  fe\« ;  or  that  he  ever  made  the  attempt  in  vain. 
He  did  not  profess  to  heal  every  where  all  that 
were  sick;  on  the  contrary,  he  told  the  Jews, 
evidently  meaning  to  represent  his  own  case,  that, 
"  although  many  widows  were  in  Israel  in  the 
days  ot'Elias,  when  the  heaven  was  shut  up  three 
years  and  six  months,  when  great  famine  was 
throughout  all  the  land,  yet  unto  none  of  them 
was  Elias  sent,  save  unto  Sarepta,  a  city  of  Sidon, 
unto  a  woman  that  was  a  widow:"  and  that 
"  many  lepers  were  in  Israel  in  the  time  of  Eh- 
seus  the  proi)het,  and  none  of  them  was  cleansed  j 
saving  Naaman  the  Syrian.'*  By  which  exam- 1 
pies  he  gave  them  to  understand,  that  it  was  not  : 
the  nature  of  a  divine  interposition,  or  necessary  j 
to  its  purpose,  to  be  general ;  still  less  to  answer 
every  challenge  that  might  be  made,  which  would 
teach  men  to  put  their  faith  upon  these  experi- 
ments. Christ  never  pronounced  the  word,  but 
the  etfect  followed.!  It  was  not  a  thousand  sick 
that  received  his  benediction,  and  a  few  that  were 
bjnclited ;  a  single  paralytic  is  let  down  in  his 
bed  at  Jesus's  ieet,  in  the  midst  of  a  surrounding 
multitude ;  Jesus  bid  him  walk,  and  he  did  so.T 
A  man  with  a  withered  hand  is  in  the  synagogue  ; 
Jesus  Lid  him  stretch  forth  liis  hand,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  assembly,  and  it  was  "  restored  whole 
hke  the  other.''§  There  was  nothing  tentative  in 
these  cures  ;  nothing  that  can  be  explained  by  the 
power  of  accident. 

We  may  observe  also,  that  many  of  the  cures 
which  Christ  wrought,  such  as  tliat  of  a  person 
blind  from  his  birth,  also  many  miracles  beside 
cures,  as  raising  the  dead,  walking  upon  the  sea, 
feeding  a  great  multitude  with  a  few  loaves  and 
fishes,  are  of  a  nature  which  does  not  in  any  wise 
adinit  of  the  supposition  of  a  fortunate  experi- 
ment. 

III.  We  may  dismiss  from  the  question  all  ac- 
counts in  which,  allowing  the  phenomenon  to  be 
real,  the  fact  to  be  true,  it  still  remains  doubtful 
whether  a  miracle  were  wrought.  This  is  the 
case  with  the  ancient  history  of  what  is  called  the 
thundering  legion,  of  the  extraordinary  circum- 
stances which  obstructed  the  rebuilding  of  the 
temple  at  Jerusalem  by  Julian,  the  circling  of  the 
flames  and  fragrant  smell  at  the  martyrdom  of 
Polycarp,  the  sudden  shower  that  extinguished 
the  tire  into  which  the  iScriptures  were  thrown  in 
the  Diocletian  persecution  ;  Constantine's  dream  ; 
his  inscribing  in  consequence  of  it  the  cross  upon 
his  standard  and  the  shields  of  his  soldiers ;  his 
victory,  and  the  escape  of  the  standard-bearer ; 
perhaps  also  the  imagined  appearance  of  the  cross 
in  the  heavens,  though  this  last  circumstiince  is 
very  deficient  in  historical  evidence.  It  is  also 
the  case  with  the  modern  annual  exhibition  of  the 
liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  St.  Januarius  at  Na- 


*  Luke  iv.  2.5. 

t  One,  and  only  one,  instance  may  be  prodncd  in 
which  the  discip'csntChn%l  do  seem  to  have  attempted 
a  cure,  and  not  to  have  been  able  to  parform  it.  The 
story  is  very  ingenuously  related  by  three  of  the  evan- 
gelists.! The  patient  was  afterward  healed  by  Christ 
himself;  and  the  whole  transaction  seems  to  have  been 
intended,  as  it  was  well  suited,  to  display  the  superiori- 
ty of  Christ  above  all  who  performed  miracles  in  his 
name,  a  distinction  which,  durins  his  presence  in  the 
world,  it  might  be  necessary  to  inculcate  by  some  such 
proof  as  this. 

I  Mark  ii.  3.  §  Matt.  xii.  10. 

i  Matt.  xvii.  14.    Mark  ix.  l-l.    Luke  is.  33. 


pies.  It  is  a  doubt  likewise,  which  ought  to  be 
excluded  by  very  special  circumstances,  from  these 
narratives  which  relate  to  the  supernatural  cure 
of  hypochondriacal  and  nervous  complaints,  and 
of  all  tliseases  which. are  much  atJected  by  the 
imagination.  The  miracles  of  the  second  and 
third  century  are,  usually,  healing  the  sick,  and 
casting  out  evil  spirits,  miracles  in  which  there  is 
room  lor  some  error  and  deception.  We  hear 
nothing  of  causing  the  blind  to  see,  the  lame  to 
walk,  the  deaf  to  hear,  the  lepers  to  be  cleansed.* 
There  arc  also  instances  in  Christian  writers  of 
reputed  miracles,  which  were  natural  operations, 
though  not  known  to  be  such  at  the  time  ;  as  that 
of  articulate  speech  after  the  loss  of  a  great  part 
of  tlie  tongue. 

IV.  To  the  same  head  of  objection  nearly,  may 
also  be  referred  accounts,  in  which  the  variation 
of  a  small  circumstance  may  have  transformed 
some  extraordinary  appearance,  or  some  critical 
coincidence  of  events,  into  a  miracle ;  stories,  in  a 
word,  .which  may  be  resolved  into  exaggeration. 
The  miracles  of  the  Gospel  can  by  no  pussihiiity 
be  explained  away  in  this  manner.  I'otal  fiction 
will  account  for  any  thing ;  but  no  stretch  of  ex- 
aggeration that  has  any  parallel  in  other  histories, 
no  force  of  fancy  upon  real  circumstances,  coulil 
produce  the  narratives  which  we  now  have.  The 
feeding  of  the  five  thousand  with  a  few  loaves  and 
fishes  surpasses  all  bounds  of  exaggeration.  The 
raising  of  Lazarus,  of  the  v.'idow  s  son  at  Nain,  as 
well  as  many  of  the  cures  whicli  Christ  wrought, 
come  not  within  the  compass  of  misrepresentation. 
I  mean,  that  it  is  impossible  to  assign  any  position 
of  circumstances  however  peculiar,  any  accidental 
eiTects  however  extraordinary,  any  natural  singu- 
larity, which  could  supply  an  origin  or  foundation 
to  these  accounts. 

Having  thus  enumerated  several  exceptions, 
which  may  justly  be  taken  to  relations  of  miracles, 
it  is  necessary  when  we  read  the  Scriptures,  to 
bear  in  our  minds  this  general  remark  ;  that,  al- 
though there  be  miracles  recorded  in  the  New 
Testament,  which  fall  within  some  or  other  of 
the  exceptions  here  assigned,  yet  that  they  are 
united  with  others,  to  which  none  of  the  -same  ex- 
ceptions extend,  and  that  their  credibility  stands 
upon  this  union.  Thus  the  visions  and  revela- 
tions whicli  Saint  Paul  asserts  to  have  been  iui- 
parted  to  him,  may  not,in  their  separate  evidence, 
be  distinguishable  from  the  visions  and  revelations 
which  many  others  have  alleged.  But  here  is 
the  difl'erence.  Saint  Paul's  pretensions  were  at- 
tested by  external  miracles  wrought  by  himself, 
and  by  miracles  wrought  in  the  cause  to  which 
these  visions  relate;  or,  to  speak  more  properly, 
the  same  historical  authority  which  intijrms  us  of 
one,  informs  us  of  the  other.  This  is  not  ordina- 
rily true  of  the  visions  of  enthu.siasts,  or  even  of 
the  accounts  in  which  they  are  contained.  Again, 
some  of  C'hrist's  own  miracles  were  tnomenlavy  ; 
as  the  transfiguration,  the  appearance  and  voice 
from  Heaven  at  his  baptism,  a  voice  from  the 
clouds  on  one  occasion  afterward,  (.)ohn  xii.  28,) 
and  some  others.  It  is  not  denied,  tliat  the  dis- 
tinction which  we  have  pro]josed  concerning  mi- 
racles of  this  species,  applies,  in  diminution  of  the 
force  of  the  evidence,  as  much  to  these  instances 
as  to  others.    But  this  is  the  case,  not  with  all  the 


Jortin's  Remarks,  vol.  ii.  p.  51. 


324 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


miracles  ascribed  to  Christ,  nor  with  the  greatest 
part,  nor  with  many.  Whatever  force  tlierefore 
there  may  be  in  the  olijection,  we  have  numerous 
miracles  which  are  free  from  it ;  and  even  these  to 
which  it  is  applicable,  are  little  alfected  by  it  in 
their  credit,  because  there  are  few  who,  admitting 
the  rest,  will  reject  them.  If  there  be  miracles  of 
tiie  New  Testament,  which  come  within  any  of 
the  other  heads  into  which  we  have  distributed 
tlie  objections,  the  same  remark  must  be  repeated. 
And  this  is  one  way,  in  which  the  unexampled 
number  and  variety  of  the  miracles  ascribed  to 
Christ  strengthens  the  credibility  of  Chris- 
tianity. For  it  precludes  any  solution,  or  con- 
jecture about  a  solution,  which  imagination,  or 
even  which  experience,  might  suggest  concern- 
ing some  particular  miracles,  if  considered  in- 
depenilently  of  others.  The  miracles  of  Christ 
v/ere  of  various  kinds,*  and  performed  in  great 
varieties  of  situation,  form,  and  manner;  at  Jeru- 
salem, the  metropolis  of  the  Jewish  nation  and 
religion ;  in  different  parts  of  Judea  and  Galilee ; 
in  cities  and  villages;  in  synagogues,  in  private 
houses ;  in  the  street,  in  highways ;  with  pre- 
paration, as  in  the  case  of  Lazarus ;  by  accident, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  widow's  son  of  Nain  ;  when 
attended  by  multitudes,  and  when  alone  with  the 
patient ;  in  the  midst  of  his  disciples,  and  in  the 
presence  of  his  enemies ;  with  the  common  people 
around  him,  and  before  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  and 
rulers  of  the  synagogues. 

1  apprehend  that,  when  we  remove  from  the 
comparison,  the  cases  which  are  fairly  disposed 
of  by  the  observations  that  have  been  stated,  many 
cases  will  not  remain.  To  those  which  do  remain, 
we  apply  this  final  distinction ;  "  that  there  is  not 
satisfactory  evidence,  that  persons,  pretending  to 
be  original  witnesses  of  the  miracles,  passed  their 
lives  in  labours,  dangers,  and  sulferings,  volunta- 
rily undertaken  and  undergone  in  attestation  of  the 
accounts  which  they  delivered,  and  properly  in 
consequence  of  their  behef  of  the  truth  of  those 
accounts." 


CHAPTER  II. 

But  they,  with  whom  we  argue,  have  undoubt- 
edly a  right  to  select  their  own  examples.  The 
instances  with  which  Mr.  Hume  has  chosen  to 
confront  the  miracles  of  the  New  Testament,  and 
which,  therefore,  we  arc  entitled  to  regard  as  the 
strongest  which  the  history  of  the  world  could 
supply  to  the  inquiries  of  a  very  acute  and  learned 
adversary,  are  the  three  following : 

I.  The  cure  of  a  blind  and  of  a  lame  man  of 
Alexandria,  by  the  emperor  Vespasian,  as  related 
by  Tacitus ; 

II.  The  restoration  of  the  limb  of  an  attendant 
in  a  Spanish  church,  as  told  by  cardinal  de  Retz ; 
and. 


*  Not  only  healing  every  species  of  disease,  but  turn- 
ing water  into  wine  (.John  ii);  feeding  inultitndes  with 
a  few  loaves  and  fishes  (Matt.  xiv.  15:  Mark  vi.35; 
tjukeix.  12;  John  vi.  5);  walking  on  the  sea  (Matt. 
xiv.  25);  calming  a  storm  (Matt.  viii.  25  ;  Luke  viii.  24); 
a  celestial  voice  at  his  baptism,  and  miraculous  appear- 
ance (Matt.  iii.  16;  afterward  John  xii.  28);  his  trans- 
figuration (Matt.  xvii.  1—8;  Mark  ix.  2;  Luke  ix.  28; 
2  Peter  i.  )f>,  17);  raising  the  dead  in  three  distinct  in- 
stances (Matt.  ix.  18;  Mark  v.  22  ;  Luke  viii.  41 ;  Luke 
vii.  14;  John  xi.) 


III.  The  cures  said  to  be  performed  at  the  tomb 
of  the  abbe  Paris,  in  the  early  part  of  the  present 
century. 

I.  The  narrative  of  Tacitus  is  delivered  in  these 
terms:  "  One  of  the  common  people  of  Alexandria, 
known  to  be  diseased  in  his  eyes,  by  the  admoni- 
tion of  the  god  Serapis,  whom  that  superstitious 
nation  worship  above  all  other  gods,  prostrated 
himself  before  the  emperor,  earnestly  imploring 
from  him  a  remedy  for  his  bUndness,  and  entreat- 
ing that  he  would  deign  to  anoint  with  liis  spitth 
his  cheeks  and  the  balls  of  his  eyes.  Another, 
diseased  in  his  hand,  requested,  by  the  admonition 
of  the  same  god,  that  he  might  be  touched  by  the 
foot  of  the  emperor.  Vespasian  at  first  derided 
and  despised  their  application ;  afterward,  when 
they  continued  to  urge  their  petitions,  he  some- 
times appeared  to  dread  the  imputation  of  vanity; 
at  other  times,  by  the  earnest  supplication  of  the 
patients,  and  the  persuasion  of  his  flatterers,  to  be 
induced  to  hope  for  success.  At  length  he  com- 
manded an  inquiry  to  be  made  by  the  [)hysicians, 
whether  such  a  blindness  and  debility  were  vin- 
cible by  human  aid.  The  report  of  the  physicians 
contained  various  points ;  that  in  tlie  one  the 
power  of  vision  was  not  destroyed,  but  would  re- 
turn if  the  obstacles  were  removed ;  that  in  the 
other,  the  diseased  joints  might  be  restored  if  a 
healing  power  were  applied ;  that  it  was,  perhaps, 
agreeable  to  the  gods  to  do  this ;  that  the  emperor 
was  elected  by  divine  assistance;  lastly,  that  the 
credit  of  the  success  would  be  the  emperor's,  the 
ridicule  of  the  disappointment  would  fall  upon  the 
patients.  Vespasian,  believing  that  every  thing 
was  in  the  power  of  his  fortune,  and  that  nothing 
was  any  longer  incredible,  whilst  the  multitude, 
which  stood  by,  eagerly  expected  the  event,  with 
a  countenance  expressive  of  joy,  executed  what 
he  was  desired  to  do.  Immediately  the  hand  was 
restored  to  its  use,  and  light  returned  to  the  blind 
man.  They  who  were  present  relate  both  these 
cures,  even  at  this  time,  when  there  is  nothing  to 
be  gained  by  lying."* 

Now,  though  Tacitus  wrote  this  account  twen- 
ty-seven years  after  the  miracle  is  said  to  have 
been  performed,  and  wrote  at  Rome  of  what  pass- 
ed at  Alexandria,  and  wrote  also  from  report :  and 
although  it  does  not  appear  that  he  had  examined 
the  story,  or  that  he  believed  it  (but  rather  the 
contrary,)  yet  I  think  his  tjestimony  sulficient  to 
prove  that  such  a  transaction  took  place :  by  which 
I  mean,  that  the  two  men  in  question  did  a[)ply  to 
Vespasian  ;  that  Vespasian  did  touch  the  diseased 
in  the  manner  related ;  and  that  a  cure  was  re- 
ported to  have  followed  the  operation.  But  the 
affair  labours  under  a  strong  and  just  suspicion, 
that  the  whole  of  it  was  a  concerted  imposture 
brought  about  by  collusion  between  the  patients, 
the  physician,  and  the  emperor.  This  solution  is 
probable,  because  there  was  every  thing  to  suggest, 
and  every  thing  to  facilitate,  such  a  scheme.  The 
miracle  was  calculated  to  confer  honour  upon  the 
emperor,  and  upon  the  god  Serapis.  It  was 
achieved  in  the  midst  of  the  emperor's  flatterers 
and  followers;  in  a  city,  and  amongst  a  populace, 
beforehand  devoted  to  his  interest,  and  to  the  wor- 
ship of  the  god ;  where  it  would  have  been  treason 
and  blasphemy  together,  to  have  contradicted  the 
fame  of  the  cure,  or  even  to  have  questioned  it. 
And  what  is  very  observable  in  the  account  is,  that 

1  *  Tacit.  Hist.  lib.  iv. 


EVIDENCES  OP  CHRISTIANITY. 


325 


the  report  of  the  physicians  is  just  such  a  report 
as  would  have  been  uuide  of  a  case,  in  which  no 
external  marks  of  the  disease  existed,  and  which, 
consequently,  was  capable  of  being  easily  coun- 
terieited,  viz.  that  in  the  tirsl  of  the  patients  the 
organs  of  vision  were  not  destroyed,  that  the 
wealvness  of  tlie  second  was  in  his  joints.  The 
strongest  circumstance  in  Tacitus's  narration  is, 
that  tiie  tirst  patient  was  "  notus  tabe  oculorum,'' 
remarked  or  notorious  for  the  disease  in  his  eyes. 
But  tliis  was  a  circumstance  which  might  have 
found  its  way  iuto  the  story  in  its  progress  from 
a  distant  country,  and  during  an  interval  of  thirty 
years ;  or  it  mi  iht  be  true  that  the  malady  of  the 
eyes  was  notorious,  yet  that  the  nature  and  degree 
ot  the  disease  had  never  been  ascertained ;  a  case 
b)-  no  means  uncommon.  The  emperors  reserve 
was  easily  atlected  ;  or  it  is  possible  he  might  not 
be  in  the  secret.  There  does  not  seem  to  be  much 
weight  in  the  observation  of  Tacitus,  that  they 
who  were  present,  continued  even  then  to  relate 
the  story  when  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
the  lie.  It  only  proves  that  those  who  had  told 
the  story  for  many  years  persisted  in  it.  The  state 
of  mind  ot  the  witnesses  and  spectators  at  the 
time,  is  the  point  to  he  attended  to.  Still  less  is 
there  of  pertinency  in  Air.  Hume's  eulogium  on 
the  cautious  and  penetrating  genius  of  the  histo- 
rian ;  for  it  does  not  appear  that  tlie  historian  be- 
lieved it.  The  terms  in  which  he  speaks  of 
Serapis,  the  deity  to  whose  interposition  the  mi- 
racle was  attributed,  scarcely  suffer  us  to  suppose 
that  Tacitus  thought  the  miracle  to  be  real :  "  by 
the  admonition  of  the  god  Serapis,  whom  that 
superstitious  nation  (dedita  superstitionibus  gens) 
worship  above  all  other  gods."  To  have  brought 
this  suppo.sed  miracle  within  the  limits  of  compa- 
rison with  the  miracles  of  Christ,  it  ought  to  have 
appeared,  that  a  person  of  a  low  and  private  sta- 
tion, in  the  midst  of  enemies,  with  the  whole 
power  of  the  country  opposing  him,  with  every 
one  around  him  prejudiced  or  interested  against 
his  claims  and  character,  pretended  to  perform 
these  cures,  and  required  the  spectators,  upon  the 
strength  of  what  they  saw,  to  give  up  their  iirm- 
est  hopes  and  opinions,  and  follow  liim  through  a 
life  of  trial  and  danger ;  that  many  were  so  moved 
as  to  obey  his  call,  at  the  expense  both  of  every 
notion  in  which  they  had  been  brought  up,  and 
of  their  ease,  safety,  and  reputation;  and  that  by 
tiiese  beginnings,  a  change  was  produced  in  the 
World,  the  etiects  of  which  remain  to  this  day :  a 
case,  both  in  its  circumstances  and  consequences, 
very  unlike  any  thing  we  find  in  Tacitus's  rela- 
tion. 

II.  The  story  taken  from  the  Memoirs  of  Car- 
dinal de  Retz.  which  is  the  second  example  al- 
leged by  jMr.  Hume,  is  this:  "In  the  church  of 
Saragossa  in  Spain,  the  canons  shovs'ed  me  a  man 
whose  business  it  was  to  light  the  lamps ;  telling 
me  that  he  had  been  several  years  at  the  gate  with 
j)ne  leg  only.     I  saw  him  with  two."'* 

It  is  stated  by  Mr.  Hume,  that  the  cardinal, 
who  relates  this  story,  did  not  believe  it :  and  it  no 
where  appears,  that  he  either  examined  the  limb, 
or  asked  the  patient,  or  indeed  anj'  one,  a  single 
questioii  about  the  matter.  An  artificial  leg, 
wrought  with  art,  v/ould  be  sufficient,  in  a  place 
where  no  such  contrivance  had  ever  before  been 
heard  of,  to  give  origin  and  currency  to  the  report. 


*Liv.  iv.  A.  D.  IGo-l. 


The  ecclesiastics  of  the  place  would,  it  is  probable, 
favour  the  story,  inasmuch  as  it  advanced  the 
honour  of  their  image  and  church.  And  if  they 
patronised  it,  no  other  person  at  Saragossa,  in  the 
imddle  of  the  last  century,  would  care  to  dispute 
it.  I'he  story  likewise  coincided,  not  less  with 
the  wishes  and  preconceptions  of  the  people,  than 
with  the  interests  of  their  ecclesiastical  rulers:  so 
that  there  was  prejudice  backed  by  authority,  and 
both  operating  upon  extreme  ignorance,  to  account 
for  the  success  of  the  imposture.  If,  as  1  have 
sugge.sted,  the  contrivance  of  an  artificial  limb  was 
then  new,  it  would  not  occur  to  the  cardinal  him- 
self to  suspect  it;  especially  under  the  carelessness 
of  mind  with  which  he  heard  the  tale,  and  the 
little  inclination  he  felt  to  scrutinize  or  expose  its 
fallacy. 

III.  The  miracles  related  to  have  been  wrought 
at  the  tomb  of  the  abbe  Paris,  admit  in  general  of 
this  solution.  The  patients  who  frequented  the 
tomb  were  so  affected  by  their  devotion,  their  ex- 
pectation, the  place,  the  solemnity,  and,  above  all, 
by  the  sympathy  of  the  surrounding  multitude, 
that  many  of  them  were  thrown  into  violent  con- 
vulsions, which  convulsions,  in  certain  instances, 
produced  a  removal  of  disorders  depending  upon 
obstruction.  We  shall,  at  this  day,  have  the  less 
difhculty  in  admitting  the  above  account,  because 
it  is  the  very  same  tlnng  as  hath  lately  been  ex- 
perienced in  the  operations  of  animal  magnetism ; 
and  the  report  of  the  French  physicians  upon  that 
mysterious  remedy  is  very  applicable  to  the  pre- 
•sent  consideration,  viz.  that  the  pretenders  to  the 
art,  by  working  upon  the  imaginations  of  their 
patients,  were  frequently  able  to  produce  convul- 
sions ;  that  convulsions  so  produced,  are  amongst 
the  most  powerful,  but,  at  the  same  time,  most 
uncertain  and  unmanageable  applications  to  the 
human  frame  which  can  be  emjiloyed. 

Circumstances,  which  indicate  this  explication 
in  the  case  of  the  Parisian  miracles,  are  the  fol- 
lowing : 

1.  They  were  tentative.  Out  of  many  thou- 
sand sick,  infirm,  and  diseased  persons,  who  re- 
sorted to  the  tomb,  the  professed  history  of  the 
miracles  contains  only  nine  cures. 

2.  The  convulsions  at  the  tomb  are  admitted. 

3.  The  diseases  were,  for  the  most  part;  of  that 
sort  which  depends  upon  inaction  and  obstruction, 
as  dropsies,  palsies,  and  some  tumours. 

4.  The  cures  were  gradual ;  some  patients  at- 
tending many  days,  some  several  weeks,  and  some 
several  months. 

5.  The  cures  were  many  of  them  incomplete. 

6.  Others  were  temporary.* 

So  that  all  the  wonder  we  are  called  upon  to 
account  tor,  is,  that,  out  of  an  almost  innumerable 
multitude  which  resorted  to  the  tomb  for  the  cure 
of  their  complaints,  and  many  of  whom  were  there 
agitated  by  strong  convulsions,  a  very  small  pro- 
portion experienced  a  beneficial  change  in  their 
constitution,  especially  in  the  action  of  the  nerves 
and  glands. 

Some  of  the  cases  alleged,  do  not  require  that 
we  should  have  recourse  to  this  solution.  The  first 
case  in  the  catalogue  is  scarcely  distinguishable 
from  the  progress  of  a  natural  recovery.  It  was 
that  of  a  young  man,  who  laboured  under  an  in- 
flammation of  one  eye,  and  had  lost  the  sight  of  the 

*  The  reader  will  find  tlvse  particulars  verified  in  the 
detail,  by  the  accurate  inquiries  of  the  present  bishop 
of  Sarum,  in  his  Criterion  of  Aliracles,  p.  132,  &,c. 
28 


326 


EVIDENCES  OP  CHRISTIANITY. 


other.  The  inflamed  eye  was  relieved,  but  the 
bHndness  of  the  other  remained.  The  inflamma- 
tion had  before  been  abated  by  medicine  ;  and  the 
young  man,  at  the  time  of  his  attendance  at  the 
tomb,  was  using  a  lotion  of  laudanum.  And, 
what  is  a  still  more  material  part  of  the  case,  the 
inflainmation,  after  some  interval  returned.  An- 
other case  was  that  of  a  young  man  who  had  lost 
his  sight  by  the  puncture  of  an  awl,  and  the  dis- 
charge of  the  aqueous  humour  through  the  wound. 
The  siglit,  which  had  been  gradually  returning, 
was  much  improved  during  his  visit  to  the  tomb, 
that  is,  probably,  in  the  same  degree  in  which  the 
discharged  humour  was  replaced  by  fresh  secre- 
tions. And  it  is  observable,  that  these  two  are 
the  only  cases  which,  from  their  nature,  should 
seem  unlikely  to  be  affected  by  convulsions. 

In  one  material  respect  I  allow  that  the  Parisian 
miracles  were  different  from  those  related  by  Ta- 
citus, ami  from  the  Spanish  miracle  of  the  cardi- 
nal de  Retz.  They  had  not,  like  thein,  ail  the 
power  and  all  the  prejudice  of  the  country  on  their 
side  to  begin  with.  They  were  alleged  by  one 
party  against  another,  by  the  Jansenists  against 
the  Jesuits.  These  were  of  course  opposed  and 
examined  by  their  adversaries.  The  consequence 
of  which  examination  was,  that  many  falsehoods 
were  detected,  that  with  something  really  extra- 
ordinary much  fraud  appeared  to  be  mixed.  And 
if  some  of  the  cases  upon  which  designed  misre- 
presentation could  not  be  charged,  were  not  at  the 
time  satisfactorily  accounted  for,  it  was  because 
the  efficacy  of  strong  spasmodic  affections  was  not 
then  sufficiently  known.  Finally,  the  cause  of 
Jansenism,  did  not  rise  by  the  miracles,  but  sunk, 
although  the  miracles  had  the  anterior  persuasion 
of  all  the  numerous  adherents  of  that  cause  to  set 
out  with. 

These,  let  us  remember,  are  the  strongest  ex- 
amples, which  the  history  of  ages  supplies.  In 
none  of  them  was  the  miracle  unequivocal ;  by 
none  of  them,  were  established  prejudices  and 
persuasions  overthrown  ;  of  none  of  them,  did  the 
credit  make  its  way,  in  opposition  to  authority 
and  power ;  by  none  of  them,  were  many  induced 
to  commit  themselves,  and  that  in  contradiction  to 
prior  opinions,  to  a  life  of  mortification,  danger, 
and  sufferings  ;  none  were  called  upon  to  attest 
them,  at  the  expense  of  their  fortunes  and  safety.* 


*  It  may  be  thought  that  the  historian  of  the  Parisian 
miracles,  M.  Montgeron,  forms  an  e.xception  to  this  last 
assertion.  He  presented  his  book  (with  a  suspicion,  as 
it  should  seem,  of  the  danger  of  what  he  was  doing)  to 
the  king;  and  was  shortly  afterward  committed  to 
prison,  from  which  he  never  came  out.  Had  the  mira- 
cles been  unequivocal,  and  had  M.  Montgeron  been 
originally  convinced  by  them,  I  should  have  allowed 
thise.tception.  It  would  have  stood,  I  think,  alone,  in 
the  argument  of  our  adversaries.  But  beside  what  has 
been  ohserved  of  the  dubious  nature  of  the  miracles,  the 
account  which  M.  Montgeron  has  himself  left  of  his 
conversion,  shows  both  the  state  of  his  mind,  and  t/mt 
hig  persuasion  was  vot  bui/t  upon  external  miracles. — 
"  Scarcely  had  he  entered  the  churchyard,  when  he  was 
struck  (he  tells  us)  with  awe  and  reverence,  having 
never  before  heard  prayers  pronounced  with  so  much 
ardour  and  transport  as  he  observed  amongst  the  suppli- 
cants at  the  tomb.  Upon  this,  throwing  himself  on  his 
knees,  resting  his  elbows  on  the  tomb-stone,  and  cover- 
ing his  face  with  his  hands,  he  spake  the  following 
prayer: — O  thou.,  bij  whose  intercession  so  many  miracles 
are  said  to  he  performed,  if  it  be  true  that  a  part  of  thee 
snrinreth  the  grare,  and  that  thou  hast  injluence  with  the 
Jllmiirhtij,  hane pitii  on  the  darkness  of  my  understand- 
ing, and  through  his  mercy  obtain  the  renio  alofit" 
Having  prayed  thus,   "inanv  thoughts  (as  he  saith) 


PART  II. 

OF    THE    AUXILIARY    EVIDENCES   OS   CHRISTIANITY 


CHAPTER  I. 

Prophecy. 

Isaiah  lii.  13.  liii.  "  Behold,  my  Servant  shall 
deal  prudently ;  he  shall  be  exalted  and  extolled, 
and  be  very  high.  As  many  were  astonished  at 
thee  (his  visage  was  so  marred  more  than  any 
man,  and  his  Ibrni  more  than  the  sons  of  men)  ; 
so  shall  he  sprinkle  many  nations  ;  the  kings  shall 
shut  their  mouths  at  him  :  for  that  which  had  not 
been  told  them,  shall  they  see  ;  and  that  which 
they  had  not  heard,  shall  they  consider. — Who 
hath  believed  our  report  1  and  to  whom  is  the  arm 
of  the  Lord  revealed  ?  For  he  shall  grow  up  be- 
fore him  as  a  tender  plant,  and  as  a  root  out  of  a 
dry  ground  :  he  hath  no  form  nor  comeliness  ; 
and  when  we  shall  see  him,  there  is  no  beauty 
that  we  should  desire  him.  He  is  despised  and 
rejected  of  men,  a  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted 
with  grief:  and  we  hid,  as  it  were,  our  faces  from 
him ;  he  was  des])ised,  and  we  esteemed  him  not. 
Surely  he  hath  borne  our  griefs,  and  carried  our 
sorrows  :  yet  we  did  esteem  him  stricken,  smitten 
of  God  and  afflicted.  But  he  was  wounded  for 
our  transgressions,  he  was  bruised  for  our  iniqui- 
ties :  the  chastisement  of  our  peace  was  upon 
him ;  and  with  his  stripes  we  are  healed.  All  we 
like  sheep  have  gone  astray ;  we  have  turned 
every  one  to  his  own  way ;  and  the  Lord  hath 
laid  on  him  the  iniquity  of  us  all.  He  was  op- 
pressed, and  he  was  afflicted,  yet  he  opened  not  his 
mouth  :  he  is  brought  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter, 
and  as  a  sheep  before  her  shearers  is  dumb,  so  he 
opened  not  his  mouth.  He  was  taken  from  prison 
and  from  judgment ;  and  who  shall  declare  his 
generation  1  for  he  was  cut  off  out  of  the  land  of 
the  living ;  for  the  transgression  of  my  people  was 
he  stricken.  And  he  made  his  grave  with  the 
wicked,  and  with  the  rich  in  his  death ;  because 
he  had  done  no  violence,  neither  was  any  deceit 
in  his  mouth.  Yet  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  bruise 
him  ;  he  hath  put  him  to  grief  When  thou  slialt 
make  his  soul  an  offering  for  sin,  he  shall  see  his 
seed,  he  shall  prolong  his  days,  and  the  pleasure 
of  the  Lord  shall  prosper  in  his  hand.  He  shall 
see  of  the  travail  of  his  soul,  and  shall  be  satisfied  : 
by  his  knowledge  shall  my  righteous  servant  jus- 
tify many;  for  he  shall  bear  their  iniquities. 
Therefore  will  I  divide  him  a  portion  with  the 
great,  and  he  shall  divide  the  spoil  with  the  strong ; 
because  he  hath  poured  out  his  soul  unto  death  : 
and  he  was  numbered  with  the  transgressors,  and 
he  bare  the  sin  of  many,  and  made  intercession 
for  the  transgressors.'' 


began  to  open  themselves  to  his  mind;  and  so  profound 
was  his  attention,  that  he  continued  on  his  knees  four 
hours,  not  in  the  least  disturbed  by  the  vast  crowd  of 
surrounding  supplicants.  During  this  time,  all  the 
arguments  which  he  ever  heard  or  read  in  favour  of 
Christianity,  occurred  to  )iim  with  so  much  force,  and 
seemed  so  strong  and  convincing,  that  he  went  home 
fully  satisfied  with  the  truth  of  religion  in  general,  and 
of  tiie  holiness  and  power  of  that  person,  who,  (as  he 
supposed)  had  engaged  the  Divine  Goodness  to  enlight 
en  his  understanding  so  suddenly." — Douglas's  Crit.  of 
Mir.  p.  214. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


3-27 


These  words  are  extant  in  a  book,  purporting 
to  contain  the  predictions  of  a  writer  who  lived 
seven  centuries  before  the  Christian  era. 

That  material  part  of  every  argument  from 
prophecy,  namely,  that  the  words  alleged  were 
actually  spoken  or  written  before  the  fact  to  which 
they  are  aj)plied  took  place,  or  could  by  any  natu- 
ral means  he  foreseen  is,  in  the  present  instance, 
incontestable.  The  record  comes  out  of  the  cus- 
tody of  adversaries.  The  Jews,  as  an  ancient 
father  well  observed,  are  our  librarians.  The 
passage  is  in  their  copies,  as  well  as  in  ours. 
With  many  attempts  to  explain  it  away,  none  has 
ever  been  made  by  them  to  discredit  its  authenti- 
city. 

And,  what  adds  to  the  force  of  the  quotation  is, 
that  it  is  taken  from  a  writing  declaredly  pro- 
phetic;  a  writing,  professing  to  describe  such 
future  transactions  and  changes  in  the  world,  as 
were  connected  with  the  fate  and  interests  of  the 
Jewish  nation.  It  is  not  a  passage  in  an  histori- 
cal or  devotional  composition,  which,  because  it 
turns  out  to  be  applicable  to  some  future  events, 
or  to  some  future  situation  of  affairs,  is  presumed 
to  have  been  oracular.  The  words  of  Isaiah  were 
delivered  by  him  in  a  prophetic  character,  with 
the  solemnity  belonging  to  that  character :  and 
what  he  so  delivered,  was  all  along  understood  by 
the  Jewish  reader  to  refer  to  something  that  was 
to  take  place  after  the  time  of  the  author.  The 
public  sentiments  of  the  Jews  concerning  the  de- 
sign of  Isaiah's  writings,  are  set  forth  in  the  book 
of  Ecclesiasticus :  *  "  He  saw  by  an  excellent 
spirit,  what  should  come  to  pass  at  the  last,  and 
he  comforted  them  that  mourned  in  Sion.  He 
showed  what  should  come  to  [)ass  for  ever,  and 
secret  things  or  ever  they  came." 

It  is  also  an  advantage  which  this  prophecy 
pos.sesses,  that  it  is  intermixed  with  no  other  sub- 
ject. It  is  entire,  separate,  and  uninterruptedly 
directed  to  one  scene  of  things. 

The  application  of  the  prophecy  to  the  evan- 
gelic history  is  plain  and  appropriate.  Here  is  no 
double  sense ;  no  figurative  language,  but  what  is 
sulTiciently  intelligible  to  every  reader  of  every 
country.  The  obscurities  (by  which  I  mean  the 
expressions  that  require  a  knowledge  of  local  dic- 
tion, and  of  local  allusion)  are  few,  and  not  of 
great  importance.  Nor  have  I  found  that  varie- 
ties of  reading,  or  a  different  construing  of  the 
original,  produce  any  material  alteration  in  the 
sense  of  the  prophecy.  Compare  the  common 
transl.ition  with  that  of  bishop  Lowth,  and  the 
difference  is  not  considerable.  So  far  as  they  do 
differ,  bishop  Lowth's  corrections,  which  are  the 
faithful  result  of  an  accurate  examination,  bring 
the  description  nearer  to  the  New  Testament 
history  than  it  was  before.  In  the  fourth  verse 
of  the  fifty-third  chapter,  what  our  Bible  renders 
"stricken,"  he  translates  "judicially  stricken:" 
and  in  the  eighth  verse,  the  clause,  "  he  was  taken 
from  prison  and  from  judgment,"  the  bishop  gives, 
"  by  an  oppressive  judgment  he  was  taken  off.'' 
The  next  words  to  these,  "  who  shall  declare  his 
generation  V  are  much  cleared  up  in  their  mean- 
ing by  the  bishop's  version;  "his  manner  of  life 
who  would  declare  1"  i.  e.  who  would  stand  forth 
in  his  defence  1  The  former  part  of  the  ninth 
verse,  "and  he  made  his  grave  with  the  wicked, 
and  with  the  rich  in  his  death,"  which  inverts  the 


*  Chap,  xlviii.  ver.  2-t. 


circumstances  of  Chri.st's  passion,  the  hishop 
brings  out  in  an  order  perfectly  agreeable  to  the 
event,  "and  his  grave  was  appointed  with  the 
wicked,  but  with  the  rich  man  was  his  tomb." 
The  words  in  the  eleventh  verse,  "  by  his  know- 
ledge shall  my  righteous  servant  justify  many," 
are,  in  the  bishop's  version,  "  by  the  knowledge 
of  liim  shall  my  righteous  servant  justify  many." 
It  is  natural  to  inquire  what  turn  the  Jews 
themselves  give  to  this  prophecy.  *  There  is  good 
proof  that  the  ancient  Rabbins  explained  it  of 
their  expected  M€>ssiah;+  but  their  modern  ex- 
positors concur,  I  think,  in  representing  it  as  a  de- 
scription of  the  calamitous  state  and  intended  res- 
toration of  the  Jewish  people,  who  are  here,  as 
they  say,  exhibited  under  the  character  of  a 
single  person.  I  have  not  discovered  that  their 
exposition  rests  upon  any  critical  arguments,  or 
upon  these  in  any  other  than  a  very  minute  de- 
gree. The  clause  in  the  ninth  verse,  which  we 
render  "  for  the  transgression  of  my  people  was 
he  stricken,"  and  in  the  margin,  "  was  the  stroke 
upon  him,"  the  Jews  read,  "for  the  transgression 
of  my  people  was  the  stroke  upon  them.''''  And 
what  they  allege  in  support  of  the  alteration 
amounts  only  to  this,  that  the  Hebrew  pronoun  is 
capable  of  a  plural  as  well  as  of  a  singular  signifi- 
cation; that  is  to  say,  is  ca})able  of  their  construc- 
tion as  well  as  ours,  t  And  this  is  all  the  varia- 
tion contended  for ;  the  rest  of  the  prophecy  they 


*  "Vaticinium  hoc  Esaia-  est  cainificina  Rabbino- 
rum,  de  <|uo  aliqiii  Jiid;ei  iiiilii  confessi  sunt,  Rabbinos 
suos  ex  propheticis  scripturis  facile  se  extricaie  pnlu- 
isse,  moilo  Ksaias  tacuisset.'' — Hulse,  Theol.  Jud.  p.  318. 
quoted  by  Poole,  in  loc. 

t  Hnlse,  Theol.  Jud.  p.  430. 

I  Bishop  Lowth  adopts  in  this  place  the  readini  of 
the  Seventy,  which  i;ives  smitten  to  death,  "  for  the 
transgression  of  my  people  was  he  smitten  to  death." 
The  addition  of  the  words  '■  to  death,"  makes  an  end 
of  the  Jewish  ints-rpretation  of  the  clause.  And  the 
authority  upon  which  this  reading  (thouiih  not  given  by 
the  present  Hebrew  text)  is  adopted.  Dr.  Keiniicot  has 
set  forth  by  an  argument  not  only  so  cogent,  but  so  clear 
and  popular,  that  I  beg  leave  to  transcribe  the  sub- 
stance of  it  into  this  note: — "  Origen,  after  having  quo- 
ted at  large  this  prophecy  concerning  the  Messiah,  tells 
us,  that,  having  once  made  use  of  this  ])asfage,  in  a  dis- 
pute against  some  that  were  accounted  wise  among  the 
Jews,  one  of  them  replied  that  the  words  did  not  mean 
one  man,  but  one  people,  the  Jews,  who  were  smitten 
of  God,  and  dispersed  among  the  Gentiles  for  their  con- 
version ;  that  he  then  urged  many  parts  of  this  prophecy, 
to  show  the  absurdity  of  this  interpretation,  and  that 
he  seemed  to  press  them  the  hardest  by  this  sentence, 
— 'for  the  transgression  of  my  people  was  he  smitten 
to  death.'  Now',  as  Origen,  the  author  of  the  Hexapla, 
must  have  understood  Hebrew,  we  cannot  suppose  that 
he  would  liave  urged  this  last  text  as  so  decisive,  if  the 
Greek  version  had  not  agreed  here  with  the  Hebrew 
text ;  nor  that  these  wise  Jews  would  have  been  at  all 
distressed  by  this  quotation,  unless  the  Hebrew  text  had 
read  asrreeably  to  the  words  '  to  death,"  on  which  the 
argument  principally  depended;  for.  by  quoting  it  im- 
mediately, they  would  have  triumiihed  over  him,  and 
reprobated  his  Greek  version.  This,  whenever  they 
could  do  it,  was  their  constant  practice  in  their  disputes 
with  the  Christians.  Origen  himself,  who  laboriously 
compared  the  Hebrew  text  with  the  Septuagint,  has  re- 
corded the  necessity  of  arguing  with  the  Jews,  from  such 
passages  only  as  were  in  the  Septuagint  agreeable  to  the 
Hebrew.  Wherefore,  as  Origen  had  carefully  compared 
the  Greek  version  of  the  Septuagint  with  the  Hebrew 
text ;  and  as  he  puzzled  and  confouudeil  the  learned 
Jews,  by  urging  upon  them  the  reading  '  to  death,'  in 
this  place  ;  it  seems  almost  impossible  not  to  conclude, 
both  from  Origen's  argument,  and  the  silence  of  his 
Jewish  adversaries,  that  the  Hebrew  text  at  that  timt 
artiially  had  the  word  agreeauly  to  the  version  uf  liie 
Seventy."— Lowth's  Isaiah,  p.  '2iii. 


3-38 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


read  as  we  do.  The  probability,  therefore,  of 
their  exposition,  is  a  subject  which  we  are  as  ca- 
pable of  judging  as  themselves.  This  judgment 
is  open  indeed  to  the  good  sense  of  every  attentive 
reader.  The  application  which  the  Jews  contend 
for,  appears  to  me  to  labour  under  insuperable 
difficulties ;  in  particular  it  may  be  demanded  of 
them  to  explain,  in  whose  name  or  person,  if  the 
Jewish  people  be  the  suii'erer,  does  the  prophet 
speak,  when  he  says,  "He  hath  borne  ow-  griefs, 
and  carried  our  sorrows,  yet  we  did  esteem  him 
stricken,  smitten  of  God,  and  afflicted ;  but  he 
was  wounded  for  oilt  transgressions,  he  was 
bruised  for  our  iniquities,  the  chastisement  of  our 
peace  was  upon  him,  and  with  his  stripes  we  are 
nealed."  Again,  the  description  in  the  seventh 
verse,  "he  was  oppressed  and  he  was  afflicted, 
yet  he  opened  not  his  mouth  ;  he  is  brought  as  a 
lamb  to  the  slaughter,  and  as  a  sheep  before  her 
shearers  is  dumb,  so  he  opened  not  his  mouth," 
quadrates  with  no  part  of  the  Jevi'ish  history  vvitli 
which  we  are  acquainted.  The  mention  of  the 
"  grave,''  and  the  "  tomb,"  in  the  ninth  verse,  is 
not  very  applicable  to  the  fortunes  of  a  nation ; 
and  still  less  so  is  the  conclusion  of  the  prophecy 
in  the  twelfth  verse,  which  expressly  represents 
the  sufferings  as  voluntari/,  and  the  sufferer  as 
interceding  for  the  offenders;  "because  he  hath 
poured  out  his  soul  unto  death,  and  he  was  num- 
bered with  the  transgressors,  and  he  bare  the  sin 
of  many,  and  made  intercession  for  the  trans- 
gressors." 

There  are  other  prophecies  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, interpreted  by  Christians  to  relate  to  the 
Gospel  history,  which  are  deserving  both  of  great 
regardj  and  of  a  very  attentive  consideration:  but 
I  content  myself  with  stating  the  above,  as  well 
because  I  think  it  the  clearest  and  the  strongest 
of  all,  as  because  most  of  the  rest,  in  order  that 
their  value  miglit  be  re[)resented  with  any  tolera- 
ble degree  of  fidelity,  require  a  discussion  unsuit- 
able to  the  limits  and  nature  of  this  work.  The 
reader  will  find  them  dis[)ospd  in  order,  and  dis- 
tinctly explained,  in  bishop  Chandler's  treatise  on 
the  subject :  and  he  will  bear  in  mind,  what  has 
been  often,  and,  I  think,  truly,  urged  by  the  ad- 
vocates of  Christianity,  that  there  is  no  other 
eminent  person,  to  the  history  of  whose  life  so 
many  circumstances  can  be  made  to  apply.  They 
who  object  that  much  has  been  done  by  the  power 
of  chance,  the  ingenuity  of  accommodation,  and 
the  industry  of  research,  ought  to  try  whether  the 
same,  or  any  thing  like  it,  could  be  done,  if  Ma- 
homet, or  any  other  person,  were  proposed  as  the 
subject  of  Jewish  prophecy. 

II.  A  second  head  of  argument  from  prophecy, 
is  founded  upon  our  Lord's  predictions  concerning 
the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  recorded  by  three 
out  of  the  four  evangelists. 

Luke  xxi.  5 — 25.  "  And  as  some  spake  of  the 
temple,  how  it  was  adorned  with  goodly  stones 
and  gifts,  he  said.  As  for  tliese  things  which  ye 
behold,  the  days  will  come,  in  which  there  shall 
not  be  left  one  stone  upon  another,  that  shall  not 
be  thrown  down.  And  they  asked  him,  saying, 
Master,  but  when  shall  these  things  be  1  and 
what  sign  will  there  be  when  these  things  shall 
lome  to  pass  1  And  he  said.  Take  heed  that  ye 
be  not  deceived,  for  many  shall  come  in  my  name. 
Baying,  I  am  Christ;  and  the  time  draweth  near : 
go  ye  not  therefore  after  them.  But  when  ye 
shall  hear  of  wars  and  coimnotions,  be  not  terrified : 


for  these  things  must  first  come  to  pass  ;  but  the 
end  is  not  by-ancl-by.  Then  said  he  unto  them, 
Nation  shail  rise  against  nation,  and  kingdom 
against  kingdom ;  and  great  earthquakes  shrfll  be 
in  divers  places,  and  famines  and  pestilences ;  and 
fearful  siglits,  and  great  signs  shall  there  be  from 
heaven.  But  before  all  these,  they  shall  lay  their 
hands  on  you,  and  persecute  you,  delivering  you 
up  to  the  synagogues,  and  into  prisons,  being 
brought  before  kings  and  rulers  for  my  name's 
sake.  And  it  shall  turn  to  you  for  a  testimony, 
Settle  it  therefore  in  your  hearts,  not  to  meditate 
before,  what  ye  shall  answer :  for  I  will  give  you 
a  mouth  and  wisdom,  which  all  your  adversaries 
shall  not  be  able  to  gainsay  nor  resist.  And  ye 
shall  be  betrayed  both  by  parents,  and  brethren, 
and  kinsfolk,  and  friends  ;  and  some  of  you  shall 
they  cause  to  be  put  to  death.  And  ye  shall  be 
hated  of  all  men  for  my  name's  sake.  But  there 
shall  not  a  hair  of  your  head  perish.  In  your 
patience  possess  ye  your  souls.  And  when  ye 
shall  see  Jerusalem  compassed  with  armies,  tlien 
know  that  the  desolation  thereof  is  nigh.  Then 
let  them  which  are  in  Judea  flee  to  the  mountains  ; 
and  let  them  which  are  in  the  midst  of  it  depart 
out :  and  let  not  them  that  are  in  the  countries 
enter  thereinto.  For  these  be  the  days  of  ven- 
geance, that  all  things  which  are  written  may  be 
fulfilled.  But  woe  unto  them  that  are  with  child, 
and  to  them  that  give  suck,  in  those  days :  for 
there  shall  be  great  distress  in  the  land,  and  wrath 
upon  this  people.  And  they  shall  fall  by  the  edge 
of  the  sword,  and  shall  be  led  away  captive  into 
all  nations :  and  Jerusalem  shall  be  trodden  down 
of  the  Gentiles  until  the  times  of  the  Gentiles  be 
fulfilled." 

In  terms  nearly  similar,  this  discourse  is  related 
in  the  twenty-fbiirth  chapter  of  Matthew,  and  the 
thirteenth  of'  Mark.  The  prospect  of  the  same 
evils  drew  from  our  Saviour,  on  another  occasion, 
the  following  affecting  expressions  of  concern, 
which  are  preserved  by  St.  Luke  (xix.  41 — 44.) 
"  And  when  he  was  come  near,  he  beheld  the 
city,  and  wept  over  it,  saying.  If  thou  hadst  known, 
even  thou,  at  least  in  this  thy  day,  the  things 
which  belong  unto  thy  peace!  but  now  they 
are  hid  from  thine  eyes.  For  the  days  shall  come 
u;ion  thee,  that  thine  enemies  shall  cast  a  trench 
about  thee,  and  compass  thee  round,  and  keep  thee 
in  on  every  side,  and  shall  lay  thee  even  with  the 
ground,  and  thy  children  within  thee;  and  they 
shall  not  leave  in  thee  one  stone  upon  another; 
because  thou  knewest  not  the  time  of  thy  visit.i- 
tion." — These  passages  are  direct  and  explicit 
predictions.  References  to  the  same  event,  some 
plain,  some  parabolical,  or  otherwise  figurative, 
are  found  in  divers  other  discourses  of  our  Lord.* 

The  general  agreement  of  the  description  with 
the  event,  viz.  with  the  ruin  of  the  Jewish  nation, 
and  the  capture  of  Jerusalem  under  Vespasian, 
thirty-six  years  after  Christ's  death,  is  most 
evident ;  and  the  accordancy  in  various  articles  of 
detail  and  circumstances  has  been  shown  by  many 
learned  writers.  It  is  also  an  advantage  to  the 
inquiry,  and  to  the  argument  built  upon  it,  that 
we  have  received  a  copious  account  of  the  tran.s- 
action  from  Josephus,  a  Jewish  and  contemporary 
historian.  This  part  of  the  case  is  perfectly  free  from 
doubt.     The  only  question  which,  in  my  opinion, 


*  Matt.  xxi.  33—46  ;  xxii.  1—7.  Mark  xii.  1—12.  Lulje 
xiii.  1—9  ;  XX.  9—-2U  :  xxi.  5—13 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


3-29 


can  be  raised  upon  the  subject,  is  whether  the 
prophecy  was  really  delivered  before  the  event ;  1 
shall  apply,  tlieret'ore,  my  observations  to  this 
point  solely. 

1 .  The  judgment  of  antiquity,  though  varying  in 
the  precise  year  of  the  publication  of  the  three 
Gosjiels,  concurs  in  assigning  them  a  date  prior  to 
the  destruction  of  Jerusalem.* 

2.  This  judgment  is  conlirmed  by  a  strong  pro- 
bability arising  from  the  course  of  human  life. 
The  destruction  of  Jerusalem  took  place  in  the 
seventieth  year  after  the  birth  of  Christ.  The 
three  evangelists,  one  of  whom  was  his  immediate 
companion,  and  the  other  two  associated  with  his 
companions,  were,  it  is  probable,  not  much  young- 
er than  he  was.  They  must,  consequently,  have 
been  far  advanced  in  hfe  when  Jerusalem  was 
taken ;  and  no  reason  has  been  given  why  they 
should  defer  writing  their  histories  so  long. 

3.  t  If  the  evangelists,  at  the  time  of  writing 
the  Gospels,  had  known  of  the  destruction  of  Je- 
rusalem, by  which  catastrophe  the  prophecies  were 
plainly  fulfdled,  it  is  most  probable,  that,  in  re- 
cording the  predictions,  they  would  have  dropped 
some  word  or  other  about  the  completion  ;  in  hke 
manner  as  Luke,  after  relating  the  denunciation 
of  a  dearth  by  Agabus,  adds,  "  which  came  to  pass 
in  the  days  of  Claudius  Csesar:"!  whereas  the 
prophecies  are  given  distinctly  in  one  chapter  of 
each  of  the  first  three  Gospels,  and  referred  to  in 
several  dillerent  passages  of  each,  and,  in  none  of 
all  these  places,  does  there  appear  the  smallest  in- 
timation that  the  things  spoken  of  had  come  to 
pass.  I  do  admit,  that  it  would  have  been  the 
part  of  an  impostor,  who  wished  his  readers  to  be- 
lieve that  his  book  was  written  before  the  event, 
W'hen  in  truth  it  was  written  after  it,  to  have  sup- 
pressed any  such  intimation  carefully.  But  this 
was  not  the  character  of  the  authors  of  the  Gos- 
pel. Cunning  was  no  quality  of  theirs.  Of  all 
writers  in  the  world,  they  thought  the  least  of 
providing  against  objections.  Moreover,  there  is 
no  clause  in  any  one  of  them,  that  makes  a  pro- 
fession of  their  having  written  prior  to  the  Jewish 
wars,  which  a  fraudulent  purpose  would  have  led 
them  to  pretend.  They  have  done  neither  one 
thing  nor  the  other:  they  have  neither  inserted 
anv  words  which  might  signify  to  the  reader  that 
their  accounts  were  written  before  the  destruction 
of  Jerusalem,  which  a  sophist  would  have  done ; 
nor  have  thev  dropped  a  hint  of  the  completion  of 
the  prophecies  recorded  by  them,  which  an  uncle- 
signing  writer,  writing  aflcr  the  event,  could 
hardly,  on  some  or  other  of  the  many  occasions 
that  presented  themselves,  have  missed  of  doing. 

4.  Tb.e  admonitions§  which  Christ  is  repre- 
sented to  have  given  to  his  followers  to  save  them- 
selves by  flight,  are  not  easily  accounted  for,  on 
the  supposition  of  the  prophecy  being  fabricated 


*  Larflner,  vol.  xiii. 

+  Lft  01010,0133.  III.  de  Q.uat.  Evang.  num.  vii.  p.  541. 

I  Arts  ,\i  28. 

§  ■'  When  ye  shall  see  Jenisalem  compassed  witli  ar- 
mies, then  know  that  the  desolation  thereof  is  ni^h; 
then  let  them  which  are  in  Jiidea  flee  to  the  mnuntaiiis  ; 
hen  let  them  which  are  in  the  midst  of  it  depart  out, 
and  let  not  them  that  are  in  the  countries  enter  there- 
into."— Luke  x.\i.  -0,  21. 

•'When  ye  shall  see  Jerusalem  compassed  with  ar- 
mies, then  let  thein  which  be  in  Jiidea  flee  unto  the 
mountains  ;  let  him  which  is  on  the  house-top  not  come 
down  to  take  any  thing  out  of  his  house ;  neither  let  liini 
which  is  in  the  field  return  back  to  take  his  clothes." — 
Malt.  .\iv.  18. 

2T 


after  the  event.  Either  the  Christians,  when  the 
siege  approached,  did  make  their  escape  frcm  Je- 
rusalem, or  they  did  not :  if  they  did,  they  must 
have  hitd  the  prophecy  amongst  them  :  if  tiny  did 
not  know  of  any  such  prediction  at  the  time  of 
the  siege,  if  they  did  not  take  notice  of  any  such 
warning,  it  was  an  improbalile  fiction,  in  a  writer 
publishing  his  work  near  to  that  time  (whiih,  on 
an)'  even  the  lowest  and  most  disadvantageous 
supposition,  was  the  case  with  the  Gospels  now  in 
our  hands,)  and  addressing  his  work  to  Jews  and 
to  Jewish  converts  (which  Matthew  certainly  did.) 
to  state  that  the  followers  of  Christ  had  received 
admonition  of  which  they  made  no  use  when  the 
occasion  arrived,  and  of  which  experience  then  re- 
cent proved,  that  those,  who  were  most  concerned 
to  know  and  regard  them,  were  ignorant  or  ne- 
gligent. Even  if  the  prophecies  came  to  the  hands 
of  the  evangelists  through  no  better  vehicle  than 
tradition,  it  must  have  been  by  a  tradition  which 
sub.sisted  prior  to  the  event.  And  to  sujipose  that, 
without  any  authority  whatever,  without  so  much 
as  even  any  tradition  to  guide  them,  they  had 
forged  these  passages,  is  to  impute  to  them  a  de- 
gree of  fraud  and  imposture,  from  every  appear- 
ance of  which  their  compositions  are  as  far  re- 
moved as  possible. 

5.  I  think  that,  if  the  prophecies  had  been  com- 
posed after  the  event,  there  would  have  been  more 
specification.  The  names  or  descriptions  of  the 
enemy,  the  general,  the  emperor,  would  have  been 
found  in  them.  The  designation  of  the  time 
would  have  been  more  determinate.  And  I  am 
fortified  in  this  opinion  by  observing,  that  the 
counterfeited  prophecies  of  the  Sibylline  oracles, 
of  the  twelve  patriarchs,  and  I  am  inclined  to  be- 
lieve, most  others  of  the  kind,  are  mere  trans- 
scripts  of  the  history,  moulded  into  a  prophetic 
form. 

It  is  objected,  that  the  prophecy  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  Jerusalem  is  mixed,  or  connected,  with 
expressions  which  relate  to  the  final  judgment  of 
the  world ;  and  so  connected,  as  to  lead  an  ordina- 
ry reader  to  expect,  that  these  two  events  would 
not  be  far  distant  from  each  other.  To  which  I 
answer,  that  the  objection  docs  not  concern  our 
present  argument.  If  our  Saviour  actually  fore- 
told the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  it  is  sufficient; 
even  although  we  should  allow,  tliat  the  narration 
of  the  prophecy  had  combined  what  had  been  said 
by  him  on  kindred  subjects,  without  accurately 
preserving  the  order,  or  always  noticing  the  transi- 
tion of  the  discourse. 


CHAPTER  II. 
The  Morality  of  the  Gospel. 

In  stating  the  morality  of  the  Gospel  as  an  ar- 
gument of  its  truth,  I  am  willing  to  admit  two 
points ;  first,  that  the  teaching  of  inorality  was 
not  the  primary  design  of  the  mission  ;  secondly, 
that  morality,  neither  in  the  Gospel,  nor  in  any 
other  book,  can  be  a  subject,  properly  speaking 
of  discovery. 

If  I  were  to  describe  in  a  very  few  words  the 
scope  of  Christianity,  as  a  rerelation*   I  should 


*  Great  and  inestimably  beneficial  effects  may  accrue 
from   the  mission  of  Christ,  and  especially  friuii  his 
death,  which  do  not  belonii  to  Christianity  as  a  revela 
28* 


330 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


say,  that  it  was  to  influence  the  conduct  of  human 
life,  by  establishing  the  prooi'  of  a  future  state  of 
reward  and  punishment, — "  to  bring  life  and  im- 
mortality to  light."  The  direct  object,  therefore, 
of  the  design  is,  to  supply  motives,  and  not  rules ; 
sanctions,  and  not  precepts.  And  these  were 
what  mankind  stood  most  in  need  of  The  mem- 
bers of  civilized  society  can,  in  all  ordinary  cases, 
judge  tolerably  well  how  they  ought  to  act :  but 
without  a  future  state,  or,  which  is  the  same 
tiling,  without  credited  evidence  of  that  state,  they 
want  a  motive  to  their  duty;  they  want  at  least 
strength  of  motive,  sufficient  to  bear  up  against 
the  force  of  passion,  and  the  temptation  of  present 
advantage.  Their  rules  want  authority.  The 
most  imjiortant  service  that  can  be  rendered  to 
human  life,  and  that  consequently,  which,  one 
might  expect  betbrehand,  would  be  the  great  end 
and  office  of  a  revelation  from  God,  is  to  convey 
to  the  world  authorised  assurances  of  the  reality 
of  a  future  existence.  And  although  in  doing 
this,  or  by  the  ministry  of  the  same  person  by 
whom  this  is  done,  moral  precepts  or  examples, 
or  illustrations  of  moral  precepts,  may  be  occasion- 
ally given,  and  be  highly  valuable,  yet  still  they 
do  not  ibrm  the  original  purpose  of  the  mission. 

Secondly ;  morality,  neither  in  the  Gospel,  nor 
in.  any  other  book,  can  be  a  subject  of  discovery, 
properly  so  called.  By  which  proposition,  I  mean 
that  there  cannot,  in  morality,  be  any  thing  simi- 
lar to  what  are  called  discoveries  in  natural  philo- 
sojjhy,  in  the  arts  of  life,  and  in  some  sciences ; 
as  the  system  of  the  Universe,  the  circulation  of 
the  blood,  the  polarity  of  the  magnet,  the  laws  of 
gravitation,  alphabetical  writing,  decimal  arithme- 
tic, and  some  other  things  of  the  same  sort ;  facts, 
or  proofs,  or  contrivances,  before  totally  unknown 
and  unthought  of  Whoever,  therefore,  expects, 
in  reading  the  New  Testament,  to  be  struck  with 
discoveries  in  morals  in  the  manner  in  which  his 
mind  was  affected  when  he  first  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  discoveries  above-mentioned;  or 
rather  in  the  manner  in  which  the  world  was  af- 
fected by  them,  when  they  were  first  pulilished  ; 
expects  what,  as  I  appreliend,  the  nature  of  the 
subject  renders  it  impossible  that  he  should  meet 
with.  And  the  foundation  of  my  opinion  is  this, 
that  the  (lualities  of  actions  depend  entirel}^  upon 
their  effects,  which  efiects  must  all  along  have 
been  the  subject  of  human  experience. 

When  it  is  once  settled,  no  matter  upon  what 
principle,  that  to  do  good  is  virtue,  the  rest  is  cal- 
culation. But  since  the  calculation  cannot  be  in- 
stituted concerning  each  particular  action,  we  es- 
tablish intermediate  rules ;  by  which  proceeding, 
the  business  of  morality  is  much  facilitated,  lor 
then  it  is  concerning  our  rules  alone  that  we  need 
inquire,  whether  in  their  tendency  they  be  bene- 

tioi) ;  that  is,  they  misht  have  existed,  and  they  mit'ht 
have  heen  accoinplislied,  though  we  had  never,  in  this 
jt'i',  been  made  acqaainted  with  them.  These  etfects 
may  be  very  e.ttensive  :  they  may  be  interestin;;  even 
to  other  orders  of  intelli!;ent  beings.  I  think  it  is  a 
seneral  opinion,  and  one  to  which  I  have  long  come, 
Lliat  the  beneficial  effects  of  Christ's  death  extend  to  the 
wliole  hinnan  species.  It  was  the  redemption  of  the 
world.  "  He  is  the  propitiation  for  onr  sins,  and  not  for 
ours  only,  hut  for  the  whole  world;"  1  .lohn  ii.  2. 
Probably  the  future  happiness,  perhaps  the  future  exist- 
ence of  the  species,  and  more  gracious  terms  of  accept- 
ance extended  Ao  uH,  might  (lepond  upon  it,  or  be  pro- 
cured by  it.  iVow  these  eftV'cts,  whatever  they  be,  do 
not  belong  to  Christianity  as  a  rerclation;  because  they 
enlist  with  respect  to  those  to  whom  it  is  not  recealed. 


ficial ;  concerning  our  actions,  we  have  only  fo 
ask,  whether  they  be  agreeable  to  the  rules.  We 
refer  actions  to  rules,  and  rules  to  public  happiness. 
Now  in  the  formation  of  these  rules  there  is  no 
place  for  discovery,  properly  so  called,  but  there 
is  ample  room  for  the  exercise  of  wisdom,  judg- 
ment, and  prudence. 

As  I  wish  to  deliver  argument  rather  than 
panegyric,  I  shall  treat  of  the  morality  of  the  Gos- 
pel, in  subjection  to  these  observations.  And 
after  all,  I  think  it  such  a  morality,  as  considering 
from  whom  it  came,  is  most  extraordinary;  and 
such  as,  without  allowing  some  degree  of  reality 
to  the  character  and  pretensions  of  the  religion, 
it  is  difficult  to  account  for:  or,  to  place  the  argu- 
ment a  little  lower  in  the  scale,  it  is  such  a  mo- 
rality as  com])letely  repels  the  supposition  of  its 
being  the  tradition  of  a  barbarous  age  or  of  a  bar- 
barous people,  of  the  religion  being  founded  in 
folly,  or  of  its  being  the  production  of  craft;  and 
it  repels  also,  in  a  great  degree,  the  supposition  of 
its  having  been  the  effusion  of  an  enthusiastic  mind. 

The  division,  under  which  the  suliject  may 
be  most  conveniently  treated,  is  that  of  the  things 
taught,  and  the  manner  of  teaching. 

Under  the  first  head,  I  should  willingly,  if  the 
limits  and  nature  of  my  work  admitted  of  it, 
transcribe  into  this  chapter  the  whole  of  what  has 
been  said  upon  the  morality  of  the  Gospel,  by  the 
author  of  The  Internal  Evidence  of  Christianity  ; 
because  it  perfectly  agrees  with  my  own  opinion, 
and  because  it  is  impossible  to  say  the  same 
things  so  well.  This  acute  observer  of  human 
nature,  and,  as  I  believe,  sincere  convert  to  Chris- 
tianity, appears  to  me  to  have  made  out  satisfac- 
torily the  two  following  positions,  viz. 

I.  That  the  Gospel  omits  some  qualities,  which 
have  usually  engaged  the  praises  and  admira- 
tion of  mankind,  but  which,  in  reality,  and  in 
their  general  effects,  have  been  prejudicial  to 
human  happiness. 

II.  That  the  Gospel  has  brought  forward  some 
virtues,  which  possess  the  highest  intrinsic  value, 
but  which  have  commonly  heen  overlooked  and 
contemned. 

The  first  of  these  propositions  he  exemplifies 
in  the  instances  of  friendship,  patriotism,  active 
courage ;  in  the  sense  in  which  these  qualities  are 
usually  understood,  and  in  the  conduct  which 
they  often  produce. 

The  second,  in  the  instances  of  passive  courage 
or  endurance  of  sufferings,  patience  under  afii'onts 
and  injuries,  humility,  irresistance,  placability. 

The  truth  is,  there  are  two  opposite  descrip- 
tions of  character,  under  which  mankind  may 
generally  be  classed.  The  one  possesses  vigour, 
firmness,  resolution ;  is  daring  and  active,  quick 
in  its  sensibilities,  jealous  of  its  fame,  eager  in  its 
attachments,  inflexible  in  its  purpose,  violent  in 
its  resentments. 

The  other,  meek,  yielding,  complying,  forgiving ; 
not  prompt  to  act,  but  willing  to  suffer;  silent 
and  gentle  under  rudeness  and  insult,  suing  for 
reconciliation  where  others  would  demand  satis- 
faction, giving  way  to  the  pushes  of  impudence, 
conceding  and  indulgent  to  the  prejudices,  the 
wrongheadcdncss,  the  intractability,  of  those  with 
whom  it  has  to  deal. 

The  former  of  these  characters  is,  and  ever 
hath  been,  the  favourite  of  the  world.  It  is  the 
character  of  great  men.  There  is  a  dignity  in  it 
which  universally  commands  respect. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 


331 


The  latter  is  poor-spirited,  tame,  and  abject. 
Yet  so  it  hath  happened,  that,  with  the  Founder 
of  Christianity,  this  hitter  is  the  subject  of  his 
commendation,  his  precepts,  his  example ;  and 
that  the  former  is  so,  in  no  part  of  its  composition. 
This  and  nothing  else,  is  the  character  designed 
in  the  following  remarkable  passages :  "  Resist 
not  evil ;  but  whosoever  shall  smite  thee  on  the 
right  check,  turn  to  him  the  other  also :  and  if 
any  man  will  sue  thee  at  the  law,  and  take  away  t  hy 
coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloak  also:  and  whosoever 
shall  compel  thee  to  go  a  mile,  go  with  him  twain : 
love  your  enemies,  bless  them  that  curse  you,  do 
good  to  them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them 
which  despitefully  use  you  and  persecute  3'ou." 
This  certainly  is  not  common-place  morality.  It 
is  very  original.  It  shows  at  least  (and  it  is  for 
this  purpose  we  produce  it)  that  no  two  things 
can  be  more  different  than  the  Heroic  and  the 
Christian  character. 

Now  the  author,  to  whom  I  refer,  has  not  only 
marked  this  difierence  more  strongly  than  any 
preceding  writer,  but  has  proved,  in  contradiction 
to  first  impressions,  to  popular  opinion,  to  the  en- 
comiums of  orators  and  poets,  and  even  to  the  suf- 
frages of  historians  and  moralists,  that  the  latter 
character  pos.sesses  the  most  of  true  worth,  both  as 
being  most  difficult  either  to  be  acquired  or  sus- 
tained, and  as  contributing  most  to  the  happiness 
and  tranquillity  of  social  life.  The  state  of  his 
argument  is  as  follows : 

I.  If  this  disposition  were  universal,  the  case  is 
clear;  the  world  would  be  a  society  of  friends. 
Whereas,  if  the  other  disposition  were  universal, 
it  would  produce  a  scene  of  universal  contention. 
The  world  could  not  hold  a  generation  of  such 
men. 

II.  If,  what  is  the  fact,  the  disposition  be  partial ; 
if  a  few  be  actuated  by  it,  amongst  a  multitude 
who  are  not ;  in  whatever  degree  it  does  prevail, 
in  the  same  proportion  it  prevents,  allays,  and  ter- 
minates, quarrels,  the  great  disturbers  of  human 
happiness,  and  the  great  sources  of  human  misery, 
so  far  as  man's  happiness  and  misery  depend 
upon  man.  Without  this  disposition,  enmities 
must  not  only  be  frequent,  but,  once  begun,  must 
be  eternal :  for,  each  retaliation  being  a  fresh 
injury,  and,  consequently,  requiring  a  fresh  satis- 

fact'wn,  no  period  can  be  assigned  to  the  recipro- 
cation of  affronts,  and  to  the  progress  of  hatred, 
but  that  which  closes  the  lives,  or  at  least  the  in- 
tercourse, of  the  parties. 

I  would  only  add  to  these  observations,  that 
although  the  former  of  the  two  characters  above 
described  may  be  occasionally  useful ;  although, 
perhaps,  a  great  general,  or  a  great  statesman, 
may  be  formed  by  it,  and  these  may  be  instru- 
ments of  important  benefits  to  mankind,  yet  is 
this  nothincr  more  than  what  is  true  of  many 
qualities,  which  are  acknowledged  to  be  vicious. 
Envy  is  a  quality  of  this  sort;  I  know  not  a 
stronger  stimulus  to  exertion;  many  a  scholar, 
many  an  artist,  many  a  soldier,  has  been  produced 
by  it ;  nevertheless,  since  in  its  general  effects  it  is 
noxious,  it  is  properly  condemned,  certainly  is 
not  praised,  by  sober  moralists. 

It  was  a  portion  of  the  same  character  as  that 
we  are  defending,  or  rather  of  his  love  of  the  same 
character,  which  our  Saviour  displayed,  in  his  re- 
peated correction  of  the  ambition  of  his  disciples : 
his  frequent  admonitions,  that  greatness  with 
them  was  to  consist  in  humility ;   his  censure  of 


that  love  of  distinction,  and  greediness  of  superi- 
ority, which  the  chief  persons  amongst  his  coun- 
trymen were  wont,  on  all  occasions,  great  and 
little,  to  betray.  '•  They  (the  Scribes  and  Phari- 
sees) love  the  uppermost  rooms  at  feasts,  and  the 
chief  seats  in  the  synagogues,  and  greetings  in 
the  markets,  and  to  be  called  of  men.  Rabbi, 
Rabbi.  But  be  not  ye  called  Rabbi,  for  one  is 
your  Master,  even  Christ,  and  all  ye  are  brethren ; 
and  call  no  man  your  fiither  upon  the  earth,  for 
one  is  your  Father,  which  is  in  heaven;  neither 
be  ye  called  masters,  for  one  is  your  Master,  even 
Christ ;  but  he  that  is  greatest  among  you^  shiill 
be  your  servant :  and  whosoever  shall  exalt  him- 
self, shall  be  abased ;  and  he  that  shall  humble 
himself  shall  be  exalted."*  I  make  no  farther 
remark  upon  these  passages,  (because  thev  are,  in 
truth,  only  a  repetition  of  the  doctrine,  different 
expressions  of  the  principle,  which  we  have 
already  stated.)  except  that  some  of  the  passages, 
especially  our  Lord's  advice  to  the  guests  at  an 
entertainment,!  seem  to  extend  the  rule  to  what  we 
call  manners ;  which  was  both  regular  in  point  of 
consistency,  and  not  so  much  beneath  the  dignity 
of  our  Lord's  mission  as  may  at  first  sight  be  sup- 
posed, for  bad  manners  are  bad  morals. 

It  is  sufficiently  apparent,  that  the  precepts  we 
have  cited,  or  rather  the  disposition  which  these 
precepts  inculcate,  relate  to  personal  conduct  from 
personal  motives ;  to  cases  in  which  men  act  from 
impulse,  for  themselves,  and  from  themselves. 
When  it  comes  to  be  considered,  what  is  neces- 
sary to  be  done  for  the  sake  of  the  public,  and  out 
ofa  regard  to  the  general  wclflire  (which  consi- 
deration, for  the  most  part,  ought  exclusively  to 
govern  the  duties  of  men  in  pulilic  stations,)  it 
comes  to  a  case  to  which  the  rules  do  not  belong. 
This  distinction  is  plain  ;  and  if  it  were  less  so, 
the  consequence  would  not  be  much  felt:  for  it  is 
very  seldom  that,  in  the  intercourse  of  private  life, 
men  act  with  public  views.  The  personal  mo- 
tives, from  which  they  do  act  the  rule  regulates. 

The  preference  of  the  patient  to  the  heroic  cha- 
racter, which  we  have  here  noticed,  and  which 
the  reader  will  find  explained  at  large  in  the  work 
to  which  we  have  referred  him,  is  a  peculiarity  in 
the  Christian  institution,  which  I  propose  as  an 
argument  of  wisdom  very  much  beyond  the  situa- 
tion and  natural  character  of  the  person  who  de- 
livered it. 

II.  A  second  argument,  drawn  from  the  mo- 
rality of  the  New  Testament,  is  the  stress 
which  is  laid  by  our  Saviour  upon  the  regulation 
of  the  thoughts.  And  I  place  this  consideration 
next  to  the  other,  because  they  are  connected. 
The  other  related  to  the  malicious  passions  ;  this, 
to  the  voluptuous.  Together,  they  comprehend 
the  whole  character. 

"  Out  of  the  heart  proceed  evil  thoughts,  mur- 
ders, adulteries,  fornications,"'  &c. — "  These  are 
the  things  which  defile  a  man."t 

"  Wo  unto  you,  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypo- 
crites !  for  ye  make  clean  the  outside  of  the  cup 
and  of  the  platter,  but  icitliin  they  are  full  of  ex- 
tortion and  excess. — Ye  are  like  unto  whited  se- 
pulchres, which  indeed  appear  beautiful  outward, 
but  are  within  full  of  dead  men's  bones,  and  of 
all  uncleanness ;  even  so  ye  also  outwardly  appear 


*  I^Tatt.  xxiii.  6.   See  also  Mark  xii.  39.  Luke  xx.  46; 
xiv.  T. 
t  Luke  xiv.  7.  J  Matt.  xv.  19. 


33-3 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


l"i<fliteous  unto  men,  but  xclihln  ye  are  full  of  hy- 
pocrisy and  iniquity."* 

And  more  particularly  that  strong  expression, t 
"  Wliosocver  iooketh  on  a  woman  to  lust  after 
her,  li.itli  committed  adultery  with  her  already  in 
his  heart." 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  with  any  reflecting 
mind,  but  that  the  propensities  of  our  nature  must 
be  subject  to  regulation ;  but  the  question  is  where 
the  check  ought  to  be  placed,  upon  the  thought, 
or  only  upon  the  action?  In  this  question,  our 
Saviour,  in  the  texts  here  quoted,  has  pronounced 
a  decisive  judgment.  He  makes  the  control  of 
thought  essential.  Internal  purity  with  him  is 
every  thing.  Now  I  contend  that  this  is  the  only 
discipline  which  can  succeed ;  in  other  words, 
that  a  moral  .system,  which  prohibits  actions,  but 
leaves  the  thoughts  at  liberty,  will  be  inelfectual, 
and  is  therefore  unwise.  I  know  not  how  to  go 
about  the  proof  of  a  point,  which  depends  upon 
experience,  and  upon  a  knowledge  of  the  human 
constitution,  better  than  by  citing  the  judgment  of 
persons,  who  appear  to  have  given  great  attention 
to  the  subject,  and  to  be  well  qualilied  to  form  a 
true  opinion  aliout  it.  Boerhaave,  speaking  of 
this  very  declaration  of  our  Saviour,  "  Whosoever 
Iooketh  on  a  woman  to  lust  after  her,  hath  already 
committed  adultery  witli  her  in  his  heart,"  and 
under.stauding  it,  as  we  do,  to  contain  an  injunc- 
tion to  lay  the  click  upon  the  thoughts,  was  wont 
to  say,  that  "  our  Saviour  knew  mankind  better 
than  So;Tates."  Hallcr,  who  has  recorded  this 
saying  of  Boerhaave,  adds  to  it  the  following  re- 
marks of  his  own  :t  "It  did  not  escape  the  obser- 
vation of  our  Saviour,  that  the  rejection  of  any 
evil  thoughts  was  the  best  defence  against  vice: 
for  when  a  debauched  person  fills  his  imagination 
with  impure  pictures,  the  licentious  ideas  which 
he  recalls,  fail  not  to  stimulate  his  desires  with  a 
degree  of  violence  which  he  cannot  resist.  This 
will  be  followed  by  gratification,  unless  some  ex- 
ternal obstacle  should  prevent  him  from  the  com- 
mission of  a  sin,  which  he  had  internally  resolved 
on."  '■  Every  moment  of  time,"  says  our  author, 
"  that  is  spent  in  meditations  upon  sin,  increa.ses 
the  power  of  the  dangerous  object  which  has  pos- 
sessed our  imagination."  I  suppose  these  reflec- 
tions will  be  generally  assented  to. 

III.  Thirdly,  Had  a  teacher  of  morality  been 
asked  concerning  a  general  principle  of  conduct, 
and  for  a  short  rule  of  life  ;  and  had  he  instructed 
the  person  who  consulted  him,  "  con.stantly  to  refer 
his  actions  to  what  he  believed  to  be  the  will  of 
his  Creator,  and  constantly  to  have  in  view  not 
his  own  interest  and  gratiflcation  alone,  but  the 
happiness  and  comfort  of  those  about  him,"  he 
would  have  been  thought,  I  doubt  not,  in  any  age 
of  the  world,  and  in  any,  even  the  most  improved, 
st;itc  of  morals,  to  have  delivered  a  judicious  an- 
swer ;  because,  by  the  first  direction,  he  suggest- 
ed the  only  motive  which  acts  steadily  and  uni- 
formly, in  sight  and  out  of  sight,  in  familiar 
occurrences  and  under  pressing  temptations ;  and 
in  the  second,  he  corrected,  what,  of  all  tendencies 
in  the  human  character,  stands  most  in  need  of 
correction,  selfishness^  or  a  contempt  of  other  men's 
conveniency  and  satisfaction.  In  estimating  the 
value  of  a  moral  rule,  we  are  to  have  regard  not 
only  to  the  particular  duty,  but  the  general  spirit ; 


*  Matt.  x.\iii.  2.5,  27.  t  Matt.  v.  23. 

I  Letters  to  liis  Daughter. 


not  only  to  what  it  directs  us  to  do,  but  to  the 
character  which  a  compliance  with  its  direction  is 
likely  to  form  in  us.  So,  in  the  present  instance, 
the  rule  here  recited  will  never  fail  to  make  him 
who  obeys  it  considerate,  not  only  of  the  ricrhts, 
but  of  the  feelings  of  other  men,  bodily  and  mental, 
in  great  matters  and  in  small ;  of  the  ease,  the  ac- 
commodation, the  self-complacency,  of  all  with 
whom  he  has  any  concern,  especially  of  all  who 
are  in  his  power,  or  dependant  upon  his  will. 

Now  what,  in  the  most  applauded  philosopher 
of  the  most  enlightened  age  of  the  world,  would 
have  been  deemed  worthy  of  his  wisdom,  and  of 
his  character,  to  say,  our  Saviour  hath  said,  and 
upon  just  such  an  occasion  as  that  which  we  have 
feigned. 

"  Then  one  of  them,  which  was  a  lawyer,  asked 
him  a  question,  tempting  him,  and  saying,  Master, 
which  is  the  great  commandment  in  the  law  1 
.Tesus  said  unto  him.  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord 
thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul, 
and  with  all  thy  mind;  this  is  the  first  and  great 
commandment;  and  the  second  is  like  unto  it. 
Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself;  on  these 
two  commandments  hang  all  the  law  and  the 
prophets."* 

The  second  precept  occurs  in  Saint  Matthew 
(xix.  16)  on  another  occasion  similar  to  this  ;  and 
both  of  them,  on  a  third  similar  occasion,  in  Luke 
(x.  37.)  In  tliese  two  latter  instances,  the  ques- 
tion proposed  was,  "  What  shall  1  do  to  inherit 
eternal  life '?" 

Upon  all  these  occasions,  I  consider  the  words 
of  our  Saviour  as  expressing  precisely  the  same 
thing  as  what  I  have  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
moral  philosopher.  Nor  do  I  think  that  it  de- 
tracts much  from  the  merit  of  the  answer,  that 
these  precepts  are  extant  in  the  Mosaic  code ;  for 
his  laying  his  finger,  if  I  may  so  say,  upon  these 
precepts  ;  his  drawing  them  out  from  the  rest  of  that 
voluminous  institution  ;  his  stating  of  them,  not 
simply  amongst  the  number,  but  as  the  greatest 
and  the  sum  of  all  the  others;  in  a  word,  his  pro- 
posing of  them  to  his  hearers  for  their  rule  and 
principle,  was  our  Saviour's  own. 

And  what  our  Saviour  had  said  upon  the  sub- 
ject, appears  to  me  to  have  fixed  the  sentiment 
amongst  his  followers. 

St.  Paul  has  it  expressly,  "If  there  be  any  other 
commandment,  it  is  briefly  comprehended  in  this 
saying.  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself  ;''t 
and  aiain,  "  For  all  the  law  is  fulfilled  in  one 
word,  even  in  this,  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour 
as  thyself"? 

Saint  John,  in  like  manner,  "  This  command- 
ment have  we  from  him,  that  he  who  lovethGod, 
love  his  brother  also."§ 

Saint  Peter,  not  very  diflferently :  "  Seeing  that 
ye  have  purified  your  souls  in  obeying  the  truth, 
through  the  S|)irit,  unto  unfeigned  love  of  the 
brethren,  see  that  ye  love  one  another  with  a  pure 
heart  fervently. "II 

And  it  is  so  well  known,  as  to  require  no  cita- 
tions to  verily  it,  that  this  love,  or  charity,  or,  in 
other  words,  regard  to  the  welfare  of  others,  runs 
in  various  forms  through  all  the  preceptive  parts 
of  the  apostolic  writings.  It  is  the  theme  of  all 
their  exhortations,  that  with  which  their  morality 


*  Matt.  x.\ii.  35- 
l  Gai.  v.  i4. 


t  Iloiii.  .\iii.  !). 
5  1  Jolm  iv.  21. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


333 


begins  and  ends,  from  which  all  their  details  and 
enuincralions  set  out,  and  into  which  they  return. 

And  that  this  temper,  for  some  time  at  least, 
descended  in  its  purity  to  succeeding  Christian?, 
is  attested  by  one  of  tiie  earliest  and  best  of  the 
reinauiing  writings  of  the  apostolical  fathers,  the 
epistle  ot  the  P^onian  Clement.  The  meekness 
of  the  Christian  character  reigns  throughout  the 
wiiole  of  that  excellent  piece.  The  occasion  called 
for  it.  It  was  to  compose  the  dissensions  of  the 
church  of  Corinth.  And  the  venerable  hearer  of 
tue  apostles  does  not  fall  short,  in  the  display  of 
this  principle,  of  the  linest  passages  of  their 
writings.  He  calls  to  the  remembrance  of  the 
Corinfiiian  church  its  former  character,  in  which 
"\e  were  all  of  you,"  he  tells  them,  '■humble- 
minded,  not  boasting  of  any  thing,  desiring  rather 
to  be  subject  than  to  govern,  to  give  than  to  re- 
ceive, being  content  with  the  portion  God  had  dis- 
pensed to  you,  and  hearkening  diligently  to  liis 
word ;  ye  were  enlarged  in  your  bowels,  having 
his  suiierings  always  before  your  eyes.  Ye  con- 
tended day  and  night  for  the  whole  brotherhood, 
that  with  compassion  and  a  good  conscience  the 
number  of  his  elect  might  be  saved.  Ye  were 
sincere,  and  without  oHence,  towards  each  other. 
Ye  bewailed  every  one  his  neighbours'  sins, 
esteeming  their  defects  your  own."*  His  prayer 
for  them  was  for  the  "  return  of  peace,  long-suf- 
fering, and  patience. "t  And  his  advice  to  those, 
who  might  have  been  the  occasion  of  dilii?rence  in 
the  society,  is  conceived  in  the  true  spirit,  and 
with  a  perfect  knowledge,  of  the  Christian  charac- 
ter; "  Who  is  there  among  you  that  is  generous  ? 
who  that  is  compassionate  l  who  that  has  any 
charity '!  Let  him  say.  If  this  sedition,  this  con- 
tention, and  these  schisms,  be  upon  my  account, 
I  am  ready  to  depart,  to  go  away  whithersoever 
ye  please,  and  do  wliatsoever  ye  shall  command 
me :  only  let  the  flock  of  Christ  be  in  peace  with 
the  elders  who  are  set  over  it.  He  that  shall  do 
this,  shall  get  to  hunself  a  very  great  honour  in 
the  Lord ;  and  there  is  no  place  but  what  will  be 
ready  to  receive  him :  ibr  the  earth  is  the  Lord's, 
and  the  fu  Liess  thereof  These  things  they,  who 
have  their  conversation  towards  God,  not  to  be 
repented  of,  both  have  done,  and  will  always  be 
ready  to  do. "J 

'i'his  sacred  principle,  this  earnest  recommenda- 
tion of  forbearance,  lenity,  and  forgiveness,  mixes 
with  all  the  writings  of  that  age.  There  are  more 
quotations  in  the  apostolical  fathers,  of  texts  which 
relate  to  these  points,  than  of  any  other.  Christ's 
sayings  had  struck  them.  "  Not  rendering,"  said 
Polyrarp,  the  disciple  of  John,  "  evil  for  evil,  or 
railing  for  railing,  or  striking  for  striking,  or 
cursing  for  cursing. "§  Again,  speaking  of  some, 
whose  behaviour  had  given  great  offence,  '"  Be  ye 
moderate,"  says  he,  "on  this  occasion,  and  look 
nv)t  upon  such  as  enemies,  but  call  them  back  as 
sutlering  and  erring  members,  that  ye  save  your 
whole  body. 'II 

"  Be  ye  mild  at  their  anger,"  saith  Ignatius,  the 
companion  of  Polycarp,  '•  humble  at  their  boast- 
ings, to  their  blasphemies  return  your  prayers,  to 
their  error  your  firmness  in  the  faitli ;  when  they 
are  cruel,  be  ye  gentle  ;  not  endeavouring  to  imi- 
tate their  ways,  let  us  be  their  brethren  in  all 

*  Ep  Clem.  Rom,  c.  2 ;  Abp.  Wake's  Translation, 
rib. -53.  Mb.  c.  54. 

§  Pi.     Ep.  Ad.  Phil.  c.  2.  1  lb.  c.  11. 


kindness  and  moderation :  but  let  us  be  followers 
of  the  Lord  ;  for  who  was  ever  more  unjustly 
used,  more  destitute,  more  desiiisedl" 

IV.  A  fourth  quality,  by  which  the  morality  of 
the  Gospel  is  distinguished,  is  the  exclusion  oi  re- 
gard to  fame  and  reputation. 

"  Take  heed  tliat  ye  do  not  your  alms  before 
men,  to  be  seen  of  them,  otherwise  ye  have  no  re- 
ward of  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven.''* 

"  When  thou  prayest,  enter  into  thy  closet,  and 
when  thou  hast  shut  the  door,  pray  to  th}'  Fatlier 
which  is  in  secret;  and  thy  Father  which seeth  in 
secret,  shall  reward  thee  openly. 't 

And  the  rule,  by  parity  of  reason,  is  extended 
to  all  other  virtues. 

I  do  not  think,  that  either  in  these,  or  in  any 
other  passage  of  the  New  Testament,  the  pursuit 
of  fame  is  stated  as  a  vice;  it  is  onl^'  said  that  an 
action,  to  be  virtuous,  must  be  independent  of  it. 
I  would  also  observe,  that  it  is  not  publicity,  but 
ostentation  which  is  prohibited  ;  not  ihe  mode,  but 
the  motive,  of  the  action,  which  is  regulated.  A 
good  man  will  prefer  that  mode,  as  well  as  those 
objects  of  his  beneficence,  by  which  he  can  pro- 
duce the  greatest  eifect ;  and  the  view  of  this  pur- 
pose may  dictate  sometimes  publication,  and  some- 
times concealment.  Either  the  one  or  the  other 
may  be  the  mode  of  the  action,  according  as  the 
end  to  be  promoted  by  it  appears  to  require.  But 
from  the  motive,  the  reputation  of  the  deed,  and 
the  fruits  and  advantage  of  that  reputation  to  our- 
selves, must  be  shut  out,  or,  in  whatever  pro|)or- 
tion  they  are  not  so,  the  action  in  that  proportion 
fails  of  being  virtuous. 

This  exclusion  of  regard  to  human  opinion,  is  a 
difference,  not  so  much  in  the  duties  to  which  the 
teachers  of  virtue  would  persuade  mankind,  as  in 
the  manner  and  topics  of  persuasion.  And  in 
this  view  the  diil(?rence  is  great.  W^hen  ice  set 
about  to  give  advice,  our  lectures  are  full  of  the 
advantages  of  character,  of  the  regard  that  is  due 
to  appearances  and  to  opinion ;  of  what  the  world, 
especially  of  what  the  good  or  great,  will  think 
and  say ;  of  the  value  of  pul)lic  esteem,  and  of 
the  qualities  by  which  men  acquire  it.  Widely 
different  from  this  was  our  Saviour's  instruction ; 
and  the  ditference  was  founded  upon  the  best  rea- 
sons. For,  however  the  care  of  reputation,  the 
authority  of  public  opinion,  or  even  of  the  opinion 
of  good  men,  the  satisfaction  of  being  well  received 
and  well  thought  of,  the  benefit  of  being  known 
and  distinguished,  are  topics  to  which  we  are  fain 
to  have  recourse  in  our  exhortations;  the  true 
virtue  is  that  which  discards  these  considerations 
absolutely,  and  which  retires  from  them  all  to  the 
single  internal  purpose  of  pleasing  God.  This  at 
least  was  the  virtue  which  our  Saviour  taught. 
I  And  in  teaching  this,  he  not  only  confined  the 
!  views  of  his  followers  to  the  proper  measure  and 
i  principle  of  human  duty,  but  acted  in  consistency 
with  his  office  as  a  monitor  from  heaven. 


Next  to  what  our  Saviour  taught,  may  be  con- 
sidered the  manner  of  his  teaching:  which  was 
extremely  peculiar,  yet,  I  think,  precisely  adapted 
to  the  peculiarity  of  his  character  and  situation. 
His  lessons  did  not  consist  of  disquisitions  ;  of  any 
thing  like  moral  essays,  or  like  sermons,  or  like 


t  Matt.  vi.  6. 


334 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


set  treatises  upon  the  several  points  whicli  he 
nientiont'd.  When  he  tlehvt'red  a  precept,  it  was 
seldom  that  he  added  any  proof  or  argument:  still 
more  seldom,  that  he  accompanied  it  with,  what 
all  precepts  require,  limitations  and  distinctions. 
His  instructions  were  conceived  jn  short,  empha- 
tic, sententious  rules,  in  occasional  reriections,  or 
in  round  maxims.  I  do  not  think  that  this  was  a 
natural,  or  would  have  been  a  )jro])er  method  for 
a  philosopher  or  a  moralist ;  or  that  it  is  a  method 
which  can  be  successfully  imitated  by  us.  But  I 
contend  that  it  was  suitable  to  the  ciiaracter  which 
Christ  assumed,  and  to  the  situation  in  which,  as 
a  teacher,  he  was  placed.  He  produced  himself  as 
a  me:'.senger  from  God.  He  put  the  truth  of  what 
he  taught  upon  authority.*  In  the  choice,  there- 
fore, of  his  mode  of  teaching,  the  purpose  by  him 
to  be  consulted  was  impression :  because  convic- 
tion, which  forms  the  principal  end  of  our  dis- 
courses, was  to  arise  in  the  minds  of  his  followers 
from  a  dillerent  source,  from  their  respect  to  his 
person  and  authority.  Now,  for  the  purpose  of 
impression  singly  and  exclusively  (I  repeat  again, 
that  we  are  not  here  to  consider  the  convincing 
of  the  understanding),  I  know  nothing  which 
would  have  so  great  force  as  strong  ponderous 
onaxims,  frequently  urgcil,  and  frequently  brought 
Dack  to  the  thoughts  of  the  hearers.  I  know  no- 
hing  that  could  in  this  view  be  said  better,  than 
'  Do  unto  others  as  ye  would  that  others  should 
do  unto  you:"  "  The  first  and  great  command- 
ment is.  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God;  and 
the  second  is  like  unto  it.  Thou  shalt  love  thy 
■neighbour  as  thyself"  It  must  also  be  remem- 
bered, that  our  Lord's  ministry,  upon  the  suppo- 
sition either  of  one  year  or  three,  compared  with 
his  work,  was  of  short  duration  ;  that,  within  this 
time,  he  had  many  places  to  visit,  various  audi- 
ences to  address;  that  his  person  was  generally 
oesieged  by  crowds  of  followers:  that  he  was 
sometimes  driven  away  from  the  place  where  he 
was  teaching  by  persecution,  and  at  other  times, 
thought  fit  to  withdraw  himself  from  the  commo- 
tions of  the  populace.  Under  these  circumstances, 
nothing  appears  to  have  been  so  practicable,  or 
Hkely  to  be  so  efficacious,  as  leaving,  wherever  he 
came,  concise  lessons  of  duty.  These  circum- 
stances at  least  show  the  necessity  he  was  under, 
of  comprising  what  he  delivered  within  a  small 
comijass.  In  particular,  his  sermon  upon  the 
mount  ought  always  to  be  considered  with  a  view 
to  these  observations.  The  question  is  not,  whe- 
ther a  fuller,  a  more  accurate,  a  more  systematic, 
or  a  more  argumentative,  discourse  upon  morals 
might  not  have  been  pronounced ;  but  whether 
more  could  have  been  said  in  the  same  room,  bet- 
ter adapted  to  the  exigencies  of  the  hearers,  or 
better  calculated  for  the  ])urpose  of  impression  1 
Seen  in  this  light,  it  has  always  ap|)earcd  to  me 
to  be  admirable.  Dr.  Lardner  thought  that  this 
discourse  was  made  up  of  what  Christ  had  said  at 
difit'rent  times,  and  on  different  occasions,  several 
of  which  occasions  are  noticed  in  St.  Luke's  nar- 
rative.' I  can  perceive  no  reason  for  this  opinion. 
I  believe  that  our  Lord  delivered  this  discourse  at 
one  time  and  place,  in  the  manner  related  by  Saint 
Matthew,  and  that  he  repeated  the  same  rules 
and  maxims  at  different  times,  as  opportunity  or 


*  "  /say  unto  yon,  Swear  not  at  all;  /say  unto  you, 
Resist  not  evil ;  /say  unto  you,  Love  your  enemies." — 
Malt.  V.  34.  30.  44. 


occasion  suggested ;  that  they  were  often  in  his 
mouth,  and  were  repeated  to  different  audiences, 
and  in  various  conversations. 

It  is  incidental  to  this  mode  of  moral  instruc- 
tion, which  proceeds  not  by  proof  but  upon  au- 
thority, not  by  disquisition  but  by  precept,  that 
the  rules  will  be  conceived  in  absolute  terms, 
leaving  the  application,  and  the  distinctions  that 
attend  it,  to  the  reason  of  the  hearer.  It  is  like- 
wise to  be  expected  that  they  will  be  delivered  in 
terms  by  so  much  the  more  forcible  and  energe- 
tic, as  they  have  to  encounter  natural  or  general 
propensities.  It  is  farther  also  to  be  remarked, 
that  many  of  those  strong  instances,  which  appear 
in  our  Lord's  sermon,  such  as,  "  If  any  man  will 
smite  thee  on  the  right  cheek,  turn  to  him  the 
other  also  :"  "  If  any  man  will  sue  thee  at  the  law, 
and  take  away  thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloak 
also :"  "  Whosoever  shall  compel  thee  to  go  a 
mile,  go  with  him  twain :"  though  they  appear  in 
the  form  of  specific  precepts,  are  intended  as  de- 
scriptive of  disposition  and  character.  A  specific 
comphance  with  the  precepts  would  be  of  little 
value,  but  the  disposition  which  they  inculcate  is 
of  the  highest.  He  who  should  content  himself 
with  waiting  for  the  occasion,  and  with  literally 
observing  the  rule  when  the  occasion  oliered, 
would  do  nothing  or  worse  than  nothing  :  but  he 
who  considers  the  character  and  disposition  which 
is  hereby  inculcated,  and  places  that  disposition 
before  him  as  the  model  to  which  he  should  bring 
his  own,  takes,  perhaps,  the  best  possible  method 
of  improving  the  benevolence,  and  of  calming  and 
rectifying  the  vices,  of  his  temper. 

If  it  be  said  that  this  dispo.sition  is  unattainable, 
I  answer,  so  is  all  perfection :  ought  therefore  a 
moralist  to  recommend  imperfections  1  One  ex- 
cellency, however,  of  our  Saviour's  rules,  is,  that 
they  are  either  never  mistaken,  or  never  so  mis- 
taken as  to  do  harm.  I  could  feign  a  hundred 
cases,  in  which  the  literal  application  of  the  rule, 
"  of  doing  to  others  as  we  would  that  others  should 
do  unto  us,"  might  mislead  us :  but  I  never  yet 
met  with  the  man  who  was  actually  misled  by  it. 
Notwithstanding  that  our  Lord  bade  his  followers 
"  not  to  resist  evil,"  and  "  to  forgive  the  enemy 
who  should  trespass  against  them,  not  till  seven 
times,  but  till  seventy  times  seven,"  the  Christian 
world  has  hitherto  suffered  little  by  too  much  pla- 
cability or  forbearance.  I  would  repeat  once  more, 
what  has  already  been  twice  remarked,  that  these 
rules  were  designed  to  regulate  personal  conduct 
from  personal  motives,  and  for  this  purpose  alone. 

I  think  that  these  observations  will  assist  us 
greatly  in  placing  our  Saviour's  conduct,  as  a 
moral  teacher,  in  a  proper  point  of  view  ;  especi- 
ally when  it  is  considered,  that  to  deliver  moral 
disquisitions  was  no  part  of  his  design, — to  teach 
morality  at  all  was  only  a  subordinate  part  of  it ; 
his  great  business  being  to  supply,  what  was  much 
more  wanting  than  lessons  of  morality,  stronger 
moral  sanctions,  and  clearer  assurances  of  a  future 
judgment.* 


*  Some  appear  to  require  a  religious  system,  or,  in 
the  bnoi<s  which  profess  to  deliver  that  system,  minute 
directions,  for  every  case  and  occurrence  that  may 
arise.  This,  say  they,  is  necessary  to  render  a  revela- 
tion perfect,  especialiy  one  which  has  f(n'  its  object  the 
regulation  of  human  conduct.  Now,  how  prolix,  and 
yet  how  incomplete  and  unavailing,  such  an  attempt 
must  have  heen.  is  proved  by  one  notable  example: 
"  The  ludoo  and  Mussulman  religion   aie  institutes 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


335 


The  parables  of  the  New  Testament  are,  many 
of  them,  such  as  would  have  clone  honour  to  any 
book  in  the  world  ;  I  do  not  mean  in  style  and 
diction,  but  in  the  choice  of  the  subjects,  in  the 
structure  of  the  narratives,  in  the  aptness,  propri- 
ety, and  force  of  the  circumstances  woven  into 
them ;  and  in  some,  as  that  of  the  good  Sama- 
rit;iii,  the  prodigal  son,  the  Pharisee  and  the  pub- 
lican, in  a  union  of  pathos  and  simplicity,  which, 
in  tie  best  productions  of  human  genius,  is  the 
iiMiil  only  of  a  much  exercised  and  well  cultivated 
judgment. 

The  Lord^s  Prayer,  for  a  succession  of  solemn 
thoughts,  for  fixing  the  attention  upon  a  few  great 
points,  for  suitableness  to  every  condition,  for  suf- 
ficiency, for  conciseness  without  obscurity,  for 
the  weight  and  real  importance  of  its  petitions,  is 
without  an  equal  or  a  rival. 

From  whence  did  these  come  1  Whence  had 
tlrs  man  his  wisdom  1  Was  our  Saviour,  in  fact, 
a  well-instructed  philosopher,  whilst  he  is  repre- 
sented to  us  as  an  illiterate  peasant  1  Or  shall  we 
say  that  some  early  Christians  of  taste  and  educa- 
tion composed  these  pieces  and  ascribed  them  to 
Christ  ?  Beside  all  other  incredibilities  in  this 
account,  I  answer,  with  Dr.  Jortin,  that  they  could 
not  do  it.  No  specimens  of  composition,  which 
the  Christians  of  the  first  century  have  left  us, 
authorize  us  to  behevethat  they  were  equal  to  the 
task.  And  how  little  qualified  the  Jews,  the 
countrymen  and  companions  of  Christ,  were  to 
assist  him  in  the  undertaking,  may  be  judged  of 
from  the  traditions  and  writings  of  theirs  which 
were  the  nearest  to  that  age.  The  whole  collec- 
tion of  the  Talmud  is  one  continued  proof,  into 
what  follies  they  fell  whenever  they  left  their 
Bible;  and  how  httle  capable  they  were  of  fur- 
nishing out  such  lessons  as  Christ  delivered. 


But  there  is  still  another  view,  in  which  our 
Lord's  discourses  deserve  to  be  considere(] ;  and 
that  is,  in  their  negative  character, — not  in  what 
they  did,  hut  in  what  they  did  not,  contain. 
Under  this  head,  the  following  reflections  appear 
to  me  to  possess  some  weight. 

1.  They  exhibit  no  particular  description  of 
the  invisible  world.  The  future  happiness  of  the 
good,  and  the  misery  of  the  bad,  which  is  all  we 
want  to  be  assured  of,  is  directly  and  positively 
affirmed,  and  is  represented  by  metaphors  and 
comparisons,  which  were  plainly  intended  as 
metaphors  and  comparisons,  and  as  nothing  more. 
As  to  the  rest,  a  solemn  reserve  is  maintained. 
The  question  concerning  the  woman  who  had  been 
married  to  seven  brothers,  "  Whose  shall  she  he  on 
the  resurrection  V  was  of  a  nature  calculated  to 
have  drawn  from  Christ  a  more  circumstantial 
account  of  the  state  of  the  human  species  in  their 
future  existence.  He  cut  short,  however,  the  in- 
quiry, by  an  answer,  which  at  once  rebuked 
intruding  curiosity,  and  was  agreeable  to  the  best 
ap))rehensions  we  are  able  to  form  upon  the  sub- 


of  civil  law,  regiilatinir  the  minutest  questions  both  of 
picipprty,  and  nf  all  questions  which  come  under  the 
coinizance  of  the  niasistrate.  And  to  what  lenath 
details  of  this  kind  are  necessarily  carried,  when  once 
beeun,  may  be  understood  from  an  anecdote  of  the 
Mussulman  code,  which  we  ha-e  received  from  the 
most  respectable  authority,  that  not  less  than  secentij- 
fiir.  thoisand  traditional  prec;'pts  have  been  prnmul- 
galed." — Hamilton'sTranslationofHedaya,  or  Guide. 


ject,  viz.  "  That  they  who  are  accounted  worthy 
of  that  resurrection,  shall  be  as  the  angels  of  God 
in  heaven."  I  lay  a  stress  upon  this  reserve,  be- 
cause it  repels  the  suspicion  of  enthusiasm :  for 
enthusiasm  is  wont  to  expatiate  upon  the  "ondi- 
tion  of  the  departed,  above  all  other  subjects ; 
and  with  a  wild  particularity.  It  is  moreover  a 
topic  which  is  always  listened  to  with  greediness. 
The  teacher,  therefore,  whose  principal  purpose  is 
to  draw  upon  himself  attention,  is  sure  to  be  full  of 
it.  The  Koran  of  Mahomet  is  half  made  up  of  it. 

II.  Our  Lord  enjoined  no  austerities.  He  not 
only  enjoined  none  as  absolute  duties,  but  he 
recommended  none  as  carrying  men  to  a  higher 
degree  of  divine  favour.  Place  Christianity,  in 
this  respect,  by  the  side  of  all  institutions  which 
have  been  founded  in  the  fanaticism,  either  of 
their  author,  or  of  his  first  followers;  or  rather 
compare,  in  this  respect,  Christianity  as  it  caine 
from  Christ,  with  the  same  rehgion  after  it  fell 
into  other  hands ;  with  the  extravagant  merit 
very  soon  ascribed  to  celibacy,  solitude,  voluntary 
poverty  ;  with  the  rigours  of  an  ascetic,  and  the 
vows  of  a  monastic  hf'e  ;  the  hair  shirt,  the  watch- 
ings,  the  midnight  prayers,  the  obmutescence, 
the  gloom  and  mortification  of  religious  orders, 
and  of  those  who  aspired  to  rehgious  perfection. 

III.  Our  Saviour  uttered  no  impassioned  devo- 
tion. There  was  no  heat  in  his  piety,  or  in  the 
language  in  which  he  expressed  it ;  no  vehement 
or  rapturous  ejaculations,  no  violent  urgency,  in 
his  prayers.  The  Lord's  Prayer  is  a  model  of 
calm  devotion.  His  words  in  the  garden  are  un- 
affected expressions,  of  a  deep  indeed,  but  sober, 
piety.  He  never  appears  to  have  been  worked 
u{)  into  any  thing  like  that  elation,  or  that  emotion 
of  spirits  which  is  occasionally  observed  in  most 
oftho.se,  to  whom  the  name  of  enthusiast  can  in 
any  degree  be  applied.  1  feel  a  respect  for  Me- 
thodists, because  I  believe  that  there  is  to  be  found 
amongst  them  much  sincere  piety,  and  availing, 
though  not  always  well-informed,  Christianity: 
yet  I  never  attended  a  meeting  of  theirs,  but  I 
came  away  with  the  reflection,  how  difi'erent  w  hat 
I  heard  was  from  what  I  read  !  I  do  not  mean 
in  doctrine,  with  which  at  jiresent  1  have  no  con- 
cern, but  in  manner ;  how  different  from  the 
calmness,  the  sobriety,  the  good  sense,  and  I  may 
add,  the  strength  and  authority  of  our  Lord's  dis- 
courses ! 

IV.  It  is  very  usual  with  the  human  mind,  to 
substitute  forwardness  and  fervency  in  a  particu- 
lar cause,  for  the  merit  of  general  and  regular 
morality ;  and  it  is  natural,  and  politic  also,  in  the 
leader  of  a  sect  or  party,  to  encourage  such  a  dis- 
position in  his  followers.  Christ  did  not  overlook 
this  turn  of  thought  ;  yet,  though  avowedly 
placing  himself  at  the  head  of  a  new  institution, 
he  notices  it  only  to  condemn  it.  "  Not  everj-  one 
that  saith  unto  me,  Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  ;  but  he  that  doeth  the 
will  of  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven.  Many 
will  say  unto  me  in  that  day.  Lord,  Lord,  have 
we  not  prophesied  in  thy  name  ?  and  in  thy  name 
have  cast  out  devils  1  and  in  thy  name  done  many 
wonderful  works  %  And  then  will  I  profess  unto 
you  I  never  knew  you :  depart  from  me,  ye  that 
irork  iniquity.'*  So  fltr  was  the  author  of  Chris- 
tianity from  courting  the  attachment  of  his  follow- 
ers by  any  sacrifice  of  principle,  or  by  a  conde- 

*  Malt.  vii.  21,  22. 


336 


EVIDENCES  OP  CHRISTIANITY. 


pcension  to  the  errors  wliich  even  zeal  in  his 
service  misjht  have  ins|)ircd  !  This  was  a  proof 
both  of  sincerity  and  judgment. 

V.  Nor,  iiflhly,  did  he  fill  in  with  any  of  the 
depraved  fashions  of  his  country,  or  with  the  na- 
tural bias  of  his  own  education.  Bred  up  a  Jew, 
under  a  religion  extremely  technical,  in  an  age 
and  amongst  a  peojile  more  tenacious  of  the  cere- 
monies than  of  any  other  part  of  that  religion,  he 
delivered  an  institution,  containing  less  of  ritual, 
and  that  more  simple  than  is  to  be  found  in  any 
religion  which  ever  prevailed  amongst  mankind. 
We  have  known.  1  do  allow,  examples  of  an 
enthusiasm,  which  has  swept  away  all  external 
onlinances  before  it.  But  this  spirit  certainly  did 
not  dictate  our  Saviour's  conduct,  either  in  his 
treatment  of  the  religion  of  his  country,  or  in  the 
formation  of  his  own  institution.  In  both,  he 
displayed  the  soundness  and  moderation  of  his 
judgment.  He  censured  an  overstrained  scrupu- 
lousness, or  perhaps  an  affectation  of  scrupulous- 
ness, about  the  sabbath  :  but  how  did  he  censure 
it  ]  not  by  contenming  or  decrying  the  institution 
itself,  but  by  declaring  that  "  the  sabbath  was 
made  for  man,  not  man  for  the  sabbath  ;"  that  is 
to  say,  that  the  sabbath  was  to  be  subordinate  to 
its  purpose,  and  that  that  purpose  was  the  real 
good  of  those  who  were  the  subjects  of  the  law. 
The  same  concerning  the  nicety  of  some  of  the 
Pharisees,  in  paying  tithes  of  the  most  trifling 
articles,  accompanied  with  a  neglect  of  justice, 
fidelity,  and  mercy.  He  finds  fault  with  them 
for  misplacing  their  anxiety.  He  does  not  speak 
disrespectfully  of  the  law  of  tithes,  nor  of  their 
observance  of  it ;  but  he  assigns  to  each  class  of 
duties  its  proper  station  in  the  scale  of  moral 
importance.  All  this  might  be  expected  perhaps 
from  a  well-instructed,  cool,  and  judicious  philoso- 
pher, but  was  not  to  be  looked  for  from  an  illi- 
terate Jew ;  certainly  not  from  an  impetuous 
enthusiast. 

VI.  Nothing  could  be  more  quibbling,  than 
were  the  comments  and  expositions  of  the  Jewish 
doctors  at  that  time  ;  nothing  so  puerile  as  their 
distinctions.  Their  evasion  of  the  fifth  com- 
mandment, their  exposition  of  the  law  of  oaths, 
are  specimens  of  tiic  bad  taste  in  morals  which 
then  prevailed.  Whereas,  in  a  numerous  collec- 
tion of  our  Saviour's  apophthegms,  many  of  them 
referring  to  sundry  precepts  of  the  Jewish  law, 
there  is  not  to  be  found  one  example  of  sophistry, 
or  of  false  subtilty,  or  of  any  thing  approaching 
thereunto. 

VII.  The  national  temper  of  the  Jews  was 
intolerant,  narrow-minded,  and  excluding.  In 
Jesus,  on  the  contrary,  whether  we  regard  his 
lessons  or  his  example,  we  see  not  only  benevo- 
lence, but  benevolence  the  most  enlarged  and 
comprehensive.  In  the  parable  of  the  good  Sa- 
maritan, the  very  point  of  the  story  is,  that  the 
person  relieved  by  him,  was  the  national  and  reli- 
gious enemy  of  his  benefactor.  Our  Lord  de- 
clared the  equity  of  the  divine  administration, 
when  he  told  the  Jews  (what,  probably,  they 
were  surprised  to  hear),  "  That  many  should 
come  from  the  east  and  west,  and  should  sit  down 
with  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  ;  but  that  the  children  of  the  kingdom 
should  be  cast  into  outer  darkness."*    His  reproof 


of  the  hasty  zeal  of  his  disciples,  who  would  needa 
call  down  fire  from  heaven  to  revenge  an  afi'rorf 
put  upon  their  Master,  shows  the  lenity  of  his 
character,  and  of  his  religion  :  and  his  opinion  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  most  unreasonable  op- 
ponents ought  to  be  treated,  or  at  least  of  the 
manner  in  which  they  ought  not  to  be  treated. 
The  terms  in  which  his  rebuke  was  conveyed, 
deserve  to  be  noticed : — "  Ye  know  not  what 
manner  of  spirit  ye  are  of"* 

VIII.  Lastly,  amongst  the  negative  qualities  of 
our  religion,  as  it  came  out  of  the  hands  of  its 
Founder  and  his  apostles,  we  may  reckon  its  com- 
plete abstraction  from  all  views  either  of  ecclesi- 
astical or  civil  policy ;  or,  to  meet  a  language 
much  in  fiishion  with  some  men,  from  the  politics 
either  of  priests  or  statesmen.  Christ's  declara- 
tion, that  "  his  kingdom  was  not  of  this  world," 
recorded  by  St.  John  ;  his  evasion  of  the  question, 
whether  it  was  lawful  or  not  to  give  tribute  unto 
Cffisar,  mentioned  by  the  three  other  evangehsts; 
his  reply  to  an  application  that  was  made  to  him, 
to  interpose  his  authority  in  a  question  of  proper- 
ty ;  "  Man,  who  made  me  a  ruler  or  a  judge  over 
you  1"  ascribed  to  him  by  St.  Luke  ;  his  declin- 
ing to  exercise  the  office  of  a  criminal  judge  in 
the  case  of  the  woman  taken  in  adultery,  as  re- 
lated by  John,  are  all  inteUigible  significations  of 
our  Saviour's  sentiments  upon  this  head.  And 
with  respect  to  polUics,  in  the  usual  sense  of  that 
word,  or  discussions  concerning  different  forms  of 
government,  Christianity  declines  every  question 
upon  the  subject.  Whilst  politicians  are  disput- 
ing about  monarchies,  aristocracies,  and  republics, 
the  gospel  is  alike  applicable,  useful,  and  friendly, 
to  them  all;  inasmuch  as,  1st,  it  tends  to  make 
men  virtuous,  and  as  it  is  easier  to  govern  good 
men  than  bad  men  under  any  constitution  ;  as, 
2dly,  it  states  obedience  to  government  in  ordi- 
nary cases,  to  be  not  merely  a  submission  to  force, 
but  a  duty  of  conscience;  as,  3dly,  it  induces 
dispositions  favourable  to  public  tranquillity,  a 
Christian's  chief  care  being  to  pass  quietly  through 
this  world  to  a  better  ;  as,  4thly,  it  prays  for  com- 
munities, and  for  the  governors  of  communities, 
of  whatever  description  or  denomination  they  be, 
with  a  solicitude  and  fervency  proportioned  to  the 
influence  which  they  possess  upon  human  ha|))ji- 
ness.  All  which,  in  my  opinion,  is  just  as  it 
should  be.  Had  there  been  more  to  be  found  in 
Scripture  of  a  political  nature,  or  convertible  to 
political  purposes,  the  worst  use  would  have  been 
made  of  it,  on  whichever  side  it  seemed  to  lie. 

When,  therefore,  we  consider  Christ  as  a  moral 
teacher  (remembering  that  this  was  only  a  second- 
ary part  of  his  office ;  and  that  morality,  by  tlie 
nature  of  the  subject,  does  not  admit  of  discovery, 
properly  so  called); — when  we  consider  either 
what  he  taught,  or  what  he  did  not  teach,  either 
the  substance  or  the  manner  of  his  instruction  ; 
his  preference  of  solid  to  popular  virtues,  of  a 
character  which  is  commonly  despised  to  a  cha- 
racter which  is  universally  extolled ;  his  placing, 
in  our  licentious  vices,  the  check  in  the  right 
place,  viz.  upon  the  thoughts ;  his  collecting  of 
human  duty  into  two  well-devised  rules,  his  re- 
petition of  these  rules,  the  stress  he  laid  upon 
them,  especially  in  comparison  with  positive  du- 
ties, and  his  fixing  thereby  the  sentiments  of  his 


*  Matt.  viii.  11. 


*  Luke  ix.  55. 


EVIDENCES  OF  iJHRISTIANITY. 


337 


followers  ;  his  exclusion  of  all  regard  to  reputation 
in  our  devotion  and  alms,  and,  by  parit}'  of  rea- 
son, in  our  other  virtues ; — when  we  consider 
that  his  instructions  were  delivered  in  a  form  cal- 
culated for  impression,  the  precise  purpose  in  his 
situation  to  be  consulted ;  and  that  they  were 
dlustrated  by  parables,  the  choice  and  structure 
of  wliich  would  have  been  admired  in  any  compo- 
sition whatever ; — when  we  observe  him  free  from 
the  usual  symptoms  of  enthusiasm,  heat  and  vehe- 
mence in  devotion,  austerity  in  institutions,  and  a 
wild  particularity  in  the  description  of  a  future 
state ;  free  also  from  the  depravities  of  his  age  and 
country  ;  without  superstition  amongst  the  most 
superstitious  of  men,  yet  not  decrying  positive 
distinctions  or  external  observances,  but  soberly 
caUing  them  to  the  principle  oftheir  establishment, 
and  to  their  place  in  the  scale  of  human  duties; 
without  sophistry  or  trifling,  amidst  teachers  re- 
markable tor  nothing  so  much  as  frivolous  sub- 
tilties  and  quibbling  expositions ;  candid  and 
liberal  in  his  judgment  of  the  rest  of  mankind, 
although  belonging  to  a  people  who  affected  a 
separate  claim  to  divine  favour,  and,  in  conse- 
quence of  that  opinion,  prone  to  uncharitableness, 
partiality,  and  restriction  ; — when  we  find,  in  his 
religion,  no  scheme  of  building  up  ,a  hierarchy,  or 
of  ministering  to  the  views  of  human  govern- 
ments;— in  a  word,  when  we  compare  Christiani- 
ty, as  it  came  from  its  Author,  either  with  other 
religions,  or  with  itself  in  other  hands,  the  most 
reluctant  understanding  will  be  induced  to  ac- 
knowledge the  probity,  I  think  also  the  good 
sense,  of  those  to  whom  it  owes  its  origin  ;  and 
that  some  regard  is  due  to  the  testimony  of  such 
men,  when  tbey  declare  their  knovvledge  that  the 
religion  proceeded  from  God ;  and  when  they 
appeal,  for  the  truth  of  their  assertion,  to  mira- 
cles, which  they  wrought,  or  which  they  saw. 

Perhaps  the  qualitii's  which  we  observe  in  the 
religion,  may  be  thought  to  prove  something  more. 
They  would  have  been  extraordinary,  had  the  re- 
ligion coine  from  any  person;  from  the  person 
from  whom  it  did  come,  they  are  exceedingly  so. 
What  was  Jesus  in  external  appearance  1  A 
Jewish  peasant,  the  son  of  a  carpenter,  living  with 
his  father  and  mother  in  a  remote  province  of  Pa- 
lestine, until  the  time  that  he  produced  himself  in 
his  public  character.  He  had  no  master  to  instruct 
or  prompt  him ;  he  had  read  no  books,  hut  the 
works  of  Moses  and  the  prophets;  he  had  visited 
no  polished  cities  ;  ho  had  received  no  lessons  from 
Socrates  or  Plato, — nothing  to  form  in  him  a  taste 
or  judgment  different  from  that  of  the  rest  of  his 
countrymen,  and  of  persons  of  the  same  rank  of 
life  with  himself  Supposing  it  to  be  true,  which 
it  is  not,  that  all  his  points  of  morality  might  be 
picked  out  of  Greek  and  Roman  writings,  they 
were  writings  which  he  had  never  seen.  Sup- 
posing theai  to  be  no  more  than  what  some  or 
other  had  taught  in  various  times  and  places,  he 
could  not  collect  them  together. 

Who  were  his  coadjutors  in  the  undertaking, — 
the  persons  into  whose  hands  the  religion  came 
after  his  tlaath  ?  A  few  fishermen  upon  the  lake 
of  Tiberias,  persons  just  as  uneducated,  and,  for 
the  purpose  of  framing  rules  of  morality,  as  un- 
promising as  himself  Suppose  the  mission  to  be 
real,  all  this  is  accounted  for;  the  unsuitableness 
of  the  authors  to  the  production,  of  the  characters 
to  the  undertaking,  no  longer  surprises  us :  hut 
without  reality,  it  is  very  difficult  to  explain,  how 
•2U 


such  a  system  should  proceed  from  such  persons. 
Christ  was  not  hke  any  other  carpenter;  the  apos- 
tles were  not  like  any  other  fishermen. 

But  the  subject  is  not  exhausted  by  these  ob- 
servations. That  portion  of  it  which  is  most  redu- 
cible to  points  of  argument,  has  been  stated,  and,  I 
trust,  truly.  There  are,  however,  some  topics,  of 
a  more  diffuse  nature,  which  yet  deserve  to  be 
proposed  to  the  reader's  attention. 

The  character  of  Christ  is  a  part  of  the  mo- 
rality of  the  gospel :  one  strong  observation  upon 
wliich  is,  that,  neither  as  represented  by  his  fol- 
lowers, nor  as  attacked  by  his  enemies,  is  he 
charged  with  any  personal  vice.  This  remark  is 
as  old  as  Origen  :  "  Though  innumerable  lies  and 
calumnies  had  been  forged  against  the  venerable 
Jesus,  none  had  dared  to  charge  him  with  an  in- 
temperance."* Not  a  reflection  upon  his  moral 
character,  not  an  imputation  or  suspicion  of  any 
ofience  against  purity  and  chastity,  appears  for 
five  hundred  years  after  his  birth.  This  fault- 
lessness  is  more  peculiar  than  we  are  apt  to  ima- 
gine. Some  stain  pollutes  the  morals  or  the  mo- 
rality of  almost  every  other  teacher,  and  of  every 
other  lawgiver.!  Zeno  the  stoic,  and  Diogenes 
the  cynic,  fell  into  the  foulest  impurities ;  of  which 
also  Socrates  himself  was  more  than  suspected. 
Solon  forbade  unnatural  crimes  to  slaves.  Ly- 
curgus  tolerated  theft  as  a  part  of  education.  Pla- 
to recommended  a  community  of  women.  Aris- 
totle maintained  the  general  right  of  making  war 
upon  barbarians.  The  elder  Cato  was  remarkable 
for  the  ill  usage  of  his  slaves ;  the  younger  ga^e 
up  the  person  of  his  wife.  One  loose  principle  is 
found  in  almost  all  the- pagan  moralists;  is  dis- 
tinctly, however,  perceived  in  the  writings  of  Pla- 
to, Xenophon,  Cicero,  Seneca,  Epictetus ;  and 
that  is,  the  allowing,  and  even  the  recommending 
to  their  disciples,  a  compliance  with  the  religion, 
and  with  the  religious  rites,  of  every  country  into 
into  which  they  came.  In  speaking  of  the  found- 
ers of  new  institutions,  we  cannot  forget  Mahomet. 
His  licentious  transgressions  of  his  own  licenl  lous 
rules ;  his  abuse  of  the  character  which  he  as- 
sumed, and  of  the  power  which  he  had  acquired, 
for  the  purposes  of  personal  and  privileged  indul- 
gence ;  his  avowed  claim  of  a  special  permission 
from  heaven  of  unlimited  sensuality,  is  known  to 
every  reader,  as  it  is  confessed  by  every  writer,  of 
the  Moslem  story. 

Secondly,  In  the  histories  which  are  left  us  of 
Jesus  Christ,  although  very  short,  and  although 
dealing  in  narrative,  and  not  in  observation  or 
panegyric,  we  perceive,  beside  the  absence  of  eve- 
ry appearance  of  vice,  traces  of  devotion,  humility ,^ 
benignity,  mildness,  patience,  prudence.  I  speak 
of  traces  of  those  qualities,  because  the  qualities 
themselves  are  to  be  collected  from  incidents;  in-, 
asinuch  as  the  terms  are  never  used  of  Christ  i.'i. 
the  Gospels,  nor  is  any  formal  character  of  him 
drawn  in  any  part  of  the  New  Testament. 

Thus  we  see  the  devoutness  of  his  mind,  in  his 
frequent  retirement  to  solitary  prayer  ;t  in  his 
habitual  giving  of  thanks  ;§  in  his  reference  of  the 
beauties  and  operations  of  nature  to  the   bounty 


*  Or.  Ep.  Cels.  1.  3.  num.  Sfi.  ed.  Boned. 

tSee  many  instances  cnllecttiii  by  Grotius,  de  Veritate 
Christians  Religionis,  in  the  notes  to  his  second  book, 
p.  llii.  Pocock's  edition. 

t  Malt.  \\v.  23.     Luke  i.x.  2B.     Matt  .txvi.  33. 

♦  Matt.  xi.  25.  Mark  viii.  6.  John  vi.  23.  Lulce  xxii.  17 

S9 


338 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


of  ProviJcnce  ;*  in  his  earnest  addresses  to  his 
Father,  more  jiarticularly  that  short  but  solemn 
one  before  the  raising  of  Lazarus  from  tlie  dead  ;t 
and  in  the  deep  piety  of  liis  behaviour  in  the  gar- 
den, on  the  last  evening  of  his  life:t  his  humility, 
in  his  constant  reproof  of  contentions  for  superi- 
ority :§  the  benignity  and  afiectionateness  of  his 
temper,  in  his  kindness  to  children  ;il  in  the  tears 
which  he  shed  over  his  falling  country, IT  and 
upon  the  death  of  his  friend;**  in  his  noticing  of 
the  widow's  mite  ;tt  in  his  parables  of  the  good 
Samaritan,  of  the  ungrateful  servant,  and  of  the 
Pharisee  and  publican,  of  which  parables  no  one 
but  a  man  of  humanity  could  have  been  the  au- 
thor: the  mildness  and  lenity  of  his  character  is 
discovered,  in  his  rebuke  of  the  forward  zeal  of 
his  disciples  at  the  Samaritan  village  ;tt  in  his 
expostulation  with  Pilate  ;§§  in  his  prayer  for  his 
enemies  at  the  moment  of  his  suffering, II II  which, 
though  it  has  been  since  very  properly  and  fre- 
quently imitated,  was  then,  1  apprehend,  new. 
His  prudence  is  discerned,  where  prudence  is 
most  wanted,  in  his  conduct  on  trying  occasions, 
and  in  answers  to  artful  questions.  Of  these,  the 
following  are  examples: — His  withdrawing,  in 
various  instances,  from  the  first  symptoms  of  tu- 
niuItjUTT  and  with  the  express  care,  as  appears 
from  St.  Matthew,***  of  carrying  on  his  ministry 
in  quietness  ;  his  declining  of  every  species  of  in- 
terference with  the  civil  affairs  of  the  country, 
which  disposition  is  manifested  by  his  behaviour 
in  the  case  of  the  woman  caught  in  adultery  ,+tt 
and  in  his  repulse  of  the  application  which  was 
made  to  him,  to  interpose  his  decision  about  a  dis- 
puted inheritance  :t+t  his  judicious,  yet,  as  it 
should  seem,  unprepared  answers,  will  be  confessed 
in  the  case  of  the  Roman  tribute  ;§§§  in  the  diffi- 
culty concerning  the  interfering  relations  of  a  fu- 
ture state,  as  proposed  to  him  in  the  instance  of  a 
woman  who  had  married  seven  brethren  -,11 II II  and, 
more  esjjecially,  in  his  reply  to  those  who  de- 
manded from  him  an  explanation  of  the  authority 
by  which  he  acted,  which  reply  consisted,  in  pro- 
pounding a  question  to  them,  situated  between 
the  very  difficulties  into  which  they  were  insidi- 
ously endeavouring  to  draw  /; nn.lFITIT 

Our  Saviour's  lessons,  besides  what  has  already 
been  remarked  in  them,  touch,  and  that  often- 
times by  very  affecting  representations,  upon  some 
of  the  most  interesting  topics  of  human  duty,  and 
of  human  meditation :  upon  the  principles,  by 
which  the  decisions  of  the  last  day  will  be  regu- 
lated :**♦*  upon  the  superior,  or  rather  the  su- 
preme, importance  of  religion  ;fttt  upon  peni- 
tence, by  the  most  pressing  calls,  and  the  most 
encouraging  invitations  ;tttt  upon  self-denial, §§§§ 
watchfulness, II II II II  placability ,TrirTnT  confidence  in 
God,*****  the  value  of  spiritual,  that  is,  of  mental 
worship,ttttt  the  necessity  of  moral  obedience. 


*  Matt.  vi.  26—28.  t  Jotin  xi.  41. 

I  Matt.  xxvi.  36—47.  §  Mark  i.\.  Si. 

i  Mark  x.  16.  IT  Luke  xi.t.  41. 

**  John  xi.  35.  tt  Mark  xii.  42. 

Jt  Luke  ix.  55.  jjJotmxix.il. 

ill  Luke  xxiii.  34. 

irir  Matt.  xiv.  22.    Luke  v.  15,  16.    John  v.  13;  vi.  15. 

*'*(;hap.  xii   11).      ttt  John  viii.  1.     tl|  Ijuke  xii.l4. 

§5§  Mall.  xxii.  19.  ||  ||  \\  Matt.  xxii.  28. 

IliriT  Matt.  xxi.  23,  &c.  **  ^*  Matt  xxv.  31,&c. 

ttttMark  viii.35.  Matt.vi.  31—33.  Luke  xii.4, 5.16— 21. 

ittl  Luke  XV.  §§§§  Matt.  v.  29. 

,1  nil II  Mark  xiii.  37.     Malt.  xxiv.  42.— xxv.  13. 

imitir  Luke  xvii.  4.     Matt,  xviii.  33,  &c. 

*****  Malt.  vi.  25-30.  ttttt  John  iv.  23,  24. 


and  the  directing  of  that  obedience  to  the  spirit 
and  principle  of  the  law,  instead  of  seeking  for 
evasions  in  a  technical  construction  of  its  teriiss.* 

If  we  extend  our  argument  toother  parts  of  the 
New  Testament,  we  may  ofler,  as  amongst  the 
best  and  shortest  rules  of  life,  or,  which  is  the  same 
thing,  descriptions  of  virtue,  that  have  ever  been 
delivered,  the  following  passages : 

"Pure  religion,  and  undefiled,  before  God  and 
the  Father,  is  this;  to  visit  the  fatherless  and 
widows  in  their  afiiiction,  and  to  keep  himself  un- 
spotted froni  the  world."  t 

"  Now  the  end  of  the  commandment  is,  charity, 
out  of  a  pure  heart  and  a  good  conscience,  and 
faith  unfeigned." t 

'•  For  the  grace  of  God  that  bringeth  salvation, 
hath  appeared  to  all  men,  teaching  us,  that  deny- 
ing ungodliness  and  worldly  lusts,  we  should  live 
soberly,  righteously,  and  godly  in  this  present 
world."  § 

Enumerations  of  virtues  and  vices,  and  those 
sufficiently  accurate,  and  unquestionably  just,  are 
given  by  Saint  Paul  to  his  converts  in  three  seve- 
ral Epistles.  II 

The  relative  duties  of  husbands  and  wives,  of 
parents  and  children,  of  masters  and  servants,  of 
Christian  teachers  and  their  flocks,  of  governors 
and  their  subjects,  are  set  forth  by  the  same  wri- 
ter, IT  not  indeed  with  the  copiousness,  the  detail, 
or  the  distinctness,  of  a  moralist,  who  should,  in 
these  days,  sit  down  to  write  chapters  upon  the 
subject,  but  with  the  leading  rules  and  principles 
in  each;  and,  above  all,  with  truth,  and  with  au- 
thority. 

Lastly,  the  whole  volume  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment is  replete  with  piety;  with,  what  were 
almost  unknown  to  heathen  moralists,  devotional 
virtues,  the  most  profound  veneration  of  the  Deity, 
an  habitual  sense  of  his  bounty  and  protection,  a 
firm  confidence  in  the  final  result  of  his  counsels 
and  dispensations,  a  disposition  to  resort,  upon  all 
occasions,  to  his  mercy,  for  the  supply  of  human 
wants,  for  assistance  in  danger,  for  relief  from 
pain,  for  the  pardon  of  sin. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Candour  of  the  Writers  of  the  New 
Testament. 

I  MAKE  this  candour  to  consist,  in  their  putting 
down  many  passages,  and  noticing  many  circum- 
stances, which  no  writer  whatever  was  likely  to 
have  forged ;  and  which  no  writer  would  have 
chosen  to  appear  in  his  book,  who  had  been  care- 
ful to  present  the  story  in  the  most  unexception- 
able form,  or  who  had  thought  himself  at  liberty 
to  carve  and  mould  the  particulars  of  that  story, 
according  to  his  choice,  or  according  to  his  judg- 
ment of  the  effect. 

A  strong  and  well-known  example  of  the  fair- 
ness of  the  evangelists,  offers  itself  in  their  ac- 
count of  Christ's  resurrection,  namely,  in  their 
unanimously  stating,  that  after  he  was  risen,  he 
appeared  to  his  disciples  alone.   I  do  not  mean 


♦Matt.  V.  21.  tJamesi.27. 

llTim.  i.  5.  §Tit.  ii.  11,  12. 

j)  Gal.  v.  19.  Col.  iii.  12.  1  Cor.  xiii. 
IT  Eph.  V.  33  ;  vi.  1.  5.    2  Cor.  vi.  6,  7.    Rom.  .\iii 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


339 


that  they  have  used  the  exclusive  v/ord  alone; 
but  that  all  the  instances  which  they  have  record- 
ed of  his  appearance,  are  instances  of  appearance 
to  his  disciples  ;  that  their  reasonings  upon  it,  and 
allusions  to  it,  are  confined  to  this  supposition ; 
and  that,  by  one  of  them,  Peter  is  made  to  say, 
"  Him  God  raised  up  the  third  day,  and  showed 
him  openly,  not  to  all  the  people,  but  to  witnesses 
chosen  before  of  God,  even  to  us,  who  did  eat  and 
drink  with  him  after  he  rose  I'rom  the  dead."  * 
The  most  common  understanding  must  have 
perceived,  that  the  history  of  the  resurrection 
would  have  come  with  more  advantage,  if  they 
had  related  that  Jesus  appeared,  after  he  was 
risen,  to  his  foes  as  well  as  his  friends,  to  the 
Scribes  and  Pharisees,  the  Jewish  council,  and 
the  Roman  governor ;  or  even  if  they  had  asserted 
the  public  appearance  of  Christ  in  general  uquali- 
fied  terms,  without  noticing,  as  they  have  done, 
the  presence  of  his  disciples  on  each  occasion,  and 
noticing  it  in  such  a  manner  as  to  lead  their  read- 
ers to  suppose  that  none  but  disciples  were  pre- 
sent. They  could  have  represented  it  in  one  way 
as  well  as  the  other.  And  if  their  point  had  been, 
to  have  the  religion  believed,  whether  true  or 
false;  if  they  had  fabricated  the  story  ab  initio; 
or  if  they  had  been  disposed  either  to  have  deliver- 
ed their  testimony  as  witnesses,  or  to  have  worked 
up  their  materials  and  information  as  historians, 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  render  their  narrative  as 
specious  and  unobjectionable  as  they  could  ;  in  a 
word,  if  they  had  thought  of  any  thing  but  of  the 
truth  of  the  case,  as  they  understood  and  believed 
it ;  they  would,  in  their  account  of  Christ's  several 
appearances  after  his  resurrection,  at  least  have 
omitted  this  restriction.  At  this  distance  of  time, 
the  account  as  we  have  it,  is  perhaps  more  credi- 
ble than  it  would  have  been  the  other  way ;  be- 
cause this  manifestation  of  the  historians'  candour, 
is  of  more  advantage  to  their  testimony,  than  the 
difference  in  the  circumstances  of  the  account 
would  have  been  to  the  nature  of  the  evidence. 
But  this  is  an  etTect  which  the  evangelists  would 
not  foresee :  and  I  think  that  it  was  by  no  means 
the  case  at  the  time  when  the  books  were  com- 
posed. 

Air.  Gibbon  has  argued  for  the  genuineness  of 
the  Koran,  from  the  confessions  which  it  contains 
to  the  apparent  disadvantage  of  the  Mahometan 
cause,  t  The  same  defence  vindicates  the  genu- 
ineness of  our  Gospels,  and  without  prejudice  to 
the  cause  at  all. 

There  are  some  other  instances  in  which  the 
evangelists  honestly  relate  what,  they  must  have 
perceived,  would  make  against  them. 

Of  this  kind  is  John  the  Baptist's  message,  pre- 
served by  Saint  Matthew,  (xi.  2,)  and  Saint 
Luke  (vii.  18) :  "  Now  when  John  had  heard  in 
the  prison  the  works  of  Christ,  he  sent  two  of  his 
disciples,  and  said  unto  him.  Art  thou  he  that 
should  come,  or  look  we  for  another  1"  To  con- 
fess, still  more  to  state,  that  John  the  Baptist  had 
his  doubts  concerning  the  character  of  Jesus, 
could  not  but  afford  a  handle  to  cavil  and  oVtjec- 
tion.  But  truth,  like  honesty,  neglects  appear- 
ances. The  same  observation,  perhaps,  holds 
concerning  the  apostacy  of  Judas,  i 


*  Acts  .X.  40.  41.  t  Vol.  ix.  c.  .50.  note  96. 

1  I  had  once  placed  amonjst  these  examples  of  fair 
eoncsssinn,  the  remarkable  words  of  Saint  Matthew,  in 
his  account  of  Christ's  appsarance  upon  the  Galilean 


John  vi.  66.  "From  that  time,  many  of  his 
disciples  went  back,  and  walked  no  more  with 
him."  Was  it  the  part  of  a  writer,  who  dealt  in 
suppression  and  disguise,  to  put  down  this  anec- 
dote 1 

Or  this,  which  Matthew  has  preserved  1  (xii. 
58 :)  "  He  did  not  many  mighty  works  there,  be- 
cause of  their  unbelief" 

Again,  in  the  same  evangelist:  (v.  17,  18:) 
"  Think  not  that  I  am  come  to  destroy  the  law  or 
the  prophets;  I  am  not  come  to  destroy,  but  to 
fulfil :  for,  verily  I  say  unto  you,  till  heaven  and 
earth  pass,  one  jot,  or  one  tittle,  shall  in  no  wise 
pass  from  the  law,  till  all  be  fulfilled."  At  the 
time  the  Gospels  were  written,  the  apparent  ten- 
dency of  Christ's  mission  was  to  diminish  the 
authority  of  the  Mosaic  code,  and  it  was  so  con- 
sidered by  the  Jews  themselves.  It  is  very  improba- 
ble, therefore,  that  without  the  constraint  of  truth, 
Matthew  should  have  ascribed  a  saying  to  Christ, 
which,  primo  intuitu,  militated  with  the  judg- 
ment of  the  age  in  which  his  Gospel  was  writ- 
ten. Marcion  thought  this  text  so  objectionable 
that  he  altered  the  words,  so  as  to  invert  the 
sense.  IT 

Once  more:  (Acts  xxv.  18,  19:)  "They 
brought  none  accusation  against  him,  of  such 
things  as  I  supposed,  but  had  certain  questions 
against  him  of  their  own  superstition,  and  of  one 
Jesus  which  was  dead,  whom  Paul  affirmed  to  be 
alive."  Nothing  could  be  more  in  the  character 
of  a  Roman  governor  than  these  words.  But  that 
is  not  precisely  the  point  I  am  concerned  with 
A  mere  panegyrist,  or  a  dishonest  narrator,  would 
not  have  represented  his  cause,  or  have  made  a 
great  magistrate  represent  it,  in  this  manner;  i.  e. 
in  terms  not  a  little  disparaging,  and  bespeaking, 
on  his  part,  much  unconcern  and  indifference 
about  the  matter.  The  same  observation  may  be 
repeated  of  the  speech  which  is  ascribed  to  Gallio, 
(Acts  xviii.  15,)  "  If  it  be  a  question  of  words 
and  names,  and  of  your  law,  look  ye  to  it ;  for  I 
will  be  no  judge  of  such  matters." 

Lastly,  where  do  we  discern  a  stronger  mark 
of  candour,  or  less  disposition  to  extol  and  magni- 
fy, than  in  the  conclusion  of  the  same  history  1  in 
which  the  evangelist,  after  relating  that  Paul,  on 
his  first  arrival  at  Rome,  preached  to  the  Jews 
from  morning  until  evening,  adds,  "  And  some 
believed  the  things  which  were  spoken,  and  some 
believed  not." 

The  following,  I  think,  are  passages  which 
were  very  unlikely  to  have  j)resented  themselves 
to  the  mind  of  a  forger  or  a  liibulist. 


mountain  :  "  And  when  the}'  saw  him,  they  worshipped 
h\m  ;lnit  some  doubted  "X  I  have  since,  however,  been 
convinced  by  what  is  observed  concerning  this  pas- 
saixe  in  Dr.  Townshend's  discourse  §  upon  the  resur 
rectinn,  that  the  transaction,  as  related  by  Saint  Mat- 
thew, was  really  this  :  "Christ  appeared  first  at  a  dis- 
tance; the  greater  part  of  the  company,  the  moment 
they  saw  him,  worshipped,  but  some,  as  yet,  i.  e.  upon 
the  first  distant  view  of  his  person,  doubted;  where- 
u])on  Christ  came  up  ||  to  them,  and  spake  to  them,"  &c.  • 
that  the  doubt,  therefore,  was  a  doubt  only  at  first,  for  a 
moment,  and  upon  his  beins  seen  at  a  distance,  and 
was  afterward  dispelled  by  his  nearer  approach,  and  by 
his  entering  into  conversation  with  them. 

J  Chap,  xxviii.  17.  §  Page  177 

i;  Saint  Matthew's  words  are,  Kxi  n-poo-s/^iu)!/  o  liio-ouc, 
iKx\-^triv  xvToif.    This  intimates,  that,  when   ho  first 
appeared,  it  was  at  a  distance,  at  least  from  many  of 
th'  spectators. — lb.  p.  197. 
IT  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  xv.  p.  422. 


310 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 


Matt.  xxi.  21.  "  Jesus  answered  and  said  unto 
them,  Verily-  I  say  unto  you,  If  ye  have  faith, 
and  doubt  not,  ye  shall  not  only  do  this  which  is 
done  unto  the  iig-tree,  but  also,  if  ye  shall  say 
unto  this  mountain,  Be  thou  removed,  and  be 
thou  cast  into  the  sea,  it  shall  be  done;  all  things 
whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  prayer,  believing,  it 
shall  be  done."*  It  appears  to  me  very  improba- 
ble that  these  words  should  have  been  put  into 
Christ's  mouth,  if  he  had  not  actually  spoken 
them.  The  term  "  faith,"  as  here  used,  is  perhaps 
rightly  interpreted  of  confidence  in  that  internal 
notice,  by  which  the  apostles  were  admonished 
of  their  power  to  perform  any  particular  miracle. 
And  this  exposition  renders  the  sense  of  the  text 
more  easy.  But  the  words,  undoubtedly,  in  their 
obvious  construction,  carry  with  them  a  difhculty, 
which  no  writer  would  have  brought  upon  him- 
self officiously. 

Luke  ix.  59.  "  And  he  said  unto  another.  Fol- 
low me :  but  he  said,  Lord,  suffer  me  first  to  go 
and  bury  my  father.  Jesus  said  unto  him,  Let 
the  dead  bury  their  dead,  but  go  thou  and  preacli 
the  kingdom  of  God."t  This  answer,  though 
very  expressive  of  the  transcendent  importance  of 
religious  concerns,  was  apparently  harsh  and 
repulsive ;  and  such  as  would  not  have  been 
made  for  Christ,  if  he  had  not  really  used  it.  At 
least  some  other  instance  would  have  been  chosen. 

The  following  passage,  I,  for  the  same  reason, 
think  impossible  to  have  been  the  production  of 
artifice,  or  of  a  cold  forgery: — "But  I  say  unto 
you.  That  whosoever  is  angry  with  his  brother 
without  a  cause,  shall  be  in  danger  of  the  judg- 
ment ;  and  whosoever  shall  say  to  his  brother, 
Raca,  shall  be  in  danger  of  the  council ;  but  who- 
soever shall  say.  Thou  fool,  shall  be  in  danger  of 
hell-fire  (Gehennre)."  Matt.  v.  22.  It  is  empha- 
tic, cogent,  and  well  calculated  for  the  purpose  of 
impression  ;  but  is  inconsistent  with  the  supposi- 
tion of  art  or  wariness  on  the  part  of  the  relater. 

The  short  reply  of  our  Lord  to  Mary  Magda- 
len, after  his  resurrection,  (John  xx.  16,  17.) 
"  Touch  me  not,  for  I  am  not  yet  ascended  unto 
my  Father,"  in  my  opinion,  must  have  been 
founded  in  a  reference  or  allusion  to  some  prior 
conversation,  for  the  want  of  knowing  which,  his 
meaning  is  hidden  from  us.  This  very  obscurity, 
however,  is  a  proof  of  genuineness.  No  one 
would  have  forged  such  an  answer. 

John  vi.  The  whole  of  the  conversation  re- 
corded in  this  chapter,  is,  in  the  highest  degree, 
unlikely  to  be  fabricated,  especially  the  part  of 
our  Saviour's  reply,  between  the  fiftieth  and  the 
fifty-eighth  verse.  I  need  only  put  down  the  first 
sentence :  "  I  am  the  living  bread  which  came 
down  from  heaven:  if  any  man  eat  of  this  bread, 
he  shall  live  for  ever :  and  the  bread  that  I  will 
give  him  is  my  flesh,  which  I  will  give  for  the 
Sfe  of  the  world."  Without  calling  in  question 
the  expositions  that  have  been  given  of  this  pas- 
sage, we  may  be  permitted  to  say,  that  it  labours 
under  an  obscurity,  in  which  it  is  impossible  to 
believe  that  any  one,  who  made  speeches  (or  the 
persons  of  his  narrative,  would  have  voluntarily 
involved  them.  That  this  discourse  was  obscure, 
even  at  the  time,  is  confessed  by  the  writer  who 
had  preserved  it,  when  he  tells  us,  at  the  conclu- 
sion, that  many  of  our  Lord's  disciples,  when  they 


*  See  also  chap.  xvii.  20.    Lukexvii.  6. 

t  See  also  Matl.  viii.  ai. 


had  heard  this,  said,  "  This  is  a  hard  saying ;  who 
can  bear  it  V 

Christ's  taking  of  a  young  child,  and  placing  ii 
in  the  midst  of  his  contentious  disciples,  (Matt, 
xviii.  2,')  though  as  decisive  a  proof  as  any  coul  • 
be,  of  toe  benignity  of  his  temper,  and  very  ex 
pressive  of  the  character  of  the  religion  which  he 
wished  to  inculcate,  was  not  by  any  means  an 
obvious  thought.  Nor  am  I  acquainted  with 
any  thing  in  any  ancient  writing  which  resem- 
bles it. 

The  account  of  the  institution  of  the  eucharist 
bears  strong  internal  marks  of  genuineness.  If  it 
had  been  lieigned,  it  would  have  been  more  full ; 
it  would  have  come  nearer  to  the  actual  mode  of 
celebrating  the  rite,  as  that  mode  obtained  very 
early  in  Christian  churches ;  and  it  would  have 
been  more  formal  than  it  is.  In  the  forged  piece, 
called  the  Apostolic  Constitutions,  the  apostles 
are  made  to  enjoin  many  parts  of  the  ritual  which 
was  in  use  in  the  second  and  third  centuries,  with 
as  much  particularity  as  a  modern  rubric  could 
have  done.  Whereas,  in  the  History  of  the  Lord's 
supper,  as  we  read  it  in  Saint  Matthew's  Gosftel, 
there  is  not  so  much  as  the  command  to  repeat  it. 
This,  surely,  looks  like  undesignedncss.  I  think 
also  that  the  difficulty  arising  from  the  conciseness 
of  Christ's  expression,  "  This  is  my  body,"  would 
have  been  avoided  in  a  made-up  story.  I  allow 
that  the  explication  of  these  words,  given  by  pro- 
testants,  is  satisfactory ;  but  it  is  deduced  from  a 
diligent  comparison  of  the  words  in  question  with 
forms  of  expression  used  in  Scripture,  and  espe- 
cially by  Christ  upon  other  occasions.  No  writer 
would  arbitrarily  and  unnecessarily  have  thus 
cast  in  his  reader's  way  a  difficulty,  which,  to  say 
the  least,  it  required  research  and  erudition  to 
clear  up. 

Now  it  ought  to  be  observed,  that  the  argument 
which  is  built  upon  these  examples,  extends  both 
to  the  authenticity  of  the  books  and  to  the  truth 
of  the  narrative  :  for  it  is  improbable  that  the  for- 
ger of  a  history  in  the  name  of  another  should 
have  inserted  such  passages  into  it :  and  it  is 
improbable  also,  that  the  persons  whose  names 
the  books  bear  should  have  fabricated  such  pas- 
sages; or  even  have  allowed  them  a  place  in 
their  work,  if  they  had  not  believed  them  to  ex- 
press the  truth. 

The  following  observation,  therefore,  of  Dr. 
Lardner,  the  most  candid  of  all  advocates,  and  the 
most  cautious  of  all  inquirers,  seems  to  be  well- 
founded  : — '■  Christians  are  induced  to  believe  the 
writers  of  the  Gospel,  by  observing  the  evidences 
of  piety  and  probity  that  appear  in  their  writings, 
in  which  there  is  no  deceit,  or  artifice,  or  cunning, 
or  design."  "  No  remarks,"  as  Dr.  Beattie  hath 
properly  said,  "  are  thrown  in,  to  anticipate  ob- 
jections; nothing  of  that  caution  which  never 
fails  to  distinguish  the  testimony  of  those  who  are 
conscious  of  imposture  ;  no  endeavour  to  reconcile 
the  reader's  mind  to  what  may  be  extraordinary 
in  the  narrative." 

I  beg  leave  to  cite  also  another  author,*  who 
has  well  expressed  the  reflection  which  the  ex- 
amples now  brought  forward  were  intended  (o 
suggest.  "  It  doth  not  appear  that  ever  it  came 
into  the  mind  of  these  writers,  to  consider  how 
this  or  the  other  action  would  appear  to  mankind, 
or  what  objections  might  be  raisej  upon  them. 


•  Duchal,  p  97,  9a 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


341 


But  without  at  all  attending  to  this,  they  lay  the 
facts  before  you,  at  no  pains  to  think  whether  they 
would  appear  credible  or  not.  If  the  reader  will 
not  believe  their  testimony,  there  is  no  help  for  it : 
they  tell  the  truth,  and  attend  to  nothing  else. 
Surely  this  looks  like  sincerity,  and  that  they 
published  nothing  to  the  world  but  what  they  be- 
lieved themselves." 

As  no  improper  supplement  lo  this  chapter,  I 
crave  a  place  here  for  observing  the  extreme  na- 
turalness o^  some  of  the  things  related  in  the  New 
Testament. 

Mark  ix.  23.  "  Jesus  said  unto  him,  If  thou 
canst  believe,  all  things  are  possible  to  him  that 
believeth.  And  straightway  the  father  of  the 
child  cried  out,  and  said,  with  tears,  Lord,  I  be- 
lieve ;  help  thou  mine  unbelief"  This  struggle 
in  the  father's  heart,  between  solicitude  for  the 
preservation  of  his  child,  and  a  kind  of  involuntary 
distrust  of  Christ's  power  to  heal  him,  is  here  ex- 
pressed with  an  air  of  reality,  which  could  hardly 
be  counterfeited. 

Again,  (Matt.  xxi.  9,)  the  eagerness  of  the  peo- 
ple to  introduce  Christ  into  Jerusalem,  and  their 
demand,  a  short  time  afterward,  of  his  crucifixion, 
when  he  did  not  turn  out  what  they  expected  hhn 
to  be,  so  far  from  affording  matter  of  objection, 
represents  popular  favour  in  exact  agreement  with 
nature  and  with  experience,  as  the  tiux  and  reflux 
of  a  wave. 

The  rulers  and  Pharisees  rejecting  Christ, 
whilst  many  of  the  common  people  received  him, 
was  the  effect  which,  in  the  then  state  of  Jewish 
prejudices,  I  should  have  expected.  And  the 
reason  with  which  they  who  rejected  Christ's 
mission  kept  themselves  in  countenance,  and  with 
which  also  they  answered  the  arguments  of  those 
who  favoured  it,  is  precisely  the  reason  which  such 
men  usually  give  : — "  Have  any  of  the  scribes  or 
Pharisees  believed  on  him  1" — John  vii.  48. 

In  our  Lord's  conversation  at  the  well,  (John 
iv.  29.)  Christ  had  surprised  the  Samaritan  woman 
with  an  allusion  to  a  single  particular  in  her  do- 
mestic situation,  "  Thou  hast  had  five  husbands  ; 
and  he,  whom  thou  now  hast,  is  not  thy  hus- 
band." The  woman,  soon  after  this,  ran  back 
to  the  city,  and  called  out  to  her  neighbours, 
"  Come,  see  a  man  which  told  me  all  things  that 
ever  I  did."  This  exaggeration  appears  to  me 
very  natural;  especially  in  the  hurried  state  of 
spirits  into  which  the  woman  may  be  supposed  to 
have  been  thrown. 

The  lawyer's  subtilty  in  running  a  distinction 
upon  the  word  neighbour,  in  the  precept,  "  Thou 
shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself,"  was  no  less 
natural,  than  our  Saviour's  answer  was  decisive 
and  satistactory — Luke  x.  29.  The  lawyer  of  the 
New  Testament,  it  must  be  observed,  was  a  Jew- 
ish divine. 

The  behaviour  of  Gallio  (Acts  xviii.  12 — 17), 
and  of  Festus  (xxv.  18,  19),  have  been  observed 
upon  already. 

The  consistency  of  St.  Paul's  character  through- 
out the  whole  of  his  history  {viz.  the  warmth  and 
activity  of  his  zeal,  first  against,  and  then  for, 
Christianity),  carries  with  it  very  much  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  truth. 

There  are  also  some  'properties,  as  they  may  be 
called,  observable  in  the  Gospels :  that  is,  cir- 
cumstances separately  suiting  with  the  situa- 
tion, character,  and  intention,  of  their  respective 
authors. 


St.  Matthew,  who  was  an  inhabitant  of  Galilee 
and  did  not  join  Christ's  society  until  some  time 
after  Christ  had  come  into  Galilee  to  preach,  has 
given  us  very  little  of  his  history  prior  to  that 
period.  Saint  John,  who  had  been  converted  be- 
fore, and  who  wrote  to  supply  omissions  in  the 
other  Gospels,  relates  some  remarkable  particulars, 
which  had  taken  place  before  Christ  left  Judea,  to 
go  into  Galilee.* 

Saint  Matthew  (xv.  1)  has  recorded  the  cavil 
of  the  Pharisees  against  the  disciples  of  Jesus,  for 
eating  "with  unclean  hands."  St.  Mark  has  also 
(vii.  1)  recorded  the  same  transaction  (taken  pro- 
bably from  St.  Matthew),  but  with  this  addition ; 
"  For  the  Pharisees,  and  all  the  Jews,  except  they 
wash  their  hands  often,  eat  not,  holding  the  tra- 
dition of  the  elders :  and  when  they  come  from 
the  market,  except  they  wash,  they  eat  not :  and 
many  other  things  there  be  which  they  have  re- 
ceived to  hold,  as  the  washing  of  cups  and  pots, 
brazen  vessels,  and  of  tables."  Now  Saint  Mat- 
thew was  not  only  a  Jew  himself,  but  it  is  evident, 
from  the  whole  structure  of  his  Gospel,  especially 
from  his  numerous  references  to  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, that  he  wrote  for  Jewish  readers.  The 
above  explanation,  therefore,  in  him,  would  have 
been  unnatural,  as  not  being  wanted  by  the  read- 
ers whom  he  addressed.  But  in  Mark,  who, 
whatever  use  he  might  make  of  Matthew's  Gos- 
pel, intended  his  own  narrative  for  a  general  cir- 
culation, and  who  himself  travelled  to  distant 
countries  in  the  service  of  the  religion,  it  was  pro- 
perly added. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Identity  of  Christ's  Character. 

The  argument  expressed  by  this  title,  I  apply 
principally  to  the  comparison  of  the  first  three  Gos- 
pels with  that  of  Saint  John.  It  is  known  to  every 
reader  of  Scripture,  that  the  passages  of  Christ's 
history,  preserved  by  Saint  John,  are,  except  his 
passion  and  resurrection,  for  the  most  part,  difler- 
ent  from  those  which  are  delivered  by  the  other 
evangelists.  And  I  think  the  ancient  account  of 
this  difference  to  he  the  true  one  viz.  that  Saint 
John  wrote  after  the  rest,  and  to  supply  what  he 
thought  omissions  in  their  narratives,  of  which 
the  principal  were  our  Saviour's  conferences  with 
the  Jews  of  Jerusalem,  and  his  discourses  to  his 
apostles  at  his  last  supper.  But  what  I  observe  in 
the  comparison  of  these  several  accounts  is,  that, 
although  actions  and  discourses  are  ascribed  to 
Christ  by  Saint  John,  in  general  difierent  from 
what  are  given  to  him  by  the  other  evangelists, 
yet,  under  this  diversity,  there  is  a  similitude  of 
manner,  which  indicates  that  the  actions  and  dis- 
courses proceeded  from  the  same  person.  I  should 
have  laid  little  stress  upon  the  repetition  of  actions 
substantially  alike,  or  of  discourses  containing 
many  of  the  same  expressions,  because  that  is  a 
species  of  resemblance,  which  would  cither  belong 
to  a  true  history,  or  might  easily  be  imitated  in  a 
false  one.  Nor  do  I  deny,  that  a  dramatic  writer 
is  able  to  sustain  propriety  and  distinction  of 
character,  through  a  great  variety  of  separate  in- 
cidents and  situations.     But  the  evangelists  were 


*  Hartley's  Observations,  vol.  ii.  u.  103. 
29'» 


342 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


not  dramatic  writers ;  nor  possessed  the  talents  of 
dramatic  writers ;  nor  will  it,  I  believe,  be  sus- 
pected, that  they  studied  unitbrmity  of  character, 
or  ever  thought  of  any  such  thing,  in  the  person 
who  was  the  subject  of  their  histories.  Such  uni- 
formity, if  it  exists,  is  on  their  part  casual ;  and  if 
there  be,  as  I  contend  there  is,  a  perceptible  re- 
semblance of  manner,  in  passages,  and  between 
discourses,  which  are  in  themselves  extremely  dis- 
tinct, and  are  delivered  by  historians  writing  with- 
out any  imitation  of,  or  reference  to,  one  another, 
it  afibrds  a  just  presumption,  that  these  are,  what 
tiiev  profess  to  be,  the  actions  and  the  discourses 
oi  the  same  real  person ;  that  the  evangelists  wrote 
from  fact,  and  not  from  imagination. 

The  article  in  which  I  tind  this  agreement  most 
strong,  is  in  our  Saviour's  mode  of  teaching,  and 
in  that  particular  property  of  it,  which  consists  in 
his  drawing  of  his  doctrine  from  the  occasion ;  or, 
which  is  nearly  the  same  thing,  raising  reflections 
from  the  objects  and  incidents  before  him,  or 
turning  a  particular  discourse  then  passhig,  into 
an  opportunity  of  general  instruction. 

It  will  be  my  business  to  point  out  this  manner 
in  the  first  three  evangelists  ;  and  then  to  inquire, 
whether  it  do  not  appear  also,  in  several  examples 
of  Christ's  discourses,  preserved  by  Saint  John. 

The  reader  will  observe  in  the  following  quota- 
tions, that  the  Italic  letter  contains  the  reflection ; 
the  common  letter,  the  incident  or  occasion  from 
which  it  springs. 

Matt.  xii.  47 — 50.  "  Then  they  said  unto  him, 
Behold,  thy  mother  and  thy  brethren  stand  with- 
out de.siring  to  speak  with  thee.  But  he  answered 
and  said  unto  him  that  told  him.  Who  is  my  mo- 
ther 1  and  who  are  my  brethren  ?  And  he 
stretched  forth  his  hand  towards  his  disciples,  and 
said.  Behold  my  mother  and  my  brethren :  for 
v^hosoever  shall  do  the  will  of  my  Father  which 
is  in  heaven,  the  same  is  my  brother,  and  sister, 
and  viothcr." 

Matt.  xvi.  5.  "  And  when  hft  disciples  were 
come  to  the  other  side,  they  had  forgotten  to  take 
bread  ;  then  Jesus  said  unto  them,  Take  heed, 
and  beware  of  the  leaven  of  the  Pharisees,  and 
of  the  Sadducees.  And  they  reasoned  among 
themselves,  saying,  It  is  because  we  have  taken 
no  bread. — How  is  it  that  ye  do  not  understand, 
that  I  spake  it  not  to  you  concerning  bread,  that 
ye  should  beware  of  the  leaven  of  the  Pharisees, 
and  of  the  Sadducees  1  Then  understood  they, 
how  that  he  bade  them  not  beware  of  the  leaven 
of  bread,  but  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Pharisees 
and  of  the  Sadducees." 

Matt.  XV.  1,2,  10,  11,  15—20.  "Then  came 
to  Jesus  scribes  and  Pharisees,  which  were  of 
Jerusalem,  saying.  Why  do  thy  disciples  trans- 
gress the  traditions  of  the  elders  1  for  they  wash 

not  their  hands  when  they  eat  bread. And  he 

called  the  multitude,  and  said  unto  them,  Hear 
and  understand:  Not  that  which  goeth  into  the 
month  defileth  a  man,  but  that  which  cometh  out 
of  the  mouth,  this  defileth  a  man. Then  an- 
swered Peter,  and  said  unto  him.  Declare  unto  us 
this  parable.  And  Jesus  said,  Are  ye  also  yet 
without  understanding"?  Do  ye  not  yet  under- 
stand, that  whatsoever  entereth  in  at  the  mouth, 
goeth  into  the  belly,  and  is  cast  out  into  the 
draught  1  but  those  tilings  which  proceed  out  of 
the  mouth,  come  forth  from  the  heart,  and  they 
defile  the  man :  for  out  of  the  heart  proceed 
soil  thoughts,  murders,  adulteries,  fornications. 


thefts,  false  witness,  blasphemies:  these  are  tne 
things  which  defile  a  man:  but  to  eat  with 

UNWASHEN  HANDS  DEFILETH  NOT  A  MAN."        Our 

Saviour,  on  this  occasion,  expatiates  rather  more 
at  large  than  usual,  and  his  discourse  also  is  more 
divided  :  but  the  concluding  sentence  brings  back 
the  whole  train  of  thought  to  the  incident  in  the 
first  verse,  viz.  the  objugatory  question  of  the 
Pharisees,  and  renders  it  evident  that  the  whole 
sprang  from  that  circumstance. 

Mark  x.  13 — 15.  "  And  they  brought  young 
children  to  him,  tiiat  he  should  touch  them ;  and 
his  disciples  rebuked  those  that  brought  them :  but 
when  Jesus  saw  it,  he  was  much  displeased,  and 
said  unto  them.  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come 
unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not;  for  of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  God:  verily  I  say  tinto  you.  Whoso- 
ever shall  not  receive  the  kingdom  of  God  as  a 
little  child,  he  shall  not  enter  therein." 

Mark  i.  16,  17.  "  Now  as  he  walked  by  the  sea 
of  Galilee,  he  saw  Simon  and  Andrew  his  brother 
casting  a  net  into  the  sea,  lor  th.ey  were  fishers : 
and  Jesus  said  unto  them.  Come  ye  after  me,  and 
I  will  -make  you  fishers  of  men." 

Luke  xi.  27.  "  And  it  came  to  pass  as  he  spake 
these  things,  a  certain  woman  of  the  company 
lifted  up  her  voice,  and  said  unto  him.  Blessed  is 
the  womb  that  bare  thee,  and  the  paps  which  thou 
hast  sucked :  but  he  said.  Yea,  rather  blessed  are 
they  that  hear  the  word  of  God  and  keep  it." 

Luke  xiii.  I — 3.  "  There  were  present  at  that 
season,  some  that  told  him  of  the  Galileans,  whose 
blood  Pilate  had  mingled  with  their  sacrifices ;  and 
Jesus  answering,  said  unto  them.  Suppose  ye,  that 
these  Galileans  were  sinners  above  all  the  Gali- 
leans, becaiise  they  suffered  such  things  7  I  tell 
you,  Nay :  but,  except  ye  repent,  ye  shall  all  like- 
wise perish." 

Luke  xiv.  15.  -"  And  when  one  of  them  that 
sat  at  meat  with  him,  heard  these  things,  he  said 
unto  him,  Blessed  is  he  that  shall  eat  bread  in  the 
kingdom  of  God.  Then  said  he  unto  him,  A  cer- 
tain man  made  a  great  supper,  and  bade  many, 
&c.  The  parable  is  rather  too  long  for  insertion, 
but  affords  a  striking  instance  of  Christ's  manner 
of  raising  a  discourse  from  the  occasion.  Observe 
also  in  the  same  chapter  two  other  examples  of 
advice,  drawn  from  the  circumstances  of  the  en- 
tertainment and  the  behaviour  of  the  guests. 

We  will  now  sec,  how  this  manner  discovers 
itself  in  St.  John's  history  of  Christ. 

John  vi.  25.  "  And  when  they  had  found  him 
on  the  other  side  of  the  sea,  they  said  unto  him. 
Rabbi,  when  earnest  thou  hither  1  Jesus  answer- 
ed them,  and  said.  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  ye  seek 
me  not  because  ye  saw  the  miracles,  but  because 
ye  did  eat  of  the  loaves,  and  were  filled.  Labour 
not  for  the  meat  which  perisheth,  but  for  tha* 
meat  which  endureth  unto  everlasting  life,  which 
the  Son  of  man  shall  give  unto  you." 

John  iv.  12.  "  Art  thou  greater  than  our  father 
Abraham,  who  gave  us  the  well,  and  drank  there- 
of himself,  and  his  children,  and  his  cattle  1  Jesus 
answered,  and  said  unto  her  (the  woman  of  Sa- 
maria,) Whosoever  drinketh  of  this  water  shall 
thirst  again;  but  whosoever  drinketh  of  the  tvater 
that  I  shall  give  him,  shall  never  thirst;  but  the 
water  that  I  shall  give  him,  shall  be  in  him  a 
iDcll  of  water,  springing  up  into  everlasting 
life." 

John  iv.  31.  "  In  the  mean  while,  his  disciples 
prayed  him,  saying.  Master,  eat;  but  he  said  unto 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


343 


them,  I  have  meat  to  eat  that  ye  know  not  of. 
Therefore  said  the  disciples  one  to  another,  Hath 
any  man  brought  him  aught  to  call  Jesus  saith 
unto  them,  My  meat  is^  to  do  the  will  of  him  that 
sent  me,  and  to  finish  his  icork." 

John  ix.  1 — 5.  "And  as  Jesus  passed  by,  he 
saw  a  man  which  was  Wind  from  his  birth ;  and 
his  disciples  asked  him,  saying,  Who  did  sin,  this 
man  or  his  parents,  that  he  was  born  blind  ? 
Jesus  answered.  Neither  hath  this  man  sinned, 
nor  his  parents,  but  that  the  works  of  God  should 
be  made  manifest  in  him.  /  must  work  the  works 
of  him  that  sent  me,  while  it  is  day  ;  the  -night 
Cometh,  wlien  no  man  can  work.  As  long  as  I 
am  in  the  world,  I  am  the  light  of  the  icorld." 

John  ix.  35 — 40.  "Jesus  heard  that  they  had 
cast  him  (the  blind  man  above-mentioned)  out: 
and  when  he  had  found  him,  he  said  unto  him, 
Dost  thou  believe  on  the  Son  of  God  1  And  he 
answered,  and  said,  Who  is  he.  Lord,  that  I 
might  believe  on  him  1  And  Jesus  said  unto  him, 
Thou  hast  both  seen  him,  and  it  is  he  that  talketh 
with  thee.  And  he  said.  Lord,  I  believe ;  and  he 
worshipped  him.  And  Jesus  said,  For  judgment 
lam  come  into  this  world,  that  they  which  see 
not,  might  see ;  and  that  they  which  see,  Tnight 
be  made  blind." 

All  that  the  reader  has  now  to  do,  is  to  com- 
pare the  series  of  examples  taken  from  Saint  John, 
with  the  series  of  examples  taken  from  the  other 
evangelists,  and  to  judge  whether  there  be  not  a 
visible  agreement  of  manner  between  them.  In 
the  above-quoted  passages,  the  occasion  is  stated, 
as  well  as  the  reflection.  They  seem,  therefore, 
the  most  proper  for  the  purpose  of  our  argument. 
A  large,  however,  and  curious  collection  has  been 
made  by  different  writers,*  of  instances,  in  which 
it  is  extremely  probable  that  Christ  spoke  in  allu- 
sion to  some  object,  or  some  occasion,  then  before 
him,  though  the  mention  of  the  occasion,  or  of  the 
object,  be  omitted  in  the  history.  I  only  observe, 
that  these  instances  are  common  to  Saint  John's 
Gospel  with  the  other  three. 

I  conclude  this  article  by  remarking,  that  no- 
thing of  this  manner  is  perceptible  in  the  speeches 
recorded  in  the  Acts,  or  in  any  other  but  those 
which  are  attributed  to  Christ,  and  that,  in  truth, 
it  was  a  very  unlikely  manner  for  a  forger  or  fa- 
Dulist  to  attempt ;  and  a  manner  very  difficult  for 
any  writer  to  execute,  if  he  had  to  supply  all  the 
materials,  both  the  incidents  and  the  observations 
upon  them,  out  of  his  own  head.  A  forger  or  a 
fabulist  would  have  made  for  Christ,  discourses 
exhorting  to  virtue  and  dissuading  from  vice  in 
general  terms.  It  would  never  have  entered  into 
the  thoughts  of  either,  to  have  crowded  together 
such  a  number  of  allusions  to  time,  place,  and 
other  little  circumstances,  as  occur,  for  instance, 
in  the  sermon  on  the  mount,  and  which  nothing 
but  the  actual  presence  of  the  objects  could  have 
suggested. "t 

11.  There  appears  to  me  to  exist  an  affinity  be- 
tween the  history  of  Christ's  placing  a  little  child 
in  the  midst  of  his  disciples,  as  related  by  the  first 
three  evangelists,!  and  the  history  of  Christ's 
washing  liis  disciples'  feet,  as  given  by  Saint 
John.§     In  the  stories  themselves  there  is  no  re- 


*  Newton  on  Daniel,  p.  148,  note  a.    Jortin,  Dis.  p. 
2U.     Bishop  Law's  Life  of  Christ. 
t  Sse  Bishop  Law"s  Life  of  Clirist. 
I  Man.  xviii.  1.  Mark  ix.  33.  Luke  ix.  46. 
§  Chap.  xiii.  3. 


semblance.  But  the  affinity  which  I  would  poini 
out  consists  in  these  two  articles :  First,  that  both 
stories  denote  the  emulation  which  prevailed 
amongst  Christ's  disciples,  and  his  cwn  care  and 
desire  to  correct  it  ;  the  moral  of  both  is  the  same. 
Secondly,  that  both  stories  are  specimens  of  the 
same  manner  of  teaching,  viz.  by  action ;  a  mode 
of  emblematic  instruction  extremely  peculiar,  and, 
in  these  passages,  ascribed,  we  see,  to  our  Saviour, 
by  the  first  three  evangelists,  and  by  Saint  John 
in  instances  totally  unlike,  and  without  the  small- 
est suspicion  of  their  borrowing  from  each  other. 

III.  A  singularity  in  Christ's  language,  which 
runs  through  all  the  evangelists,  and  which  is 
found  in  those  discourses  of  Saint  John  that  have 
nothing  similar  to  them  in  the  other  Gospels,  is 
the  appellation  of  "  the  Son  of  man ;"  and  it  is  in 
all  the  evangehsts  found  under  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstance of  being  applied  by  Christ  to  himself, 
but  of  never  being  used  of  him,  or  towards  him, 
by  any  other  person.  It  occurs  seventeen  times 
in  Matthew's  Gospel,  twenty  times  in  Mark's, 
twenty-one  times  in  Luke's,  and  eleven  times  in 
John's,  and  always  with  this  restriction. 

IV.  A  point  of  agreement  in  the  conduct  of 
Christ,  as  represented  by  his  different  historians, 
is  that  of  his  withdrawing  himself  out  of  the  way, 
whenever  the  behaviour  of  the  multitude  indicated 
a  disposition  to  tumult. 

Matt.  xiv.  22.  "  And  straightway  Jesus  con- 
strained his  disciples  to  get  into  a  ship,  and  to  go 
betbre  him  unto  the  other  side,  while  he  sent  the 
multitude  away.  And  when  he  had  sent  the  mul- 
titude away,  he  went  up  into  a  mountain  apart 
to  pray." 

Luke  V.  15,  16.  "  But  so  much  the  more  went 
there  a  fame  abroad  of  him,  and  great  multitudes 
came  together  to  hear,  and  to  be  healed  by  him  of 
their  infirmities :  and  he  withdrew  himself  into 
the  wilderness,  and  prayed." 

With  these  quotations,  compare  the  following 
from  Saint  John : 

Chap.  v.  13.  "  And  he  that  was  healed  wist  not 
who  it  was ;  for  Jesus  had  conveyed  himself  away, 
a  multitude  being  in  that  place." 

Chap.  vi.  15.  "  When  Jesus  therefore  perceived 
that  they  would  come  and  take  him  by  force  to 
make  him  a  king,  he  departed  again  into  a  moun- 
tain himself  alone." 

In  this  last  instance,  Saint  John  gives  the  mo- 
tive of  Christ's  conduct,  which  is  left  unexplained 
by  the  other  evangelists,  who  have  related  the 
conduct  itself. 

V.  Another,  and  a  more  singular  circumstance 
in  Christ's  ministry,  was  the  reserve,  which,  for 
some  time,  and  upon  some  occasions  at  least,  he 
used  in  declaring  his  own  character,  and  his  leav- 
ing it  to  be  collected  from  his  works  rather  than 
his  professions.  Just  reasons  for  this  reserve  have 
been  assigned.*  But  it  is  not  what  one  would 
have  expected.  We  meet  with  it  in  Saint  Mat- 
thew's Gospel :  chap.  xvi.  20.  "  Then  charged 
he  his  disciples,  that  they  should  tell  no  man  that 
he  was  Jesus  the  Christ."  Again,  and  upon  a 
different  occasion,  in  Saint  Mark's:  chap.  iii.  11. 
"  And  unclean  spirits,  when  they  saw  him,  fell 
down  before  him,  and  cried,  saying.  Thou  art  the 
Son  of  God :  and  he  straightly  charged  them  that 
they  should  not  make  him  known."  Another  in- 
stance  similar  to  this  last  is  recorded  bj'  Saint 

*  See  Locke's  Reasouabl&ness  of  Christianity. 


344 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


Luke,  chap.  iv.  41.  What  we  thus  find  in  the 
three  evangehsts,  appears  also  in  a  passage  of 
Saint  John,  chap.  x.  24,  25.  "Then  came  the 
Jews  round  about  him,  and  said  unto  him,  How 
long  dost  thou  make  us  to  doubt  ]  If  thou  be  the 
Christ,  tell  us  plainly."  The  occasion  here  was 
dilierent  from  any  of  the  rest ;  and  it  was  indirect. 
We  only  discover  Christ's  conduct  through  the 
upbraidings  of  his  adversaries.  But  all  this 
strengthens  the  argument.  I  had  rather  at  any 
time  surprise  a  coincidence  in  some  oblique  allu- 
sion, than  read  it  in  broad  assertions. 

VI.  In  our  Lord's  commerce  with  his  disciples, 
one  very  observable  particular  is  the  difficulty 
which  they  found  in  understanding  him,  when  he 
spoke  to  them  of  the  future  part  of  his  history, 
especially  of  what  related  to  his  passion  or  resur- 
rection. This  difficulty  produced,  as  was  natural, 
a  wish  in  them  to  ask  for  farther  explanation  ; 
from  which,  however,  they  appear  to  have  been 
sometimes  kept  back,  by  the  fear  of  giving  ofTcnce. 
All  these  circumstances  are  distinctly  noticed  by 
Mark  and  Luke  upon  the  occasion  of  his  inform- 
ing them,  (probably  for  the  first  time,)  that  the 
Son  of  man  should  be  delivered  into  the  hands  of 
men.  "  They  understood  not,"  the  evangelists  tell 
us,  "this  saying,  and  it  was  hid  from  them,  that 
they  perceived  it  not :  and  they  feared  to  ask  him 
of  that  saying."  Luke  ix.  45.  Mark  ix.  32.  In  St. 
John's  Gospel  we  have,  on  a  ditierent  occasion, 
and  in  a  different  instance,  the  same  difficulty  of 
apprehension,  the  same  curiosity,  and  the  same 
restraint: — "A  little  while,  and  ye  shall  not  see 
me :  and  again,  a  little  while,  and  ye  shall  see  me ; 
because  I  go  to  the  Father.  Then  said  some  of^ 
his  disciples  among  themselves.  What  is  this  that 
he  saith  unto  us  ?  A  little  while,  and  ye  shall  not 
see  me:  and  again,  A  little  while,  and  ye  shall 
see  me :  and.  Because  I  go  to  the  Father  ?  They 
said  therefore.  What  is  this  that  he  saith,  A  little 
while  1  we  cannot  tell  what  he  saith.  Now  Jesus 
knew  that  they  were  desirous  to  ask  him,  and 
said  unto  them,"  &c.  John  xvi.  16,  &c. 

VII.  The  meekness  of  Christ  during  his  last 
sufferings,  which  is  conspicuous  in  the  narratives 
of  the  first  three  evangelists,  is  preserved  in  that 
of  Saint  John  under  separate  examples.  The 
answer  given  by  him,  in  Saint  John,*  when  the 
high  priest  asked  him  of  his  disciples  and  his  doc- 
trine ;  "  I  spake  openly  to  the  world;  I  ever  taugiit 
in  the  synagogue,  and  in  the  temple,  whither  the 
Jews  always  resort;  and  in  secret  have  I  said  no- 
thing; why  askest  thou  mel  ask  them  which 
heard  me,  what  I  have  said  unto  them ;"  is  very 
much  of  a  piece  with  his  reply  to  the  armed  party 
which  seized  him,  as  we  read  in  Saint  Mark's 
Gospel,  and  in  Saint  Luke's :t  "Are  you  come 
out  as  against  a  thief,  with  swords  and  with  staves 
to  take  me  ]  I  was  daily  with  you  in  the  temple 
teaching,  and  ye  took  me  not."  In  both  answers, 
we  discern  the  same  tranquillity,  the  same  refer- 
ence to  his  public  teaching.  His  mild  expostula- 
tion with  Pilate,  on  two  several  occasions,  as  re- 
lated by  Saint  John,t  is  delivered  with  the  same 
unrufHed  temper,  as  that  which  conducted  him 
through  the  last  scene  of  his  life,  as  described  by 
his  other  evangelists.  His  answer  in  Saint  John's 
Gospel,  to  the  officer  who  struck  him  with  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  "  If  I  have  spoken  evil,  bear 


''  Chap,  xviii.  20,  21.    t  Mark  xiv.  48.  Luke  xxii.  52. 
I  Cliap.  xviii.  34;   xix.  U. 


witness  of  the  evil ;  but  if  well,  why  smitcst  thou 
me  V*  was  such  an  answer,  as  might  have  been 
looked  for  from  the  person,  who,  as  he  proceeded 
to  the  place  of  execution,  bid  his  companions,  (as 
we  are  told  by  Sauit  Luke,)t  weep  not  for  him, 
but  for  themselves,  their  posterity,  and  their  coun- 
try ;  and  who,  whilst  he  was  suspended  upon  the 
cross,  prayed  for  his  murderers,  "  for  they  know 
not,"  said  he,  "what  they  do."  The  urgency  also 
of  his  judges  and  his  prosecutors  to  extort  from 
him  a  defence  to  the  accusation,  and  his  unwilling- 
ness to  make  any,  (which  was  a  peculiar  circum- 
stance,) appears  in  Saint  John's  account,  as  well 
as  in  that  of  the  other  evangelists.? 

There  are  moreover  two  other  correspondencies 
between  Saint  John's  history  of  the  transaction 
and  theirs,  of  a  kind  somewhat  different  from 
those  which  we  have  been  now  mentioning. 

The  first  three  evangelists  record  what  is  called 
our  Saviour's  agony,  i.  e.  his  devotion  in  the  gar- 
den immediately  before  he  was  apprehended ;  in 
which  narrative  they  all  make  him  pray,  "  that 
the  cup  might  pass  from  him."  This  is  the  par- 
ticular metaphor  which  they  all  ascribe  to  him. 
Saint  Matthew  adds,  "  O  my  Father,  if  this  cup 
may  not  pass  away  from  me  except  I  drink  it,  thy 
will  be  done."§  Now  Saint  John  does  not  give 
the  scene  in  the  garden:  but  when  Jesus  was 
seized,  and  some  resistance  was  attempted  to  be 
made  by  Peter,  Jesus,  according  to  his  account, 
checked  the  attempt  with  this  reply :  "  Put  up  thy 
sword  into  the  sheath:  the  cup  which  my  Father 
hath  given  me,  shall  I  not  drink  itT'il  This  is 
something  more  than  consistency ;  it  is  coinci- 
dence :  because  it  is  extremely  natural,  that  Jesus, 
who,  before  he  was  apprehended,  had  been  pray- 
ing his  Father,  that  "  that  cup  might  pass  from 
him,"  yet  with  such  a  pious  retraction  of  his  re- 
quest, as  to  have  added,  "  If  this  cup  may  not  pass 
from  me,  thy  will  be  done ;''  it  was  natural,  I  say, 
for  the  same  person,  when  he  actually  was  appre- 
hended, to  express  the  resignation  to  which  he 
had  already  made  up  his  thoughts,  and  to  express 
it  in  the  form  of  speech  which  he  had  before  used, 
"  The  cup  which  my  Father  hath  given  me,  shall 
I  not  drink  iff"  This  is  a  coincidence  between 
writers,  in  whose  narratives  there  is  no  imitation, 
but  great  diversity. 

A  second  similar  correspondency  is  the  follow- 
ing :  Matthew  and  Mark  make  the  charge  upon 
which  our  Lord  was  condemned,  to  be  a  threat  of 
destroying  the  temple;  "We  heard  him  say,  I 
will  destroy  this  temple  made  with  hands,  and 
within  three  days  I  will  build  another  made  with- 
out hands  :"Tr  but  they  neither  of  them  inform  us, 
upon  what  circumstances  this  calumny  was  found- 
ed. Saint  John,  in  the  early  part  of  the  history,** 
supplies  us  with  this  information;  for  he  relates, 
that,  on  our  Lord's  first  journey  to  Jerusalem, 
when  the  Jews  asked  him,  "  What  sign  showest 
thou  unto  us,  seeing  that  thou  doest  these  things  ] 
he  answered.  Destroy  this  temple,  and  in  three 
days  I  will  raise  it  up."  This  agreement  could 
hardly  arise  from  any  thing  but  the  truth  of  the 
case.  From  any  care  or  design  in  Saint  John,  to 
make  his  narrative  tally  with  the  narratives  of 
other  evangelists,  it  certainly  did  not  arise,  for  no 
such  design  appears,  but  the  absence  of  it. 


*  Chap,  xviii.  23.  fChap.  xxiii.  28. 

1  See  Joha  xix.  9.  Matt,  xxvii.  14.     Luke  xxiii.  9. 
|riiap.  xxvi.42.  ||Chap.  xviii-  II. 

TT Mark  xiv.  58.  ** Chap.  ii.  10. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


315 


A  stronof  and  more  general  instance  of  agree- 
ment is  the  following; — Tiie  first  three  evange- 
lists have  related  the  appointment  of  the  twelve 
apostles.*  and  have  given  a  catalogue  of  their 
names  in  form.  John,  without  ever  mentioning 
the  appointment,  or  giving  the  catalogue,  supposes 
throughout  his  whole  narrative,  Christ  to  be  ac- 
companied by  a  select  party  of  his  disciples ;  the 
number  of  those  to  be  twelve  ;t  and  whenever  he 
happens  to  notice  any  one  as  of  that  number,?  it 
is  one  included  in  the  catalogue  of  the  other  evan- 
gelists: and  the  names  principally  occurring  in 
the  course  of  his  history  of  Christ,  are  the  names 
extant  in  their  list.  This  last  agreement,  which 
is  of  considerable  moment,  runs  through  every 
Gospel,  and  through  every  chapter  of  each. 

All  this  bespeaks  reality. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Originality  of  our  Saviours  Character. 

The  Jews,  whether  right  or  wrong,  had  under- 
stood their  prophecies  to  foretell  the  advent  of 
a  person,  who  by  some  supernatural  assistance 
should  advance  their  nation  to  independence,  and 
to  a  supreme  degree  of  splendour  and  prosperity. 
This  was  the  reigning  opinion  and  e.xpectation 
of  the  times. 

Now,  had  Jesus  been  an  enthusiast,  it  is  proba- 
ble that  his  enthusiasm  would  have  fallen  in  with 
the  popular  delusion,  and  that,  whilst  he  gave 
himself  out  to  be  the  person  intended  by  these 
predictions,  he  would  have  assumed  the  character 
to  which  they  were  universally  supposed  to  relate. 

Had  he  been  an  impostor,  it  was  his  business 
to  have  flattered  the  prevailing  hopes,  because 
these  hopes  were  to  be  the  instruments  of  his  at- 
traction and  success. 

But,  what  is  better  than  conjecture,  is  the  fact, 
that  all  the  pretended  Messiahs  actually  did  so. 
We  learn  from  Josephus,  that  there  were  many 
of  these.  Some  of  them,  it  is  probable,  might  be 
impostors,  who  thought  that  an  advantage  was  to 
be  taken  of  the  state  of  public  opinion.  Others, 
perhaps,  were  enthusiasts,  whose  imagination  had 
been  drawn  to  this  particular  object,  by  the  lan- 
guage and  sentiments  which  prevailed  around 
them.  But,  whether  impostors  or  enthusiasts, 
they  concurred  in  producing  themselves  in  the 
character  which  their  countrymen  looked  for,  that 
is  to  say.  as  the  restorers  and  deliverers  of  the  na- 
tion, in  that  sense  in  which  restoration  and  deli- 
verance were  expected  by  the  Jews. 

Why  therefore  Jesus,  if  he  was,  like  them, 
either  an  enthusiast  or  impostor,  did  not  pursue 
the  same  conduct  as  they  did,  in  framing  his 
character  and  pretensions,  it  will  be  found  dif- 
ficult to  explain.  A  mission,  the  operation  and 
benefit  of  which  was  to  take  place  in  another  life, 
was  a  thing  unthouo-ht  of  as  the  subject  of  the.se 
prophecies.  Tliat  Jesus,  coming  to  them  as  their 
Messiah,  should  come  under  a  character  totally 
different  from  tliat  in  which  they  exi^ected  him ; 
should  deviate  from  the  general  persuasion,  and 
deviate  into  pretensions  absolutely  singular  and 
original ;  appears  to  be  inconsistent  with  the  im- 
putation of  enthusiasm  or  imposture,  both  which, 

*iMatt.  X.  1.    Markiii.  14.     Luke  vi.  12. 
'  Chap.  vi.  70.  I  Chap.  .xx.  24 ;  vi.  71. 

2X 


by  their  nature,  I  should  expect  would,  and  Iwth 
which,  throughout  the  experience  which  this  very 
subject  furnishes,  in  fact  have,  followed  the  opi- 
nions that  obtained  at  the  time. 

If  it  be  said,  that  Jesus,  having  tried  the  other 
plan,  turned  at  length,  to  this;  I  answer,  that  the 
thing  is  said  without  evidence;  against  evidence; 
that  it  was  competent  to  the  rest  to  have  done 
the  same,  yet  that  nothing  of  this  sort  was 
thought  of  by  any. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

One  argument,  which  has  been  much  relied 
upon  (but  not  more  than  its  just  weight  deserves,^ 
is  the  conformity  of  the  facts  occasionally  men- 
tioned or  referred  to  in  Scripture,  with  the  state 
of  things  in  those  times,  as  represented  by  foreign 
and  independent  accounts ;  which  conformity 
proves,  that  the  writers  of  the  New  Testament 
possessed  a  species  of  local  knowledge,  which 
could  only  belong  to  an  inhabitant  of  that  country, 
and  to  one  living  in  that  age.  This  argument,  if 
well  made  out  by  examples,  is  very  little  short  of 
proving  the  absolute  genuineness  of  the  writings. 
It  carries  them  up  to  the  age  of  the  reputed 
authors,  to  an  age  in  which  it  must  have  been 
difficult  to  impo.«e  upon  the  Christian  public, 
forgeries  in  the  names  of  those  authors,  and  in 
which  there  is  no  evidence  that  any  forgeries  were 
attempted.  It  proves,  at  least,  that  the  books, 
whoever  were  the  authors  of  them,  were  com- 
posed by  persons  living  in  the  time  and  country  in 
which  these  things  were  transacted  ;  and  conse- 
quently capable,  by  their  situation,  of  being  well 
informed  of  the  facts  which  they  relate.  And  the 
argument  is  stronger  when  applied  to  the  New 
Testament,  than  it  is  in  the  case  of  almost  any 
other  writings,  by  reason  of  the  mixed  nature  of 
the  allusions  wliich  this  book  contains.  The 
scene  of  action  is  not  confined  to  a  single  country, 
but  displayed  in  the  greatest  cities  of  the  Roman 
empire.  Allusions  are  made  to  the  manners  and 
principles  of  the  Greeks,  the  Romans,  and  the 
Jews.  This  variety  renders  a  forgery  proportion- 
ably  more  difficult,  especially  to  writers  of  a  pos- 
terior age.  A  Greek  or  Roman  Christian,  who 
lived  in  the  second  or  third  century,  would  have 
been  wanting  in  Jewish  literature :  a  Jewish  con- 
vert in  those  ages  would  have  been  equally  defi- 
cient in  the  knowledge  of  Greece  and  Rome.  * 

This,  however,  is  an  argument  which  depends 
entirely  upon  an  induction  of  particulars  ;  and  as, 
consequently,  it  carries  with  it  little  force,  without 
a  view  of  the  instances  upon  which  it  is  built,  I 
have  to  request  the  reader's  attention  to  a  detail 
of  examples,  distinctly  and  articulately  proposetl. 
In  collecting  these  examples,  I  have  done  no 
more  than  epitomize  the  first  volume  of  the  first 
part  of  Dr.  Lardner's  Credibility  of  the  Gospel 
History.  And  I  have  brought  the  argument 
within  its  present  compass,  first  by  passing  over 
some  of  his  sections  in  which  the  accordancy  ap- 
peared to  me  less  certain,  or  upon  subjects  not 
sufficiently  appropriate  or  circumstantial ;  second- 
ly, by  contracting  every  section  into  the  fewest 
words  possible,  contenting  myself  for  the  most 


*  IWichaplis's  Introduction  to  the  New  Testament 
(Marsh's  Translation,)  c.  2.  sect.  xi. 


346 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


part  with  a  mere  apposition  of  passages ;  and, 
thirdly,  by  omitting  many  disquisitions,  which, 
though  learned  and  accurate,  are  not  absolutely 
necessary  to  the  understanding  or  verilication  of 
the  argument. 

The  writer  principally  made  use  of  in  the  in- 
quiry, is  Josephus.  .Tosephus  was  born  at  Jeru- 
salem four  years  after  Christ's  ascension.  He 
wrote  his  history  of  the  Jewish  war  some  time 
after  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  which  happen- 
ed in  the  year  of  our  Lord  lxx,  that  is,  thirty- 
seven  years  after  the  ascension  ;  and  his  history 
of  the  Jews  he  finished  in  the  year  xciu,  that  is, 
sixty  years  after  the  ascension. 

At  the  head  of  each  article,  I  have  referred,  by 
figures  included  in  brackets,  to  the  page  of  Dr. 
Lardner's  volume,  where  the  section,  from  which 
the  abritlgment  is  made,  begins.  The  edition 
used,  is  that  of  1741. 

I.  [p.  14.]  Matt.  ii.  22.  "  When  he  (Joseph) 
heard  that  Archelaus  did  reign  in  Judea,  in  the 
room  of  his  father  Herod,  he  was  afraid  to  go 
thither:  notwithstanding,  being  warned  of  God  in 
a  dream,  he  turned  aside  into  the  parts  of  Gali- 
lee." 

In  this  passage  it  is  asserted,  that  Archelaus 
succeeded  Herod  in  Judea;  and  it  is  implied,  that 
his  power  did  not  extend  to  Galilee.  Now  we 
learn  from  Josephus,  that  Herod  the  Great,  whose 
dominion  included  all  the  land  of  Israel,  appoijited 
Archelaus  his  successor  in  Judea,  and  assigned 
the  rest  of  his  dominions  to  other  sons  ;  and  that 
this  disposition  was  ratified,  as  to  the  main  parts 
of  it,  by  the  Roman  emjjeror.  * 

Saint  Matthew  says,  that  Archelaus  reigned, 
was  king-  in  Judea.  Agreeably  to  this,  we  are 
informed  by  Josephus,  not  only  that  Herod  ap- 
pointed Archelaus  his  successor  in  Judea,  but 
that  he  also  appomted  him  with  the  title  of  King; 
and  the  Greek  verb  BxnKiusi,  which  the  evangelist 
uses  to  denote  the  government  and  I'ank  of  Ar- 
chelaus, is  used  likewise  by  Josephus.  t 

The  cruelty  of  Archelaus's  character,  which  is 
not  obscurely  intimated  by  the  evangelist,  agrees 
with  divers  particulars  in  his  history,  preserved 
by  Josephus  : — "  In  the  tenth  year  of  his  govern- 
ment, the  chief  of  the  Jews  and  Samaritans,  not 
being  able  to  endure  his  cruelty  and  tyranny,  pre- 
sented complaints  against  him  to  Cre.sar."  t 

II.  [p.  ID]  Luke  iii.  1.  "  In  the  fifteentli  year 
of  the  reign  of  Tiberius  Cfesar, — Herod  being 
tetrarch  of  Galilee,  and  his  brother  Philip,  tetrarch 
of  Iturea  and  of  the  region  of  Trachonitis, — tlie 
word  of  God  came  unto  John." 

By  the  will  of  Herod  the  Great,  and  the  decree 
of  Augustus  thereupon,  his  two  sons  were  ap- 
pointed, one  (Herod  Antipas)  tetrarch  of  Galilee 
and  Peroca,  and  the  other  (Philip)  tetrarch  of 
Trachonitis  and  the  neighbouring  countries.  II 
We  have  therefore  these  two  [)ersons  in  the  situa- 
tions in  which  Saint  Luke  places  them ;  and  also, 
that  they  were  in  these  situations  in  the  fifteentli 
year  of  Tiberius ;  in  other  words,  that  they  con- 
tinued in  possession  of  their  territories  and  titles 
until  that  time,  and  afterward,  appears  iVoai  a 
passage  of  Josephus,  which  relates  of  Herod, 
"that  he  was  removed  by  Caligula,  the  successor 


of  Tiberius  ;*  and  of  Philip,  that  he  died  in  the 
ticentieth  year  of  Tiberius,  when  he  had  govern- 
ed Trachonitis  and  Batanea  and  Gaulanitis  thirty 
seven  years."  t 

III.  [p.  20.]  Mark  vi.  17. t  "Herod  had  sent 
forth,  and  laid  hold  upon  John,  and  bound  him 
in  prison,  lor  Herodias'  sake,  his  brother  Philip's 
wift^ ;  for  he  had  married  her." 

With  this  compare  Joseph.  Antiq.  I.  xviii.  c.  6. 
sect.  1. — "Pie  (Herod  the  tetrarch)  made  a  visit 
to  Herod  his  brother. — Here,  falling  in  love  with 
Herodias,  the  wife  of  the  said  Herod,  he  ventured 
to  make  her  proposals  of  marriage.  § 

Again,  Mark  vi.  22.  "  And  when  the  daughter 
of  tlie  said  Herodias  came  in  and  danced •." 

With  this  also  compare  Joseph.  Antiq.  1.  xviii. 
c.  G.  sect.  4.  "  Herodias  was  married  to  Herod,  son 
of  Herod  the  Great.  They  had  a  daughter, 
whose  name  was  Salome ;  after  whose  birth, 
Herodias,  in  utter  violation  of  the  laws  of  her 
country,  left  her  husband,  then  living,  and  mar- 
ried Herod  the  tetrarch  of  Galilee,  her  husband's 
brother  by  the  father's  side." 

IV.  [p.  21).]  Acts  xii.  1.  "Now,  about  that 
time,  Herod  the  A:»!g- stretched  forth  his  hands  to 
vex  certani  of  the  church."  In  the  conclusion  of 
the  same  chapter,  Herod's  death  is  represintcd 
to  have  taken  place  soon  after  this  persecution. 
The  accuracy  of  our  historian,  or,  rather,  the 
unmeditated  coincidence,  which  truth  of  its  own 
accord  produces,  is  in  this  instance  remarkable. 
There  was  no  portion  of  time,  for  thirty  years 
before,  nor  ever  afterward,  in  which  there  was  a 
king  at  Jerusalem,  a  person  exercising  that  au- 
thority in  Judea,  or  to  whom  that  title  could  be 
applied,  except  the  three  last  years  of  this  Herod's 
life,  within  which  period  the  transaction  recorded 
in  the  Acts  is  stated  to  have  taken  place.  This 
prince  was  the  grandson  of  Herod  the  Great.  In 
the  Acts,  he  appears  under  his  family-name  of 
Herod  ;  by  Josephus  he  was  called  Agrippa.  For 
proof  that  he  was  a  king,  properly  so  called, 
we  have  the  testimony  of  Josephus  in  full  and 
direct  terms : — "  Sending  for  him  to  his  palace, 
Caligula  put  a  crown  upon  his  head,  and  appoint- 
ed him  king  of  the  tetrarchie  of  Philip,  intending 
also  to  give  him  the  tetrarchie  of  Lysanias."!! 
And  that  Judea  was  at  last,  but  not  until  the  last, 
included  in  his  dominions,  appears  by  a  subse- 
quent passage  of  the  same  Josephus,  wherein  he 
tells  us,  that  Claudius,  by  a  decree,  confirmed  to 
Agrippa  the  dominion  which  Caligula  had  given 
him ;  adding  also  Judea  and  Samaria,  In  tlie 
utmost  extent,  as  possessed  by  his  grandfather 
Herod.V 


*  Ant  lib.  xvii.  c.  8.  sect  1. 
t  fin  Bell,  lib  i.e.  33.  sect.  7. 
I  Ant.  lil).  .wii.  c.  13.  sect  1. 
ii  Ant.  lib.  .wii.  c.  «.  sect.  1 


*  Ant.  lib.  xviii.  c.  8.  sect  2.        t  Ihid.  c.  5.  sect.  6. 

1  See  also  Matt.  xiv.  1 — 13.    Luke  iii.  VJ. 

§  The  atliiiity  of  the  two  accounts  is  nnquestinnable; 
but  there  is  a  difference  in  the  name  of  lieroiiias's  first 
husband,  which,  in  the  evanijelist,  i.s  Philip;  in  Jose- 
phus, Herod.  The  difliculty.  however,  will  not  appear 
considerable,  when  we  recollect  liow  cnninion  it  was  in 
those  times  for  the  same  person  to  bear  two  names. 
"Simon,  which  is  called  Peter:  Lebbiuis,  wiiose  sur- 
name isThadilens;  Thomas,  which  iscalleil  Diilyniiis: 
Simeon,  who  was  called  Niyer  ;  Saul,  who  was  also  call- 
ed Paul."  The  solution  is  rendered  likewise  easier  in 
the  present  case,  by  the  consideration,  that  Heroil  the 
Great  had  children  by  seven  or  ei^ht  wives  ;  that  Jose, 
phus  mentions  three  of  his  sons  under  the  name  of  He. 
rod:  that  it  is  nevertheless  highly  probable,  lh.it  the 
brothers  bore  some  additional  name,  by  which  they  were 
distinguished  from  one  annlher.  J^ardner,  vol  ii  p.  ^97 

Ij  Antiq.  .xviii.  c.  7.  sect.  10.        If  lb.  \\x..  c.  3.  sect.  1 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


347 


V.  [p.  3-3.]  Acts  xii.  19—23.  "  And  he  (Herod) 
went  down  from  Judea  to  Cesarea,  and  there 
abode. — And  on  a  set  day,  Herod,  arrayed  in 
royal  apparel,  sat  upon  his  throne,  and  made  an 
oration  unto  them  :  and  the  people  gave  a  shout, 
saying,  It  is  the  voice  of  a  god,  and  not  of  a  man; 
and  immediately  the  angel  of  the  Lord  smote 
him,  because  he  gave  not  God  the  glory:  and  he 
was  eaten  of  worms,  and  gave  up  the  ghost." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  lib.  xix.  c.  8.  sect.  2.  "  He 
went  to  the  city  of  Cesarea.  Here  he  celebrated 
shows  in  honour  of  Cffisar.  On  the  second  day 
of  the  shows,  early  in  the  morning,  he  came  into 
the  theatre,  dressed  in  a  robe  of  silver,  of  most 
curious  workmanship.  The  rays  of  the  rising 
sun,  reflected  from  such  a  splendid  garb,  gave  him 
a  majestic  and  awful  appearance.  They  called 
him  a  god  ;  and  entreated  him  to  be  propitious  to 
them,  sayhig.  Hitherto  we  have  respected  you  as 
a  man  :  but  now  we  acknowledge  you  to  be  more 
than  mortal.  The  king  neither  reproved  these 
persons,  nor  rejected  the  impious  flattery. — Im- 
mediately after  this,  he  was  seized  with  pains  in 
his  bowels,  extremely  violent  at  the  very  lirst. — 
He  was  carried  therefore  with  all  haste  to  his 
palace.  These  pains  continually  tormenting  him, 
ne  expired  in  five  days'  time." 

The  reader  will  perceive  the  accordancy  of 
these  accounts  in  various  particulars.  The  place 
(Cesarea),  the  set  day,  the  gorgeous  dress,  the 
acclamations  of  the  assembly,  the  peculiar  turn 
of  the  flattery,  the  reception  oifit,  the  sudden  and 
critical  iricursion  of  the  disease,  are  circumstances 
noticed  in  both  narratives.  The  worms,  men- 
tioned by  Saint  Luke,  are  not  remarked  by  Jose- 
phus :  but  the  appearance  of  these  is  a  symptom, 
not  unusually,  I  believe,  attending  the  diseases 
which  Josephus  describes,  viz.  violent  affections 
of  the  bowels. 

VI.  [p.  41.]  Acts  xxiv.  24.  "  And  after  certain 
days,  when  Felix  came  with  his  wife  Drusilla, 
which  was  a  Jewess,  he  sent  for  Paul.'' 

Joseph.  Antiq.  hb.  xx.  c.  G.  sect.  1,  2.  "  Agrip- 
pa  gave  his  sister  Drusilla  in  marriage  to  Azizus, 
king  of  the  Emesenes,  when  he  had  consented  to 
be  circumcised. — But  this  marriage  of  Drusilla 
with  Azizus  was  dissolved  in  a  short  time  after  in 
this  manner : — When  Felix  was  procurator  of 
Judea,  having  had  a  sight  of  her,  he  was  mighti- 
ly taken  with  her. — She  was  induced  to  transgress 
the  laws  of  her  country,  and  marry  Felix." 

Here  the  pubhc  station  of  Felix,  the  name  of 
his  wife,  and  the  singular  circumstance  of  her 
religion,  all  appear  in  perfect  conformity  with  the 
evangelist. 

VII.  [p.  46.]  "  And  after  certain  days,  king 
Agrippa  and  Bernice  came  to  Cesarea  to  salute 
Festus."  By  this  passage  we  are  in  effect  told, 
that  Agrippa  was  a  king,  but  not  of  Judea ;  for 
he  came  to  salute  Festus,  who  at  this  time  ad- 
ministered the  government  of  that  country  at 
Cesarea. 

Now,  how  does  the  history  of  the  age  corres- 
pond with  this  account  ?  The  Agrippa  here 
spoken  of,  was  the  son  of  Herod  Agrippa,  men- 
tioned in  the  last  article  ;  but  that  he  did  not  suc- 
ceed to  his  father's  kingdom,  nor  ever  recovered 
Judea,  which  had  been  a  part  of  it,  we  learn  by 
the  information  of  Josephus,  who  relates  of  him 
that,  when  his  father  was  dead,  Claudius  intend- 
ed, at  first,  to  have  put  him  immediately  in  pos- 
session of  his  fathei's  dominions ;  but  that  Agrip- 


pa being  then  but  seventeen  years  of  age,  the 
emperor  was  persuaded  to  alter  his  mind,  and 
appointed  Cuspius  Fadus  prefect  of  Judea,  and 
the  whole  kingdom;*  which  Fadus  was  succeeded 
by  Tiberius  Alexander,  Cumanus,  Felix.  Festus.t 
But  that,  though  disappointed  of  his  father's  king.- 
dom,  in  which  was  included  Judea,  he  was  never 
theless  rightly  styled  King  Agrippa,  and  that  h 
was  in  possession  of  considerable  territories  border- 
ing upon  Judea,  we  gather  from  the  same  authority; 
for,  after  several  successive  donations  of  country, 
"  Claudius,  at  the  same  time  that  he  sent  Felix 
to  be  procurator  of  Judea,  promoted  Agrippa  from 
Chalcis  to  a  greater  kingdom,  giving  to  him  the 
tetrarchie  which  had  been  Philips ;  and  he  added 
moreover  the  kingdom  of  Lysanias,  and  the  pro- 
vince that  had  belonged  to  Varus."i 

Saint  Paul  addresses  this  person  as  a  Jew : 
"  King  Agrippa,  believest  thou  the  prophets  ?  I 
know  that  thou  believest."  As  the  son  of  Herod 
Agrippa,  who  is  described  by  Josephus  to  have 
been  a  zealous  Jew,  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  he  maintained  the  same  profession.  But 
what  is  more  material  to  remark,  because  it  is 
more  close  and  circumstantial,  is,  that  Saint  Luke, 
speaking  of  the  Father,  (Acts  xii.  1 — 3,)  calls 
him  Herod  the  king,  and  gives  an  example  of  the 
exercise  of  his  authority  at  Jerusalem :  speaking 
of  the  son,  (xxv.  13.)  he  calls  him  king,  but  not 
of  Judea  ;  wliich  distinction  agrees  correctly  with 
the  history. 

VIII.  [p.  51.]  Acts  xiii.  6.  "And  when  they 
had  gone  through  the  isle  (Cyprus)  to  Paphos, 
they  found  a  certain  sorcerer,  a  false  prophet,  a 
Jew,  whose  name  was  Barjesus,  which  was  the 
deputy  of  the  country,  Sergius  Paulus,  a  prudent 
man." 

The  word,  which  is  here  translated  deputy, 
signifies  proconsul,  and  upon  this  word  our  ob- 
servation is  founded.  The  provinces  of  the  Ro- 
man empire  were  of  two  kinds ;  those  belonging 
to  the  emperor,  in  which  the  governor  was  called 
propraetor ;  and  those  belonging  to  the  senate,  in 
which  the  governor  was  called  proconsul.  And 
this  was  a  regular  distinction.  Now  it  appears 
from  Dio  Cassius,§  that  the  province  of  Cyprus, 
which  in  the  original  distribution  was  assigned 
to  the  emperor,  had  been  transferred  to  the  senate, 
in  exchange  for  some  others ;  and  that,  after  this 
exchange,  the  appropriate  title  of  the  Roman  go- 
vernor was  proconsul. 

lb.  xviii.  12.  [p.  55.]  "  And  when  Galho  was 
deputy  (^proconsul)  of  Achaia." 

The  propriety  of  the  title  "  proconsul,"  is  in 
this  passage  still  more  critical.  For  the  province 
of  Achaia,  after  passing  from  the  senate  to  the 
emperor,  had  been  restored  again  by  the  emperor 
Claudius  to  the  senate  (and  consequently  its  go- 
vernment had  become  proconsular)  only  six  or 
seven  years  before  the  time  in  which  this  transac- 
tion is  said  to  have  taken  place. li  And  what  con- 
fines with  strictness  the  appellation  to  the  time  is, 
that  Achaia  under  the  following  reign  ceased  to 
be  a  Roman  province  at  all. 

IX.  [p.  152]  It  appears,  as  well  from  the  ge- 
neral constitution  of  a  Roman  province,  as  from 
what  Josephus  delivers  concerning  the  state  of 

*  Antiq.  xix.  c.  9.  ad  fin. 

t  lb  XX.    De  Bell.  lib.  ii 

X  De  Bell.  lib.  ii.c.  12.  ad  fin. 

§  Da  Bell    lib.  liv.  ad  A.  U.  732. 

Il  Suet,  ia  Claud,  c.  io.    Dio.  lib.  l.xi. 


348 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


Judca  in  particular,*  that  the  power  of  life  and 
death  resided  exclusively  in  tiie  Roman  governor ; 
but  that  the  Jews,  nevertheless,  had  magistrates 
and  a  council,  invested  with  a  subordinate  and 
municipal  authority.  This  economy  is  discerned 
in  every  part  of  the  Gospel  narrative  of  our  Sa- 
viour's crucifixion. 

X.  [p.  -203.]  Acts  ix.  31.  "Then  had  the 
churciies  rest  throughout  all  Judea  and  Galilee 
9.nd  Samaria." 

This  rest  synchronizes  with  the  attempt  of 
Califula  to  place  his  statue  in  the  temple  of  Jeru- 
salem :  the  threat  of  which  outrage  produced 
amono-st  the  Jews  a  consternation  that,  for  a 
season,  diverted  their  attention  from  every  other 
object,  t 

XI.  [p.  218.]  Acts  xxi.  30.  "And  they  took 
Paul,  and  drew  him  out  of  the  temple;  and  forth- 
with the  duors  were  shut.  And  as  they  went 
about  to  kill  him,  tidings  came  to  the  chief  cap- 
tain of  the  band,  that  all  Jerusalem  was  in  an  up- 
roar. Then  the  chief  captain  came-  near,  and 
took  him,  and  commanded  him  to  be  bound  with 
two  chains,  and  demanded,  who  he  was,  and 
what  he  had  done ;  and  some  cried  one  thing,  and 
some  another,  among  the  multitude:  and,  when 
he  could  not  know  the  certainty  for  the  tumult, 
he  commanded  him  to  be  carried  into  the  castle. 
And  when  he  came  upon  the  stairs,  so  it  was, 
that  he  was  borne  of  the  soldiers  for  the  violence 
of  the  people." 

In  this  quotation,  we  have  the  band  of  Roman 
soldiers  at  Jerusalem,  their  office  (to  suppress  tu- 
mults,) the  castle,  the  stairs,  both,  as  it  should 
seem,  adjoining  to  the  temple.  Let  us  inquire 
whether  we  can  find  these  particulars  in  any 
other  record  of  tliat  age  and  place. 

Joseph,  de  Bell.  lib.  v.  c.  5.  sect.  8.  "  Antonia 
was  situated  at  the  angle  of  the  western  and  north- 
ern porticoes  of  the  outer  temple.  It  was  built 
upon  a  rock  fifty  cubits  high,  steep  on  all  sides.—- 
On  that  side  where  it  joined  to  the  porticoes  of 
the  temple,  there  were  stairs  reaching  to  each 
portico,  by  which  the  guard  descended ;  for  there 
was  always  lodged  here  a  Roman  legion,  and 
posting  themselves  in  their  armour  in  several 
places  in  the  porticoes,  they  kept  a  watch  on  the 
fieople  on  the  feast  days  to  prevent  all  disorders; 
for  as  the  temple  was  a  guard  to  the  city,  so  was 
Antonia  to  the  temple." 

Xn.  [p.  2-24.]  Acts  iv.  1.  "  And  as  they  spake 
unto  the  people,  the  priests,  and  the  captain  of 
the  temple,  and  the  Sadducees,  came  upon  them." 
Here  we  have  a  public  officer,  under  the  title  of 
captain  of  the  temple,  and  he  probably  a  Jew,  as 
he  accompanied  the  priests  and  Sadducees  in  ap- 
prehending the  apostles. 

Joseph,  de  Bell.  lib.  ii.  c.  17.  sect.  2.  "  And  at 
the  temple,  Eleazar,  the  son  of  Ananias,  the  high- 
priest,  a  young  man  of  a  bold  and  resolute  dispo- 
sition, then  captain,  persuaded  those  who  per- 
ibrmed  the  sacred  ministrations  not  to  receive  the 
aift  or  sacrifice  of  any  stranger." 
~  Xni.  [p.  225.]  Acts  XXV.  12.  "  Then  Festus, 
when  he  had  conferred  with  the  council,  answer- 
ed. Hast  thou  appealed  unto  Ctesar  1  unto  Csesar 
shalt  thou  go."  That  it  was  usual  for  the  Pvo- 
man  presidents  to  have  a  council,  consisting  of 
their  friends,  and  other  chief  Romans  in  the  pro- 

*  Antiq.  lib.  x.x.  c.  8.  sect.  5 ;  c.  1.  sect.  2. 
t  Joseph,  de  Bell.  lib.  xi.  e.  13.  sect.  1,  3,  4. 


vince,  appears  expressly  in  the  following  passage 
of  Cicero's  oration  against  Verres : — "  llUid  ne- 
gare  posses,  aut  nunc  negabis,  te,  concilio  tuo  di- 
misso,  viris  primariis,  qui  in  consiho  C.  Sacerdoti? 
fuerant,  tibique  esse  volebant,  remotis,  de  re  judi- 
cata judicasse  7" 

XIV.  [p.  23.'3.]  Acts  xvi.  13.  "And  (at  Phi- 
lippi)  on  the  sabbath  we  went  out  of  the  city  by  a 
river-side,  where  prayer  was  wont  to  be  made," 
or  where  a  TrjorsKX'),  oratory,  or  place  of  prayer 
was  allowed.  The  particularity  to  be  remarked, 
is  the  situation  of  the  place  where  prayer  was 
wont  to  be  made,  viz.  by  a  river-side. 

Philo,  describing  the  conduct  of  the  Jews  of 
Alexandria,  on  a  certain  public  occasion,  relates 
of  them,  that  "  early  in  the  morning,  flocking  out 
of  the  gates  of  the  city,  they  go  to  the  neighbour- 
ing shores  (forthe  n-foo-iux«'  were  destroyed,)  and, 
standing  in  a  most  pure  place,  they  hft  up  their 
voices  with  one  accord."* 

Josephus  gives  us  a  decree  of  the  city  of  Hali- 
carnassus,  permitting  the  Jews  to  build  oratories; 
a  part  of  which  decree  runs  thus : — "  We  ordain 
that  the  Jews  who  are  willing,  men  and  women, 
do  observe  the  sabbaths,  and  perform  sacred  rites 
according  to  the  Jewish  laws,  and  build  oratories 
by  the  sea-side."'f 

Tertullian,  among  other  Jewish  rites  and  cus- 
toms, such  as  feasts,  sabbaths,  fasts,  and  unleaven- 
ed bread,  mentions  "  orationes  litorales  ;"  that  is, 
prayers  by  the  river-side. $ 

XV.  [p.  255.]  Acts  xxvi.  5.  "  After  the  most 
straitest  sect  of  our  religion,  1  lived  a  Pharisee." 

Joseph,  de  Bell.  lib.  i.  c.  5.  sect.  2.  "  The  Pha- 
risees were  reckoned  the  most  religious  of  any  of 
the  Jews,  and  to  be  the  most  exact  and  skilful  in 
explaining  the  laws." 

In  the  original,  there  is  an  agreement  not  only 
in  the  sense,  Imt  in  the  expression,  it  being  the 
same  Greek  adjective,  which  is  rendered  "  strait" 
in  the  Acts,  and  "exact"  in  Josephus. 

XVI.  [p.  255.]  Mark  vii.  3,  4.  "  The  Phari- 
sees and  all  the  Jews,  except  they  wash,  eat  not, 
holding  the  tradition  of  the  ekiers ;  and  many 
other  things  there  be  which  they  have  received  to 
hold." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  lib.  xiii.  c.  10.  sect.  6.  "  The 
Pharisees  have  delivered  to  the  people  many  insti- 
tutions, as  received  from  the  fathers,  which  are 
not  written  in  the  law  of  Moses." 

XVII.  [p.  25!).]  Acts  xxiii.  8.  "  For  the  Sad- 
ducees say,  that  there  is  no  resurrection,  neither 
angel,  nor  spirit:  but  the  Pharisees  confess  both." 

Joseph,  de  Bell.  lil\  ii.  c.  8.  sect.  14.  "  They 
(the  Pharisees)  believe  every  soul  to  be  immortal, 
but  that  the  soul  of  the  good  only  passes  into  an- 
other body,  and  that  the  soul  of  the  wicked  is 
punished  with  eternal  punishment."  On  the 
other  hand,  (Antiq.  lib.  xviii.  c.  1.  sect.  4,)  "It 
is  the  opinion  of  the  Sadducees,  that  souls  perish 
with  the  bodies  " 

XVIII.  [p.  268.]  Acts  V.  17.  "  Then  the  high- 
priest  rose  up,  and  all  they  that  were  with  him 
(which  is  the  sect  of  the  Sadducees,)  and  were 
tilled  with  indignation."  Saint  Luke  here  inti- 
mates, that  the  high-priest  was  a  Sadducee  ;  which 
is  a  character  one  would  not  have  expected  to 
meet  with  in  that  station.    The  circumstance,  re- 


•*  Pliiln.  in  Flacc.  p.  382. 

t  Josoph.  Antiq.  lib  aiv.  c.  10.  sect.  24. 

I  Terlul.  ad  Nat.  lib.  i.  c.  13. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


349 


inarkable  as  it  is,  was  not  however  without  exam- 
ples. 

Joseph.  Antiq.  hb.  xiii.  c.  10.  sect.  6, 7.  "  John 
Hyrcanus,  higli-pricst  of  the  Jews,  fbrsook  the 
I'harisees  upon  a  disgust,  and  joined  himself  to 
the  party  of  the  Sadducees."  This  high-prie.st 
died  one  hundred  and  seven  years  before  the  Chris- 
tian era. 

Again,  (Antiq.  lib.  xx.  c.  8.  sect.  1.)  "  This 
Ananus  the  younger,  who,  as  we  have  said  just 
now,  had  received  the  high-priesthood,  was  fierce 
and  haughty  in  his  behaviour,  and,  above  all  men, 
bold  and  daring,  and,  moreover,  was  of  the  sect  of 
the  Sadducees."  This  high-priest  hved  little  more 
than  twenty  years  after  the  transaction  in  the  Acts. 

XIX.  [p.  '282.]  Luke  ix.  51.  "  And  it  came  to 
pass,  when  the  time  was  come  that  he  should  be 
received  up,  he  steadfastly  set  his  face  to  go  to 
Jerusalem,  and  sent  messengers  before  his  face. 
And  they  went,  and  entered  into  a  village  of  the 
Samaritans,  to  make  ready  for  him.  And  they 
did  not  receive  him,  because  his  face  was  as  though 
he  would  go  to  Jerusalem." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  lib.  xx.  c.  3.  sect.  1.  "  It  was  the 
custom  of  the  Galileans,  who  went  up  to  the  hoh' 
city  at  the  feasts,  to  travel  through  the  country  of 
Samaria.  As  they  were  in  their  journey,  some 
inhabitants  of  the  village  called  Ginasa,  which  lies 
on  the  borders  of  Samaria  and  the  great  plain, 
falling  upon  them,  killed  a  great  many  of  them." 

XX.  [p.  278.]  John  iv.  20.  "  Our  fathers," 
said  the  Samaritan  woman,  "  worshipped  in  this 
mountain;  and  ye  say,  that  Jerusalem  is  the 
place  where  men  ought  to  worship." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  lib.  xviii.  c.  5.  sect.  1.  "  Com- 
manding them  to  meet  him  at  mount  Gerizini, 
which  is  by  them  (the  Samaritans)  esteemed  the 
most  sacred  of  all  mountains." 

XXI.  [p.  312.]  :\Iatt.  xxvi.  3.  "  Then  assem- 
bled together  the  chief  priests,  and  the  elders  of 
the  people,  unto  the  palace  of  the  high-priest,  who 
was  called  Caiaphas."  That  Caiaphas  was  high- 
priest,  and  high-priest  throughout  the  president- 
ship of  Eoatius  Pilate,  and  consequently  at  this 
ti.Tie,  appears  from  the  following  account: — He 
was  made  high-priest  by  Valerius  Gratus,  prede- 
cessor of  Pontius  Pilate,  and  was  removed  from 
his  offi.-e  by  Vitelhus,  president  of  Syria,  after 
Pilate  was  sent  away  out  of  the  province  of  Judea. 
Josephus  relates  the  advancement  of  Caiaphas  to 
the  high-priesthood  in  this  manner;  "Gratus  gave 
the  high- priesthood  to  Simon,  the  son  of  Camithus. 
He,  having  enjoyed  this  honour  not  above  a  year, 
was  succeeded  by  Joseph,  who  is  also  called  Caia- 
phas* After  this,  Gratus  went  away  for  Rome, 
having  been  eleven  years  in  Judea ;  and  Pontius 
Pilate  came  thither  as  his  successor."  Of  the  re- 
moval of  Caiaphas  from  his  office,  Josephus,  like- 
wise, afterward  informs  us;  and  connects  it  with 
a  circumstance  which  fi.xes  the  time  to  a  date  sub- 
sequent to  the  determination  of  Pilate's  govern- 
ment— "  Vitellius,"  he  tells  us,"  ordered  Pilate  to 
repair  to  Rome ;  and  after  that,  went  up  him- 
self to  Jerusalem,  and  then  gave  directions  con- 
cerning several  matters.  And  having  done  these 
things,  he  took  away  the  priesthood  from  the 
high-priest  Jo?e[)h.  who  is  called  Caiaphas."^ 

XXII.  (Michaelis,  c.  xi.  sect.  11.)  Acts  xxiii. 
4.  "  And  they  that  stood  by,  said,  Revilest  thou 
God's  high-priest  ?   Then  said  Paul,  I  wist  not, 


Antiq.  lib.  xviii.  c.  2.  sect.  2.    t  lb.  Uvii.  c  5.  sect.  3 


brethren,  that  he  was  the  liigh-priest."  Now,  up- 
on inquiry  into  the  history  of  the  age,  it  turns  out, 
that  Ananias,  of  whom  this  is  spoken,  was,  in 
truth,  7wt  the  high-priest,  though  he  was  sitting 
in  judgment  in  that  assumed  capacity.  The  casf 
was,  that  he  had  formerly  holden  the  office,  and 
had  been  deposed  ;  that  the  person  who  succeeded 
him  had  been  murdered ;  that  another  was  not  yet 
appointed  to  the  station ;  and  that,  during  the  va- 
cancy, he  had,  of  his  own  authority,  taken  upon 
himself  the  discharge  of  the  office.*  This  singular 
situation  of  the  high-priesthood  took  place  during 
the  interval  between  the  death  of  Jonathan,  who 
was  murdered  by  order  of  Felix,  and  the  accession 
of  Ishmael  who  was  invested  with  the  high-priest- 
hood by  Agrippa ;  and  preciselj"  in  this  interval  it 
happened  that  Saint  Paul  was  apprehended,  and 
brought  before  the  Jewish  council. 

XXllI.  [p.  323]  Matt.  xxvi.  59.  "Now  the 
chief  priests  and  elders,  and  all  the  council,  sought 
false  witness  against  him." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  lib.  xviii.  c.  15.  sect.  3,  4.  "  Then 
might  be  seen  the  high-priests  themselves,  with 
ashes  on  their  heads,  and  their  breasts  naked." 

The  agreement  here  consists  in  speaking  of  the 
high-priests  or  chief  priests  (for  the  name  in  the 
original  is  the  same)  in  the  plural  number,  when, 
in  strictness,  there  was  only  one  high-priest: 
which  may  be  considered  as  a  proof,  that  tbe 
evangelists  were  habituated  to  the  manner  of 
speaking  then  in  use,  because  they  retain  it  when 
it  is  neither  accurate  nor  just.  For  the  sake  of 
brevity,  I  have  put  down,  from  Josephus,  only  a 
single  example  of  the  application  of  this  title  in 
the  plural  number ;  but  it  is  his  usual  style. 

lb.  [p.  871.]  Luke  iii.  1.  "  Now  in  the  fifteenth 
year  of  the  reign  of  Tiberius  Caesar,  Pontius  Pi- 
late being  governor  of  Judea,  and  Herod  being 
tetrarch  of  Galilee,  Annas  and  Caiaphas  being 
the  high-priests,  the  word  of  God  came  unto 
John."  There  is  a  passage  in  Josephus  very  pear- 
ly parallel  to  this,  and  which  may  at  least  serve  "lo 
vindicate  the  evangelists  from  objection,  With  re- 
spect to  his  giving  the  title  of  high-priest  spec-.- 
fically  to  two  persons  at  the  same  time:  "  Q.uad:a- 
tus  sent  tvvo  others  of  the  most  powerful  rjen  of 
the  Jews,  as  also  the  high-priests  Jonathan  ani 
Ajiayiias."j  That  Annas  was  a  person  in  an  emi- 
nent station,  and  possessed  an  authority  co-ordi- 
nate with,  or  next  to,  that  of  the  high-priest  pr> 
perly  so  called,  may  be  inferred  from  Saint  John's 
Gospel,  whi:h,  in  the  history  of  Christ's  cruci- 
fixion, relates  that  "  the  soldiers  led  him  away  lo 
Annas  first. "t  And  this  might  be  noticed  a?  an 
example  of  undesigned  coincidence  in  the  two 
evangeUsts. 

Again,  [p.  870]  Acts  iv.  6,  Annas  is  c?iled 
the  high-priest,  though  Caiaphas  was  in  the  office 
of  the  high-priesthood.  In  like  manner,  in  Jose- 
phus,§  '•  Joseph,  the  son  of  Gorion,  and  the  bjgh- 
priest  Ananus.  were  chosen  to  be  supreme  go- 
vernors of  all  things  in  the  city."  Yet  Ananus. 
though  here  called  the  high- priest  Ananus,  was 
not  then  in  the  office  of  the  high-priesthood.  The 
truth  is,  there  is  an  indeterminateness  in  the  use 
of  this  title  in  the  Gospel:  sometimes  it  is  applied 
exclusively  to  the  person  who  heU  the  office  at 
the  time;  sometimes  to  one  or  two  more,  who 
probably  shared  with  him  so.me  of  ihe  [jowers  or 


*  Antiq.  I.  XX.  c.  5.  sect.  2;  c  9.  'ject.  2. 
t  Fe  Bell.  lib.  ix.  c.  12.  sect.  6.  t  x  /iii.  13. 

6  Lit/,  ii.  c.  ':'0.  oect.  3. 
30 


350 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


functions  of  the  office;  and,  sometimes,  to  such 
of  the  priests  as  were  eminent  by  their  station  or 
character  ;*  and  there  is  the  very  same  indetermi- 
nateness  in  Joseuhus. 

XXi  V.  [p.  317.]  John  xix.  19,  20.  "  And  Pi- 
'ate  wrote  a  title,  and  put  it  on  the  cross."  That 
such  was  tlie  custom  of  the  Romans  on  these  oc- 
casions, appears  from  passages  of  Suetonius  and 
Dio  Cassius:  "  Patrem  famiiias — canibus  ohjecit, 
cum  hoc  titulo,  Impie  locutus  parnmlarius."  Suet. 
Domit.  cap.  x.  And  in  Dio  Cassius  we  have  the 
following :  "  Having  led  him  through  the  midst 
of  the  court  or  assembly,  with,  a  writing  signify- 
ing the  cause  of  his  death,  and  afterward  crucify- 
ing him." — Book  liv. 

lb.  "And  it  was  written  in  Hebrew,  Greek, 
and  Latin."  That  it  was  also  usual  about  this 
time,  in  Jerusalem,  to  set  up  advertisements  in 
different  languages,  is  gathered  from  the  account 
which  Josephus  gives  of  an  expostulatory  message 
from  Titus  to  the  Jews,  when  the  city  was  almost 
in  his  hands ;  in  which  he  says,  Did  ye  not  erect 
pillars  with  inscrijrtions  on  them,  in  the  Greek 
and  in  our  language,  "  Let  no  one  pass  beyond 
these  bounds'?" 

XXV.  [p.  352.]  Matt  xxvii.  26.  "  When  he 
had  scourged  Jesus,  he  dehvered  him  to  be  cru- 
cified." 

The  following  passages  occur  in  Josephus: 
"  Being  beaten,  they  were  crucified  opposite  to 
the  citadel. "t 

"Whom,  having  _^rs<  scourged  with  whips,  he 
crucified. "t 

"  He  was  burnt  alive,  having  been  first  beaten."% 
To  which  may  be  added  one  from  Livy,  lib.  xi. 
c.  5.  "  Productique  omnes,  virgisque  ccesi,  ac  se- 
curi  percussi." 

A  modern  example  rnay  illustrate  the  use  we 
make  of  this  instance.  The  preceding  of  a  capi- 
tal execution  by  the  corporal  punishment  of  the 
sutlerer,  is  a  practice  unknown  in  England,  but 
retained,  in  some  instances  at  least,  as  appears  by 
the  late  execution  of  a  regicide,  in  Sweden.  This 
circumstance,  therefore,  in  the  account  of  an  Eng- 
Hsh  execution,  purporting  to  come  from  an  Eng- 
lish writer,  would  not  only  bring  a  suspicion  upon 
the  truth  of  the  account,  but  would,  in  a  consider- 
able degree,  impeach  its  pretensions  of  having 
been  written  by  the  author  whose  name  it  bore. 
Whereas  the  same  circumstance,  in  the  account 
of  a  Swedish  execution,  would  verify  the  account, 
and  support  the  authenticity  of  the  book  in  which 
it  was  found  ;  or,  at  least,  would  prove  that  the 
author,  whoever  he  was,  possessed  the  information 
and  the  knowledge  which  he  ought  to  possess. 

XXVI.  [p.  353.]  John  xix.  16.  "  And  they 
took  Jesus,  and  led  him  away  ;  and  he,  bearing 
his  cross,  went  forth." 

Plutarch,  De  iis  qui  sero  puniuntur,  p.  554:  a 
Paris,  1624.  "  Every  kind  of  wickedness  produces 
its  own  particular  torment,  just  as  every  malefac- 
tor, when  he  is  brought  forth  to  execution,  carries 
riis  own  cross. 

XXVII.  John  xix.  32.  "Then  came  the  sol- 
diers, and  brake  the  legs  of  the  first,  and  of  the 
other  which  was  crucified  with  him." 

Constantine  aliolishrd  the  punishment  of  the 
iTOss ;  in  commending  which  edict,  a  heathen  wri- 
ter notices  this  very  circumstance  of  breaking  the 


*Mark  xiv.  53. 
t  P.  1080,  edit.  45. 


tP.  1247,  edit.  24.  Huda. 
§P.  13:7,  edit.  43. 


legs :  "  Eo  pins,  ut  etiam  vetus  veterrimumque 
su])plicium,  patibulum,  et  cruribiis  suffringendis, 
primus  removerit," — Aur.  Vict.  Ces.  cap.  xli. 

XXVIII.  [p.  457.]  Acts  iii.  1.  "  Now  Peter  and 
John  went  up  together  into  the  temple,  at  the 
hour  of  prayer,  being  the  ninth  hour." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  lib.  xv.  c.  7.  sect.  8.  "  Twice 
every  day,  in  the  morning  and  at  the  ninth  hour, 
the  [iriests  perform  their  duty  at  the  altar." 

XXIX.  [p.  462]  Acts  XV.  21.  "For Moses,  of 
old  time,  hath,  in  every  city,  them  that  ]ireach 
him,  being  read  in  the  synagogues  every  sabbath- 
day." 

Joseph,  contra  Ap.  1.  ii.  "  He  (Moses)  gave  us 
the  law,  the  most  excellent  of  all  institutions;  nor 
did  he  appoint  that  it  should  be  heard  once  only, 
or  twice,  or  often,  but  that  laying  aside  all  other 
works,  we  should  meet  together  every  week  to 
hear  it  read,  and  gain  a  perfect  understanding  of 
it." 

XXX.  [p.  465.]  Acts  xxi.  23.  "  We  have  four 
men,  which  have  a  vow  on  them ;  them  take,  and 
[jurify  thyself  with  them,  that  they  may  shave 
their  heads." 

Joseph,  de  Bell.  1.  xi.  c.  15.  "  It  is  customary 
for  those  who  have  been  afflicted  with  some  dis- 
temper, or  have  laboured  under  any  other  difficul- 
ties, to  make  a  vow  thirty  days  before  they  oIIet 
sacrifices,  to  abstain  from  wine,  and  shave  the 
hair  of  their  heads." 

lb.  V.  24.  "  Them  take,  and  purify  thyself  with 
them,  and  be  at  charges  with  them,  that  they  may 
shave  their  heads." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  1.  xix.  c.  6.  "  He  (Herod  A  grip- 
pa)  coming  to  Jerusalem,  offered  up  sacrific(  s  of 
thanksgiving,  and  omitted  nothing  that  was  pre- 
scribed by  the  law.  For  which  reason  he  also  or- 
dered a  good  number  of  Na:arites  to  be  shared." 
We  here  find  that  it  was  an  act  of  piety  amongst 
the  Jews,  to  defray  for  those  who  were  under  the 
Nazarite  vow  the  expenses  which  attended  its 
completion ;  and  that  the  phrase  was,  "  that  they 
might  be  shaved."  The  custom  and  the  expres.sion 
are  both  remarkable,  and  both  in  close  conformity 
with  the  Scripture  account. 

XXXI.  [p.  474.1  2  Cor.  xi.  24.  "Of  the  Jews, 
five  times  received  I  forty  stripes,  save  one." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  iv.  c.  8.  sect.  21.  "  He  that  acts 
contrary  hereto,  let  him  receive  forty  stripes, 
wanting  one,  from  the  public  officer." 

The  coincidence  here  is  singular,  because  the 
law  allowed  forty  stripes : — "  Forty  strijics  he  may 
give  him,  and  not  exceed."  Deut.  xxv.  3.  It 
proves  that  the  author  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians was  guided,  not  by  books,  but  by  facts; 
because  this  statement  agrees  with  the  actual  cus- 
tom, even  when  that  custom  deviated  from  the 
written  law,  and  from  what  he  must  have  learnt 
by  consulting  the  Jewish  code,  as  set  forth  in  the 
Old  Testament. 

XXXII.  [p.  400]  Luke  iii.  12.  "  Then  came 
also  publicans  to  he  baptised."  From  this  quota- 
tion, as  well  as  from  the  history  of  Levi  or  Mat- 
thew, (Luke  v.  20.)  and  of  Zaccheus,  (Luke  xix. 
2,)  it  appears,  that  the  publicans  or  tax-gatherers 
were,  frequently  at  least,  if  not  always,  Jews: 
which,  as  the  country  was  then  under  a  Roman 
government,  and  the  taxes  were  paid  to  the  Ro- 
mans, was  a  circumstance  not  to  be  expected. 
That  it  was  the  truth  however  of  the  case,  appears, 
from  a  short  passage  of  Josephus. 

De  Bell.  lib.  ii.  c.  14.  sect.  45.  "  But,  Florus  not 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


351 


restraining  these  practices  by  his  authority,  the 
chief  men  of  the  Jews,  among  whom  was  John 
the  publican,  not  knowing  well  what  course  to 
take,  wait  uijon  Florus,  and  give  him  eight  ta- 
lents of  silver  to  stop  the  building." 

XXXIII.  [p.  am.]  Acts  xxii.  25.  "And  as 
they  bound  him  with  thongs,  Paul  said  unto  the 
centurion  that  stood  by,  Is  it  lawful  for  you  to 
scourge  a  man  that  is  a  Roman,  and  uncon- 
di-'mned  ]"  » 

"  Facinus  est  vinciri  civem  Romanum ;  scelus 
verberari." — Cic.  in  Verr. 

"  Csedebatur  virgis,  in  medio  foro  Messanae,  ci- 
vis  R"<inanus,  Judices:  cum  interea  nullus  gemi- 
tus,  nulla  vox  alia,  istius  niiseri  inter  dolorem 
crepituiuque  plagarum  audiebatur,  nisi  hsec,  Civis 
Roinanus  sum.''' 

XXXIV.  [p.  513.]  Acts  xxii.  27.  "  Then  the 
chief  captain  came,  and  said  unto  him  (Paul),  Tell 
me,  art  thou  a  Roman]  He  said.  Yea."  The 
circun; stance  here  to  be  noticed  is,  that  a.  Jew  was 
a  Roman  citizen. 

Joseph.  Anuiq.  lib.  xiv.  c.  10.  sect.  13.  "  Lucius 
Lentulus,  the  consul,  declared,  I  have  dismissed 
from  the  service  the  Jewish  Roman  citizens,  who 
observe  the  rights  of  the  Jewish  reUgion  at  Ephe- 
sus." 

lb.  ver.  28.  "  And  the  chief  captain  answered. 
With  a  great  sum  obtained  I  this  freedom." 

Dio  Cassius,  lib.  Ix.  "  This  privilege,  which 
had  been  bought  formerly  at  a  great  price,  be- 
came so  cheap,  that  it  was  commonly  said,  a  man 
might  be  made  a  Roman  citizen  for  a  few  pieces 
of  broken  glass." 

XXXV.  [p.  521.]  Acts  xxviii.  16.  "And 
when  we  came  to  Rome,  the  centurion  delivered 
the  prisoners  to  the  captain  of  the  guard ;  but 
Paul  was  suffered  to  dwell  by  himself,  with  a  sol. 
dier  that  kept  him." 

Witli  which  join  ver  20.  "  For  the  hope  of  Is- 
rael, I  am  bound  with  this  chain." 

"  Clviemadmodum  eadem  catena  et  custodiam 
et  viilitem  copulat;  sic  ista,  quae  tarn  dissimilia 
sunt,  pariter  incedunt." — Seneca,  Ep.  v. 

"  Proconsul  ajstimare  solet,  utriim  in  carcerem 
recipienda  sit  persona,  an  militi  tradcnda." — Ul- 
^pian.  1.  i.  sect.  De  Custod.  et  Exhib.  Reor. 

In  the  confinement  of  Agrippa  by  the  order  of 
Tiberivis,  Antonia  managed,  that  tiie  centurion 
who  presided  over  the  guards,  and  the  soldier  to 
whom  Agrippa  was  to  be  bound,  might  be  men  of 
mild  character.  (Joseph.  Antiq.  lib.  xviii.  c.  7. 
sect,  ri.)  After  the  accession  of  Caligula,  Agrip- 
pa n.l-so,  like  Paul,  was  suffered  to  dwell,  yet  as  a 
prisoner,  in  his  own  house. 

XXXVI.  [p.  531]  Acts  xxvii.  1.  "And  when 
it  was  determuied  that  we  should  sail  into  Italy, 
they  delivered  Paul,  and  certain  other  prisoners. 
unto  one  named  Julius."  Since  not  only  Paul 
but  certain  othev  prisoners  were  sent  by  the  same 
ship  into  Italy,  the  text  must  be  considered  as 
carrying  with  it  an  intimation,  that  the  sending 
of  persons  from  Judea  to  be  tried  at  Rome,  was 
an  ordinary  practice.  That  in  truth  it  was  so,  is 
made  out  by  a  variety  of  examples  which  the 
wri!  ings  of  Josephus  fumish  ;  and,  amongst  others, 
by  the  following,  which  comes  near  both  to  the  time 
and  the  subject  of  the  instance  in  the  Acts.  "  Fe- 
lix, for  some  slight  offence,  bound  and  sent  to 
Rom?  several  priests  of  his  acquaintance,  and  very 
good  and  honest  men,  to  answer  for  themselves  to 
Ca?sar." — Joseph,  in  Vit.  sect.  3. 


XXXVII.  [p.  539.]  Acts  xi.  27.  'And  ic 
these  days  came  prophets  from  Jerusalem  unta 
Antioch  ;  and  there  stood  up  one  of  them  named 
Agabus,  and  signified  by  the  spirit  that  there 
should  be  a  great  dearth  throughout  all  the  worW 
(or  all  the  country) ;  which  came  to  pass  in  tlie 
days  of  Claudius  Ccesar." 

Joseph.  Antiq.  1.  xx.  c.  4.  sect.  2.  "In  their 
time  (;■.  e.  about  the  fifth  or  sixth  year  of  Clau- 
dius) a  great  dearth  happened  in  Judea." 

X:XXVIII.  [p.  555.]  Acts  xviii.  1,  2.  "  Be- 
cause that  Claudius  had  commanded  all  Jews  tc 
depart  from  Rome." 

Suet.  Claud,  c.  xxv.  "  Judaeos,  impulsore  Chres- 
to  assidue  tumultuantes,  Roma  expulit." 

XXXIX.  [p.  661.]  Acts  V.  37.  "  After  this 
man,  rose  up  Judas  of  Galilee,  in  the  days  of  the 
taxing,  and  drew  away  much  people  after  him." 

Joseph,  de  Bell.  1.  vii.  "  He  {^riz.  the  person 
who  in  another  place  is  called,  by  Josephus,  Judas 
the  GaUlean,  or  Judas  of  Galilee)  persuaded  not  a 
few  not  to  enroll  themselves,  when  Cyrenius  the 
censor  was  sent  into  Judea." 

XL.  [p.  942.]  Acts  xxi.  38.  "  Art  not  thou 
that  Egyptian  which,  before  these  days,  madcsl 
an  uproar,  and  leddest  out  into  the  wilderness  foui 
thousand  men  that  were  murderers  T' 

Joseph,  de  Bell.  1.  ii.  c.  13.  sect.  5.  "But  tht 
Egyptian  false  prophet  brought  a  yet  heavier  dis- 
aster upon  the  Jews ;  for  this  impostor,  coming 
into  the  country,  and  gaining  the  reputation  of  a 
prophet,  gathered  together  thirty  thousand  men, 
who  were  deceived  by  him.  Having  brought 
them  round  out  of  the  wilderness,  up  to  the  mount 
of  Olives,  he  intended  from  thence  to  make  his 
attack  upon  Jerusalem ;  but  Felix,  coming  sud- 
denly upon  him  with  the  Roman  soldiers,  pre- 
vented the  attack." — A  great  number,  or  (as  it 
should  rather  be  rendered)  the  greatest  part,  of 
those  that  were  with  him,  were  either  slain  or 
taken  prisoners. 

In  these  two  passages,  the  designation  of  this 
impostor,  an  "  Egyptian,"  without  the  proper 
name;  "  the  wilderness  ;''  his  escape,  though  his 
followers  were  destroyed  ;  the  time  of  the  transac- 
tion, in  the  presidentship  of  Felix,  which  could 
not  be  any  long  time  before  the  words  in  Luke 
are  supposed  to  have  been  spoken ;  are  circum- 
stances of  close  correspondency.  There  is  one, 
and  only  one,  point  of  disagreement,  and  that  is, 
in  the  number  of  his  followers,  which  in  the  Acts 
are  called  four  thousand,  and  by  Josephus  thirty 
thousand:  but,  beside  that  the  names  of  numbers, 
more  than  any  other  words,  are  liable  to  the  errors 
of  transcribers,  we  are,  in  the  present  instance, 
under  the  less  concern  to  reconcile  the  evangelist 
with  Josephus,  as  Josephus  is  not,  in  this  point, 
consistent  with  himself  For  whereas,  in  the  pas- 
sage here  quoted,  he  calls  the  number  thirty  thou- 
sand, and  tells  us  that  the  greatest  part,  or  a  great 
number  (according  as  his  words  are  rendered)  of 
those  that  were  with  him,  were  destroyed ;  in  his 
Antiquities,  he  represents  four  hundred  to  have 
been  killed  upon  this  occasion,  and  two  hundred 
taken  prisoners:*  which  certainly  was  not  the 
"  greatest  part,"  nor  "a  great  part,"  nor  "a  great 
number,"  out  of  thirty  thousand.  It  is  probable 
also,  that  Lysias  and  Josephus  spoke  of  the  expe- 
dition in  its  different  stages  :  Lysias,  of  those  who 
followed  the  Egyptian  out  of  Jerusalem :  Josephus, 

*  I,ib.  20.  c.  7.  sect.  6. 


332 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


of  all  who  were  collected  about  him  afterward, 
from  ditiercnt  quarters. 

XLI.  (Larduer's  Jewish  and  Heathen  Testi- 
monies, vol.  iii.  f).  "21.)  Acts  xvii.  22.  "  Then  Paul 
stood  in  the  midst  of  Mars-hill,  and  said,  Ye  men 
of  Athens,  I  perceive  that  in  all  things  ye  are  too 
superstitious ;  for  as  I  passed  by  and  beheld  your 
devotions,  I  found  an  altar  with  this  inscription, 
TO  the'  UNKNOWN  GOD.  Whom  there- 
fore ye  ignoranth'  worship,  him  declare  I  unto  you." 

Diogenes  La'ertius,  who  wrote  about  the  year 
210,  in  his  history  of  Epimenides,  who  is  sup- 
posed to  have  flourished  nearly  six  hundred  years 
before  Christ,  relates  of  him  the  following  story  : 
that  being  invited  to  Athens  for  the  purpose,  he 
delivered  tiie  city  from  a  pestilence  in  this  man- 
ner;— "  Taking  several  sheep,  some  black,  others 
white,  he  had  them  up  to  the  Areopagus,  and 
then  let  them  go  where  they  would,  and  gave  or- 
ders to  those  who  followed  them,  wherever  any  of 
them  should  lie  down,  to  sacrifice  it  to  the  god  to 
whom  it  belonged ;  and  so  the  plague  ceased. — 
Hence,"  says  the  historian,  "  it  has  come  to  pass, 
that  to  this  present  time,  may  be  found  in  the  bo- 
roughs of  the  Athenians  anonymous  altars:  a 
memorial  of  the  expiation  then  made."*  These 
altars,  it  may  be  presumed,  were  called  anony- 
mous, because  there  was  not  the  name  of  any  par- 
ticular deity  inscribed  upon  them. 

Pausanias,  who  wrote  before  the  end  of  the 
second  century,  in  his  description  of  Athens, 
having  mentioned  an  altar  of  Jupiter  Olympius, 
adds,  '•  And  nigh  unto  it  is  an  altar  of  unknown 
godsTi  And  in  another  place,  he  speaks  "o/" 
altars  of  gods  called  unknownTt 

Philostratus,  who  wrote  in  the  beginning  of 
the  third  century,  records  it  as  an  observation  of 
ApoUonius  Tyanffius,  "  That  it  was  wise  to  speak 
well  of  all  the  gods,  especially  at  Athens,  where 
altars  of  unknown  demons  were  erected.''^ 

The  author  of  the  dialogue  Philopatris,  by 
many  supposed  to  have  been  Lucian,  who  wrote 
about  the  year  170,  by  others  some  anonymous 
He.ilhen  writer  of  the  fourth  century,  makes 
Critias  swear  by  the  unknown  god  of  Athens  ; 
B.nd,  near  the  end  of  the  dialogue,  has  these  words, 
"  Rut  let  us  find  out  the  unknown  god  of  Athens, 
ard,  stretching  our  hands  to  heaven,  ofler  to  him 
our  praises  and  thanksgivings. "II 

This  is  a  very  curious  and  a  very  important 
coincidence.  It  appears  beyond  controversy,  that 
al'ars  with  this  inscription  were  existing  at 
Athens,  at  the  time  when  Saint  Paul  is  aUeged 
to  have  been  there.  It  seems  also  (which  is  very 
worthy  of  observation),  that  this  inscription  was 
peculiar  to  the  Athenians.  There  is  no  evidence 
that  there  were  altars  inscribed  "  to  the  unknown 
god"  in  any  other  country.  Supposing  the  his- 
tory of  Saint  Paul  to  have  been  a  talile,  how  is  it 
possible  that  such  a  writer  as  the  author  of  the  Acts 
of  the  Apostles  was,  should  hit  uponacircumstance 
so  extraordinary,  and  introduce  it  by  an  allusion 
so  suitable  to  Saint  Paul's  office  and  character  1 


The  examples  here  collected  will  be  sufficient, 
I  hope,  to  satisfy  us,  that  the  writers  of  the  Chris- 
tian history  knew  something  of  what  they  were 


*  III  Epimenide,  1.  i.  segm.  1 10.      t  Pans.  I.  v.  p.  412. 
t  Paus.  I.  i.  p.  4.  §  Philos.  Apoll.  Tyaii.  I.  vi.  c.3. 

\  Luciau.  iu  Philop.  lorn.  ii.  Grsv.  p.  767,  780, 


writing  about.    The  argument  is  also  strengthen 
ed  by  the  following  considerations : — 

I.  That  these  agreements  appear,  not  only  ir 
articles  of  public  history,  but  sometimes,  in  mi- 
nute, recondite,  and  very  peculiar  circumstances, 
in  which,  of  all  others,  a  forger  is  most  hkely  to 
have  been  found  tripping. 

II.  That  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  which 
took  place  forty  years  after  the  commencement  of 
the  Christian  institution,  produced  such  a  change 
in  the  state  of  the  country,  and  the  condition  of 
the  Jews,  that  a  writer  who  was  unacquainted 
with  the  circumstances  of  the  nation  before  that 
event,  would  find  it  dilficult  to  avoid  mistakes,  in 
endeavouring  to  give  detailed  accounts  of  transac- 
tions connected  with  those  circumstances,  foras- 
much as  he  could  no  longer  have  a  living  exemplar 
to  copy  from. 

III.  That  there  appears,  in  the  writers  of  the 
New  Testament,  a  knowledge  of  the  aflairs  of 
those  times,  which  we  do  not  find  in  authors  of 
later  ages.  In  particular,  "  many  of  the  Christian 
writers  of  the  second  and  third  centuries,  and  of 
the  following  'ages,  had  false  notions  concerning 
the  state  of  Judea,  between  the  nativity  of  Jesus 
and  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem."*  Therefore 
they  could  not  have  composed  our  histories 

Amidst  so  many  conformities,  we  are  not  to 
wonder  that  we  meet  with  some  difficulties.  The 
principal  of  these  I  will  put  down,  together  with 
the  solutions  which  they  have  received.  But  in 
doing  this,  I  must  be  contented  with  a  brevity 
better  suited  to  the  limits  of  my  volume  than  to 
the  nature  of  a  controversial  argument.  For  the 
historical  proofs  of  my  assertions,  and  for  the 
Greek  criticisms  upon  which  some  of  them  are 
founded,  I  refer  tlie  reader  to  the  second  volume 
of  the  first  part  of  Dr.  Lardncr's  large  work. 

I.  The  taxing  during  which  Jesus  was  born, 
was  "first  made,"  as  we  read,  according  to  our 
translation,  in  Saint  Luke,  "whilst  Cyrenius  was 
governor  of  Syria."+  Now  it  turns  out  that  Cy- 
renius was  not  governor  of  Syria  until  twelve  or, 
at  the  soonest,  ten  years  after  the  birth  of  Christ; 
and  that  a  taxing,  census,  or  assessment,  was 
made  in  Judea  in  the  beginning  of  his  govern- 
ment. The  charge,  therefore,  brought  against 
the  evangelist  is,  tliat,  intending  to  refer  to  this 
taxing,  he  has  misplaced  the  date  of  it  by  an  error 
of  ten  or  twelve  years. 

The  answer  to  the  accusation  is  found  in  his 
using  the  word  "first;" — "And  this  taxing  was 
first  made :"  for  according  to  the  mistake  imputed 
to  the  evangelist,  this  word  could  have  no  signifi- 
cation whatever ;  it  could  have  had  no  plat'e  in 
his  narrative  :  because,  let  it  relate  to  what  it  will, 
taxing,  census,  enrolment,  or  assessment,  it  im 
ports  that  the  writer  had  more  than  one  of  those 
in  contemplation.  It  acquits  him  therefore  of  the 
charge  :  it  is  inconsistent  with  the  supposition  of 
his  knowing  only  of  the  taxing  in  the  beginning 
of  Cyrenius's  government.  And  if  the  evangelist 
knew  (which  this  word  proves  that  he  did)  of 
some  other  taxing  beside  that,  it  is  too  much,  for 
the  sake  of  convicting  him  of  a  mistake,  to  lay  it 
down  as  certain  that  he  intended  to  refer  to  that. 

The  sentence  in  Saint  Luke  may  be  construed 
thus  :  "  This  was  the  first  assessment  (or  enrol- 
ment) of  Cyrenius,  governor  of  Syria  ;"t  the  words 


»  I^ardner,  part  i.  vol.  ii.  p.  9(i0.         t  Chap.  ii.  v.  2. 
1  If  tbe  word  wbich  we  render  "  first,"  be  rendered 


EVIDENGl^S  Ot'  CHRISTIANITY. 


353 


"  governor  of  S3Tia"  being  used  after  the  name  of 
Cj'renius  as  his  addition  or  title.  And  this  title 
belonging  to  him  at  the  time  of  writing  the  ac- 
count, was  naturally  enough  subjoined  to  his 
name,  though  acquired  after  the  transaction  which 
the  account  describes.  A  modern  writer  who 
was  not  very  exact  in  the  choice  of  his  expres- 
sions, in  relating  the  affairs  of  the  East  Indies, 
might  easily  say,  that  such  a  thing  was  done  by 
Governor  Hastings  ;  though,  in  truth,  the  thing 
had  been  done  by  him  before  his  advancement  to 
the  station  from  which  he  received  tiie  name  of 
governor.  And  this,  as  we  contend,  is  precisely 
t!ie  inaccuracy  which  has  produced  the  difficulty 
in  Saint  Luke. 

At  any  rate,  it  appears  from  the  form  of  the 
expression,  that  he  had  two  taxings  or  enrolments 
in  contemplation.  And  if  Cyrenius  had  been 
sent  upon  this  business  into  Judea,  before  he  be- 
came governor  of  Syria  (against  which  supposi- 
tion there  is  no  proof,  but  rather  external  evidence 
of  an  enrolment  going  on  about  this  time  under 
some  person  or  other,*)  then  the  census,  on  all 
hands  acknowledged  to  have  been  made  by  him 
in  the  beginning  of  his  government,  would  form 
a  second,  so  as  to  occasion  the  other  to  be  called 
the  Jirst. 

II.  Another  chronological  objection  arises  upon 
a  date  assigned  in  the  beginning  of  the  third 
chapter  of  Saint  Luke.t  "  Now  in  the  fifteenth 
year  of  the  reign  of  Tiberius  Cassar," — Jesus 
began  to  be  about  thirty  years  of  age  :  for,  sup- 
posing Jesus  to  have  been  born,  as  Saint  Mat- 
thew, and  Saint  Luke  also  himself,  relate,  in  the 
time  of  Herod,  he  must,  according  to  the  dates 
given  in  Josephus  and  by  the  Roman  historians, 
have  been  at  least  thirty-one  years  of  age  in  the 
fifteenth  year  of  Tiberius.  If  he  was  born,  as 
Saint  Matthew's  narrative  intimates,  one  or  two 
years  before  Herod's  death,  he  would  have  been 
thirty-two  or  thirty-three  years  old  at  that  time. 

This  is  the  difficulty  :  the  solution  turns  upon 
an  alteration  in  tiie  construction  of  the  Greek. 
Saint  Luke's  words  in  the  original  are  allowed, 
by  the  general  opinion  of  learned  men,  to  signify, 
not  "  that  Jesus  began  to  be  about  thirty  years  of 
age,"  but  "  that  he  was  about  thirty  j'ears  of  age 
when  he  began  his  ministry."  Tlus  construction 
being  admitted,  the  adverb  "about"  gives  us  all 
the  latitude  we  want,  and  more,  especially  when 
applied,  as  it  is  in  the  present  instance,  to  a  deci- 
mal number;  for  such  numbers,  even  without 
this  qualifying  addition,  are  often  used  in  a  laxer 
sense,  than  is  here  contended  for.t 


"  befiire,"  which  it  has  been  strongly  contended  that 
the  Greek  idinin  allows  of,  the  whole  difficulty  va- 
nishes :  for  then  the  passage  would  be, — "  Now  this 
ta.^ing  was  made  before  Cyrenius  was  governor  of 
Syria :"  which  corresponds  with  the  chronology.  But  I 
rather  choose  to  argue,  that  however  the  word  "  first" 
be  rendered,  to  give  it  a  meaning  at  all,  it  militates 
with  the  objection.  In  this  I  think  there  can  be  no 
mistake. 

*  Josephus  (Antiq.  xvii.  c.  2.  sect.  6.)  has  this  re- 
markable passage  :  "  't\''hen  therefore  the  whole  Jewish 
nation  took  an  oath  to  be  faithful  to  C^sar,  and  the 
interests  of  the  king."  This  transaction  corresponds 
in  the  course  of  the  history  with  the  ti(ne  of  Christ's 
birth.  What  is  called  a  census,  and  which  we  render 
taxing,  was  delivering  upon  oath  an  account  of  their 
property.  This  might  be  accompanied  with  an  oath  of 
fidelity,  or  might  be  mistaken  by  Josephus  for  it. 

t  Lardner.  part  i.  vol.  ii.  p.  7i5b. 

t  Livy,  speaking  of  the  peace  which  the  conduct  of 
Romulus  had  procured  to  the  state,  during  the  whole 
2Y 


III.  Acts  V.  36.  "  For  before  these  days  rose 
up  Theudas,  boasting  himself  to  be  somebody;  to 
whom  a  number  of  men,  about  four  hundred, 
joined  themselves :  who  was  slain ;  and  all,  as 
many  as  obeyed  him,  were  scattered  and  brought 
to  nought.'' 

Josephus  has  preserved  the  account  of  an  im- 
postor of  the  name  of  Theudas,  who  created  some 
disturbances,  and  was  slain;  but  according  to  the 
date  assigned  to  this  man's  appearance  (in  which, 
however,  it  is  very  possible  that  Josephus  may  have 
been  mistaken,  *)  it  must  have  been,  at  least,  seven 
years  after  Gamaliel's  speech,  of  which  this  t«xt 
is  a  part,  was  delivered.  It  has  been  replied  to 
the  objection,  t  that  there  might  be  two  impostors 
of  this  name  :  and  it  has  been  observed,  in  order 
to  give  a  general  probability  to  the  solution,  that 
the  same  thing  appears  to  have  happened  in  other 
instances  of  the  same  kind.  It  is  proved  from  Jo- 
sephus, that  there  were  not  fewer  than  four  per- 
sons of  the  name  of  Simon  within  forty  vcars, 
and  not  fewer  than  three  of  the  name  of  Judas 
within  ten  years,  who  were  all  leaders  of  insurr 
rections :  and  it  is  likewise  recorded  by  the  histo- 
rian, that,  upon  the  death  of  Herod  the  Great, 
(which  agrees  very  well  with  the  tune  of  the 
commotion  referred  to  by  Gamaliel,  and  with  his 
manner  of  stating  that  time,  "before  these  days,") 
there  were  innmuerable  disturbances  in  Judea.  t 
Archbishop  Usher  was  of  opinion,  that  one  of  the 
three  Judases  above-mentioned  was  Gamahel's 
Theudas ;  §  and  that  with  a  less  variation  of  the 
name  than  we  actually  find  in  the  Gospels,  where 
one  of  the  twelve  apostles  is  called,  by  Luke, 
Judas ;  and  by  Mark,  Thaddeus.  II  Origen, 
however  he  came  at  his  information,  appears  to 
have  believed  that  there  was  an  impostor  of  the 
name  of  Theudas  before  the  nativity  of  Christ.  U 

IV.  Matt,  xxiii.  34.  "Wherefore,  behold  I 
send  unto  you  prophets,  and  wise  men,  and 
scribes  ;  and  some  of  them  ye  shall  kill  and  cru- 
cify ;  and  some  of  them  shall  ye  scourge  in  your 
synagogues,  and  persecute  them  from  city  to 
city  ;  that  upon  you  may  come  all  the  righteous 
blood  shed  upon  the  earth,  from  the  blood  of 
righteous  Abel  unto  the  blood  of  Zacharias,  son. 
of  Barachias,  whom  ye  slew  between  the  temple 
and  the  altar." 

There  is  a  Zacharias,  whose  death  is  related  in 
the  second  book  of  Chronicles,**  in  a  manner 
which  perfectly  supports  our  Saviour's  allusion. 
But  this  Zacharias  was  the  son  of  Jehoiada. 

There  is  also  Zacharias  the  prophet ;  who  was 


reign  of  his  successor  (Numa),  has  these  words  :tt — "  A  b 
illo  enini  prufectis  viribus  datis  tantum  valuit,  ut,  in 
guadraginta  deinde  annos,  tutain  pacem  haberet :"  yet 
afterward,  in  the  same  chapter,  "  Romulus  (he  savs) 
septem  et  triginta  regnavit  annos.  Numa  tres  et  qiia- 
draginta." 

*  Michaelis's  Introduction  to  the  New  Testament 
(Marsh's  Translation,)  vol.  i.  p.  CI. 

t  Lardner,  part  i.  vol.  ii.  p.  922. 

t  Antiq.  1.  xvii.  c.  12.  sect.  4.  §  Annals,  p.  707. 

11  Luke  vi.  16.    Mark  iii.  18. 

iy  Orig.  cont.  Cels.  p.  44. 

**  '■  And  the  Spirit  of  God  came  upon  Zechariah,  the 
son  of  Jehoiada  the  priest,  which  stood  above  the 
people,  and  said  unto  them.  Thus  saith  God,  Why 
transgress  ye  the  commandments  of  the  Lord,  that  ye 
cannot  prosper  ?  Because  ye  have  for.^aken  the  Lord,  he- 
hath  also  forsaken  you.  And  they  conspired  against 
him,  and  stoned  him  withstones,  at  the  commandment  of 
the  Icing,  in  the  court  of  the  house  of  the  Lord! — 2Chron 
x.Tiv.  20,21. 

ft  Liv.  Hist.  c.  l.seet.  16. 

30* 


354 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


the  son  of  Barachiah,  ami  is  so  described  in  the 
BUijerscription  of  liis  prophecy,  but  of  whose  death 
we  have  no  account. 

1  have  little  doubt,  but  that  the  first  Zacharias 
was  the  person  spoken  of  by  our  Saviour;  and 
that  tlie  name  of  the  father  has  been  ?ince  added, 
or  changed,  by  some  one,  who  t(Jok  it  from  the 
title  of  the  prophecy,  which  happened  to  be  better 
known  to  him  than  the  history  in  the  Chroni- 
cles. 

There  is  likewise  a  Zacharias,  the  son  of  Ba- 
ruch,  related  by  Josephus  to  have  been  slain  in 
the  temple  a  few  years  before  the  destruction  of 
Jerusalem.  It  has  been  insinuated,  that  the  words 
put  into  our  Saviour's  mouth  contain  a  reference 
to  this  transaction,  and  were  composed  by  some 
writer,  who  either  confounded  the  time  of  the 
transaction  with  our  Saviour's  age,  or  inadvert- 
ently overlooked  the  anachronism. 

Now  suppose  it  to  have  been  so ;  suppose  these 
words  to  have  been  suggested  by  the  transaction 
related  in  Josephus,  and  to  have  been  falsely  as- 
cribed to  Christ ;  and  observe  what  extraordinary 
coincidences  (accidentally,  as  it  must  in  that  case 
have  hveii)  attend  the  forger's  mistake. 

First,  tliat  we  have  a  Zacharias  in  the  book  of 
Chronicles,  whose  death,  and  the  manner  of  it, 
corresponds  with  the  allusion. 

Secondly,  that  although  the  name  of  this  per- 
son's father  be  erroneously  put  down  in  the  Gos- 
pel, yet  we  have  a  way  of  accounting  for  the  error, 
by  showing  another  Zacharias  in  tho  Jewish 
Scriptures,  much  better  known  than  the  former, 
whose  patronymic  was  actually  that  which  ap- 
pears in  the  text. 

Every  one  who  thinks  upqn  this  subject,  will 
find  these  to  be  circumstances  whicli  could  not 
have  met  together  in  a  mistake,  wliich  did  not 
proceed  from  the  circumstances  themselves. 

I  have  noticed,  I  think,  all  the  difficulties  of  this 
kind.  They  are  few :  some  of  them  admit  of  a 
clear,  others  of  a  probable  solution.  The  reader 
will  compare  them  with  the  number,  the  variety, 
the  closeness,  and  the  satisfactoriness,  of  the  in- 
stances which  are  to  be  set  against  them ;  and  he 
will  remember  the  scantiness,  in  many  cases,  of 
our  intelligence,  and  that  difficulties  always  attend 
imperfect  mformation. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Undesigned  Coincidences, 

Between  the  letters  which  bear  the  name  of 
Saint  Paul  in  our  collection,  and  his  history  in 
the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  there  exist  many  notes 
of  correspondency.  The  simple  perusal  of  the 
writings  is  sufficient  to  prove,  that  neither  the  his- 
tory was  taken  from  the  letters,  nor  the  letters 
from  the  history.  And  the  undesignedness  of 
the  agreements  (which  undesignedness  is  gather- 
ed from  their  latency,  their  minuteness,  their  ob- 
liquity, the  suitableness  of  the  circumstances  in 
which  they  consist,  to  the  places  in  which  those 
circumstances  occur,  and  the  circuitous  references 
by  which  they  are  traced  out)  demonstrates  that 
they  have  not  been  produced  oy  meditation,  or  by 
any  fraudulent  contrivance.  But  coincidences, 
from  which  those  causes  are  excluded,  and  which 


are  too  close  and  numerous  to  be  accounted  for  by 
accidental  concurrences  of  fiction,  must  necessari- 
ly have  truth  for  their  foundation. 

This  argument  appeared  to  my  mind  of  so 
much  value  (especially  for  its  assuming  nothing 
beside  the  cxi.stence  of  the  books,)  that  I  have 
pursued  it  through  Saint  Paul's  thirteen  epistles, 
in  a  work  published  by  me  four  years  ago,  under 
the  title  of  Horse  Paulinae.  I  am  sensible  how 
feebly  any  argument  which  depends  upon  an  in- 
duction of  particulars,  is  represented  without 
examples.  On  which  account,  I  wished  to  have 
abridged  my  own  volume,  in  the  manner  in  which 
I  have  treated  Dr.  Lardner's  in  the  preceding 
chapter.  But,  upon  making  the  attempt,  [  did 
not  find  it  in  my  powt>r  to  render  the  articles  in- 
telligible by  fewer  words  than  I  have  there  used. 
I  must  be  content,  therefore,  to  refer  the  reader  to 
the  work  itself  And  I  would  particularly  invite 
his  attention  to  the  observations  which  are  made 
in  it  upon  the  first  three  epistles.  I  persuade 
myself  that  he  will  find  the  proofs,  both  of  agree- 
ment and  undesignedness,  supplied  by  these  epis- 
tles, sufficient  to  support  the  conclusion  which  is 
there  maintained,  in  favour  both  of  the  genuine- 
ness of  the  writings  and  the  truth  of  the  narra- 
tive. 

It  remains  only,  in  this  place,  to  point  out  how 
the  argument  bears  upon  the  general  question  of 
the  Christian  history. 

First,  Saint  Paul  in  these  letters  affirms  in 
unequivocal  terms,  his  own  performance  of  mira- 
cles, and,  what  ought  particularly  to  be  remem- 
bered, "  That  miracles  loere  the  signs  qf  an 
apostle."*  If  this  testimony  come  from  Saint 
Paul's  own  hand,  it  is  invaluable.  And  that  it 
does  so,  the  argument  before  us  fixes  in  my  mind 
a  firm  assurance. 

Secondly,  it  shows  that  the  series  of  action  re- 
presented in  the  epistles  of  Saint  Paul,  was  real ; 
which  alone  lays  a  foundation  for  the  proposition 
which  forms  the  subject  of  the  first  part  of  our 
present  work,  riz.  that  the  original  witnesses  of 
the  Christian  history  devoted  themselves  to  lives 
of  toil,  suffering,  and  danger,  in  consequence  of 
their  belief  of  the  truth  of  that  history,  and  for  the 
sake  of  communicating  the  knovvletlge  of  it  to 
others. 

Thirdly,  it  proves  that  Luke,  or  whoever  was 
the  author  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  (for  the  ar- 
gument does  not  depend  upon  the  name  of  tho 
author,  though  I  know  no  reason  for  questioning 
it,)  was  well  acquainted  with  Saint  Paul's  history; 
and  that  he  probably  was,  what  he  professes  him- 
self to  be,  a  companion  of  Saint  Paul's  travels ; 
which,  if  true,  establishes,  in  a  considerable  de- 
gree, the  credit  even  of  his  Gospel,  because  it 
shows,  that  the  writer,  frozn  his  time,  situation, 
and  connexions,  possessed  opportunities  of  in- 
forming himself  truly  concerning  the  transactions 
which  he  relates.  I  have  little  difficulty  in  ap- 
plying to  the  Gospel  of  Saint  Luke  what  is 
proved  concerning  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  con- 
sidering them  as  two  parts  of  the  same  history  ; 
for,  though  there  are  instances  of  second  parts 
being  forgeries,  I  know  none  where  the  second 
part  is  genuine,  and  the  first  not  so. 

I  will  only  observe,  as  a  sequel  of  the  argument, 
though  not  noticed  in  my  work,  the  remarkable 
similitude  between  the  style  of  Saint  John's  Gos- 


*  Rom.  XV.  18,  19.    2  Cor.  xii.  11 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


355 


peJ,  and  of  Saint  John's  Epistle.  The  style  of 
Saint  John's  is  not  at  all  the  style  of  Saint  Paul's 
Epistles,  though  both  are  very  singular  ;  nor  is  it 
the  style  of  Saint  James's  or  of  Saint  Peter's 
Epistle  :  but  it  bears  a  resemblance  to  the  style  of 
the  Gospel  inscribed  with  Saint  John's  name,  so 
far  as  that  resemblance  can  be  expected  to  appear, 
which  is  not  in  simple  narrative,  so  much  as  in 
reflections,  and  in  the  representation  of  discourses. 
Writings,  so  circumstanced,  prove  themselves, 
and  one  another,  to  be  genuine.  This  corres- 
pondency is  the  more  valuable,  as  the  epistle 
itself  asserts,  in  Saint  John's  manner  indeed,  but 
in  terms  suliiciently  explicit,  the  writer's  personal 
knowledge  of  Christ's  history;  "  That  which  was 
from  the  beginning,  which  we  have  heard,  which 
we  have  seen  with  our  eyes,  which  we  have  look- 
ed upon,  and  our  hands  have  handled,  of  the  word 
of  life;  that  which  we  have  seen  and  heard,  de- 
clare we  unto  you."*  Who  would  not  desire — 
who  perceives  not  the  value  of  an  account,  deliver- 
ed by  a  writer  so  well  informed  as  this  ] 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Of  the  History  of  the  Resurrection. 

The  history  of  the  resurrection  of  Christ  is  a 
part  of  the  evidence  of  Christianity  :  but  I  do  not 
know,  whether  the  proper  strength  of  this  passage 
of  the  Christian  history,  or  wherein  its  peculiar 
value,  as  a  head  of  evidence,  consists,  be  generally 
understood.  It  is  not  that,  as  a  miracle,  the  re- 
surrection ought  to  be  accounted  a  more  decisive 
proof  of  supernatural  agency  than  other  miracles 
are ;  it  is  not  that,  as  it  stands  in  the  Gospels,  it 
is  better  attested  than  some  others;  it  is  not,  for 
either  of  these  reasons,  that  more  weight  belongs 
to  it  than  to  other  miracles,  but  for  the  following, 
viz.  That  it  ia  completely  certain  that  the  apostles 
of  Christ,  and  the  first  teachers  of  Christianity, 
asserted  the  fact.  And  this  would  have  been  cer- 
tain, if  the  four  Gospels  had  been  lost,  or  never 
written.  Every  piece  of  Scripture  recognises  the 
resurrection.  Every  epistle  of  every  apostle,  every 
author  contemporary  with  the  apostles,  of  the  age 
immediately  succeeding  the  apostles,  every  writing 
from  that  age  to  the  present,  genuine  or  spurious, 
on  the  side  of  Christianity  or  against  it,  concur  in 
representing  the  resurrection  of  Christ  as  an 
article  of  his  history,  received  without  doubt  or 
disagreement  by  all  who  call  themselves  Chris- 
tians, as  alleged  from  the  beginning  by  the  pro- 
pagators of  the  institution,  and  alleged  as  the 
centre  of  their  testimony.  Nothing,  I  apprehend, 
which  a  man  does  not  himself  see  or  hear,  can  he 
more  certain  to  him  than  this  point.  I  do  not 
mean,  that  nothing  can  be  more  certain  than 
thit  Christ  rose  from  the  dead  ;  but  that  nothing 
can  be  more  certain,  than  that,  his  apostles,  and 
the  first  teachers  of  Christianity,  gave  out  that  he 
did  so.  In  the  other  parts  of  the  gospel  narrative, 
a  question  may  he  made,  whether  the  things  re- 
lated of  Christ  be  the  very  things  which  the  apos- 
tles and  first  teachers  of  the  religion  delivered  con- 
cerning himi  And  this  question  depends  a  good 
deal  upon  the  evidence  we  possess  of  the  genuine- 
ness, or  rather,  perhaps,  of  the  antiquity,  credit, 
and  reception,  of  the  books.     On  the  su'.iject  of 


*  Chap.  i.  ver.  1—3. 


the  resurrection,  no  such  discussion  is  necessary, 
because  no  such  doubt  can  be  entertained.  The 
only  points  which  can  enter  into  our  consideration 
are,  whether  the  apostles  knowingly  published  a 
fdsehood,  or  whether  they  were  themselves  de- 
ceived; whether  either  of  theac.  suppositions  be 
possible.  The  first,  I  think,  if  pretty  generally 
given  up.  The  nature  of  the  undertaking,  and  of 
the  men ;  the  extreme  unlikelihood  that  such  men 
should  engage  in  such  a  measure  as  a  scheme  ; 
their  personal  toils,  and  dangers,  and  sufferings, 
in  the  cause ;  their  appropriation  of  their  whole 
time  to  the  object ;  the  warm,  and  seemingly  un- 
affected, zeal  and  earnestness  with  which  they 
profess  their  sincerity ;  exempt  their  memory  from 
the  suspicion  of  imposture.  The  solution  more 
deserving  of  notice,  is  that  which  would  resolve 
the  conduct  of  the  apostles  into  enthvsiasm  ; 
which  would  class  the  evidence  of  Christ's  resur- 
rection with  the  numerous  stories  that  are  extant 
of  the  apparitions  of  dead  men.  There  are  cir- 
cumstances in  the  narrative,  as  it  is  preserved  in 
our  histories,  which  destroy  this  comparison  en- 
tirely. It  was  not  one  person,  but  many,  who 
saw  him ;  they  saw  him  not  only  separately  but 
together,  not  only  by  night  but  by  day,  not  at  a 
distance  but  near,  not  once  but  several  times ; 
they  not  only  saw  him,  but  touched  him,  con- 
versed with  him,  ate  with  him,  examined  his  per- 
son to  satisfy  their  doubts.  These  particulars  are 
decisive :  but  they  stand,  I  do  admit,  upon  the 
credit  of  our  records.  I  would  answer,  therefore, 
the  insinuation  of  enthusiasm,  by  a  circumstance 
which  arises  out  of  the  nature  of  the  thing ;  and 
the  reality  of  which  must  be  confessed  by  all  who 
allow,  what  I  believe  is  not  denied,  that  the  re- 
surrection of  Christ,  whether  true  or  false,  was 
asserted  by  his  disciples  from  the  beginning ;  and 
that  circumstance  is,  the  non-production  of  the 
dead  body.  It  is  related  in  the  history,  what  in- 
deed the  story  of  the  resurrection  necessarily 
implies,  that  the  corpise  was  missing  out  of  the 
sepulchre :  it  is  related  also  in  the  history,  that 
the  Jews  reported  that  the  followers  of  Chri.st  had 
stolen  it  away.*  And  this  account,  though  loaded 
with  great  improbabilities,  such  as  the  situation 
of  the  disciples,  their  fears  for  their  own  safety 
at  the  time,  the  unlikelihood  of  their  expecting  to 
succeed,  the  difficulty  of  actual  success, t  and  the 
inevitable  consequence  of  detection  and  failure, 
was,  nevertheless,  the  most  credible  account  that 
could  be  given  of  the  matter.  But  it  proceeds 
entirely  upon  the  supposition  of  fraud,  as  all  the 
old  objections  did.  What  account  can  be  given 
of  the  body,  upon  the  supposition  of  enthusiasm  ] 
It  is  impossible  our  Lord's  followers  could  behove 
that  he  was  risen  from  the    dead,  if  his  corpse 

*  "  And  this  saying  (Saint  MatUiew  writes)  is  com- 
monly  leportfd  amongst  the  Jews  until  this  day,"  cliap. 
X-xviii.  15.  The  evangelist  may  be  thnnght  good  au- 
thority as  to  this  point,  even  by  thosp  who  do  not  admit 
his  evidence  in  every  other  point :  and  tliis  point  is  suf- 
ficient to  prove  that  the  body  was  missing. 

It  has  been  rightly,  I  think,  observed  by  Dr.  Towns- 
hend,  (Dis  upon  the  Res  p.  l-2(i.)  that  the  story  of  the 
guards  carried  collusion  upon  the  face  of  it : — "  His  dis- 
ciples came  by  night  and  stole  him  away,  while  we 
slept."  Men  in  their  circumstances  would  not  have  maiie 
such  an  acknowledgment  of  their  negligence,  without 
previous  assurances  of  protecti  m  and  impunity 

t  "  Especially  at  the  full  moon,  the  city  full  of  people, 
many  probably  passing  the  whole  night,  as  Jesus  and 
his  disciples  had  done,  in  the  open  air,  the  sepulchn^  so 
near  the  city  as  to  be  now  enclosed  within  the  walls." 
— Priestley  on  the  Resurr.  p.  24. 


356 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


was  lying  before  them.  No  enthusiasm  ever 
reached  to  such  a  pitch  of  extravagancy  as  that : 
a  spirit  may  be  an  illusion ;  a  body  is  a  real  thing, 
an  object  of  sense,  in  which  there  can  be  no  mis- 
take. All  accounts  of  spectres  leave  the  body  in 
the  grave.  And,  although  the  body  of  Christ 
might  be  removed  hy  fraud,  and  for  the  purposes 
of  fraud,  yet,  without  any  such  intention,  and  by 
sincere  but  deluded  men  (which  is  the  representa- 
tion of  the  apostolic  character  we  are  now  exa- 
mining,) no  such  attempt  could  be  made.  The  pre- 
sence and  the  absence  of  the  dead  body  are  alike 
inconsistent  with  the  hypothesis  of  enthusiasm ; 
for,  if  present,  it  must  have  cured  their  enthusiasm 
at  once;  if  absent,  fraud,  not  enthusiasm,  must 
have  carried  it  away. 

But  farther,  if  we  admit,  upon  the  concurrent  tes- 
timony of  all  the  histories,  so  much  of  the  account  as 
states  that  the  religion  of  Jesus  was  set  up  at  Jeru- 
salem, and  set  up  with  asserting,  in  the  very  place 
in  which  he  had  been  buried,  and  a  few  days  after 
he  had  been  buried,  his  resurrection  out  of  the  grave, 
it  is  evident  that,  if  liis  body  could  have  been  found, 
the  Jews  would  have  produced  it,  as  the  shortest 
and  completest  answer  possible  to  the  whole  story. 
The  attempt  of  the  apostles  could  not  have  sur- 
vived this  refutation  a  moment.  If  we  also  admit, 
upon  the  authority  of  Saint  Matthew,  that  the 
Jews  were  advertised  of  the  expectation  of  Christ's 
followers,  and  that  they  had  taken  due  precaution 
in  consequence  of  this  notice,  and  that  the  body 
was  in  marked  and  public  custody,  the  observa- 
tion receives  more  force  still.  For,  notwithstand- 
ing their  precaution,  and  although,  thus  prepared 
and  forewarned ;  when  the  story  of  the  resurrec- 
tion of  Christ  came  forth,  as  it  immediately  did  ; 
when  it  was  publicly  asserted  by  his  disciples,  and 
made  the  ground  and  basis  of  their  preaching  in 
his  name,  and  collecting  followers  to  his  religion, 
the  Jews  had  not  the  body  to  produce :  but  were 
obliged  to  meet  the  testimony  of  the  apostles  by  an 
answer,  not  containing  indeed  any  impossibility 
in  itself,  but  absolutely  inconsistent  with  the  sup- 
position of  their  integrity ;  that  is,  in  other  words, 
inconsistent  with  the  supposition  which  would  re- 
solve their  conduct  into  enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Propagation  of  Christianity. 

Jn  this  argument,  the  first  consideration  is  the 
fact ;  in  what  degree,  within  what  time,  and  to 
what  extent,  Christianity  was  actually  propagated. 

The  accounts  of  the  matter,  which  can  be  col- 
lected from  our  books,  are  as  follow:  A  few  days 
after  Christ's  disappearance  out  of  the  world, 
we  find  an  assembly  of  disciples  at  Jerusalem,  to 
the  number  of  "  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  ;"* 
which  hundred  and  twenty  were,  probably,  a  lit- 
tle association  of  believers,  met  together,  not 
merely  as  believers  in  Christ,  but  as  personally 
connected  with  the  apostles,  and  with  one  another. 
Whatever  was  the  number  of  believers  then  in 
Jerusalem,  we  have  no  reason  to  be  surprised  that 
BO  small  a  company  should  assemble :  lor  there  is 
no  proof,  that  the  followers  of  Christ  were  yet 
formed  into  a  society ;  that  the  society  was  reduced 

*  Acts  i.  15. 


into  any  order;  that  it  was  at  this  time  ever, 
understood  that  a  new  religion  (in  the  sense  which 
that  term  conveys  to  us)  was  to  be  set  up  in  the 
world,  or  how  the  professors  of  that  religion  were 
to  he  distinguished  from  the  rest  of  mankind.  The 
death  of  Christ  had  left,  we  may  suppose,  the 
generahty  of  his  disciples  in  great  doubt,  both  as 
to  what  they  were  to  do,  and  concerning  what 
was  to  follow. 

This  meeting  was  holden,  as  we  have  already 
said,  a  few  days  after  Christ's  ascension :  for,  ten 
days  after  that  event  was  the  day  of  Pentecost, 
when,  as  our  history  relates,*  upon  a  signal  dis- 
play of  Divine  agency  attending  the  persons  of 
the  apostles,  there  were  added  to  the  society  "  about 
three  thousand  souls. "+  But  here,  it  is  not,  1 
think,  to  be  taken,  that  these  three  thousand  were 
all  converted  by  this  single  miracle;  but  rather 
that  many,  who  before  were  believers  in  Christ, 
became  now  professors  of  Christianity  ;  that  is  to 
say,  when  they  found  that  a  religion  was  to  be 
established,  a  society  formed  and  set  up  in  the 
name  of  Christ,  governed  by  his  laws,  avowing 
their  belief  in  his  mission,  united  amongst  them- 
selves, and  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by 
visible  distinctions ;  in  pursuance  of  their  former 
conviction,  and  by  virtue  of  what  they  had  heard 
and  seen  and  known  of  Christ's  history,  they  pub- 
licly became  members  of  it. 

"VVe  read  in  the  fourth  chaptert  of  the  Acts, 
that,  soon  after  this,  "the  number  of  the  men," 
i.  e.  the  society  openly  professing  their  belief  in 
Christ,  "  was  aV)out  five  thousand."  So  that  here 
is  an  increase  of  two  thousand  within  a  very  short 
time.  And  it  is  probable  that  there  were  many, 
both  now  and  afterward,  who,  although  they  be- 
Ueved  in  Christ,  did  not  think  it  Jiecessary  to 
join  themselves  to  this  society  ;  or  who  waited  to 
see  what  was  likely  to  become  of  it.  Gamaliel, 
whose  advice  to  the  Jewish  council  is  recorded 
Acts  V.  31,  appears  to  have  been  ol'  this  desci'ip- 
tion ;  perhaps  Nicodemus,  and  perhaps  also  Jo- 
seph of  Arimathea.  This  class  of  men,  their 
character  and  their  rank,  are  likewise  pointed  out 
by  Saint  John,  in  the  twelfth  chapter  of  his  Gos- 
pel: "Nevertheless,  among  the  chief  rulers  also, 
many  believed  on  him :  but  because  of  tlie  Phari- 
sees, they  did  not  confess  him,  lest  they  should 
be  put  out  of  the  synagogue,  for  they  loved  the 
praise  of  men  more  than  the  pi-aise  of  God."  Per- 
sons, such  as  these,  might  admit  the  miracles  of 
Christ,  without  being  immediately  convinced  that 
they  were  under  obligation  to  make  a  public  pro- 
fession of  Christianit)%  at  the  risk  of  all  that  was 
dear  to  them  in  life,  and  even  of  life  itself  § 

*  Actsii.  1.  t  Acts  ii  41.  I  Ver.  4. 

§  "  Beside  those  who  professed,  and  those  who  reject- 
ed and  opposed,  Christianity,  there  were,  in  all  proha- 
bility,  multitudes  between  both,  neitlier  perfect  Chris- 
tians, nor  yet  unbelievers.  They  had  a  favourable 
opinion  of  the  Gospel,  but  worldly  considerations  made 
them  unwilling  to  own  it.  There  were  many  circum- 
stances which  inclined  them  to  think  that  Christianity 
was  a  Divine  revelation,  but  there  were  many  incon- 
veniences which  attended  the  open  profession  of  it :  and 
they  could  not  find  in  themselves  coura!;e  enough  to 
bear  them,  to  disoblige  their  friends  and  family,  to  ruin 
their  fortunes,  to  lose  their  reputation,  their  liberty,  and 
their  life,  for  the  sake  of  the  new  religion.  Therefore 
they  were  willing  to  hope,  that  if  they  endeavoured  to 
observe  the  great  principles  of  morality.  Which  Christ 
had  represented  as  the  principal  part,  the  sum  and  sub- 
stance, of  religion  ;  if  they  thought  honourably  of  the 
gospel,  if  they  offered  no  injury  to  the  Christians,  if 
1  they  did  them  all  the  services  that  they  could  safely 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


357 


Christianity,  however,  proceeded  to  increase  in 
Jerusalem  by  a  progress  equally  rapid  with  its 
first  success ;  for,  in  the  next*  chapter  of  our  his- 
tory, we  read  that  "  believers  were  the  more  added 
to  the  Lord,  multitudes  both  of  men  and  women." 
And  this  enlargement  of  tlie  new  society  appears 
in  the  lirst  ver.se  of  the  succeeding  chapter,  where- 
in we  are  told,  that,  "  when  the  number  of  the 
disciples  was  multiplied,  there  arose  a  murmuring 
of  the  Grecians  against  the  Hebrews,  because 
their  widows  were  neglected :"+  and,  afterward  in 
the  same  chapter,  it  is  declared  expressly,  that 
"  the  number  of  the  disciples  multiplied  in  Jerusa- 
lem greatly,  and  that  a  great  company  of  the 
priests  were  obedient  to  the  faith." 

Thi.s  I  call  the  tirst  period  in  the  propagation 
of  Christianity.  It  commences  with  the  ascension 
of  Christ,  and  extends,  as  may  be  collected  from 
incidental  notes  of  time,t  to  something  more  than 
one  year  after  that  event.  During  which  term, 
the  preaching  of  Christianity,  so  far  as  our  docu- 
ments inform  us,  was  confined  to  the  single  city 
of  Jerusalem.  And  how  did  it  succeed  there  1 
The  lirst  assembly  which  we  meet  with  of  Christ's 
disciples,  and  that  a  few  days  after  his  removal 
from  the  world,  consisted  of  "  one  hundred  and 
twenty."  About  a  week  after  this,  "  three  thou- 
sand were  added  in  one  day  ;"  and  the  number  of 
Christians,  publicly  baptized,  and  pubhcly  asso- 
ciating togetiier,  was  very  soon  increased  to  "  five 
thousand."  "  Multitudes  both  of  men  and  wo- 
men continued  to  be  added  ;"  "  disciples  multiplied 
greatly,"'  and  "  many  of  the  Jewish  priesthood,  as 
well  as  others,  became  obedient  to  the  faith ;"  and 
this  within  a  space  of  less  than  two  years  from 
the  commencement  of  the  institution. 

By  reason  of  a  persecution  raised  against  the 
church  at  Jerusalem,  the  converts  were  driven 
from  that  city,  and  dispersed  throughout  the  re- 
gions of  Judea  and  Samaria!  Wherever  they 
came,  they  brought  their  religion  with  them :  for, 
our  historian  informs  us.li  that  "  they,  that  were 
scattered  abroad,  went  every  where  preaching  the 
word."  The  eliect  of  this  preaching  comes  after- 
ward to  be  noticed,  where  the  historian  is  led,  in 
the  course  of  his  narrative,  to  observe,  that  then 
{i.  e.  about  three  years  posterior  to  this.U)  "the 
churches  had  rest  throughout  all  Judea  and  Gali- 
lee and  Samaria,  and  were  edified,  and  walking 
in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  in  the  comfort  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  were  multiplied."  This  was  the 
work  of  the  second  period,  which  comprises  about 
four  years. 

Hitherto  the  preaching  of  the  Gospel  had  been 
confined  to  Jews,  to  Jewish  proselytes,  and  to  Sa- 
maritans. And  I  cannot  forbear  from  setting 
down  in  this  place,  an  observation  of  Mr.  Bryant, 
which  appears  to  me  to  be  perfectly  well  founded  : 
— "the  Jews  still  remain:  but  how  seldom  is  it 
that  we  can  make  a  single  proselyte!  There  is 
reason  to  think,  that  there  were  more  converted 
by  the  apostles  in  one  day,  than  have  since  been 
won  over  in  the  last  thousand  years."** 

It  was  not  yet  known  to  the  apostles,  that  they 


perforin,  thoy  wi>re  wiiliner  to  hope,  that  God  would  ac- 
cept this,  and  that  He  would  e.vcuse  and  forgive  the 
rest." — Jortin's  Dis.  on  the  Chris.  Rel  p.  ill.  ed'  4. 

*  Acts  V.  14.  t  Acts  vi.  1. 

t  Vide  Pearson's  Antiq.  1.  xviii.  c.  7.  Benson's  His- 
tory of  Christ,  book  i   p.  lAi. 

§  .Acts  viii.  1        ji  \'er.  4.       IT  Benson,  hook  i.  p.  207. 

**  Bryant  on  the  Truth  of  the  Christian  Religion,  p. 
11-2. 


were  at  lihert}-  to  propose  the  religion  to  mankind 
at  large.  That  "  mystery,"  as  Saint  Paul  calls  it,* 
and  as  it  then  was,  was  revealed  to  Peter  by  an 
especial  miracle.  It  appears  to  have  beent  about 
seven  years  after  Christ's  ascension,  that  the  Gos- 
pel was  preached  to  the  Gentiles  of  Cesarea.  A 
year  after  this,  a  great  multitude  of  Gentiles  were 
converted  at  Antioch  in  Syria.  The  expressions 
employed  by  the  historian  are  these; — "  A  great 
number  believed  and  turned  to  the  Lord ;"  "  much 
people  was  added  unto  the  Lord  ;"  "  the  apostles 
Barnabas  and  Paul  taught  much  people. "t  Upon 
Herod's  death,  which  happened  in  the  next  year,§ 
It  is  observed,  that  "  the  word  of  God  grew  and 
multiplied. "II  Three  years  from  this  time,  upon 
the  preaching  of  Paul  at  Iconium,  the  metropolis 
of  Lycaonia,  "a  great  multitude  both  of  Jews  and 
Greeks  believed  :"^  and  afterward,  in  the  course 
of  this  very  progress,  he  is  represent>.  I  as  "  making 
many  disciples"  at  Derbe,  a  principal  city  in  the 
same  district.  Three  years**  after  this,  which 
brings  us  to  sixteen  after  the  ascension,  the  apos- 
tles wrote  a  public  letter  from  Jerusalem  to  the 
Gentile  converts  in  Antioch,  Syria,  and  Cilicia, 
with  which  letter  Paul  travelled  through  these 
countries,  and  found  the  churches  "  established  in 
the  faith,  and  increasing  in  number  daily  ."ft  From 
Asia  the  apostle  proceeded  into  Greece,  where 
soon  after  his  arrival  in  Macedonia,  we  find  him 
at  Thessalonica  ;  in  which  city,  "some  of  the  Jews 
believed,  and  of  the  devout  Greeks  a  great  multi- 
tude."Jt  We  meet  also  here  with  an  accidental 
hint  of  the  general  progress  of  the  Christian  mis- 
sion, in  the  exclamation  of  the  tumultuous  Jews 
of  Thessalonica,  "that  they,  who  had  turned  the 
world  upside  down,  were  come  thither  also."§§  At 
Berea,  the  next  city  at  which  Paul  arrives,  the 
historian,  who  was  present,  informs  us  that  "  many 
of  the  Jews  believed. "Illl  The  next  year  and  a  half 
of  Saint  Paul's  ministry  was  spent  at  Corinth. 
Of  his  success  in  that  city,  we  receive  the  follow- 
ing intimations;  "  that  7?ia7iy  of  the  Corinthians 
believed  and  were  baptized ;"  and  "  that  it  was 
revealed  to  the  apostle  by  Christ,  that  he  had 
much  people  in  that  city."^ir  Within  less  than  a 
year  after  his  departure  from  Corinth,  and  twenty- 
five***  years  after  the  ascension.  Saint  Paul  fixed 
his  station  at  Ephesus,  for  the  space  of  two  yearsttt 
and  something  more.  The  effect  of  his  ministry 
in  that  city  and  neighbourhood  drew  from  the 
historian  a  reflection,  how  "  mightily  grew  the 
word  of  God  and  prevailed. "ttJ  And  at  the  con- 
clusion of  this  period,  we  find  Demetrius  at  the 
head  of  a  party,  who  were  alarmed  by  the  progress 
of  the  religion,  complaining,  that  "  not  only  at 
Ephesus,  but  also  throughout  all  Asia  (i.  e.  the 
province  of  Lydia,  and  the  country  adjoining  to 
Ephesus.)  this  Paul  hath  persuaded  and  turned 
away  much  peoiile."§§§  Beside  these  accounts, 
there  occurs,  incidentally,  mention  of  converts  at 
Rome,  Alexandria,  Athens,  Cyprus,  Cyrene,  Ma- 
cedonia, Philippi. 

This  is  the  tiiird  period  in  the  propagation  of 
Christianit}-,  setting  off  in  the  seventh  year  after 
the  ascension,  and  ending  at  the  twenty-eighth. 


*  Eph.  iii.  3—6. 

t  Benson's  History  of  Christ,  book  ii.  p.  2.3G. 

j  .-Vets  xi.  21,  -.'4,  20.  §  Benson,  book  ii.  p.  289. 

11  .\cls  .\ii.  24  IT  Acts  xiv.  1. 

*"*  Benson,  book  iii .  p.  50.  tt  Acts  xvi.  5. 

tt  Acts  xvii.4.        §§  Acts  xvii   6.'        1|||  Acts  xvii.  12. 

irir  Acts  xviii.  8— 1(1.        ***  Benson,  book  iii.  p  ICO. 

ttt  Acts  xix.  10.    Ill  Acts  xix.  20.    §§§  Acts  xix.  2(5. 


V=:r-. 


358 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


N(3vv  lay  these  three  pcrioJs  together,  and  observe 
how  the  progress  of  the  religion  by  these  aceounts 
is  rcpreserited.  The  institution,  which  properly 
hcgan  only  after  its  author's  removal  from  the 
workl,  bclbre  the  end  of  thirty  years  had  spread 
itself  through  Judea,  Galilee,  and  Samaria,  al- 
most all  the  numerous  districts  ot  the  Lesser  Asia, 
through  Greece,  and  the  Islands  of  the  ^gean 
tSea,  the  sea-coast  of  Africa,  and  had  extended  it- 
self to  Rome,  and  into  Italy.  At  Antioch  in  Sy- 
ria, at  Joppa,  Ephesus,  Corinth,  Thessalonica, 
Berea,  Iconium,  Derbe,  Antioch  in  Pisidia,  at 
Lydda,  Saron,  the  number  of  converts  is  intunated 
by  the  expressions,  " a  great  number,"  "great 
multitudes,"  "  much  people."  Converts  are  men- 
tioned, without  any  designation  of  their  number,* 
at  Tyre,  Cesarea,  Troas,  Athens,  Philippi,  Lys- 
tra,  Damascus.  During  all  this  time,  Jerusalem 
Continued  not  only  the  centre  of  the  mission,  but 
a  principal  seat  of  the  religion ;  for  when  Saint 
Paul  turned  thither  at  the  conclusion  of  the  period 
of  which  we  are  now  considering  the  accounts, 
the  other  apostles  pointed  out  to  him,  as  a  reason 
for  his  compliance  with  their  advice,  "  how  many 
thousands  (myriads,  ten  thousands)  there  were  in 
that  city  who  believed."+ 

Upon  this  abstract,  and  the  writing  from  which 
it  is  drawn,  the  following  observations  seem  ma- 
terial to  be  made : 

I.  That  the  account  comes  from  a  person,  who 
was  himself  concerned  in  a  portion  of  what  he  re- 
lates, and  was  contemporary  with  the  whole  of  it ; 
who  visited  Jerusalem,  and  frequented  the  society 
of  those  who  had  acted,  and  were  acting,  the  chief 
parts  in  the  transaction.  I  lay  down  this  point 
positively ;  for  had  the  ancient  attestations  to  this 
valuable  record  been  less  satisfactory  than  they 
are,  the  unafiectedness  and  simplicity  with  which 
the  author  notes  his  presence  upon  certain  occa- 
sions, and  the  entire  absence  of  art  and  design 
from  tliese  notices,  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
persuade  my  mind,  that  whoever  he  was,  he  ac- 
tually lived  in  tlie  times,  and  occujiied  the  situa- 
tion, in  which  he  represents  himself  to  be.  When 
I  say,  "  whoever  he  was,"  I  do  not  mean  to  cast  a 
doubt  upon  the  name  to  which  antiquity  hath  as- 
cribed the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  (for  there  is  no 
cause  that  I  am  acquainted  with,  for  questioning 
it,)  but  to  observe,  that,  in  such  a  case  as  this,  the 
time  and  situation  of  the  author  is  of  more  import- 
ance than  his  name ;  and  that  these  appear  from 
the  work  itself,  and  in  the  most  unsuspicious  form. 

II.  That  this  account  is  a  very  incomplete  ac- 
count of  the  preaching  and  propagation  of  Chris- 
tianity ;  I  mean,  that,  if  what  we  read  in  the  his- 
tory be  true,  much  more  than  what  the  history 
contains  must  be  true  also.  For  although  the 
narrative  from  which  our  information  is  derived, 
has  been  entitled  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  it  is 


*Consirlering  the  extreme  conciseness  of  many  parts 
of  the  history,  the  silence  about  the  numbers  of  converts 
is  no  proof  of  their  paucity  ;  for  at  Philippi,  no  mention 
whatever  is  made  of  tlie  number,  yet  Saint  Paul  ad- 
dressed an  epistle  to  that  church.  The  churches  of  Ga- 
latia,  and  the  affairs  of  those  churches,  were  consider- 
able enoujih  to  be  the  subject  of  another  letter,  and  of 
much  of  Saint  Paul's  solicitude:  yet  no  account  is  pre- 
served in  the  history  of  iiis  success,  or  even  of  his 
preaching  in  that  country,  e.vcept  the  slieht  notice  which 
these  words  convey ; — "  When  they  had  <;one  throughout 
Phrynia.  and  the  rej/ion  of  Galatia — they  essayed  to  go 
into  Bithvnia." — Acts  xvi.  6. 

t  A/"s  i:.\i.  20. 


in  fact  a  history  of  the  twelve  apostles  only  during 
a  short  time  of  their  continuing  together  at  Jeru- 
salem ;  and  even  of  this  period  the  account  is  very 
concise.  The  work  afterward  consists  of  a  few 
important  passages  of  Peter's  ministry,  of  the 
speech  and  death  of  Stephen,  of  the  preaching  of 
Philip  the  deacon ;  and  the  sequel  of  the  volume^ 
that  is,  two  thirds  of  the  whole,  is  taken  up  with 
the  conversion,  the  travels,  the  discourses  and  his 
toryofthenew  apostle  Paul;  in  which  history 
also,  large  portions  of  time  are  often  passed  ovei 
with  very  scanty  notice. 

III.  That  the  account,  so  far  as  it  goes,  is  for 
this  very  reason  more  credible.  Had  it  been  the 
author's  design  to  have  displayed  the  early  pro- 
gress of  Christianity,  he  would  undoubtedly  have 
collected,  or,  at  least,  have  set  forth,  accounts  of 
the  preaching  of  the  rest  of  the  apostles,  who  can- 
not, without  extreme  improbability,  be  supposed 
to  have  remained  silent  and  inactive,  or  not  to 
have  met  with  a  share  of  that  success  which  at- 
tended their  colleagues.  To  which  may  be  added, 
as  an  observatioir  of  the  same  kind, 

IV.  That  the  intimations  of  the  number  of 
converts,  and  of  the  success  of  the  preaching  of 
the  apostles,  come  out  for  the  most  part  incident- 
ally ;  are  drawn  from  the  historian  by  the  occa- 
sion ;  such  as  the  murmuring  of  the  Grecian  con- 
verts ;  the  rest  from  persecution ;  Herod's  death ; 
the  sending  of  Barnabas  to  Antioch,  and  Barna- 
bas calling  Paul  to  his  assistance;  Paul  coming 
to  a  place,  and  finding  there  disciples  ;  the  clamour 
of  the  Jews ;  the  complaint  of  artificers  interested 
in  the  support  of  the  popular  religion ;  the  reason 
assigned  to  induce  Paul  to  give  satisfaction  to  the 
Christians  of  Jerusalem.  Had  it  not  been  for 
these  occasions,  it  is  probable  that  no  notice  what- 
ever would  have  been  taken  of  the  number  of  con- 
verts in  several  of  the  passages  in  which  that  no- 
tice now  appears.  All  this  tends  to  remove  the 
suspicion  of  a  design  to  exaggerate  or  deceive. 

Pahallel  TKSTiMONiEs  with  the  history,  are 
the  letters  of  Saint  Paul,  and  of  the  other  apostles, 
which  have  come  down  to  us.  Those  of  Saint 
Paul  are  addressed  to  the  churches  of  Corinth, 
Philippi,  Thessalonica,  the  church  of  Galatia,  and, 
if  the  inscription  be  right,  of  Ejihesus;  his  minis- 
try at  all  which  places,  is  recorded  in  the  history : 
to  the  church  of  Colosse,  or  rather  to  the  churches 
of  Colosse  and  Laodicea  jointly,  which  he  had  not 
then  visited.  They  recognise  by  reference  the 
churches  of  Judea,  the  churches  of  Asia,  and  "  all 
the  churches  of  the  Gentiles."*  In  the  Epistle  to 
the  Romans,t  the  author  is  led  to  deliver  a  re- 
markable declaration  concerning  the  extent  of  his 
preaching,  its  efficacy,  and  the  cause  to  which  he 
ascribes  it, — "  to  make  the  Gentiles  obedient  by 
word  and  deed,  through  mighty  signs  and  won- 
ders, by  the  power  of  the  Spirit  of  God ;  so  that 
from  Jerusalem,  and  round  about  unto  lllyricum, 
I  have  fully  preached  the  Gospel  of  Christ."  In 
the  Epistle  to  the  Colossians,t  we  find  an  oblique 
but  very  strong  signification  of  the  then  general 
state  of  the  Christian  mission,  at  least  as  it  ap- 
peared to  Saint  Paul : — "  If  ye  continue  in  the 
faith,  grounded  and  settled,  and  be  not  moved 
away  from  the  hope  of  the  Gospel,  which  ye  have 
heard,  and  which  was  preached  to  every  creature 
icliich  is  under  heaven ;"  which  Gospel,  he  had 


*  1  Thess.  ii.  14. 


tCoI. 


t  Rom.  XV.  18, 19. 
23. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


359 


reminded  them  near  the  beginning*  of  his  letter, 
"was  present  with  them,  as  it  icas  in  all  the 
world.''  The  expressions  are  hyjierbolical ;  but 
they  are  hyperboles  which  could  only  be  used  by 
a  writer  who  entertained  a  strong  sense  of  the 
subject.  The  First  Epistle  of  Peter  accosts  the 
Christians  dispersed  throughout  Pontus,  Galatia, 
Cappadocia,  Asia,  and  Bithynia. 


It  comes  next  to  be  considered,  how  far  these 
accounts  are  confirmed,  or  followed  up  by  other 
evidence. 

Tacitus,  in  delivering  a  relation,  which  has 
already  been  laid  before  the  reader,  of  the  fire 
which  happened  at  Rome  in  the  tenth  year  of 
Nero  (which  coincides  with  the  thirtieth  year 
after  Christ's  ascension,)  asserts,  that  the  emperor, 
in  order  to  suppress  the  rumours  of  having  been 
himself  the  author  of  the  mischief,  procured  the 
Christians  to  be  accused.  Of  which  Christians, 
thus  brought  into  his  narrative,  the  following  is 
so  much  of  the  historian's  account  as  belongs  to 
our  present  purpose  :  "  They  had  their  denomina- 
tion from  Christus,  who,  in  the  reign  of  Tiberius, 
was  put  to  death  as  a  criminal  by  the  procurator 
Pontius  Pilate.  This  pernicious  superstition, 
though  checked  for  a  while,  broke  out  again,  and 
spread  not  only  over  Judea,  but  reached  the  city 
also.  At  first,  they  only  were  apprehended  who 
confessed  themselves  of  that  sect ;  afterward  a  vast 
•muHitude  were  discovered  by  them."  This  tes- 
timony to  the  early  propagation  of  Christianity  is 
extremely  material.  It  is  from  an  historian  of 
great  reputation,  living  near  the  time  ;  from  a 
stranger  and  an  enemy  to  the  religion  ;  and  it 
loins  innncdiately  with  the  period  through  which 
the  Scripture  accounts  extend.  It  e.stablishes 
these  points:  that  the  religion  began  at  Jerusalem; 
that  it  spread  throughout  Judea;  that  it  had  reach- 
ed Rome,  and  not  only  so,  but  that  it  had  there 
obtained  a  great  number  of  converts.  This  was 
about  six  years  after  the  time  that  Saint  Paul 
wrote  his  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  and  something 
more  than  two  years  after  he  arrived  there  himself 
The  converts  to  the  religion  were  then  so  numer- 
ous at  Rome,  that,  of  those  who  were  betrayed  by 
the  information  of  the  persons  first  persecuted,  a 
great  multitude  (multitudo  ingens)  were  discover- 
ed and  seized. 

It  seems  probable,  that  the  temporary  check 
which  Tacitus  represents  Christianity  to  have  re- 
ceived (repressa  in  praesens)  referred  to  the  perse- 
cution at  Jerusalem,  which  followed  the  death  of 
Stephen,  (Acts  viii ;)  and  which,  by  dispersing  the 
converts,  caused  the  institution,  in  some  measure, 
to  disappear.  Its  second  eruption  at  the  same 
place,  and  within  a  short  time,  has  much  in  it  of 
the  character  of  truth.  It  was  the  firmness  and 
perseverance  of  men,  who  knew  what  they  relied 
upon. 

Next  in  order  of  time,  and  perhaps  superior  in 
importance,  is  the  testimony  of  Pliny  the  Younger. 
Pliny  was  the  Roman  governor  of  Pontus  and 
Bithynia,  two  considerable  districts  in  the  north- 
ern part  of  Asia  Minor.  The  situation  in  which 
he  found  his  province,  led  him  to  apply  to  the 
emperor  (Trajan)  for  his  direction  as  to  the  con- 
duct he  was  to  hold  towards  the  Christians.   The 


letter  in  which  this  application  is  conf.iinod,  was 
written  not  quite  eighty  years  after  Christ's  as- 
cehsion.  The  president,  in  this  letter,  states  the 
measures  he  had  already  pursued,  and  then  adds, 
as  his  reason  for  resorting  to  the  emperor's  coun- 
sel and  authority,  the  following  words: — "Sus- 
pending all  judicial  proceedings,  I  have  recourse 
to  you  lor  advice  ;  for  it  has  appeared  to  me  a  mat- 
ter highly  deserving  consideration,  especially  on 
account  of  the  great  number  of  persons  who  are 
in  danger  of  suffering :  for,  many  of  all  ages,  and 
of  every  rank,  of  both  sexes  likewise,  are  accused, 
and  will  be  accused.  Nor  has  the  contagion  of 
this  superstition  seized  cities  only,  but  the  lesser 
towns  also,  and  the  open  country.  Nevertheless 
it  seemed  to  me,  that  it  may  be  restrained  and 
corrected.  It  is  certain  that  the  temples,  which 
were  almost  forsaken,  begin  to  be  more  frequent- 
ed; and  the  sacred  solenmities,  after  a  long  inter- 
mission, are  revived.  Victims,  likewise,  are  every 
where  (passim)  bought  up;  whereas,  for  some 
time,  there  were  few  to  purchase  them.  Whence 
it  is  easy  to  imagine,  that  numbers  of  men  might 
be  reclaimed,  if  pardon  were  granted  to  those  that 
shall  repent.''* 

It  is  obvious  to  observe,  that  the  passage  of 
Phny's  letter,  here  quoted,  proves,  not  only  that 
the  Christians  in  Pontus  and  Bithynia  were  now 
numerous,  but  that  they  had  subsisted  there  for 
some  considerable  time.  "  It  is  certain,"  he  says, 
"that  the  temples,  which  were  almost  forsaken 
(plainly  ascribing  this  desertion  of  the  popular 
worship  to  the  prevalency  of  Christianity,)  begin 
to  be  more  frequented,  and  the  sacred  solemnities, 
after  a  long  interinission,  are  revived."  There 
are  also  two  clauses  in  the  former  part  of  the  let- 
ter which  indicate  the  same  thing;  one,  in  which 
he  declares  that  he  had  "never  been  present  at 
any  trials  of  Christians,  and  therefore  knew  not 
what  was  the  usual  subject  of  inquiry  and  punish- 
ment, or  how  far  either  was  wont  to  be  urged." 
The  second  clause  is  the  following:  "Others 
were  named  by  an  informer,  who,  at  fir.st,  confess- 
ed themselves  Christians,  and  afterward  denied 
it ;  the  rest  said,  they  had  been  Christians,  some 
three  years  ago,  some  longer,  and  some  about 
twenty  years.  It  is  also  apparent,  that  Pliny 
speaks  of  the  Christians  as  a  description  of  men 
well  known  to  the  person  to  whom  he  writes. 
His  first  sentence  concerning  them  is.  "  I  have 
never  been  present  at  the  trials  of  Christians." 

This  mention  of  the  name  of  Christians,  with- 
out any  preparatory  explanation,  shows  that  it 
was  a  term  familiar  both  to  the  writer  of  the  let- 
ter, and  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 
Had  it  not  been  so,  Pliny  would  naturally  have 
begun  his  letter  by  informing  the  emperor,  that 
he  had  met  with  a  certain  set  of  men  in  the  pro- 
vince, called  Christians. 

Here  then  is  a  very  singular  evidence  of  the 
progress  of  the  Christian  religion  in  a  short  space. 
It  was  not  fourscore  years  after  the  crucifixion  of 
Jesus,  when  Pliny  wrote  this  letter  ;  nor  seventy 
years  since  the  apostles  of  Jesus  began  to  mention 
his  name  to  the  Gentile  world.  Bithynia  and 
Pontus  were  at  a  great  distance  from  Judea,  the 
centre  from  which  the  religion  spread;  yet  in 
these  provinces,  Christianity  had  long  subsisted, 
and  Christians  were  now  in  such  numbers  as  to 
lead  the  Roman  governor  to  report  to  the  empero^ 

*  C.  Pliii.  Trajano  Imp.  lib.  .x.  ep.  xcviL 


360 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


that  they  were  founri  not  only  in  cities,  but  in  vil- 
lages and  in  open  countries  ;  of  all  ages,  of  every 
rank  and  condition  ;  that  they  abounded  so  milch, 
as  to  have  produced  a  visible  desertion  of  the 
teinples ;  that  beasts  brought  to  market  for  victims, 
had  few  purchasers;  that  the  sacred  solemnities 
were  much  neglected; — circumstances  noted  by 
Pliny,  for  the  express  purpose  of  showing  to  the 
emf)eror  the  ertcct  and  prevalency  of  the  new  in- 
stitution. 

No  evidence  remains,  by  which  it  can  be  proved 
that  the  Christians  were  more  numerous  in 
Pontus  and  Bithynia  than  in  other  parts  of  the 
Roman  empire;  nor  has  any  reason  been  offered 
to  show  why  they  should  be  .so.  Christianity  did 
not  begin  in  these  countries,  nor  near  them.  I  do 
not  know,  therefore,  that  we  ought  to  confine  the 
description  in  Pliny's  letter  to  the  state  of  Chris- 
tianity in  tliose  provinces,  even  if  no  other  ac- 
count of  the  same  subject  had  come  down  to  us  ; 
but  certainly,  this  letter  may  fairly  be  applied  in 
aid  and  confirmation  of  the  representations  given 
of  the  general  state  of  Christianity  in  the  world, 
by  Christian  writers  of  that  and  the  next  succeed- 
ing age. 

Justin  Martyr,  who  wrote  about  thirty  years 
after  Pliny,  and  one  hundred  and  six  after  the 
Ascension,  has  these  remarkable  words  :  "  There 
is  not  a  nation,  either  of  Greek  or  Barbarian,  or 
of  any  other  name,  even  of  those  who  wander  in 
tribes,  and  live  in  tents,  amongst  whom  prayers 
and  thanksgivings  are  not  oflered  to  the  Father 
and  Creator  of  the  Universe  by  the  name  of  the 
crucified  Jesus."  *  TertuUian,  who  comes  about 
fifty  years  afler  Justin,  appeals  to  the  governors 
of  the  Roman  empire  in  these  terms:  "  We  were 
but  of  yesterday,  and  we  have  filled  your  cities, 
islands,  towns,  and  boroughs,  the  camp,  the  senate, 
and  the  forum.  They  (the  heathen  adversaries 
of  Christianity)  lament,  that  every  sex,  age,  and 
condition,  and  persons  of  every  rank  also,  are  con- 
verts to  that  name."t  I  do  allow,  that  these  ex- 
pressions are  loose,  and  may  be  called  declamatory. 
But  even  declamation  hath  its  bounds  :  this  public 
boasting  upon  a  subject  which  must  be  known  to 
every  reader  was  not  only  useless  but  unnatural, 
unless  the  truth  of  the  case,  in  a  considerable  de- 
gree, correspond  with  the  description ;  at  least, 
unless  it  had  been  both  true  and  notorious,  that 
great  multitudes  of  Christians,  of  all  ranks  and 
orders,  were  to  be  found  in  most  parts  of  the 
Roman  empire.  The  same  TertuUian,  in  another 
passage,  by  way  of  setting  forth  the  extensive  dif- 
fusion of  Christianity,  enumerates  as  belonging 
to  Christ,  beside  many  other  countries,  the 
"  Moors  and  Gaetulians  of  Africa,  the  borders  of 
Spain,  several  nations  of  France,  and  parts  of 
Britain,  inaccessible  to  the  Romans,  the  Sama- 
ritans, Daci,  Germans,  and  Scythians  ;"t  anrl, 
whicti  is  more  material  than  the  extent  of  the  in- 
stitution, the  number  of  Christians  in  the  several 
countries  in  which  it  prevailed,  is  thus  expressed 
bv  him:  "  Although  so  great  a  multitude,  that  in 
almost  every  city  we  form  the  greater  part,  we  i 
pass  our  time  modestly  and  in  silence.  §  Clemens 
Ale.xandrinus,  who  preceded  TertuUian  by  a  few 
years,  introduces  a  comparison  between  the  success 
of  Christianity  and  that  of  the  most  celebrated 
philosophical    institutions:    "The    philosophers 


*  Rial,  en  ni  Try  ph. 
I  Ad.  Jud.  c.  7. 


t  Tertiill.  Apol.  c.  37. 
§  Ad.  Scap.  c.  in. 


were  confined  to  Greece,  and  to  their  particular 
retainers ;  but  the  doctrine  of  the  Master  of  Chris- 
tianity did  not  remain  in  Judea,  as  philosophy 
did  in  Greece,  but  it  spread  throughout  the  whole 
world,  in  every  nation,  and  village,  and  city,  both 
of  Greeks  and  Barbarians,  converting  both  whole 
houses  and  separate  individuals,  having  already 
brought  over  to  the  truth  not  a  few  of  the  philoso- 
phers themselves.  If  the  Greek  philosophy  be 
prohibited,  it  immediately  vanishes;  whereas, 
from  the  first  preaching  of  our  doctrine,  kings 
and  tyrants,  governors  and  presidents,  with  their 
whole  train,  and  with  the  populace  on  their  side, 
have  endeavoured  with  their  whole  might  to  ex- 
terminate it,  yet  doth  it  flourish  more  and  more.  ♦ 
Origen,  who  follows  TertuUian  at  the  distance  of 
only  thirty  years,  delivers  nearly  the  same  ac- 
count: "In  every  part  of  the  world  (says  he,) 
throughout  all  Greece,  and  in  all  other  nations, 
there  are  innumerable  and  immense  multitudes, 
who,  having  left  the  laws  of  their  country,  and 
those  whom  they  esteemed  gods,  have  given 
themselves  up  to  the  law  of  Moses,  and  the  reli- 
gion of  Christ:  and  this  not  without  the  bitterest 
resentment  from  the  idolaters,  by  whom  they 
were  frequently  put  to  torture,  and  sometimes  to 
death :  and  it  is  wonderful  to  observe,  how,  in  so 
short  a  time,  the  religion  has  increased,  amidst 
punishment  and  death,  and  every  kind  of  torture. "t 
In  another  passage,  Origen  draws  the  following 
candid  comparison  between  the  state  of  Christi- 
anity in  his  time,  and  the  condition  of  its  more 
primitive  ages :  "  By  the  good  providence  of  God, 
the  Christian  religion  has  so  flourished  and  in- 
creased continually,  that  it  is  now  preached  freely 
without  molestation,  although  there  were  a  thou- 
sand obstacles  to  the  spreading  of  the  doctrine  of 
Jesus  in  the  world.  But  as  it  was  the  will  of 
God  that  the  Gentiles  should  have  the  benefit  of 
it,  all  the  counsels  of  men  against  the  Christians 
were  defeated  :  and  by  how  much  the  more  em- 
perors and  governors  of  provinces,  and  the  people 
every  where,  strove  to  depress  them ;  so  much  the 
more  have  they  increased,  and  prevailed  exceed- 
ingly." t 

It  is  well  knowm,  that  within  less  than  eighty 
years  after  this,  the  Roman  empire  became  Chris- 
tian under  Constantine :  and  it  is  probable  that 
Constantine  declared  himself  on  the  side  of  the 
Christians,  because  they  were  the  powerful  party ; 
for  Arnobius,  who  wrote  immediately  before  Con- 
stantine's  accession,  speaks  of  the  whole  world 
as  filled  with  Christ's  doctrine,  of  its  diffusion 
throughout  all  countries,  of  an  innumerable  body 
of  Christians  in  distant  provinces,  of  the  strange 
revolution  of  opinion  of  men  of  the  greatest  ge- 
nius, orators,  grammarians,  rhetoricians,  lawyers, 
physicians,  having  come  over  to  the  institution, 
and  that  also  in  the  face  of  threats,  executions, 
and  tortures. §  And  not  more  than  twenty  years 
after  Constantines  entire  possession  of  the  em- 
pire, Julius  Firmicus  Maternus  calls  upon  the 
emperors  Constantius  and  Constans  to  extirpate 
the  relics  of  the  ancient  religion ;  the  reduced  and 
fallen  condition  of  which  is  described  by  our  au- 
thor in  the  following  words:  "Licet  adhuc  in 
quibusdam  regionibus  idololatriae  morientia  palpi- 


*  Clem.  Al.  Strum,  lib.  vi.  ad  fin. 
t  Oris,  ill  Cels.  lib.  1.         X  Oiie.  cont.  Cels.  lib.  vii. 
5  Ariiob.  in  Gentes,  1.  i.  p.  27.  0  24.  42.  44.  edit.  Lug 
Bat.  ItiSO. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


361 


lent  membra ;  tamen  in  eo  rco  est,  lit  aChristianis 
Dmnibus  terns  pcstif'erum  hoc  malum  funditus 
amputetur:"  and  in  another  place,  "Modit-uni 
tantum  superest,  ut  legibus  vestris — extincta  ido- 
lolatriEe  pereat  funesta  contagio."*  It  will  not  he 
thought  that  we  quote  this  writer  in  order  to  re- 
commend his  temper  or  his  judgment,  but  to  show 
the  comparative  state  of  Christianity  and  of  Hea- 
thenism at  this  period.  Filty  years  afterward, 
Jerome  represents  the  decline  of  Paganism  in 
language  which  conveys  the  same  idea  of  its  ap- 
proaching extinction  :  "  Sohtudinem  patitur  et  in 
urbe  gentilitas.  Dii  quondam  nationam,  cum  bu- 
bonibus  et  noctuis,  in  solis  culminibus  remanse- 
runt."t  Jerome  here  indulges  a  triumph,  natural 
and  allowable  in  a  zealous  Iriend  of  the  cause,  but 
which  could  only  be  suggested  to  his  mind  by  the 
consent  and  universality  with  which  he  saw  the 
reliijion  received.  "  But  now  (says  he)  the  passion 
and  resurrection  of  Christ  are  celebrated  in  the 
discourses  and  writings  of  all  nations.  I  need  not 
mention,  Jews,  Greeks,  and  Latins.  The  Indians, 
Persians,  Goths,  and  Egyptians,  philosophize,  and 
firmlj'  believe  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  fu- 
ture recompenses,  which,  before,  the  greatest  phi- 
osophers  had  denied,  or  doubted  of,  or  perplexed 
with  their  disjjutes.  The  fierceness  of  Thracians 
and  Scythians  is  now  softened  by  the  gentle  sound 
of  the  Gospel ;  and  ever}'  where  Christ  is  all  in 
all.''t  Were  therefore  the  motives  of  Constan- 
tine's  conversion  ever  so  problematical,  the  easy 
establishment  of  Christianity,  and  the  ruin  of 
Heathenism,  under  him  and  his  immediate  suc- 
cessors, is  of  itself  a  proof  of  the  progress  which 
Christianit}'  had  made  in  the  preceding  period.  It 
may  be  added  also,  "that  Maxentius,  the  rival  of 
Constantine,  had  shown  himself  friendly  to  the 
Christians.  Therefore  of  those  who  were  con- 
tending for  worldly  power  and  empire,  one  actual- 
1}'  favoured  and  flattered  them,  and  another  may 
be  suspected  to  have  joined  himself  to  them,  part- 
ly from  consideration  of  interest :  so  considerable 
were  they  become,  under  external  disadvantages 
of  all  sorts. "§  This  at  least  is  certain,  that  through- 
out the  whole  transaction  hitherto,  the  great  seem- 
ed to  follow,  not  to  lead,  the  public  opinion. 

It  ma}'  help  to  convey  to  us  some  notion  of  the 
extent  and  progress  of  Christianity,  or  rather  of 
the  character  and  quality  of  many  early  Chris- 
tians, of  their  learning  and  their  labours,  to  notice 
the  number  of  Christian  xrriters  who  flourished 
in  these  ages.  Saint  Jerome's  catalogue  contains 
sLrty-six  writers  within  the  first  three  centuries, 
and  the  first  six  years  of  the  fourth ;  and  Jifty- 
four  between  that  time  and  his  own,  viz.  A.  D. 
39-2.  Jerome  introduces  his  catalogue  with  the 
following  just  remonstrance: — "Let  those  who 
say  the  church  has  had  no  philosophers,  nor  elo- 
quent and  learned  men,  observe  who  and  what 
they  were  who  founded,  established,  and  adorned 
it :  let  them  cease  to  accuse  our  faith  of  rusticity, 
and  confess  their  mi.stake."ll  Of  these  writers,  se- 
veral, as  Justin,  IrenfEus,  Clement  of  Alexandria, 
Tertullian,  Origen.  Bardesanes,  Hippolitus,  Eu- 
sebius,  were  voluminous  writers.  Christian  wri- 
ters abounded   particularly  about  the  year  178. 


*  De  Error.  Profan.  Relig.  c.  x.vi.  p.  172,  quoted  by 
Lardner,  vol.  viii.  p.  26-2. 
t  Jer.  ad  Lect.  ep.  5,  7.  |  Jer.  ep.  8.  ad  Heliod. 

§  Lardner,  Cred.  vol.  vii.  p.  380. 
I  Jer.  Prol.  in  Lib.  de  Scr.  Eccl. 
2Z 


Alexander,  bishop  of  Jerusalem,  founded  a  library 
in  that  city,  A.  D.  212.  Pamphilus,  the  friend  of 
<  'rigcn,  founded  a  library  at  Cesarca,  A.  D.  2'J4. 
Public  defences  were  also  set  forth,  by  various  ad- 
vocates of  the  religion,  in  the  course  of  its  first 
three  centuries.  Within  one  hundred  years  af- 
ter Christ's  ascension,  Cluadratus  and  Aristides, 
whose  works,  except  some  few  fragments  of  the 
first,  are  lost ;  and,  about  twenty  years  afterward, 
Justin  JNlartyr,  whose  works  remain,  pri'sciitcd 
apologies  for  the  Christian  religion  to  the  Pionian 
emperors;  Cluadratus  and  Aristides  to  Adrian, 
Justin  to  Antoninus  Pius,  and  a  second  to  Mar- 
cus Antoninus.  Melito.  bisiiop  of  Sardis,  and 
Apollinaris,  bishop  of  Hierapolis,  and  Miltiadcs, 
men  of  great  reputation,  did  the  same  to  Marcus 
Antoninus,  twenty  years  afterward:*  and  ten 
years  after  this,  Apollonius,  who  sufiercd  martyr- 
dom under  the  emperor  Commodus,  composed  an 
apology  for  his  faith,  which  he  read  in  the  senate, 
and  which  was  afterward  published. t  Fourteen 
years  after  the  apology  of  Apollonius,  Tertullian 
addressed  the  work  which  now  remains  under 
that  name  to  the  governors  of  provinces  in  the 
Roman  empire;  and,  about  the  same  time,  Minu- 
cius  Felix  composed  a  defence  of  the  Christian 
religion,  which  is  still  extant;  and  shortly  after 
the  conclusion  of  this  century,  copious  defences 
of  Christianity  were  published  by  Arnobius  and 
Lactantius. 


SECTION  n. 

Reflections  upon  the  'preceding  account. 

In  viewing  the  progress  of  Christianity,  our 
first  attention  is  due  to  the  number  of  converts  at 
Jerusalem,  immediately  after  its  Founder's  death; 
because  this  success  was  a  success  at  the  time,  and 
upon  the  spot,  when  and  where  the  chief  part  of 
the  history  had  been  transacted. 

We  are,  in  the  next  place,  called  upon  to  attend 
to  the  early  establishment  of  numerous  Christian 
societies  in  Judea  and  Galilee;  which  countries 
had  been  the  scene  of  Christ's  miracles  and  minis- 
try, and  where  the  memory  of  what  had  passed, 
and  the  knowledge  of  what  was  alleged,  must 
have  yet  been  fresh  and  certain. 

We  are,  Uiirdly,  invited  to  recollect  the  success 
of  the  apostles  and  of  their  companions,  at  the 
several  places  to  which  they  came,  both  within 
and  without  Judea  ;  because  it  was  the  credit 
given  to  original  witnesses,  appealing  for  the  truth 
of  their  accounts  to  what  themselves  had  seen  and 
heard.  The  effect  also  of  their  preaching  strongly 
confirms  the  truth  of  what  our  history  positively 
and  circumstantially  relates,  that  they  were  able 
to  exhibit  to  their  hearers*  supernatural  attestations 
of  their  mission. 

We  are,  lastly,  toconsiderthesKftsegwen^growth 
and  spread  of  the  religion,  of  which  we  receive 
successive  intimations,  and  satisfactory,  though 
general  and  occasional,  accounts,  until  its  full  and 
final  establishment. 

In  all  these  several  stages,  the  history  is  without 
a  parallel:  for  it  must  be  observed,  that  we  have 


*  Eiiseb.  Hist.  lib.  iv.  c.  26.    See  also  Laidnor,  vol.  ii 
p.  CCfi. 
t  Lardner,  vol.  ii.  p.  G87. 

31 


36-2 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


not  now  been  tracing  the  progress,  and  describing 
the  prevalency,  of  an  opinion,  founded  upon  philo- 
sophical or  critical  arguments,  upon  mere  deduc- 
'•i>n  of  reason,  or  the  construction  of  ancient 
writings;  (of  which  kind  are  the  several  theories 
which  have,  at  dillbrent  times,  gained  possession 
of  the  public  niind  in  various  departments  of 
science  and  literature ;  and  of  one  or  other  of 
which  kind  are  the  tenets  also  wiiich  divide  the 
various  sects  of  Christianity ;)  but  that  we  speak 
of  a  system,  the  very  basis  and  postulatum  of 
which  was  a  supernatural  character  ascribed  to  a 
particular  person  ;  of  a  doctrine,  the  truth  whereof 
depends  entirely  upon  the  truth  of  a  matter  of  fact 
then  recent.  "  To  establish  a  new  religion,  even 
aniungst  a  few  people,  or  in  one  single  nation,  is 
a  thing  in  itself  exceedingly  difficult.  To  reform 
some  corruptions  which  may  have  spread  in  a  re- 
ligion, or  to  make  new  regulations  in  it,  is  not 
perhaps  so  hard,  when  the  main  and  principal 
part  of  that  religion  is  preserved  entire  and  un- 
shaken ;  and  yet  this  very  often  cannot  be  accom- 
plished without  an  extraordinary  concurrence  of 
circumstances,  and  may  be  attempted  a  thousand 
times  without  success.  But  to  introduce  a  new 
faith,  a  new  way  of  thinking  and  acting,  and  to 
persuade  many  nations  to  quit  the  religion  in 
which  their  ancestors  have  lived  and  died,  which 
had  been  delivered  down  to  them  from  time  im- 
memorial, to  make  them  forsake  and  despise  the 
deities  which  they  had  been  accustomed  to  reve- 
rence and  worship ;  this  is  a  work  of  still  greater 
dilficulty.*  The  resistance  of  education,  worldly 
policy,  and  superstition,  is  almost  invincible." 

If  men,  in  these  days,  be  Christians  in  conse- 
quence of  their  education,  in  submission  to  autho- 
rity, or  in  compliance  with  fashion,  let  us  recollect 
that  the  very  contrary  of  this,  at  the  beginning, 
was  the  case.  The  first  race  of  Christians,  as 
well  as  millions  who  succeeded  them,  became 
sucli  in  formal  opposition  to  all  these  motives,  to 
the  whole  povv'er  and  strength  of  this  influence. 
Every  argument,  therefore,  and  every  instance, 
which  sets  forth  the  prejudice  of  education,  and 
the  almost  irresistible  ellects  of  that  prejudice 
(and  no  persons  are  more  fond  of  expatiating  upon 
this  subject  than  deistical  writers,)  in  fact  confirms 
the  evidence  of  Christianity. 

But,  in  order  to  judge  of  the  argument  which  is 
drawn  from  the  early  propagation  of  Christianity, 
I  know  no  fairer  way  of  proceeding,  than  to  com- 
pare what  we  have  seen  on  the  subject,  with  the 
success  of  Christian  missions  in  modern  ages. 
In  the  East  India  mission,  supported  by  the  So- 
ciety for  promoting  Christian  Knowledge,  we 
hear  sometimes  of  thirty,  sometimes  of  forty,  being 
baptized  in  the  course  of  a  year,  and  these  princi- 
pally children.  Of  converts  properly  so  called, 
that  is,  of  adults  voluntarily  embracing  Christian- 
ity, the  number  is  extremely  small.  "Notwith- 
standing the  labour  of  missionaries  for  upwards  of 
two  hundred  years,  and  the  establishments  of 
diiltrent  Christian  nations  who  support  them, 
there  are  not  twelve  thousand  Indian  Christians, 
an  1  those  almost  entirely  outcasts. "t 

I  lament,  as  much  as  any  man,  the  little  pro- 
gress which  Christianity  has  made  in  these  coun- 
tries, and  the  inconsiderable  efiijct  that  has  followed 

*  .Tortin's  Dis.  on  the  Christ.  Rel.  p.  107.  ed.  iv. 

t  Sketches  relating  to  the  history,  learning,  and  man- 
ners nf  the  Hindoos,  p.  4S;  qnoled  by  Dr.  Robertson, 
Hist.  Dis.  concerning  ancient  India,  p.  236. 


the  labours  of  its  missionaries :  but  I  see  in  it  a 
strong  proof  of  the  Divine  origin  of  the  religion. 
What  had  the  apostles  to  assist  them  in  propagat- 
ing Christianity  which  the  missionaries  liave  not  1 
If  piety  and  zeal  had  been  sufficient,  1  doubt  not 
but  that  our  missionaries  possess  these  qualities  in 
a  high  degree :  for,  nothing  exf  ept  piety  and  zeal 
could  engage  them  in  the  undertaking.  If  sanc- 
tity of  life  and  manners  was  the  allurement,  the 
conduct  of  these  men  is  unblamable.  If  the  ad- 
vantage of  education  and  learning  be  looked  to, 
there  is  not  one  of  the  modern  missionaries,  who 
is  not,  in  this  respect,  superior  to  all  the  apostles: 
and  that  not  only  absolutely,  but,  what  is  of  more 
importance,  relatively,  in  comparison,  that  is, 
with  those  amongst  whom  they  exercise  their 
ofiice.  If  the  intrinsic  excellency  of  the  religion, 
the  perfection  of  its  morality,  the  purity  of  its  pre- 
cepts, the  eloquence  or  tenderness  or  sublimity  of 
various  parts  of  its  writings,  were  the  recommend- 
ations by  which  it  made  its  way,  these  remain  the 
same.  If  the  character  and  circumstances,  under 
which  the  preachers  were  introduced  to  the  coun- 
tries in  which  they  taught,  be  accounted  of  im- 
portance, this  advantage  is  all  on  the  side  of  the 
modern  missionaries.  They  come  from  a  country 
and  a  people  to  which  the  Indian  world  look  up 
with  sentiments  of  deference.  The  apostles  came 
forth  amongst  the  Gentiles  under  no  other  name 
than  that  of  Jews,  which  was  precisely  the  charac- 
ter they  despised  and  derided.  If  it  be  disgraceful 
in  India  to  become  a  Christian,  it  could  not  be 
much  less  so  to  be  enrolled  amongst  those,  "quos 
perflagitia  invisos,  vulgus  Christianos  appellabat." 
If  the  religion  which  they  had  to  encounter  be 
considered,  the  difference,  I  apprehend,  will  not 
be  great.  The  theology  of  both  was  nearly  the 
same:  "what  is  supposed  to  be  performed  by  the 
power  of  Jupiter,  of  Neptune,  of  .^Eolus,  of  jNlars, 
of  Venus,  according  to  the  mythology  of  the  West, 
is  ascribed,  in  the  East,  to  the  agency  of  Agrio  tlie 
god  of  fire,  Varoon  the  god  of  oceans,  Vayoo  the 
god  of  wind,  Cama  the  god  of  love."*  The  sa- 
cred rites  of  the  Western  Polytheism  were  gay, 
festive,  and  licentious  ;  the  rites  of  the  public  re- 
ligion in  the  East  partake  of  the  same  character, 
with  a  more  avowed  indecency.  "  In  every  func- 
tion performed  in  the  pagodas,  as  well  as  in  every 
public  procession,  it  is  the  office  of  these  women 
(i.  e.  of  women  prepared  by  the  Brahmins  for  (he 
purpose,)  to  dance  before  the  idol,  and  to  sing 
hymns  in  his  praise ;  and  it  is  difficult  to  say  whe- 
ther they  trespass  most  against  decency  by  the 
gestures  they  exhibit,  or  by  the  verses  which  they 
recite.  The  walls  of  the  yiagodas  were  covered 
with  paintings  in  a  style  no  less  indelicate. ''t 

On  both  sides  of  the  comparison,  the  popular 
religion  had  a  strong  establisbment.  In  ancient 
Greece  and  Rome,  it  was  strictly  incorporated 
with  the  state.  The  magistrate  was  the  priest. 
The  highest  officers  of  government  bore  the  most 
distinguished  part  in  the  celebration  of  the  public 
rites.  In  India,  a  powerful  and  numerous  ca.st 
possess  exclusively  the  administration  of  the  esta- 

«  Raghvat  Geeta,  p.  94,  quoted  oy  Dr.  Robertson,  lud. 
Dis.  p.  :fOQ. 

t  Others  nf  the  deities  of  the  East  are  of  nn  austere 
and  gloomy  character,  to  be  propitiated  by  victims, 
sometimes  by  human  sacrifices,  and  by  voluntary  tor- 
ments of  the  most  excruciating  kind.— Voyage  lie  Gen- 
til,  vol.  i.  p.  244— 2fi0  Preface  to  Gode  ofGenloo  Laws, 
p.  57,  quoted  by  Dr.  Robertson,  p.  ;i20. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


3G3 


blislied  worship ;  and  are,  of  consequence,  devoted 
to  the  service,  and  attached  to  its  interest.  In 
both,  the  prevailing  mythology  was  destitute  of 
any  proper  evidence  :  or  rather,  in  both,  the  origin 
of  the  tradition  is  run  up  into  ages  long  anterior 
to  the  existence  of  credible  history,  or  of  written 
language.  The  Indian  chronology  computes  eras 
by  millions  of  years,  and  the  life  of  man  by  thou- 
s;iiids  ;*  and  in  these,  or  prior  to  these,  is  placed 
the  history  of  their  divinities.  In  both,  the  esta- 
blished superstition  held  the  same  place  in  the  pub- 
lic opniion ;  that  is  to  say,  in  both  it  was  credited 
by  the  bulk  of  the  people.t  but  by  the  learned  and 
philosophical  part  of  the  community,  either  derid- 
ed, or  regarded  by  them  as  only  fit  to  be  upholden 
for  the  sake  of  its  political  uses.t 

Or  if  it  should  be  allowed,  that  the  ancient  hea- 
thens believed  in  their  religion  less  generally  than 
the  present  Indians  do,  I  am  far  from  thinking 
that  this  circumstance  would  aflbrd  any  facility  to 
the  wrjrk  of  the  apostles,  above  that  of  the  modern 
missionaries.  To  me  it  appears,  and  I  think  it 
material  to  be  remarked,  that  a  disbehef  of  the  es- 
tablished religion  of  their  country  has  no  tendency 
to  dispose  men  for  the  reception  of  another ;  but 
that,  on  the  contrary,  it  generates  a  settled  con- 
tempt of  all  religious  pretensions  whatever.  Gene- 
ral infidelity  is  the  hardest  soil  which  the  propa- 
gators of  a  new  religion  can  have  to  work  upon. 
Could  a  Alethodist  or  Moravian  promise  himself 
a  better  chance  of  success  with  a  French  esprit 
fort,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  laugh  at  the 
popery  of  his  country  than  with  a  believing  Ma- 
hometan or  Hindoo  ]  Or  are  our  modern  unbe- 
lievers in  Christianity,  for  that  reason,  in  danger 
of  becoming  Mahometans  or  Hindoos  1  It  does 
not  appear  that  the  Jews,  who  had  a  body  of  his- 
torical evidence  to  ofler  for  their  religion,  and  who 
at  that  time  undoubtedly  entertained   and  held 


*  "  The  Siiffec  Jogiie,  or  age  of  purity,  is  said  to  have 
la?terl  three  millions  two  hundred  thousand  years  ;  and 
they  hold  tliat  tlie  life  of  man  was  e.ttended  in  that  age 
to  line  hundred  thousand  years  ;  but  there  is  a  difference 
amonsrst  the  Indian  writers,  of  six  millions  of  years  in 
the  computation  of  this  era." — Preface  to  Code  of  Gen- 
too  Laws,  p.  57,  quoted  by  Dr.  Robertson,  p.  3-20. 

t  ■■  Hiiw  absurd  soever  the  articles  of  faith  may  be, 
which  superstition  has  adopted,  or  how  unhallowed  the 
rites  which  it  prescribes,  the  former  are  received,  in 
every  ase  and  country,  with  unhesitating  assent,  by 
the  ereat  body  of  the  people,  and  the  latter  observed 
with  scrupulous  exactness.  In  our  reasoningsconcern- 
ing  opinions  and  practices  which  differ  widely  from  our 
own,  we  are  extremely  apt  to  err.  Having  been  in- 
structed ourselves  in  the  principles  of  a  religion,  worthy 
in  every  respect  of  that  Divine  wisdom  by  which  they 
were  dictated,  we  frequently  express  wonder  at  the  cre- 
dulity c)f  nations,  in  embracing  systems  of  belief  which 
app  'ar  to  us  so  directly  repugnant  to  right  reason  ;  and 
sometimes  suspect,  that  tenets  so  wild  and  extravagant 
do  not  really  gain  credit  with  them.  But  exjierience  may 
satisfy  us,  that  neither  our  wonder  nor  suspicions  are 
well  founded.  No  article  of  the  public  religion  was 
called  in  question  by  those  people  of  ancient  Europe 
with  whose  history  we  are  best  acquainted;  and  no 
practice,  which  it  enjoined,  appeared  improper  to  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  every  opinion  that  tended  to  dimi- 
nish the  reverence  of  men  for  the  gods  of  their  country, 
or  to  alienate  them  from  their  worship,  e.xcited,  among 
the  Greeks  and  Romans,  that  indignant  zeal  which  is 
natural  to  every  people  attached  to  their  religion  by  a 
lirin  persuasion  of  its  truth." — Ind.  Dis.  p.  3-21. 

I  That  the  learned  Brahmins  of  the  East  are  rational 
Theists,  and  secretly  reject  the  established  theory,  and 
contemn  the  rites  that  were  founded  upon  them,  or  ra- 
ther cunsiiler  them  as  contrivances  to  be  supported  for 
their  political  uses,  see  Dr.  llobertsou's  Ind.  Dis.  p.  3-24. 
— 33i 


forth  the  expectation  of  a  future  state,  derived  any 
great  advantage,  as  to  the  extension  of  their  sys- 
tem, from  the  discredit  into  which  the  popular 
religion  had  fallen  with  many  of  their  heathen 
neighbours. 

We  have  particularly  directed  our  observations 
to  the  state  and  progress  of  Christianity  amongst 
the  inhabitants  of  India :  but  the  history  of  the 
Christian  mission  in  other  countries,  where  the 
efficacy  of  the  mission  is  left  solely  to  the  convic- 
tion wrought  by  the  preaching  of  strangers,  pre- 
sents the  same  idea,  as  the  Indian  mission  does, 
of  the  feebleness  and  inadequacy  of  human  means. 
About  twenty-five  years  ago,  was  published  in 
England  a  translation  from  the  Dutch,  of  a  His- 
tory of  Greenland,  and  a  relation  of  the  mission 
for  above  thirty  years  carried  on  in  that  country 
by  the  Unitas  Fratrum,  or  Moravians.  Every 
part  of  that  relation  confirms  the  opinion  we  have 
stated.  Nothing  could  surpass,  or  hardly  equal, 
the  zeal  and  patience  of  the  missioiraries.  Yet 
their  historian,  in  the  conclusion  of  his  narrative, 
could  find  place  for  no  reflections  more  encouraging 
than  the  following : — "  A  person  that  had  known 
the  heathen,  that  had  seen  the  little  benefit  from 
the  great  pains  hitherto  taken  with  them,  and 
considered  that  one  after  another  had  abandoned 
all  hopes  of  the  conversion  of  those  infidels  (and 
some  thought  they  would  never  be  converted,  till 
they  saw  miracles  wrought  as  in  the  apostles'  days, 
and  this  the  Greenlanders  expected  and  demanded 
of  their  instructors;)  one  that  considered  this,  I 
say,  would  not  so  much  wonder  at  the  past  un- 
fruitfulness  of  these  young  beginners,  as  at  their 
steadfast  perseverance  in  the  midst  of  nothing  but 
distress,  ditficulties,  and  impediments,  internally 
and  externally;  and  that  they  never  desponded  of 
the  conversion  of  those  poor  creatures  amidst  all 
seeming  impossibilities."* 

From  the  widely  disproportionate  effects  which 
attend  the  preaching  of  modern  missionaries  of 
Christianity,  compared  with  what  followed  the 
ministry  of  Christ  and  his  apostles  under  circum- 
stances either  alike,  or  not  so  unlike  as  to  account 
for  the  difitrence,  a  conclusion  is  fairly  drawn,  in 
support  of  what  our  histories  deliver  concerning 
them,  viz.  that  they  possessed  means  of  conviction, 
which  we  have  not ;  that  they  had  proofs  to  appeal 
to,  which  we  want. 


SECTION  III. 
Of  the  Religion  of  Mahomet. 

The  only  event  in  the  history  of  the  human 
species  which  admits  of  comparison  with  the  pro- 
pagation of  Christiainty,  is  the  success  of  JNlaho- 
metanism.  The  Alalioinetan  institution  was  rapid 
in  its  progress,  was  recent  in  its  history,  and  was 
founded  upon  a  supernatural  or  prophetic  charac- 
ter assumed  by  its  author.  In  these  articles,  the 
resemblance  with  Christianity  is  confessed.  But 
there  are  points  of  difl'erence,  which  separate,  we 
apprehend,  the  two  cases  entirely. 

I.  Mahomet  did  not  found  his  pretensions  upon 
miracles,  properly  so  called ;  that  is,  upon  proofs 
of  supernatural  agency,  capable  of  being  known 
and  attested  by  others.  Christians  are  warranted 
in  this  assertion  by  the  evidence  of  the  Koran,  in 


*  History  of  Greenland,  vol.  ii.  p.  376. 


3r.4 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


wliicli  Mahomet  not  only  does  not  affect  the  power 
of  working  miracles,  but  expressly  disclaims  it. 
The  following  [lassages  of  that  book  furnish  direct 
proofs  of  the  truth  of  what  we  allege: — "  The  in- 
fidels say,  Unless  a  sign  be  sent  down  unto  him 
from  his  lord,  we  will  not  believe ;  thou  art  a 
preacher  only."*  Again  ;  ''  Nothing  hindered  us 
from  sending  thee  with  miracles,  except  that  the 
former  nations  have  charged  them  with  impos- 
ture."t  And  lastly  ;  "  They  say,  unless  a  sign 
be  sent  down  unto  him  from  his  lord,  we  will  not 
believe:  Answer;  Signs  are  in  the  power  of  God 
alone,  and  I  am  no  more  than  a  public  preacher. 
Is  it  not  sufficient  for  them,  that  we  have  sent 
down  unto  them  the  book  of  the  Koran  to  be  read 
imto  them  V't  Besides  these  acknowledgments,  I 
have  observed  thirteen  distinct  places,  in  which 
Mahomet  puts  the  objection  (unless  a  sign,  &c.) 
into  the  mouth  of  the  unbeliever,  in  not  one  of 
which  does  he  allege  a  miracle  in  reply.  His  an- 
swer is,  "  that  God  giveth  the  power  of  working 
miracles,  when  and  to  whom  he  plcaseth  ;"§  "  that 
if  he  should  work  miracles,  they  would  not  be- 
lieve ;"ll  "  that  they  had  before  rejected  Moses,  and 
the  Prophets,  who  wrought  miracles  ;"Tr  "  that  the 
Koran  itself  was  a  miracle,"** 

The  only  place  in  the  Koran  in  which  it  can 
be  ])retended  that  a  sensible  miracle  is  referred  to 
(for  I  do  not  allow  the  secret  visitations  of  Gabriel, 
the  night  journey  of  Mahomet  to  heaven,  or  the 
presence  in  battle  of  invisible  hosts  of  angels,  to 
deserve  the  name  of  sensible  miracles,)  is  the  be- 
ginning of  the  lifty-fourth  chapter.  The  words 
are  these: — "  The  hour  of  judgment  approacheth, 
and  the  moon  hath  been  split  in  sunder;  but  if 
the  unbelievers  see  a  sign,  they  turn  aside  saying. 
This  is  a  powerful  charm."  The  Mahometan 
expositors  disagree  in  their  interpretation  of  this 
passage ;  some  explaining  it  to  be  a  mention  of 
the  splitting  of  the  moon,  as  one  of  the  future 
signs  of  the  approach  of  the  day  of  judgment ; 
others  referring  it  to  a  miraculous  appearance 
which  had  then  taken  place. tt  It  seems  to  me  not 
improbable,  that  Mahomet  might  have  taken  ad- 
vantage of  some  extraordinary  halo,  or  other  un- 
usual appearance  of  the  moon,  which  had  hap- 
pened about  this  time ;  and  which  supplied  a 
foundation  both  for  this  passage,  and  for  the  story 
which  in  after  times  had  been  raised  out  of  it. 

After  this  more  thansilence,  after  these  authen- 
tic confessions  of  the  Koran,  we  are  not  to  be 
moved  with  miraculous  stories  related  of  Maho- 
met by  Abulfeda,  who  wrote  his  life,  about  six 
hundred  years  after  his  death;  or  which  are  found 
in  the  legend  of  Al-Janabi,  who  came  two  hun- 
dred years  later. tt  On  the  contrary,  from  com- 
paring what  Mahomet  himself  wrote  and  said, 
with  what  was  afterwards  reported  of  him  by  his 
followers,  the  plain  and  fur  conclusion  is,  that 
when  the  religion  was  established  by  conquest, 


*  Sale's  Koran,  c.  xiii.  p.  201.  ed.  quarto. 

t  Ch  xvii.  p.  i;3-2.  t  Ch.  xxix.  p.  328. 

jCli.  v.  X.  xiii.  twice.  11  d-  vi. 

irf'h.  iii.  xxi.  xxviii.  **Ch.  xvi. 

tt  Vide  Sale,  in  Inc. 

It  It  does  not,  I  think,  appear,  that  these  historians 
hail  any  written  accounts  to  appeal  to,  more  ancient 
than  the  Sounah  ;  which  was  a  collection  of  traditions 
made  by  order  of  the  caliphs  two  hundred  years  after 
Mahomet's  death.  Mahomet  dicrl  .X.  n  (i:)2;  Al  Bochari, 
one  of  the  six  doctors  who  conipiliil  th.'  t^ounah.  was 
born  A.  D  8011;  d  ed  in  8(i9.— Prideauxs  Life  of  Maho- 
met, p.  192.  ed.  7th. 


then,  and  not  till  then,  came  out  the  stories  of  his 
miracles. 

Now  this  difference  alone  constitutes,  in  my 
opinion,  a  bar  to  all  reasoning  from  one  case  to 
the  other.  The  success  of  a  religion  founded 
upon  a  miraculous  history,  shows  the  credit  which 
was  given  to  the  history ;  and  this  credit,  under 
the  circumstances  in  which  it  was  given,  i.  e.  by 
persons  capable  of  knowing  the  truth,  and  inter- 
ested to  inquire  after  it,  is  evidence  of  the  reality 
of  the  history,  and,  by  consequence,  of  the  truth 
of  the  religion.  Where  a  miraculous  history  is 
not  alleged,  no  part  of  this  argument  can  be  ap- 
plied. We  admit,  that  multitudes  acknowledge 
the  pretensions  of  Mahomet ;  but,  these  preten- 
sions being  destitute  of  miraculous  evidence,  we 
know  that  the  grounds  upon  which  they  were 
acknowledged,  could  not  be  secure  grounds  of  per- 
suasion to  his  followers,  nor  their  example  any 
authority  to  us.  Admit  the  whole  of  Mahomet's 
authentic  history,  so  far  as  it  was  of  a  nature, 
capable  of  being  known  or  witnessed  by  others, 
to  be  true  (which  is  certainly  to  admit  all  that  the 
reception  of  the  religion  can  be  brought  to  prove,) 
and  Mahomet  might  still  be  an  impostor,  or  en- 
thusiast, or  a  union  of  both.  Admit  to  be  true 
almost  any  part  of  Christ's  history,  of  that  I  mean, 
which  was  public,  and  within  the  cognizance  of 
his  followers,  and  he  must  have  come  from  God. 
Where  matter  of  fact  is  not  in  question,  where 
miracles  are  not  alleged,  I  do  not  see  that  the  pro- 
gress of  a  religion  is  a  better  argument  of  its  truth, 
than  the  prevalency  of  any  system  of  opinions  in 
natural  religion,  moralitj',  or  physics,  is  a  proof  of 
the  truth  of  those  opinions.  And  we  know  that 
this  sort  of  argument  is  inadmissible  in  any  branch 
of  philosophy  whatever. 

I3ut  it  will  be  said.  If  one  religion  could  make 
its  way  without  miracles,  why  might  not  another  1 
To  which  I  reply,  first,  that  this  is  not  the  ques- 
tion ;  the  proper  question  is  not,  whether  a  reli- 
gious institution  could  be  set  up  without  miracles, 
but  whether  a  rehgion  or  a  change  of  religion, 
founding  itself  in  miracles,  could  succeed  without 
any  reality  to  rest  uponl  I  apprehend  these  two 
cases  to  be  very  different ;  and  I  apprehend  Ma- 
homet's not  taking  this  course,  to  be  one  jiroof, 
amongst  others,  that  the  thing  is  difficult,  if  not 
impossible,  to  be  accomplished ;  certaiidy  it  was 
not  from  an  unconsciousness  of  the  value  and  im- 
portance of  miraculous  evidence :  for  it  is  very  ob- 
servable, that  in  the  same  volume,  and  sometimes 
in  the  same  chapters,  in  which  Mahomet  so  re- 
peatedly disclaims  the  power  of  working  miracles 
himself,  he  is  incessantly  referring  to  the  miracles 
of  preceding  prophets.  One  would  imagine,  to 
hear  some  men  talk,  or  to  read  some  books,  that 
the  setting  up  of  a  religion  by  dint  of  miraculous 
pretences  was  a  thing  of  every  day's  experience  ; 
whereas  I  believe,  that,  except  the  Jewish  and 
Christian  religion,  there  is  no  tolerably  well  au- 
thenticated account  of  any  such  thing  having  been 
accomplished. 

II.  The  establishment  of  Mahomet's  religion 
was  effected  by  causes  which  in  no  degree  apper- 
tained to  the  oritjin  of  Christianity. 

During  the  first  twelve  years  of  his  mission, 
Mahomet  had  recourse  only  to  persuasion.  This 
is  allowed.  And  there  is  sufficient  reason  from 
the  effi'ct  to  believe,  that,  if  he  had  confined  him- 
self to  this  mode  of  propagating  his  religion,  we 
of  the  present  day  should  never  have  heard  either 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


365 


of  him  or  it.  "  Three  years  were  silently  em- 
ployed in  the  conversion  oi  fourteen  proselytes. 
For  ten  years,  the  religion  advanced  with  a  slow 
and  painful  progress,  within  the  walls  of  Mecca. 
The  number  of  proselytes  in  the  seventh  year  of 
his  mission  may  be  estimated  by  the  absence  of 
eightij-three  men  and  eighteen  women,  who  re- 
tired to  Ethiopia."*  Yet  this  progress,  such  as  it 
was,  api^ears  to  have  been  aided  by  some  very  im- 
portant advantages  which  Mahomet  found  in  his 
situation,  in  his  mode  of  conducting  his  design, 
and  in  his  doctrine. 

1.  Alahomet  was  the  grandson  of  the  most 
powerful  and  honourable  family  in  Alecca:  and 
although  the  early  death  of  his  father  had  not  left 
him  a  patrimony  suitable  to  his  birth,  he  had,  long 
before  the  commencement  of  his  mission,  repair- 
ed this  deficiency  by  an  opulent  marriage.  A 
person  considerable  by  his  wealth,  of  high  de- 
scent, and  nearly  allied  to  the  cliiefs  of  his  country, 
taking  upon  himself  the  character  of  a  religious 
teacher,  would  not  fail  of  attracting  attention  and 
followers. 

2.  Mahomet  conducted  his  design,  in  the  outset 
especially,  with  great  art  and  prudence.  He  con- 
ducted it  as  a  politician  would  conduct  a  plot.  His 
first  application  was  to  his  own  flimily.  This 
gained  him  his  wife's  uncle,  a  considerable  person 
in  Mecca,  together  with  his  cousin  Ali,  afterward 
the  celebrated  Caliph,  then  a  youth  of  great  ex- 
pectation, and  eveir  already  distinguished  by  his 
attachment,  impetuosity,  and  courage. t  He  next 
expressed  himself  to  Abu  Beer,  a  man  amongst 
the  first  of  the  Koreish  in  wealth  and  influence. 
The  interest  and  example  of  Abu  Beer,  drew  in 
five  other  principal  persons  in  Mecca  ;  whose  so- 
licitations prevailed  upon  five  more  of  the  same 
rank.  This  was  the  work  of  three  years ;  during 
which  time,  every  thing  was  transacted  in  secret. 
Upon  the  strength  of  these  alhes,  and  under  the 
powerful  protection  of  his  family,  who,  however 
some  of  them  might  disapprove  his  enterprise,  or 
deride  his  pretensions,  would  not  suifer  the  orphan 
of  their  house,  the  rehc  of  their  favourite  brother 
to  be  insulted ;  Mahomet  now  commenced  his 
public  preaching.  And  the  advance  which  he 
made  during  the  nine  or  ten  remaining  years  of 
his  peaceable  ministry,  was  by  no  means  greater 
than  what,  with  these  advantages,  and  with  the 
additional  and  singular  circumstance  of  their  being 
no  established  religion  at  Mecca  at  that  time  to 
contend  with,  might  reasonably  have  been  ex- 
pected. How  soon  his  primitive  adherents  were 
let  into  the  secret  of  his  views  of  empire,  or  in  what 
stage  of  his  undertaking  these  views  fir.st  opened 
themselves  to  his  own  mind,  it  is  not  now  easy  to 
determine.  The  event  however  was,  that  these 
his  first  proselytes  all  ultimately  attained  to  riches 
and  honours,  to  the  command  of  armies,  and  the 
government  of  kingdoms.! 

3.  The  Arabs  deduced  their  descent  from 
Abraham  through  the  line  of  Ishmael.     The  m- 


*  Gibbon's  Hist.  vol.  ix.  p.  244,  &c.;  ed.  Dub. 

t  Of  which  Mr.  Gibbnn  has  preserved  tlie  following 
specimen — "  When  Mahomet  called  out  in  an  assembly 
of  his  family.  Who  among  you  will  be  my  companion 
and  my  vizir?  Ali,  then  only  in  the  fourteenth  year  of 
his  aire,  suddenly  replied,  O  prophet!  I  am  the  man  ; — 
whor^oever  rises  against  thee,  I  will  dash  out  his  teeth, 
tear  out  his  eyes,  break  his  legs,  rip  up  his  belly.  O  pro- 
phet !  I  will  be  thy  vizir  over  them." — Vol.  ix.  p.  245. 

X  Gibbon,  vol.  ix.  p.  214. 


habitants  of  Mecca,  in  common  probably  with  the 
other  Arabian  tribes,  acknowledged,  as,  I  think 
may  clearly  be  collected  from  the  Koran,  one 
supreme  Deity,  but  had  associated  with  him  many 
objects  of  idolatrous  worship.  The  great  doctrine 
with  which  Mahomet  set  out,  was  the  strict  and 
exclusive  unity  of  God.  Abraham,  he  told  them, 
their  illustrious  ancestor ;  Ishmael,  the  father  of 
their  nation  ;  Moses,  the  lawgiver  of  the  Jews  ; 
and  .Tesus,  the  author  of  Christianity  ;  had  all  as- 
serted the  same  thing :  that  their  followers  had 
universally  corrupted  the  truth,  and  that  he  was 
now  commissioned  to  restore  it  to  the  world.  Was 
it  to  be  wondered  at,  that  a  doctrine  so  specious, 
and  authorized  by  names,  some  or  other  of  which 
were  holden  in  the  highest  veneration  by  every 
description  of  his  hearers,  should  in  the  hands  of 
a  popular  missionary,  prevail  to  the  extent  in 
which  Mahomet  succeeded  by  his  pacific  ministry  1 
4.  Of  the  institution  which  Mahomet  joined 
with  this  fundamental  doctrine,  and  of  the  Koran 
in  which  that  institution  is  delivered,  we  discover 
1  think,  two  purposes  that  pervade  the  whole,  viz. 
to  make  converts,  and  to  make  his  converts  sol- 
diers. The  following  particulars,  amongst  others, 
may  be  considered  as  pretty  evident  indications  of 
these  designs : 

1.  When  Mahomet  began  to  preach,  his  ad- 
dress to  the  Jews,  to  the  Christians,  and  to  the 
Pagan  Arabs,  was,  that  the  religion  which  he 
taught,  was  no  other  than  what  had  been  origi- 
nally their  own. — "We  believe  in  God,  and  that 
which  hath  been  sent  down  unto  us,  and  that 
which  hath  been  sent  down  unto  Abraham,  and 
Ishmael,  and  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  and  the  Tribes, 
and  that  which  was  dehvered  unto  Moses  and 
Jesus,  and  that  which  was  delivered  unto  the  pro- 
phets from  their  Lord :  we  make  no  distinction 
between  any  of  them."*  "  He  hath  ordained  you 
the  religion  which  he  commanded  Noah,  and 
which  we  have  revealed  unto  thee,  O  Mohammed, 
and  which  we  commanded  Abraham,  and  Moses, 
and  Jesus,  saying.  Observe  this  religion,  and  be 
not  divided  therein. "t  "  He  hath  chosen  you,  and 
hath  not  imposed  on  you  any  dilficulty  in  the  re- 
ligion which  he  hath  given  you,  the  religion  of 
your  father  Abraham."? 

2.  The  author  of  the  Koran  never  ceases  from 
describing  the  future  anguish  of  unbelievers,  their 
despair,  regret,  penitence,  and  torment.  It  is  the 
point  which  he  labours  above  all  others.  And 
these  descriptions  are  conceived  in  terms,  which 
will  appear  in  no  small  degree  impressive,  even 
to  the  modem  reader  of  an  English  translation. 
Doubtless  they  would  operate  with  much  greater 
force  upon  the  minds  of  those  to  whom  they  were 
immediately  directed.  The  terror  which  they 
seem  well  calculated  to  inspire,  would  be  to  many 
tempers  a  powerful  application. 

3.  On  the  other  hand  ;  his  voluptuous  para- 
dise ;  his  robes  of  silk,  his  palaces  of  marble,  his 
rivers  and  shades,  his  groves  and  couches,  his 
wines,  his  dainties ;  and  above  all,  his  seventy-two 
virgins  assigned  to  each  of  the  faithful,  of  resplend- 
ent beauty  and  eternal  youth ;  intoxicated  the 
imaginations,  and  seized  the  passions  of  his  East- 
ern followers. 

4.  But  Mahomet's  highest  heaven  was  reserved 
for  those  who  fought   his  battles,  or  expended 

*  Sale's  Koran,  c.  ii.  p.  17.  t  "J.  c.  xlii.  p,  3V13. 

J  lb.  c.  xxji.  p.  281. 

31* 


366 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


their  fortunes  in  his  cause. — "  Those  believers 
who  sit  still  at  home,  not  having  any  hurt,  and 
those  who  employ  tlieir  fortunes  and  their  per- 
sons for  the  religion  of  God,  shall  not  be  held 
equal.  God  hath  preferred  those  who  employ 
their  fortunes  and  their  persons  in  that  cause,  to 
a  degree  above  those  who  sit  at  home.  God  hath 
indeed  promised  every  one  Paradise ;  but  God 
hath  preferred  those  who  Jight  for  the  faith  be- 
fore those  who  sit  still,  by  adding  unto  them  a 
great  reward  ;  by  degree  of  honour  conferred  upon 
them  from  him,  and  by  granting  them  forgiveness 
and  meroy."*  Again;  "  Do  ye  reckon  the  giving 
drink  to  the  pilgrims,  and  the  visiting  of  the  holy 
temple,  to  be  actions  as  meritorious  as  those  per- 
formed by  him  who  believeth  in  God  and  the  last 
day,  iiniijiffhlcthfortlie  religion  of  God?  They 
shall  not  be  held  equal  with  God. — They  who 
have  believed  and  fled  their  country,  and  employ- 
ed their  substance  and  their  persons  in  the  defence 
of  God's  true  religion,  shall  be  in  the  highest  de- 
gree of  honour  with  God ;  and  these  are  they 
who  shall  be  happy.  The  Lord  sendeth  thenj 
good  tidings  of  mercy  from  him,  and  good  will, 
and  of  gardens  wherein  they  shall  enjoy  lasting 
pleasures.  They  shall  continue  therein  for  ever  ; 
for  with  God  is  a  great  reward. "t  And  once 
more  ;  "  Verily  God  hath  purchased  of  the  true 
believers  their  souls  and  their  substance,  promis- 
ing them  the  enjoyment  of  Paradise,  on  condition 
that  they  Jight  for  the  cause  of  God  ;  whether 
they  slay  or  be  slain,  the  promise  for  the  same  is 
assuredly  due  by  the  Law  and  the  Gospel  and  the 
Koran. "t§ 

b.  His  doctrine  of  predestination  was  applica- 
ble, and  was  applied  by  him,  to  the  same  purpose 
of  fortifying  and  of  exalting  the  courage  of  his 
adherents. — "  If  any  thing  of  the  matter  had  hap- 
pened unto  us,  we  had  not  been  slain  here.  An- 
swer :  If  ye  had  been  in  your  hou.ses,  verily  they 
would  have  gone  forth  to  light,  whose  slaughter 
was  decreed  to  the  places  where  they  died. '"11 

6.  In  warm  regions,  the  appetite  of  the  sexes 
is  ardent,  the  passion  for  inebriating  liquors  mode- 
rate. In  compliance  with  this  distinction,  although 
Mahomet  laid  a  restraint  upon  the  drinking  of 
wine,  in  the  u.se  of  women  he  allowed  an  almost 
unbounded  indulgence.  Four  wives,  with  the 
liberty  of  changing  them  at  pleasure, IT  together 
with  the  persons  of  all  his  captives,**  was  an  irre- 
sistible bribe  to  on  Arabian  warrior.  "  God  is 
minded  (saj's  he,  speaking  of  this  very  subject) 
to  make  his  religion  light  unto  you ;  for  man  was 
created  weak."  How  different  this  from  the  un- 
accommodating purity  of  the  Gospel  1  How 
would  Mahomet  have  succeeded  with  the  Chris- 
tian lesson  in  his  mouth, — "  Whosoever  looketh 
upon  a  woman  to  lust  after  her,  hath  committed 
adultery  with  her  already  in  his  heart  V'  It  must 
be  added,  that  Mahomet  did  not  enter  upon  the 


*  Sale's  Koran,  c.  iv.  p.  73.  j  ^^-  c-  ix.  p.  J5I. 

i  lb.  c  i.t  p.  164. 

§  "  The  sword  (saith  Mahomet)  is  the  key  of  heaven 
anM  of  h(!ll ;  a  drop  of  blood  shed  in  the  cause  of  (Jod,  a 
niiiht  spent  in  arms,  is  of  inoru  avail  than  two  months' 
fa^^liiii;  or  prayer.  Whosoever  falls  in  battle,  his  sins 
ar(>  foriiiven  at  the  day  of  judgment ;  his  wounds  shall 
be  resplendent  as  Vermillion,  and  odoriferous  as  musk  ; 
and  the  loss  of  his  limbs  shall  be  supplied  by  the  wings 
pf  ang(;ls  and  cherubim."— Gibbon,  vol  ix.  p.  '25(3. 

Ij  Sale's  Koran,  c.  iii   p.  .54.  IT  lb.  c.  i v.  p.  63. 

**  Gibbon,  vol.  i.x.  p.  225. 


prohibition  of  wine,  till  the  fourth  year  of  the 
Hegira,  or  seventeenth  of  his  mission,*  when  his 
military  successes  had  completely  established  his 
authority.  The  same  observation  holds  of  the 
fast  of  the  Ramadan, t  and  of  the  most  labo- 
rious part  of  his  institution,  the  pilgrimage  to 
Mecca.t 

What  has  hitherto  been  collected  from  the  re- 
cords of  the  Mussulman  history,  relates  to  the 
twelve  or  thirteen  years  of  Mahomet's  peaceable 
preaching ;  which  part  alone  of  his  life  and  enter- 
prise admits  of  the  smallest  comparison  with  the 
origin  of  Christianity.  A  new  scene  is  now  im- 
folded.  The  city  of  Medina,  distant  about  ten 
days'  journey  from  Mecca,  was  at  that  time  dis- 
tracted by  the  hereditary  contentions  of  two  hostile 
tribes.  These  feuds  were  exasperated  by  the 
mutual  persecutions  of  the  Jews  and  Christians, 
and  of  the  different  Christian  sects  by  which  the 
city  was  inhabited.!  The  religion  of  Mahomet 
presented,  in  some  measure,  a  point  of  union  or 
comi)roniise  to  these  divided  opinions.  It  em- 
braced the  principles  which  were  common  to  them 
all.  Each  party  saw  in  it  an  honourable  acknow- 
ledgment of  the  fundamental  truth  of  their  own 
system.  To  the  Pagan  Arab,  somewhat  imbued 
with  the  sentiments  and  knowledge  of  his  Jew- 
ish or  Christian  fellow-citizens,  it  offered  no 
offensive,  or  ver}'  improbable  theology.  This 
recommendation  procured  to  Mahometanism  a 
more  favourable  reception  at  Medina,  than  its 
author  had  been  able,  by  twelve  years'  painful 
endeavours,  to  obtain  for  it  at  Mecca.  Yet,  after 
all,  the  progress  of  the  religion  was  inconsiderable. 
His  missionary  could  only  collect  a  congregation 
of  forty  persons. II  It  was  not  a  religious,  but  a 
political  association,  which  ultimately  introduced 
Mahomet  into  Medina.  Harassed,  as  it  should 
seem,  and  disgusted  by  the  long  continuance  of 
factions  and  disputes,  the  inhabitants  of  that  city 
saw  in  the  admission  of  the  prophet's  authority,  a 
rest  from  the  miseries  which  they  had  suffered, 
and  a  suppression  of  the  violence  and  fury  which 
they  had  learned  to  condemn.  After  an  embassy, 
therefore,  composed  of  believers  and  unbelievers,ir 
and  of  persons  of  both  tribes,  with  whom  a  treaty 
was  concluded  of  strict  alliance  and  support,  jNla- 
homet  made  his  public  entry,  and  was  received  as 
the  sovereign  of  Medina. 

From  this  time,  or  soon  after  this  time,  the  im- 
postor changed  his  language  and  his  conduct. 
Having  now  a  town  at  his  command,  where  to 
arm  his  party,  and  to  head  them  with  security,  he 
enters  upon  new  counsels.  •  He  now  pretends 
that  a  divine  commission  is  given  him  to  attack 
the  infidels,  to  destroy  idolatry,  and  to  set  up  the 
true  faith  by  the  sword.**  An  early  victory  over 
a  very  superior  force,  achieved  by  conduct  and 
bravery,  established  the  renown  of  his  arms,  and 
of  his  personal  character.tt  Every  year  after  this 
was  marked  by  battles  or  a.ssassinations.  The 
nature  and  activity  of  Mahomet's  future  exertions 
may  be  estimated  from  the  computation,  tliat,  in 
the  nine  following  years  of  his  life,  he  commanded 


*  Mod.  Univ.  Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  126.  f  Tb.  p.  112. 

I  This  latter,  however,  already  prevailed  amongst 
the  Arabs,  and  had  grown  out  of  their  e.xces.sive  venera- 
tion for  the  Caaba.  Mahomet's  law,  in  this  respect, 
was  rather  a  compliance  than  an  innovation.— Sale's 
Prelim.  Disc  p.  122. 

§  Mod  Univ.  Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  100.     |)  lb.  p.  85.     TT  Ibid. 

»♦  lb.  vol.  i.  p.  88.  tt  Vict,  of  Bedr,  ib.  p.  106. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


367 


Lis  army  in  person  in  eight  genera!  engagements,* 
and  undertook,  by  himself  or  his  lieutenants, 
fifty  military  enterprises. 

From  this  time  we  have  nothing  left  to  account 
for,  but  that  Mahomet  should  collect  an  army, 
that  his  army  should  conquer,  and  that  his  religion 
should  proceed  together  with  his  conquests.  The 
ordinary  experience  of  human  affairs,  leaves  us 
little  to  wonder  at,  in  any  of  these  effects:  and 
th.\v  were  likewise  each  assisted  by  peculiar  faci- 
hlics.  From  all  sides,  the  roving  Arabs  crowded 
round  the  standard  of  religion  and  plunder,  of 
freedom  and  victory,  of  arms  and  rapine.  Beside 
the  highly  painted  jovs  of  a  carnal  paradise,  Ma- 
homet rewarded  his  followers  in  this  world  with 
a  liberal  division  of  the  spoils,  and  with  the  per- 
sons of  their  leinale  captivcs.t  The  condition  of 
Arabia,  occupied  by  small  independent  tribes, 
exposed  it  to  the  impression,  and  yielded  to  the 
privjress,  of  a  firm  and  resolute  army.  After  the 
reduction  of  his  native  peninsula,  the  weakness 
also  of  the  Roman  provinces  on  the  north  and 
the  west,  as  well  as  the  distracted  state  of  the 
Persian  empire  on  the  east,  facilitated  the  suc- 
cessful invasion  of  neighbouring  countries.  That 
Mahomet's  conquests  should  carry  his  religion 
along  with  them,  will  excite  little  surprise,  when 
we  know  the  conditions  which  he  proposed  to  the 
vanquished.  Death  or  conversion  was  the  only 
choice  offered  to  idolaters.  "  Strike  off  their 
heads !  strike  off  all  the  ends  of  their  fingers  !t 
kill  the  idolaters  wheresoever  ye  shall  find 
thi'm  I '§  To  the  Jews  and  Christians  was  left 
t!ie  somewhat  milder  alternative  of  subjection  and 
tribute,  if  they  persisted  in  their  own  religion,  or 
of  an  equal  participation  in  the  rights  and  liberties, 
the  !u)nours  and  privileges,  of  the  faithful,  if  they 
en!br;ired  the  religion  of  their  conquerors.  "  Ye 
Christian  dogs,  you  knowyour  option,  the  Koran, 
the  tribute,  or  the  sword. "II  The  corrupted 
state  of  Christianity  in  the  seventh  century, 
ami  the  contentions  of  its  sects,  unhappily  so 
fell  in  with  men's  care  of  their  safety,  or  their 
fortunes,  as  to  induce  many  to  forsake  its  pro- 
fession. Add  to  all  which,  that  Mahomet's 
victories  not  only  operated  by  the  natural  effect  of 
conquest,  but  that  they  were  constantly  repre- 
sented, both  to  his  friends  and  enemies,  as  divine 
di'clarations  in  his  favour.  Success  was  evidence. 
Pros[)erity  carried  with  it,  not  only  influence,  but 
proof  "  Ye  have  already  (says  he,  after  the  bat- 
tle of  Bedr)  had  a  miracle  shown  you,  in  two 
armies  which  attacked  each  other ;  one  army 
fought  for  God's  true  religion,  but  the  other  were 
infidels. 'TT  Again;  "  Ye  slew  not  those  who 
were  slain  at  Bedr,  but  God  slew  them. — If  ye 
desire  a  decision  of  the  matter  between  us,  now 
hath  a  decision  come  unto  you."** 

Many  more  passages  might  be  collected  out  of 
the  Koran  to  the  same  effect.  But  thev  are  unne- 
cessary. The  success  of  Mahometanism  during 
this,  and  indeed,  every  future  period  of  its  history, 
bears  so  little  resemblance  to  the  early  propagation 
of  Christianity,  that  no  inference  whatever  can 
justlv  be  drawn  from  it  to  the  prejudice  of  the 
Christian  argument.  For,  what  are  we  compar- 
ing 1    A  Galilean  peasant  accompanied  by  a  few 


*  Mod.  tJniv.  Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  255. 
t  Gibbnii,  vol.  ix.  p.  2.55. 

I  Sale's  Koran,  c.  viii.  p.  140.  S  lb.  c.  ix.  p.  149. 

I!  Gihbon,  vol.  ix.  p.  337.    IT  Sale's  Koran,  c.  iii.  p.  36. 
*♦  lb.  c.  viii.  p,  141. 


fishermen,  with  a  conqueror  at  the  head  of  his 
army.  We  compare  Jesus  without  force,  without 
power,  without  support,  without  one  external  cir- 
cumstance of  attraction  or  influence,  prevailing 
against  the  prejudices,  the  learning,  the  hierarchy, 
of  his  country;  against  the  ancient  religious  opi- 
nions, the  pompous  religious  rites,  the  philosophy, 
the  wisdom,  the  authority  of  the  Roman  empire, 
in  the  most  polished  and  enlightened  period  of  its 
existence ;  with  Mahomet  making  his  way  amongst 
Arabs ;  collecting  followers  in  the  midst  of  con- 
quests and  triumphs,  in  the  darkest  ages  and  coun- 
tries of  the  world,  and  when  success  in  arms  not 
only  operated  by  that  command  of  men's  wills  and 
persons  which  attends  prosperous  undertakings, 
but  was  considered  as  a  sure  testimony  of  divine 
approbation.  That  multitudes,  persuaded  by  this 
argument,  should  join  the  train  of  a  victorious 
chief;  that  still  greater  multitudes  should,  without 
any  argument,  bow  down  before  irresistible  power ; 
is  a  conduct  in  which  we  cannot  see  much  to  sur- 
prise us ;  in  which  we  can  see  nothing  that  re- 
sembles the  causes  by  which  the  establishment  of 
Christianity  was  effected. 

The  success,  therefore,  of  Mahometanism, 
stands  not  in  the  way  of  this  important  concl  usion ; 
that  the  propagation  of  Christianity,  in  the  man- 
ner and  under  the  circumstances  in  which  it  was 
propagated,  is  a  unique  in  the  history  of  the  spe- 
cies. A  Jewish  peasant  overthrew  the  religion  of 
the  world. 

I  have,  nevertheless,  placed  the  prevalency  of 
the  religion  amongst  the  auxiliary  arguments  of 
its  truth  ;  because,  whether  it  had  prevailed  or  not, 
or  whether  its  prevalency  can  or  cannot  be  ac- 
counted for,  the  direct  argument  remains  still.  It 
is  still  true  that  a  great  number  of  men  upon  the 
spot,  personally  connected  with  the  history  and  vi'ith 
the  author  of  the  rehgion,  were  induced  by  what 
they  heard,  and  saw,  and  knew,  not  only  to  change 
their  former  opinions,  but  to  give  up  their  time, 
and  sacrifice  their  ease,  to  traverse  seas  and  king- 
doms without  rest  and  without  weariness,  to  com- 
mit themselves  to  extreme  dangers,  to  undertake 
incessant  toils,  to  undergo  grievous  sufferings,  and 
all  this,  solely  in  consequence,  and  in  support,  of 
their  belief  of  ficts,  which,  if  true,  establish  the 
truth  of  the  religion,  which,  if  false,  they  must 
have  known  to  be  so. 


PART  III. 

A   BRIEF    CONSIDERATION    OP    SOME    POPULAR 
OBJECTIONS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


The  Discrepancies  between  the  several  Gospels. 

I  KNOW  not  a  more  rash  or  unphilosophical  con- 
duct of  the  understanding,  than  to  reject  the  sub- 
stance of  a  story,  by  reason  of  some  diversity  in 
the  circumstances  with  which  it  is  related.  The 
usual  character  of  human  testimony  is  substantial 
truth  under  circumstantial  variety.  This  is  what 
the  daily  experience  of  courts  of  justice  teaches. 
When  accounts  of  a  transaction  come  from  the 
mouths  of  different  witnesses,  it  is  seldom  that  it 


368 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


IS  not  possible  to  pick  out  apparent  or  real  in- 
consistencies between  them.  These  inconsisten- 
cies are  studiously  displayed  by  an  adverse 
pleader,  but  oftentimes  with  little  impression 
upon  the  minds  of  the  judges.  On  the  contrary, 
a  close  and  minute  agreement  induces  the  suspi- 
cion of  confederacy  and  fraud.  When  written 
histories  touch  upon  the  same  scenes  of  action,  the 
comparison  almost  always  aflbrds  ground  for  a 
like  reflection.  Numerous,  and  sometimes  import- 
ant, variations  present  themselves;  not  seldom 
also,  absolute  and  final  contradictions;  yet  neither 
one  nor  the  other,  are  deemed  sufficient  to  shake 
the  credibility  of  the  main  fact.  The  embassy  of 
the  Jews  to  deprecate  the  execution  of  Claudian's 
order  to  place  his  statue  in  their  temple,  Philo 
places  in  harvest,  Josephus  in  seed-time  ;  both 
contemporary  writers.  No  reader  is  led  by  this 
inconsistency  to  doubt,  whether  such  an  embassy 
was  sent,  or  whether  such  an  order  was  given. 
Our  own  history  supplies  examples  of  the  same 
kind.  In  the  account  of  the  Marquis  of  Argyle's 
death,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  we"have 
a  very  remarkable  contradiction.  Lord  Claren- 
don relates  that  he  was  condemned  to  be  hanged, 
which  was  performed  the  same  day ;  on  the  con- 
trary, Burnet,  Woodrow,  Heath,  Echard,  concur 
in  stating  that  he  was  beheaded ;  and  that  he  was 
condemned  upon  the  Saturday,  and  executed  upon 
the  Monday.*  Was  any  reader  of  English  his- 
tory ever  sceptic  enough  to  raise  from  hence  a 
question,  whether  the  Marquis  of  Argyle  was 
executed  or  not  1  Yet  this  ought  to  be  left  in  un- 
certainty, according  to  the  principles  upon  which 
the  Christian  history  has  sometimes  been  attacked. 
Dr.  Miildlcton  contended,  that  the  different  hours 
of  the  day  assigned  to  the  crucifixion  of  Christ, 
by  John  and  by  the  other  evangelists,  did  not  ad- 
mit of  the  reconcilement  which  learned  men  had 
proposed ;  and  then  concludes  the  discussion  with 
this  hard  remark :  "  We  must  be  forced,  with  seve- 
ral of  the  critics,  to  leave  the  difficulty  just  as  we 
found  it,  chargeable  with  all  the  consequences  of 
manifest  inconsistency."t  But  what  are  these  con- 
sequences 1  By  no  means  the  discrediting  of  the 
history  as  to  the  principal  fact,  by  a  repugnancy 
(even  supposing  that  repugnancy  be  not  resolva- 
ble into  different  modes  of  computation)  in  the 
time  of  the  day  in  which  it  is  said  to  have  taken 
place. 

A  great  deal  of  the  discrepancy  observable  in 
the  Gospel,  arises  from  omission;  from  a  fact  or 
a  passage  of  Christ's  life  being  noticed  by  one 
writer,  which  is  unnoticed  by  another.  Now, 
omission  is  at  all  times  a  very  uncertain  ground 
of  objection.  We  perceive  it,  not  only  in  the  com- 
parison of  different  writers,  but  even  in  the  same 
writer  when  compared  with  himself.  There  are 
a  great  many  particulars,  and  some  of  them  of  im- 
portance, mentioned  by  Josepiius  in  his  Antiqui- 
ties, which,  as  we  should  have  supposed,  ought  to 
have  been  put  down  by  him  in  their  place  in  the 
Jewish  wars.t  Suetonius,  Tacitus,  Dio  Cassius, 
have,  all  three,  written  of  the  reign  of  Tiberius. 
Each  has  mentioned  many  things  omitted  by  the 
rest,§  yet  no  objection  is  from  thence  taken  to  the 


*  See  Biog.  Britann. 

t  Middleton's  Reflections  answered  by  Benson.  Hist. 
Christ,  vol.  iii.  p.  60. 
i  Lardrier,  Cred.  part  i.  vol.  ii.  p.  735,  &c. 
§  Ibid.  p.  743. 


respective  credit  of  their  histories.  We  have  in 
our  own  times,  if  there  were  not  something  inde- 
corous in  the  comparison,  the  life  of  an  eminent 
person,  written  by  three  of  his  friends,  in  which 
there  is  very  great  variety  in  the  incidents  selected 
by  them ;  some  apparent,  and  perhaps  some  real 
contradictions ;  yet  without  any  impeachment  of 
the  substantial  truth  of  their  accounts,  of  the  au- 
thenticity of  the  books,  of  the  competent  inform- 
ation or  general  fidelity  of  the  writers. 

But  these  discrepancies  will  be  still  more  nu- 
merous, when  men  do  not  write  histories,  but 
viemoirs ;  which  is  perhaps  the  true  name  and 
proper  description  of  our  Gospels:  that  is,  when 
they  do  not  undertake,  or  ever  meant,  to  deli- 
ver, in  order  of  time,  a  regular  and  complete  ac- 
count of  all  the  things  of  importance,  which  the 
person,  who  is  the  subject  of  their  history,  did  or 
said  ;  but  only,  out  of  many  similar  ones,  to  give 
such  passages,  or  such  actions  and  discourses,  as 
offered  themselves  more  immediately  to  their  at- 
tention, came  in  the  way  of  their  inquiries,  oc- 
curred to  their  recollection,  or  were  suggested  by 
their  particular  design  at  the  time  of  writing. 

This  particular  design  may  appear  sometimes, 
but  not  always,  nor  often.  Thus  I  think  that  the 
particular  design  which  Saint  Matthew  had  in 
view  whilst  he  was  writing  the  history  of  the  re- 
surrection, was  to  attest  the  faithful  performance 
of  Christ's  promise  to  his  disciples  to  go  before 
them  into  Gahlee;  because  he  alone,  except  Mark, 
who  seems  to  have  taken  it  from  him,  has  record- 
ed this  promise,  and  he  alone  has  confined  his 
narrative  to  that  single  appearance  to  the  disciples 
which  fulfilled  it.  It  was  the  preconcerted,  the 
great  and  most  public  manifestation  of  our  Lord's 
person.  It  was  the  thing  which  dwelt  upon  Saint 
Matthew's  mind,  and  he  adapted  his  narrative  toil. 
But,  that  there  is  nothing  in  Saint  Matthew's  lan- 
guage, which  negatives  other  appearances,  or  which 
imports  tliat  this  his  appearance  to  his  disciples  in 
Galilee  in  pursuance  of  his  promise,  was  his  first 
or  only  aj^pearance,  is  made  pretty  evident  by 
Saint  Mark's  Gospel,  which  uses  the  same  terms 
concerning  the  appearance  in  Galilee  as  Saint 
Matthew  uses,  yet  itself  records  two  other  appear- 
ances prior  to  this :  "  Go  your  way,  tell  his  disci- 
ples and  Peter,  that  he  goeth  before  you  into  Ga- 
lilee: there  shall  ye  see  him  as  he  said  unto  you." 
(xvi.  7.)  We  might  be  apt  to  infer  from  these 
words,  that  this  was  the  first  time  they  were  to 
see  him :  at  least,  we  might  infer  it,  with  as  much 
reason  as  we  draw  the  inference  from  the  same 
words  in  Matthew:  yet  the  historian  himself  did 
not  perceive  that  he  was  leading  his  readers  to 
any  such  conclusion  ;  for  in  the  twelfth  and  two 
following  verses  of  this  chapter,  he  informs  us  of 
two  appearances,  which,  by  comparing  the  order 
of  events,  are  shown  to  have  been  prior  to  the  aj)- 
pearance  in  Galilee.  "  He  appeared  in  anotlitT 
form  unto  two  of  them,  as  they  walked,  and  went 
into  the  country  :  and  they  went  and  told  it  unto 
the  residue,  neither  believed  they  them :  afterward 
he  appeared  unto  the  eleven,  as  they  sat  at  meat, 
and  upbraided  them  with  their  unbelief,  because 
they  believed  not  them  that  had  seen  him  after  he 
was  risen." 

Probably  the  same  observation,  concerning  the 
partindar  design  which  guided  the  historian, 
may  be  of  use  in  comparing  many  other  passage* 
of  the  Gospels. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


S6d 


CHAPTER  II. 
Erroneous  Opinions  imputed  to  the  Apostles. 

A  SPECIES  of  candour  which  is  shown  towards 
every  other  hook,  is  sometimes  refused  to  the 
Scriptures ;  and  that  is,  the  placing  of  a  distinction 
between  judgment  and  testimony.  We  do  not 
usually  question  the  credit  of  a  writer,  by  reason 
of  an  opinion  he  may  have  delivered  upon  subjects 
unconnected  with  his  evidence :  and  even  upon 
subjects  connected  with  his  account,  or  mixed 
with  it  in  the  same  discourse  or  writing,  we  natu- 
rally separate  facts  from  opinions,  testimony  from 
observation,  narrative  from  argument. 

To  apply  this  equitable  consideration  to  the 
Cliristian  records,  much  controversy  and  much 
objection  has  been  raised  concerning  the  quota- 
tions of  the  Old  Testament  found  in  the  New ; 
some  of  which  quotations,  it  is  said,  are  applied  in 
a  sense,  and  to  events,  apparently  difl'erent  from 
that  which  they  bear,  and  from  those  to  which 
they  belong,  in  the  original.  It  is  probable  to  my 
apprehension,  that  many  of  those  quotations  were 
intended  by  the  writers  of  the  New  Testament  as 
nothing  more  than  accommodations.  They  quoted 
passages  of  their  Scripture,  which  suited,  and  fell 
m  with,  the  occasion  before  them,  without  always 
undertaking  to  assert,  that  the  occasion  was  in 
the  view  of  the  author  of  the  words.  Such  ac- 
commodations of  passages  from  old  authors,  from 
books  especially  which  are  in  every  one's  hands, 
are  common  with  writers  of  all  countries ;  but 
in  none,  perhaps,  were  more  to  be  expected 
than  in  the  writings  of  the  Jews,  whose  litera- 
ture was  almost  entirely  confined  to  their  Scrip- 
tures. Those  prophecies  which  are  alleged  witii 
more  solemnity,  and  which  are  accompanied 
with  a  precise  declaration,  tliat  they  originally 
respected  the  event  then  related,  are,  I  think,  truly 
alleged.  But  were  it  otherwise;  is  the  judg- 
ment of  the  writers  of  the  New  Testament,  in  in- 
terpreting passages  of  the  Old,  or  sometimes,  per- 
haps, in  receiving  established  interpretations,  so 
connected  cither  with  their  veracity,  or  with  their 
means  of  information  concerning  what  was  passing 
in  their  own  times,  as  that  a  critical  mistake,  even 
were  it  clearly  made  out,  should  overthrow  their 
historical  credit  1— Does  it  diminish  if?  Has  it 
any  thing  to  do  with  it  1 

Another  error  imputed  to  the  first  Christians, 
was  the  expected  approach  of  the  day  of  judgment. 
I  would  introduce  this  objection  by  a  remark  upon 
what  appears  to  me  a  somewhat  similar  example. 
Our  Saviour,  speaking  to  Peter  of  John,  said, 
"  If  I  will  that  he  tarry  till  I  come,  what  is  that  to 
thee'?"*  These  words,  we  find,  had  been  so  mis- 
construed, as  that  a  report  from  thence  "  went 
abroad  among  the  brethren,  that  that  disciple 
should  not  die."  Suppose  that  this  had  come  down 
to  us  amongst  the  prevailing  opinions  of  the  early 
Christians,  and  that  the  particular  circumstance, 
from  which  the  mistake  sprang,  had  been  lost 
(which,  humanly  speaking,  was  most  likely  to 
have  been  the  case,)  some,  at  this  day,  would  have 
been  ready  to  regard  and  quote  the  error,  as  an 
impeachment  of  the  whole  Christian  system.  Yet 
with  how  little  justice  such  a  conclusion  would 
have  been  drawn,  or  rather  such  a  presumption 
,aken  up,  the  information  which  we  happen  to 


*  John  xxi.  22. 
3A 


possess  enables  us  now  to  perceive.  To  those 
who  think  that  the  Scriptures  lead  us  to  believe, 
that  the  early  Christians,  and  even  the  apostles, 
expected  the  approach  of  the  day  of  judgment  in 
their  own  times,  the  same  reflection  will  occur,  as 
that  which  we  have  made  with  respect  to  the  more 
partial,  perhaps,  and  temporary,  but  still  no  less 
ancient  error  concerning  the  duration  of  St.  John's 
life.  It  was  an  error,  it  may  be  likewise  said, 
which  would  elfectually  hinder  those  who  enter- 
tained it  from  acting  the  part  of  impostors. 

The  difficulty  which  attends  the  subject  of  the 
present  chapter,  is  contained  in  this  question  ;  If 
we  once  admit  the  fallibility  of  the  apostolic  judg- 
ment, where  are  we  to  stop,  or  in  what  can  we 
rely  upon  it  1  To  which  question,  as  arguing  with 
unlielievers,  and  as  arguing  for  the  substantial 
truth  of  the  Christian  history,  and  for  that  alone, 
it  is  competent  to  the  advocate  of  Christianity  to 
reply.  Give  me  the  apostles'  testimony,  and  I  do 
not  stand  in  need  of  their  judgment;  give  me  the 
facts,  and  I  have  complete  security  for  every  con- 
clusion I  want. 

But  although  I  think  that  it  is  competent  to  *he 
Christian  apologist  to  return  this  answer;  I  Oo 
not  think  that  it  is  the  only  answer  which  the  ob- 
jection is  capable  of  receiving.  The  two  following 
cautions,  founded,  I  apprehend,  in  the  most  rea- 
sonable distinctions,  will  exclude  all  uncertainty 
upon  this  head  which  can  be  attended  with  dan- 
ger. 

First,  to  separate  what  was  the  object  of  the 
apostolic  mission,  and  declared  by  them  to  be  so, 
from  what  was  extraneous  to  it,  or  only  incident- 
ally connected  with  it.  Of  points  clearly  extra- 
neous to  the  religion,  nothing  need  be  said.  Of 
points  incidentally  connected  with  it,  something 
may  be  added.  Demoniacal  possession  is  one  of 
these  points :  concerning  the  reality  of  which,  as 
this  place  will  not  admit  the  examination,  or  even 
the  production  of  the  argument  on  either  side  of 
the  question,  it  would  be  arrogance  in  me  to  deli- 
ver any  judgment.  And  it  is  unnecessary.  For 
what  I  am  concerned  to  observe  is,  that  even  they 
who  think  it  was  a  general,  but  erroneous  opinion, 
of  those  times  ;  and  that  the  writers  of  the  New 
Testament,  in  conunon  with  other  Jewish  writers 
of  that  age,  fell  into  the  manner  of  sp-aking  and 
of  thinking  upon  the  subject,  which  then  univer- 
sally prevaded,  need  not  be  alarmed  by  the  con- 
cession, as  though  they  had  any  thing  to  fear  from 
it,  for  the  truth  of  Christianity.  The  doctrine 
was  not  what  Christ  brought  into  the  world.  It 
appears  in  the  Christian  records,  incidentally  and 
accidentally,  as  being  the  subsisting  opinion  of  the 
age  and  country  in  which  his  ministry  was  exer- 
cised. It  was  no  part  of  the  object  of  his  revela- 
tion, to  regulate  men's  opinions  concerning  the 
action  of  spiritual  substances  upon  animal  bodies. 
At  any  rate  it  is  unconnected  with  testimony.  If 
a  dumb  person  was  by  a  word  restored  to  the  use 
of  his  speech,  it  signifies  Uttle  to  what  cause  the 
dumbness  was  ascribed ;  and  the  like  of  every 
other  cure  wrought  upon  those  who  are  said  to 
have  been  possessed.  The  malady  was  real,  the 
cure  was  real,  whether  the  popular  explication  of 
the  cause  was  well  founded,  or  not.  The  matter 
of  fact,  the  change,  so  fiir  as  it  was  an  object  of 
sense,  or  of  testimony,  was  in  either  case  the  same. 

Secondly,  that,  in  reading  the  apostolic  writ- 
ings, we  distinguish  between  their  doctrines  and 
their  arguments.     Their  doctrines  came  to  them 


370 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


by  revelation  properly  so  called ;  yet  in  propound- 
ing these  doctrines  in  their  writings  or  discourses, 
tlicy  were  wont  to  illustrate,  support,  and  enforce 
them,  by  such  analogies,  arguments,  and  consider- 
ations, as  their  own  thoughts  suggested.  Thus 
the  call  of  the  Gentiles,  that  is,  the  admission  of 
the  Gentiles  to  the  Christian  profession  without  a 
previous  subjection  to  the  law  of  Moses,  was  im- 
parted to  the  apostles  by  revelation,  and  was  at- 
tested by  the  miracles  which  attended  the  Chris- 
tian ministry  among  them.  The  apostles'  own 
assurance  of  the  matter  rested  upon  this  founda- 
tion. Nevertheless,  Saint  Paul,  when  treating 
of  the  subject,  oilers  a  great  variety  of  topics  in  its 
proof  and  vindication.  The  doctrine  itself  must 
be  received :  but  it  is  not  necessary,  in  order  to 
defend  Christianity,  to  defend  the  propriety  of 
every  comparison,  or  the  validity  of  ever}'  argu- 
ment, which  tlie  apostle  has  brought  into  the  dis- 
cussion. The  same  observation  applies  to  some 
other  instances ;  and  is,  in  my  opinion,  very  well 
founded ;  "  When  divuie  writers  argue  upon  any 
point,  we  are  always  bound  to  believe  the  conclu- 
sions that  their  reasonings  end  in,  as  parts  of  di- 
vine revelation :  but  we  are  not  bound  to  be  able 
to  make  out,  or  even  to  assent  to,  all  the  premises 
made  use  of  by  them,  in  their  whole  extent,  un- 
less it  appear  plainly,  that  they  affirm  the  pre- 
mises as  expressly  as  they  do  the  conclusions 
proved  by  them."* 


CHAPTER  III. 

Tke  Connexion  of  Christianity  with  the  Jewish 
History. 

Undoubtedly  our  Saviour  assumes  the  divine 
origin  of  the  Mosaic  institution :  and,  independ- 
ently of  his  authority,  I  conceive  it  to  be  very  dif- 
ficult to  assign  any  other  cause  for  the  commence- 
ment or  existence  of  that  institution ;  especially 
for  the  singular  circumstance  of  the  Jews'  ad- 
hering to  the  unity,  when  every  other  people  slid 
into  polytheism ;  for  their  being  men  in  religion, 
children  in  every  thing  else ;  behind  other  nations 
in  the  arts  of  peace  and  war,  superior  to  the  most 
improved  in  their  sentiments  and  doctrines  re- 
lating to  the  Deity .+  Undoubtedly,  also,  our  Sa- 
viour recognizes  the  prophetic  character  of  many 
of  their  ancient  writers.  So  far,  therefore,  we 
are   bound  as  Christians  to  go.     But  to  make 


*  Burnet's  Expos,  art.  6. 

t  "  In  the  doctrine,  for  example,  of  the  unity,  the 
eternity,  the  omnipotence,  the  omniscience,  the  omni- 
presence, the  wisdom,  and  the  goodness,  of  God  ;  in 
thsir  opinions  concerning  Providence,  and  the  creation, 
preservation,  and  government  of  the  world."  Campbell 
on  Mir  p.  207.  To  which  we  may  add,  in  the  acts  of 
their  religion  not  bping  accompanied  either  with  crnel- 
ti's  nr  impurities:  in  the  religion  itself  being  free  from 
a  spncief  of  superstition  which  prevailed  universally  in 
til.'  popular  religions  of  the  ancient  world,  and  which  is 
to  l)(!  found  perhaps  in  all  religions  that  have  their  ori- 
gin in  human  artifice  and  credulity,  vii.  fanciful  con- 
nexions between  certain  appearances  and  actions,  and 
the  ilestiny  of  nations  or  individuals.  Upon  these  con- 
ceits rested  the  whole  train  of  auguries  and  auspices, 
which  formed  so  much  even  of  the  serious  part  of  the 
religions  of  Greece  and  Rome,  and  of  the  charms  and 
incantations  which  were  practised  in  those  countries 
by  the  common  people.  From  every  thing  of  this  sort 
the  religion  of  the  Jews,  and  the  Jews  alone,  was  free. 
—Vide  Priestley's  Lectures  on  the  Truth  of  the  Jewish 
tnd  Cliristian  Revelation,  1794. 


Christianity  answerable  with  its  life,  for  the  en 
cumstantial  truth  of  each  separate  passage  of  the 
Old  Testament,  the  genuineness  of  every  book, 
the  information,  fidelity,  and  judgment  of  every 
writer  in  it,  is  to  bring,  I  will  not  say  great,  but 
unnecessary  difficulties,  into  the  whole  system. 
These  books  were  universally  read  and  received 
by  the  Jews  of  our  Saviour's  time.  He  and  his 
apostles,  in  common  with  all  other  Jews,  referred 
to  them,  alluded  to  them,  used  them.  Yet,  except 
where  he  expressly  ascribes  a  divine  authority  to 
particular  predictions,  I  do  not  know  that  we  can  . 
strictly  draw  any  conclusion  from  the  books  be- 
ing so  used  and  applied,  beside  the  ]n'oof,  which 
it  unquestionably  is,  of  their  notoriety,  and  recep- 
tion at  that  time.  In  this  view,  our  Scriptures 
afibrd  a  valuable  testimony  to  those  of  the  Jews. 
But  the  nature  of  this  testimony  ought  to  be  un- 
derstood. It  is  surely  very  different  from  what  it 
is  sometimes  represented  to  te,  a  specific  ratifica- 
tion of  each  particular  fact  and  ojjinion  ;  and  not 
only  of  each  particular  fact,  but  of  the  motives  as- 
signed for  every  action,  together  with  the  judg- 
ment of  praise  or  dispraise  bestowed  upon  them. 
Saint  James,  in  his  Epistle,*  says,  "Ye  have 
heard  of  the  patience  of  Job,  and  have  seen  the 
end  of  the  Lord."  Notwithstanding  this  text,  the 
reality  of  Jobs  history,  and  even  the  existence  of 
such  a  person,  has  been  always  deemed  a  fair 
subject  of  inquiry  and  discussion  amongst  Chris- 
tian divines.  Saint  James's  authority  is  consider- 
ed as  good  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the  book 
of  Job  at  that  time,  and  of  its  reception  by  the 
Jews;  and  of  nothing  more.  Saint  Paul,  in  his 
second  Epistle  to  Timothy,!  has  this  similitude  : 
"  Now,  as  Jannes  and  Jambrcs  withstood  Moses, 
so  do  these  also  resist  the  truth."  These  names 
are  not  found  in  the  Old  Testament.  And  it  is 
uncertain,  whether  Saint  Paul  took  them  from 
some  apocryphal  writing  then  extant,  or  from  tra- 
dition. But  no  one  ever  imagined,  that  Saint  Paul 
IS  here  asserting  the  authority  of  the  writing,  if  it 
was  a  written  account  which  he  quoted,  or  making 
himself  answerable  for  the  authenticity  of  the  tra- 
dition ;  much  less,  that  he  so  involves  himself  with 
either  of  these  questions,  as  that  the  credit  of  his 
own  history  and  mission  should  depend  upon  the 
fact,  whether  Jannes  and  Jambres  withstood  Mo- 
ses, or  not.  For  what  reason  a  more  rigorous  in- 
terpretation should  be  put  upon  other  references, 
it  is  difficult  to  know.  I  do  not  mean,  that  other 
passages  of  the  Jewish  history  stand  upon  no  bet- 
ter evidence  than  the  liistory  of  Job,  or  of  Jannes 
and  Jambres,  (1  think  much  otherwise;)  but  I 
mean,  that  a  reference  in  the  New  Testament,  to 
a  passage  in  the  Old,  does  not  so  fix  its  authority, 
as  to  exclude  all  inquiry  into  its  credibihty,  or  in- 
to the  separate  reasons  upon  which  that  crcdiliili- 
ty  is  founded;  and  that  it  is  an  unwarrantal)li',  as 
well  as  unsafe  rule  to  lay  down  concerning  the 
Jewish  history,  what  was  never  laid  down  con- 
cerning any  other,  that  cither  every  particular  of 
it  must  be  true,  or  the  whole  false. 

I  have  thought  it  necessary  to  state  this  point  ex- 
plicitly, because  a  fashion,  revived  by  Voltaire,  and 
pursued  by  the  disciples  of  his  school,  seems  to  have 
much  prevailed  of  late,  of  attacking  Christianity 
through  the  sides  of  Judaism.  Some  objections  of 
this  class  are  founded  in  misconstruction,  some  in 
exaggeration  ;  but  all  proceed  upon  a  supposition, 


*Chap.  V.  11. 


tChap.  iii.  8. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


371 


which  has  not  been  made  out  by  arixumcnt,  vi:. 
that  the  attestation,  which  the  Author  and  fir.st 
teachers  of  Christianity  gave  to  the  divine  mission 
of  Moses  and  the  prophets,  extentls  to  every  point 
aud  portion  of  the  Jewish  liistory ;  and  so  extends 
as  to  make  Christianity  responsible  in  its  own 
credibility,  for  the  circumstantial  truth  (I  had  al- 
most said  for  the  critical  exactness)  of  every  nar- 
rative contained  in  the  Old  Testament. 


CHAPTER  IV, 
Rejection  of  Christianity. 

We  acknowledge  that  the  Christian  religion, 
although  it  converted  great  numbers,  did  not  pro- 
duce a  universal,  or  even  a  general  conviction  in 
the  minds  of  men.  of  the  age  and  countries  in 
which  it  appeared.  And  this  want  of  a  more  com- 
plete and  extensive  success,  is  called  the  rejection 
of  the  Christian  history  and  miracles ;  and  has 
been  thought  by  some  to  form  a  strong  objection 
to  the  reality  of  the  facts  which  the  history  con- 
tains. 

The  matter  of  the  objection  divides  itself  into 
two  parts ;  as  it  relates  to  the  Jews,  and  as  it  re- 
lates to  Heathen  nations:  because  the  minds  of 
these  two  descriptions  of  men  may  have  been, 
with  respect  to  Christianity,  imder  the  influence 
cf  very  different  causes.  The  case  of  the  Jews, 
inasmuch  as  our  Saviour's  ministry  was  original- 
ly addressed  to  them,  offers  itself  first  to  our  con- 
sideration. 

"Now,  upon  the  subject  of  the  truth  of  the 
Christian  religion  ;  with  us,  there  is  but  one  ques- 
tion, rir.  whether  the  miracles  were  actually 
wrought  1  From  acknowledging  the  miracles, 
we  pass  instantaneously  to  the  acknowledgment 
of  the  whole.  No  doubt  lies  between  tlie  premises 
and  the  conclusion.  If  we  believe  the  works,  or 
anv  one  of  them,  we  believe  in  Jesus.  And  this 
order  of  reasoning  is  become  so  universal  and  fa- 
miliir.  that  we  do  not  readily  apprehend  how  it 
could  ever  have  been  otherwise.  Yet  it  appears 
to  me  perfectly  certain,  that  the  state  of  thought, 
in  the  mind  of  a  Jew  of  our  Saviour's  age,  was 
totallv  ilifterent  from  this.  After  allowing  the 
reality  of  the  miracle,  he  had  a  great  deal  to  do  to 
persuade  himself  that  Jesus  was  the  Messiah. 
This  is  clearlv  intimated  by  various  passages  of 
the  Gospel  history.  It  appears  that,  in  the  ap- 
prehension of  the  writers  of  the  New  Testament, 
the  miracles  did  not  irresistibly  carry,  even  those 
who  saw  them,  to  the  conclusion  intended  to  be 
drawn  from  them;  or  so  compel  assent,  as  to  leave 
no  room  for  suspense,  for  the  exercise  of  candour, 
or  the  effects  of  prejudice.  And  to  this  point,  at 
le;ist.  the  evangelists  may  be  allowed  to  be  good 
witnesses;  because  it  is  a  point,  in  which  exag- 
geration or  disguise  would  have  been  the  other 
way.  Their  accounts,  if  they  could  be  suspected 
of  falsehood,  would  rather  have  magnified,  than 
diminished,  the  effects  of  the  miracles. 

John  vii.  21 — 31.  "Jesus  answered,  and  said 
unto  them,  I  have  done  one  work,  and  ye  all  mar- 
vel.— If  a  man  on  the  sabbath  day  receive  circum- 
cision, that  the  law  of  Moses  should  not  be  broken  ; 
are  ye  angry  at  me,  because  I  have  made  a  man 
every  whit  whole  on  the  sabbath-day'!  Judge 
not  according  to  the  appearance,  but  judge  righte- 
ous judgment.     Then  said  some  of  them  of  Jeru- 


salem. Is  not  this  he  whom  they  seek  to  kill  1 
But.  lo,  he  speaketh  boldly,  and  they  say  nothing 
to  him  :  do  the  rulers  know  indeed  that  this  is  the 
very  Christ  1  Hovbeit  ice  know  this  man,  whence 
he  is,  but  tchen  Christ  cometh,  no  man  knoxccth 
whence  he  is.  Then  cried  Jesus  in  the  temple  as 
he  taught,  saying,  Ye  both  know  me,  and  yo 
know  whence  I  am  :  and  I  am  not  come  of  my 
self,  but  he  that  sent  me  is  true,  whom  ye  know 
not.  But  I  knov/  him,  for  I  am  from  him,  and 
he  hath  sent  me.  Then  they  sought  to  take  him : 
but  no  man  laid  hands  on  him,  because  his  hour 
was  not  yet  come.  And  many  of  the  people  be- 
lieved on  him,  and  said.  When  Christ  cometh, 
will  he  do  more  miracles  than  those  icliich  this 
man  hath  done  ?" 

This  passage  is  very  observable.  It  exhibits 
the  reasoning  of  different  sorts  of  persons  upon 
the  occasion  of  a  miracle,  which  persons  of  all 
sorts  are  represented  to  have  acknowledged  as 
real.  One  sort  of  men  thought,  that  there  was 
something  very  extraordinary  in  all  this  ;  but  that 
still  Jesus  could  not  be  the  Christ,  because  there 
was  a  circumstance  in  his  apjiearance  which  mili- 
tated with  an  opinion  concerning  Christ,  in  which 
they  had  been  brought  up,  and  of  the  truth  of 
which,  it  is  probable,  they  had  never  entertained 
a  particle  of  doubt,  viz.  that  "  When  Christ 
cometh,  no  man  knoweth  whence  he  is."  Another 
sort  were  inclined  to  believe  him  to  be  the  Mes- 
siah. But  even  these  did  not  argue  as  we  should  : 
did  not  consider  the  mir.acle  as  of  itself  decisive  of 
the  question;  as  what,  if  once  allowed,  excluded 
all  farther  debate  upon  the  subject ;  but  founded 
their  opinion  upon  a  kind  of  comparative  reason- 
ing, "  When  Christ  cometh,  will  he  do  more 
miracles  than  those  which  this  man  hath  done  1" 

Another  passage  in  the  same  evangelist,  and 
observable  for  the  same  purpose,  is  that  in  which 
he  relates  the  resurrection  of  Lazarus  :  "  Jesus," 
he  tells  us  (xi.  43, 44,)  "  when  he  had  thus  spoken, 
cried  with  a  loud  voice.  Lazarus,  come  forth:  and 
he  that  was  dead  came  forth,  bound  hand  and 
foot  with  grave-clothes,  and  his  foce  was  bound 
about  with  a  napkin.  Jesus  said  unto  them, 
Loose  him,  and  let  him  go."  One  might  have 
suspected,  that  at  least  all  those  who  stood  by  the 
sepulchre,  when  Lazarus  was  raised,  would  have 
believed  in  Jesus.  Yet  the  evangelist  does  not  so 
represent  it : — "  Then  many  of  the  Jews  which 
came  to  Mary,  and  had  seen  the  things  which 
Jesus  did,  believed  on  him  ;  but  some  of  them 
went  theT  ways  to  the  Pharisees,  and  told  them 
what  things  Jesus  had  done!"  We  cannot  sup- 
pose that  the  evangelist  meant  by  this  account,  to 
leave  his  readers  to  imagine,  that  any  of  the  spec- 
tators doubted  about  the  truth  of  the  miracle.  Fai 
from  it.  Unquestionably  he  states  the  miracle  to 
have  been  fully  allowed  :  yet  the  persons  who 
allowed  it,  were,  accordinff  to  his  representation, 
capable  of  retaining  hostile  sentiments  towards 
Jesus.  "Believing  in  Jesns"  was  not  only  to  be- 
lieve that  he  wroucrht  miracles,  but  that  he  was 
the  Messiah.  With  us  there  is  no  difference 
between  these  two  thino-s  :  with  them,  there  was 
the  greatest ;  and  the  difference  is  apparent  in 
this  transaction.  If  Saint  John  has  represented 
the  conduct  of  the  .Tews  upon  this  occasion  truly 
(and  why  he  should  not  I  cannot  tell,  for  it  rather 
makes  ajrainst  him  than  for  him),  it  shows  clearly 
the  princinles  upon  which  their  judgment  y)ro- 
cceded.  Whether  he  has  related  the  matter  truly 


372 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


or  not,  the  relation  itself  discovers  the  writer's 
own  opinion  of  those  principles:  and  that  alone 
possesses  considerable  authority.  In  the  next 
chapter,  we  have  a  reflection  of  the  evangelist, 
entirely  suited  to  this  state  of  the  case :  "  but 
though  he  had  done  so  many  miracles  before  them, 
yet  believed  they  not  on  him."*  The  evangelist 
docs  not  mean  to  impute  the  defect  of  their  belief 
to  any  doubt  about  the  miracles ;  but  to  their  not 
perceiving,  what  all  now  sufficiently  perceive,  and 
what  they  would  have  perceived,  had  not  their 
understandings  been  governed  by  strong  preju- 
dices, the  infalhble  attestation  which  the  works 
of  Jesus  bore  to  the  truth  of  his  pretensions. 

The  ninth  chapter  of  Saint  John's  Gospel  con- 
tains a  very  circumstantial  account  of  the  cure  of 
a  blind  man  :  a  miracle  submitted  to  all  the  scru- 
tiny and  examination  which  a  sceptic  could  pro- 
pose. If  a  modern  unbeliever  had  drawn  up  the 
interrogatories,  they  could  hardly  have  been  more 
critical  or  searching.  The  account  contains  also 
a  very  curious  conference  between  the  Jewish 
rulers  and  the  patient,  in  which  the  point  for  our 
present  notice  is  their  resistance  of  the  force  of 
the  miracle,  and  of  the  conclusion  to  which  it  led, 
after  they  had  failed  in  discrediting  its  evidence. 
"  We  know  that  God  spake  unto  Moses;  but  as 
for  this  fellow,  we  know  not  whence  he  is."  That 
was  the  answer  which  set  their  minds  at  rest.  And 
by  the  help  of  much  prejudice,  and  great  unwil- 
lingness to  yield,  it  might  do  so.  In  the  mind  of 
the  poor  man  restored  to  sight,  which  was  under 
no  such  bias,  and  felt  no  such  reluctance,  the 
miracle  had  its  natural  operation.  "  Herein," 
says  he,  "  is  a  marvellous  thing  that  ye  know  not 
from  whence  he  is,  yet  he  hath  opened  mine 
eyes.  Nowr  we  know,  that  God  heareth  not  sin- 
ners :  but  if  any  man  be  a  worshipper  of  God, 
and  doeth  his  will,  him  he  heareth.  Since  the 
world  began,  was  it  not  heard,  that  any  man 
opened  the  eyes  of  one  that  was  born  blind.  If 
this  man  were  not  of  God,  he  could  do  nothing." 
We  do  not  fmd  that  the  Jewish  rulers  had  any 
other  reply  to  make  to  this  defence,  than  that 
which  authority  is  sometimes  apt  to  make  to  ar- 
gument, "  Dost  thou  teach  us  ?" 

If  it  shall  he  inquired,  how  a  turn  of  thought, 
so  different  from  what  prevails  at  present,  .should 
obtain  currency  with  the  ancient  Jews ;  the  an- 
swer is  found  in  two  opinions  which  are  proved  to 
have  subsisted  in  that  age  and  country.  The  one 
was,  their  expectation  of  a  Messiali  of  a  kind  totally 
contrary  to  what  the  appearance  of  Jesus  bespoke 
him  to  be;  the  other,  their  persuasion  of  the 
agency  of  demons  in  the  production  of  supernatu- 
ral effects.  Tliese  opinions  are  not  supposed  by 
us  for  the  purpose  of  argument,  but  are  evidently 
recognised  in  Jewish  writings,  as  well  as  in  ours. 
And  it  ought  moreover  to  be  considered,  that  in 
these  opinions  the  Jews  of  that  age  had  been  from 
their  infancy  brought  up ;  that  they  were  opi- 
nions, the  grounds  of  which  tliey  had  probably  few 
of  them  inquired  into,  and  of  the  truth  of  which 
they  entertained  no  doubt.  And  I  think  that 
these  two  opinions  conjointly  afford  an  exjilana- 
tion  of  their  conduct.  The  first  put  them  upon 
seeking  out  some  excuse  to  themselves  for  not 
receiving  Jesus  in  the  character  in  which  he  claim- 
ed to  he  received;  and  the  second  supplied  them 
with  just  such  an  excuse  as  they  wanted.     Let 

*  Chap.  xii.  37. 


Jesus  work  what  miracles  he  would,  still  the  an- 
swer was  in  readiness,  "  that  he  wrought  them  by 
the  assistance  of  Beelzebub."  And  to  this  answer 
no  reply  could  be  made,  but  that  which  our  Savi- 
our did  make,  by  showing  that  the  tendency  of 
his  mission  was  so  adverse  to  the  views  with 
which  this  being  was,  by  the  objectors  themselves, 
supposed  to  act,  that  it  could  not  reasonably  be 
suiiposed  that  he  would  assist  in  carrying  it  on. 
The  power  displayed  in  the  miracles  did  not  alone 
refute  the  Jewish  solution,  because  the  interposi- 
tion of  invisible  agents  being  once  admitted,  it  is 
impossible  to  ascertain  the  limits  by  which  their 
efficiency  is  circumscribed.  W^e  of  this  day  may 
be  disposed,  possibly,  to  think  such  opinions  loo 
absurd  to  have  been  ever  seriously  entertained. 
I  am  not  bound  to  contend  for  the  credibility  of 
the  opinions.  They  were  at  least  as  reasonable 
as  the  belief  in  witchcraft.  They  were  opinions 
in  which  the  Jews  of  that  age  had  from  their  in- 
fancy been  instructed ;  and  those  who  cannot  see 
enough  in  the  force  of  this  reason,  to  account  for 
their  conduct  towards  our  Saviour,  do  not  suffi- 
ciently consider  how  such  opinions  may  sometimes 
become  very  general  in  a  country,  and  with  what 
pertinacity,  when  once  become  so,  they  are,  for 
that  reason  alone,  adhered  to.  In  the  suspense 
which  these  notions,  and  the  prejudices  resulting 
from  them,  might  occasion,  the  candid  and  docile 
and  humble  minded  would  probably  decide  in 
Christ's  favour  ;  the  proud  and  obstinate,  together 
with  the  giddy  and  the  thoughtless,  almost  uni- 
versally against  hun. 

This  state  of  opinion  discovers  to  us  also  the 
reason  of  what  some  choose  to  wonder  at,  why  the 
Jews  should  reject  miracles  when  they  saw  them, 
yet  rely  so  much  upon  the  tradition  of  them  in 
their  own  history.  It  does  not  appear,  that  it  had 
ever  entered  into  the  minds  of  those  who  lived  in 
ihe  time  of  Moses  and  the  prophets,  to  ascribe 
iheir  miracles  to  the  supernatural  agency  of  evil 
beings.  The  solution  wiis  not  then  invented. 
The  authority  of  Moses  and  the  prophets  being 
established,  and  become  the  foundation  of  the 
national  polity  and  religion,  it  was  not  probable 
that  the  later  Jews,  brought  up  in  a  reverence  for 
that  religion  and  the  subjects  of  that  polity, 
should  apply  to  their  history  a  reasoning  which 
tended  to  overthrow  the  foundation  of  both. 

II.  The  infidelity  of  the  Gentile  world,  and  that 
more  especially  of  men  of  rank  and  learning  in  it, 
is  resolved  into  a  principle  which,  in  my  judgment, 
will  account  for  the  inefficacy  of  any  argument, 
or  any  evidence  whatever,  viz.  contempt  prior  to 
examination.  The  state  of  rehgion  amongst  the 
Greeks  and  Romans,  had  a  natural  tendency  to 
induce  this  disposition.  Dionysius  Halicarnas- 
sensis  remarks,  that  there  were  six  hundred  dif- 
ferent kmds  of  religions  or  sacred  rites  exercised 
at  Rome.  *  The  superior  classes  of  the  commu- 
nity treated  them  all  as  fables.  Can  we  wonder 
then,  that  Christianity  was  included  hi  the 
number,  without  inquiry  into  its  separate  merits, 
or  the  particular  grounds  of  its  pretensions  1  It 
might  be  either  true  or  false  for  any  thing  they 
knew  about  it.  The  religion  had  nothing  in  itf 
character  vvhich  immediately  engaged  their  notice 
It  mixed  with  no  politics.  It  produced  no  fine 
writers.  It  contained  no  curious  speculations. 
When  it  did  reach  their  knowledge,  I  doubt  not 


*  Jortin's  Remarks  on  Eccl.  Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  371. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


373 


but  that  it  appeared  to  them  a  very  strange  system, 
— so  unphilosophical. — dealing  so  little  in  argu- 
ment and  discussion,  in  such  arguments  however 
and  discussions  as  they  were  accustomed  to  en- 
tertain. What  is  said  of  Jesus  Christ,  of  his 
nature,  office,  and  ministry,  would  be,  in  the 
highest  degree,  alien  from  the  conceptions  of  their 
theology.  The  Redeemer  and  the  destined  Judge 
of  the  human  race,  a  poor  young  man,  executed 
at  Jerusalem  with  two  thieves  upon  a  cross !  Still 
more  would  the  language  in  which  the  Christian 
doctrine  was  delivered,  be  dissonant  and  barbarous 
to  their  ears.  What  knew  they  of  grace,  of  re- 
demption, of  justification,  of  the  blood  of  Christ 
shed  for  the  sins  of  men,  of  reconcilement,  of  me- 
diation ?  Christianity  was  made  up  of  points 
they  had  never  thought  of;  of  terms  which  they 
had  never  heard. 

It  was  presented  also  to  the  imagination  of  the 
learned  Heathen  under  additional  disadvantage, 
by  reason  of  its  real,  and  still  more  of  its  nominal, 
connexion  with  Judaism.  It  shared  in  the  oblo- 
quy and  ridicule  with  which  that  people  and  tlieir 
religion  were  treated  by  the  Greeks  and  Romans. 
They  regarded  Jehovah  himself,  only  as  the  idol  of 
the  J  ewish  nation,  and  what  was  related  of  him,  as 
of  a  piece  with  what  was  told  of  the  tutelar 
deities  of  other  countries:  nay,  the  Jews  were  in 
a  particular  manner  ridiculed  for  being  a  credu- 
lous race ;  so  that  whatever  reports  of  a  miraculous 
nature  came  out  of  that  country,  were  looked 
upon  by  the  heathen  world  as  false  and  frivolous. 
When  they  heard  of  Christianity,  they  heard  of 
it  as  a  quarrel  among.st  this  people,  about  some 
articles  of  their  own  superstition.  Despising, 
therefore,  as  they  did,  the  whole  system,  it  was 
not  probable  that  they  would  enter,  with  any  de- 
gree of  seriousness  or  attention,  into  the  detail  of 
its  disputes,  or  the  merits  of  either  side.  How 
little  they  knew,  and  with  what  carelessness  they 
judged,  of  these  matters,  apiiears,  I  think,  pretty 
plainly  from  an  example  of  no  less  weight  than  that 
of  Tacitus,  who,  in  a  grave  and  professed  discourse 
upon  the  history  of  the  Jews,  states,  that  they 
worshipped  the  effigy  of  an  ass.  *  The  passage 
is  a  proof,  how  proiie  the  learned  men  of  those 
times  were,  and  upon  how  little  evidence,  to  heap 
together  stories  which  might  increase  the  contempt 
and  odium  in  which  that  people  was  holden.  The 
same  foolish  charge  is  also  confidently  repeated  by 
Plutarch,  t 

It  is  observable,  that  all  these  considerations 
are  of  a  nature  to  operate  with  the  greatest  force 
upon  the  highest  ranks;  upon  men  of  education, 
and  that  order  of  the  public  from  which  writers 
are  principally  taken :  I  may  add  also,  u[)on  the 
philosophical  as  well  as  the  liliertine  character; 
upon  the  Antonines  or  Julian,  not  less  than  upon 
Nero  or  Domitian ;  and  more  particularly,  upon 
that  larg;^  and  polished  class  of  men,  who  acqui- 
esced in  the  general  persuasion,  that  all  they  had 
to  do  was  to  practice  the  duties  of  morality,  and 
to  worship  the  deity  more  patrio  ;  a  habit  of  think- 
ing, liberal  as  it  may  appear,  which  sliuts  the 
door  against  every  argument  for  a  new  religion. 
The  considerations  above-mentioned,  would  ac- 
(juire  also  strength  from  the  prejudice  which  men 
of  rank  and  learnincr  universally  entertain  against 
nny  thing  that  originates  with  the  vulgar  and 


*  Tacit.  Hist.  lib.  v.  c.  2. 
f  Sympos.  lib.  iv.  qu.'Esl.  5. 


illiterate ;  which  prejudice  is  known  to  be  as  ob- 
stinate as  any  prejudice  whatever. 

Yet  Christianity  was  still  making  its  way:  and, 
amidst  so  many  impediments  to  its  progress,  so 
nmch  difficulty  in  procuring  audience  and  atten- 
tion, its  actual  success  is  more  to  be  wondered  at, 
than  that  it  should  not  have  universally  conquer- 
ed scorn  and  indifference,  fixed  the  levity  of  a  vo- 
luptuous age,  or,  through  a  cloud  of  adverse  pre- 
judications, opened  for  itself  a  passage  to  the 
hearts  and  understandings  of  the  scholars  of  the 
age. 

And  the  cause,  which  is  here  assigned  for  the 
rejection  of  Christianity  by  men  of  rank  and  learn- 
ing among  the  Heathens,  namely,  a  strong  ante- 
cedent contempt,  accounts  also  for  their  silence 
concerning  it.  If  they  had  rejected  it  upon  ex- 
amination, they  would  have  written  about  it ;  they 
would  have  given  their  reasons.  Whereas, 
what  men  repudiate  upon  the  strength  of  some 
prefixed  persuasion,  or  from  a  settled  contempt  of 
the  subject,  of  the  persons  who  propose  it,  or  of 
the  manner  in  which  it  is  proposed,  they  do  not 
naturaJIy  write  books  about,  or  notice  much  in 
what  they  write  upon  other  subjects. 

The  letters  of  the  Younger  Pliny  furnish  an 
example  of  the  silence,  and  let  us,  in  some  mea- 
sure, into  the  cause  of  it.  From  his  celebrated 
correspondence  with  Trajan,  we  know  that  the 
Christian  religion  prevailed  in  a  very  considerable 
degree  in  the  province  over  which  he  presided; 
that  it  had  excited  his  attention  ;  that  he  had  in- 
quired into  the  matter,  just  so  much  as  a  Roman 
magistrate  might  be  expected  to  inquire,  viz. 
whether  the  religion  contained  any  opinions  dan- 
gerous to  government ;  but  that  of  its  doctrines, 
its  evidences,  or  its  books,  he  had  not  taken  the 
trouble  to  inform  himself  with  any  degree  of  care 
or  correctness.  But  although  Pliny  had  viewed 
Christianity  in  a  nearer  position  than  most  of  his 
learned  countrymen  saw  it  in ;  yet  he  had  regard- 
ed the  whole  with  such  negligence  and  disdain 
(farther  than  as  it  seemed  to  concern  his  adminis- 
tration,) that,  in  more  than  two  hundred  and  forty 
letters  of  his  which  have  come  down  to  us,  the 
subject  is  never  once  again  mentioned.  If,  out 
of  this  number,  the  two  letters  between  him  and 
Trajan  had  been  lost ;  with  what  confidence 
would  the  obscurity  of  the  Christian  religion  have 
been  argued  from  Pliny's  silence  about  it,  and 
with  how  little  truth  ! 

The  name  and  character  which  Tacitus  has 
given  to  Christianity,  "  exitiabilis  superstitio,"  (a 
pernicious  superstition,)  and  by  which  two  words 
he  disposes  of  the  whole  question  of  the  merits  or 
demerits  of  the  religion,  afford  a  strong  proof  how 
little  he  knew,  or  concerned  himself  to  know, 
about  the  matter.  I  apprehend  that  I  shall  not 
be  contradicted,  when  I  take  upon  me  to  assert, 
that  no  unbeliever  of  the  present  age  would  apply 
this  epithet  to  the  Christianity  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, or  not  allow  that  it  was  entirely  unmerited. 
Read  the  instructions  given  by  a  great  teacher  of 
the  religion,  to  those  very  Roman  converts  of  whom 
Tacitus  speaks  ;  and  given  also  a  very  few  years 
before  the  time  of  which  he  is  speaking;  and 
which  are  not,  let  it  be  observed,  a  collection  of 
fine  sayings  brought  together  from  different  parts 
of  a  large  work,  but  stand  in  one  entire  passage 
of  a  public  letter,  without  the  intermixture  of  a 
single  thought  which  is  frivolous  or  exceptionable : 
— "  Abhor  that  which  is  evil,  cleave  to  that  which 
32 


374 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTTANIIV, 


is  good.  Be  kindly  alfectioned  one  to  another, 
with  brotherly  love;  in  honour  preferring  one 
another ;  not  slothful  in  business ;  fervent  in  spirit ; 
serving  the  Lord:  rejoicing  in  hope;  patient  in 
triliulation;  continuing  instant  in  prayer :  distri- 
buting to  the  necessity  of  saints  ;  given  to  hospita- 
lity. Bless  them  which  persecute  you ;  bless,  and 
curse  not.  Rejoice  with  them  that  do  rejoice,  ami 
weep  with  them  that  weep.  Be  of  the  same  mind 
one  towards  another.  Mind  not  high  things,  but 
condescend  to  men  of  low  estate.  Be  not  wise  in 
your  own  conceits.  Recompense  to  no  niiui  evil 
ibr  evil.  Provide  things  honest  in  the  sight  of  all 
men.  If  it  be  possible,  as  much  as  lieth  in  you, 
live  peaceably  with  all  men.  Avenge  not  your- 
selves, but  rather  give  place  unto  wrath :  for  it  is 
written.  Vengeance  is  mine :  I  will  repay,  saith 
the  Lord  :  therefore,  if  thine  enemy  hunger,  feed 
him;  if  he  thirst,  give  him  drink:  for,  in  so  doing, 
thou  shalt  heap  coals  of  lire  on  his  head.  Be  not 
overcome  of  evil,  but  overcome  evil  with  good. 

"  Let  every  soul  be  subject  unto  the  higher 
powers.  For  there  is  no  power  but  of  God :  the 
powers  that  be,  are  ordained  of  God.  Whosoever 
therefore  resisteth  the  power,  resisteth  the  ordi- 
nance of  God :  and  they  that  resist,  shall  receive 
to  themselves  damnation.  For  rulers  are  not  a 
terror  to  good  works,  but  to  the  evil.  Wilt  thou 
then  not  be  afraid  of  the  power  ■?  Do  that  which  is 
good,  and  thou  shalt  have  praise  of  the  same:  for 
he  is  the  minister  of  God  to  thee  for  good.  But 
if  thou  do  that  which  is  evil,  be  afraid  ;  for  he 
beareth  not  the  sword  in  vain :  for  he  is  the  mi- 
nister of  God,  a  revenger  to  execute  wrath  upon 
him  that  doeth  evil.  Wherefore  ye  must  needs 
be  suiiject,  not  only  for  wrath,  but  also  for  con- 
science' sake.  For,  for  this  cause  pay  ye  tribute 
also:  for  they  are  God's  ministers,  attending  con- 
tinually upon  this  very  thing.  Render  therefore 
to  all  their  dues:  tribute,  to  whom  tribute  is  due; 
custom,  to  whom  custom ;  fear,  to  whom  fear ; 
honour,  to  whom  honour. 

"Owe  no  man  any  thing,  but  to  love  one  an- 
other :  for  he  that  loveth  anotiier,  hath  fullilled  the 
law.  For  this,  Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery. 
Thou  shalt  not  kill.  Thou  shalt  not  steal.  Thou 
shalt  not  bear  false  witness,  Thou  shalt  not  covet ; 
and  if  there  be  any  other  commandment,  it  is 
brieriy  comprehended  in  this  saying.  Thou  shalt 
love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself  Love  worketh  no 
ill  to  his  neighbour;  therefore  love  is  thefulillhng 
of  the  law. 

"  And  that,  knowing  the  time,  that  now  it  is 
high  time  to  awake  out  of  sleep :  for  now  is  our 
salvation  nearer  than  when  we  believed.  The 
night  is  far  spent,  the  day  is  at  hand ;  let  us  there- 
fore cast  off  the  works  of  darkness,  and  let  us  put 
on  the  armour  of  light.  Let  us  walk  honestly,  as 
in  the  day,  not  in  rioting  and  drunkenness,  not  in 
chambering  and  wajitonness,  not  in  strife  and  en- 
vying."* 

Read  this,  and  then  think  of  "  exitiabilis  super- 
stitio  ! !" — Or  if  we  be  not  allowed,  in  contending 
with  heathen  authorities,  to  produce  our  books 
against  theirs,  we  may  at  least  be  permitted  to 
confront  theirs  with  one  another.  Ofthis"  per- 
nicious superstition,"  what  could  Pliny  find  to 
blame,  when  lie  was  led,  by  his  office,  to  institute 
something  like  an  examination  into  the  conduct 
and  principles  of  the  sect  %  He  discovered  nothUig, 


but  that  they  were  wont  to  meet  together  on  a 
stated  day  before  it  was  light,  and  smg  among 
themselves  a  hymn  to  Christ  as  a  God,  and  to  bind 
themselves  by  an  oath,  not  to  the  commission  of 
any  wickedness,  but,  not  to  be  guilty  of  theit,  rob- 
bery, or  adultery;  never  to  falsify  their  word,  nor 
to  deny  a  pledge  cojnmitted  to  them,  when  called 
upon  to  return  it. 

Upon  the  words  of  Tacitus  we  may  build  the 
following  observations : — 

First;  That  we  are  well  warranted  in  calling 
the  view  under  which  the  learned  men  of  that  age 
beheld  Christianity,  an  obscure  and  distant  view. 
Had  Tacitus  known  more  of  Christianity,  of  its 
precepts,  duties,  constitution,  or  design,  however 
he  had  discredited  the  story,  he  would  have  re- 
spected the  principle.  He  would  have  described 
tlie  religion  differently,  though  he  had  rejected  it. 
It  has  been  satisfactorily  shown,  that  the  "  super- 
stition" of  the  Christians  consisted  in  worship- 
ping a  person  unknown  to  the  Roman  calendar  ; 
and  that  the  "  perniciousness,"  with  which  they 
were  reproached,  was  nothing  else  but  their  oppo- 
sition to  the  established  polytheism;  and  this  view 
of  the  matter  was  just  such  a  one  as  might  be  ex- 
pected to  occur  to  a  mind,  which  held  the  sect  in 
too  much  contempt  to  concern  itself  about  the 
grounds  and  reasons  of  their  conduct. 

Secondly  ;  We  may  from  lieiice  remark,  how 
little  reliance  can  be  placed  upon  the  most  acute 
judgments,  in  subjects  which  they  are  pleased  to 
despi.se;  and  which,  of  course,  they  from  the  first 
consider  as  unworthy  to  be  inquired  into.  Had 
not  Christianity  survived  to  tell  its  own  story,  it 
must  have  gone  down  to  posterity  as  a  "  perni- 
cious superstition;"  and  tiiat  upon  the  credit  of 
Tacitus's  account,  much,  1  doubt  not,  strengthen- 
ed by  the  name  of  the  writer,  and  the  reputation 
of  his  sagacity. 

Thirdly;  That  this  contempt  prior  to  exami- 
nation, is  an  intellectual  vice,  from  which  the 
greatest  faculties  of  mind  are  not  free.  I  know 
not,  indeed,  whether  men  of  the  greatest  faculties 
of  mind,  are  not  the  most  subject  to  it.  Such  men 
feel  themselves  seated  upon  an  eminence.  Look- 
ing down  from  their  height  upon  the  follies  of 
mankind,  they  behold  contending  tenets  wasting 
their  idle  strength  upon  one  another,  with  the 
common  disdain  of  the  absurdity  of  them  all.  This 
habit  of  thought,  however  comfortable  to  the  mind 
which  entertains  it,  or  however  natural  to  great 
parts,  is  extremely  dangerous ;  and  more  apt,  than 
almost  any  other  disposition,  to  produce  hasty  and 
contemptuous,  and,  by  consequence,  erroneous 
judgments,  both  of  persons  and  opinions. 

Fourthly  ;  We  need  not  be  surprised  at  many 
writers  of  that  age  not  mentioning  Christianity  at 
all ;  when  they  who  did  mention  it,  appear  to 
have  entirely  misconceived  its  nature  and  cha- 
racter ;  and  in  consequence  of  this  misconception, 
to  have  regarded  it  with  negligence  and  contempt. 

To  the  knowledge  of  the  greatest  part  of  the 
learned  Heathens,  the  facts  of  the  Christian  his- 
tory could  only  come  by  report.  The  books,  pro- 
bably, they  never  looked  into.  The  settled  habit 
of  their  minds  was,  and  long  had  been,  an  indis- 
criminate rejection  of  all  rejwrts  of  the  kinil.  With 
these  sweeping  conclusions,  truth  hath  no  chance. 
It  depends  u|)on  distinction.  If  they  would  not 
inquire,  how  should  they  be  convinced  ?  It  might 
be  founded  in  truth,  though  they,  who  made  nc 
search,  might  not  discover  it. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


375 


"  Men  of  rank  and  fortune,  of  wit  and  ahilities, 
are  often  found,  even  in  Christiiin  countries,  to  be 
surprisingly  ignorant  of  religion,  and  of  every 
thing  that  relates  to  it.  Such  were  many  of  the 
Heathens.  Their  thoughts  were  all  fixed  upon 
other  things ;  upon  reputation  and  glory,  upon 
wealth  and  power,  upon  luxury  and  pleasure, 
upon  business  or  learning.  They  thought,  and 
they  had  reason  to  think,  that  the  religion  of  their 
country  was  fable  and  forgery,  a  heap  of  incon- 
sistent lies  ;  which  inclined  them  to  suppose  that 
other  religions  were  no  better.  Hence  it  came 
to  pass,  that  when  the  apostles  preached  the 
Gospel,  and  wrought  miracles  in  confirmation 
of  a  doctrine  every  way  worthy  of  God,  many 
Gentiles  knew  little  or  nothing  of  it,  and  would 
not  take  the  least  pains  to  inform  themselves  about 
it.     This  appears  plainly  from  ancient  history.''* 

I  think  it  by  no  means  unreasonable  to  suppose, 
that  the  Heatlien  public,  especially  that  part  which 
is  made  up  of  men  of  rank  and  education,  were 
divided  into  two  classes;  those  who  despised 
Christianity  beforehand,  and  those  who  received 
it.  In  correspondency  with  which  division  of  cha- 
racter, the  writers  of  that  age  would  also  be  of  two 
classes ;  those  who  were  silent  about  Christianity, 
and  those  who  were  Christians.  "A  woodman, 
who  attended  sufficiently  to  the  Christian  affairs, 
would  become  a  Christian;  after  which  bis  testi- 
mony ceased  to  be  Pagan,  and  became  Christian. '"t 

I  must  also  add,  that  I  think  it  sufficiently 
proved,  tiiat  the  notion  of  magic  was  resorted  to 
by  the  Heathen  adversaries  of  Christianitv,  in 
like  manner  as  that  of  diaboUcal  agency  had  lie- 
fore  been  by  the  Jews.  Justin  Martyr  alleges  this 
as  his  reason  for  arguing  from  prophecv,  rather 
than  from  miracles.  Origen  imputes  this  evasion 
to  Celsus ;  Jerome  to  Porphyry ;  and  Lactantius 
to  the  Heathen  in  general.  Tlie  several  passages. 
which  contain  these  testimonies,  will  be  produced 
in  the  next  chapter.  It  being  difficult  however 
to  ascertain  in  what  degree  this  notion  prevailed, 
especially  amongst  the  superior  ranks  of  the 
Heathen  communities,  another,  and  I  think  an 
adequate,  cause  has  been  assigned  for  their  infi- 
delity. It  is  probal)le,  tliat  in  many  cases  the  two 
causes  would  operate  together. 


CHAPTER  V. 

That  the  Christian  Miracles  are  not  recited,  or 
appraJcd  to.  by  early  Christian  Writers  them- 
selrcs.  so  fully  or  frequently  as  might  hare  been 
expected. 

I  SHALL  consider  this  objection,  first,  as  it  ap- 
plies to  the  letters  of  the  apostles,  preserved  in  the 
New  Testament ;  and  secondly,  as  it  applies  to 
the  remaining  writings  of  other  earlv  Christians. 

The  epistles  of  the  apostles  are  either  hortatory 
or  argumentative.  So  far  as  they  were  occupied 
in  delivering  lessons  of  duty,  rules  of  publi- order, 
admonitions  against  certain  prevailing  corruptions, 
acrainst  vice,  or  any  particular  species  of  it,  or  in 
fortifying  and  encouraging  die  constancy  of  the 
dis^'iples  under  the  trials  to  which  they  were  ex- 
posed, there  appears  to  be  no  place  or  occasion  for 
more  of  these  references  than  we  actually  find. 

*  .Tnrtin's  Disc,  on  the  Christ.  Rel.  p.  66.  ed.  4th. 
t  Hailley,  Obs.p.  11!). 


'  So  far  as  the  epistles  are  argumentative,  the  na- 
ture of  the  argument  which  they  handle  account's 
for  the  infrequency  of  these  allusions.  These 
epistles  were  not  written  to  prove  the  truth  of 
Christianity.  The  subject  under  consideration 
was  not  that  which  the  miracles  decided,  the  reali- 
ty of  our  Lord's  mission;  but  it  was  that  which 
the  miracles  did  not  decide,  the  nature  of  his  jier- 
son  or  power,  the  design  of  his  advent,  its  efiixts, 
and  of  those  effects  the  value,  kind,  and  extent. 
Still  I  maintain,  that  miraculous  evidence  lies  at 
the  bottom  of  the  argument.  For  nothing  could 
be  so  preposterous  as  for  the  disciples  of  Jesus  to 
dispute  amongst  themselves,  or  with  others,  con- 
cerning his  office  or  character,  unless  they  be- 
lieved that  he  had  shown,  by  supernatural  [>roofs, 
that  there  was  something  extraordinarv'  in  ])oth 
Miraculous  evidence,  therefore,  forming  not  the 
texture  of  these  arguments,  but  the  ground  and 
substratum,  if  it  be  occasionally  discerned,  if  it  be 
incidentally  appealed  to,  it  is  exactly  so  much  as 
ought  to  take  place,  supposing  the  history  to  be 
true. 

As  a  farther  answer  to  the  ohjection,  that  the 
apostolic  epistles  do  not  contain  so  frequent,  or 
such  direct  and  circumstantial  recitals  of  miracles 
as  might  be  expected,  I  would  add,  that  the  apos- 
tolic epistles  resemble  in.  this  respect  the  apostolic 
speeches;  which  speeches  are  given  by  a  writer 
who  distinctly  records  numerous  miracles  wrought 
by  these  apostles  themselves  and  by  the  Founder 
of  the  institution  in  their  presence :  that  it  is  un- 
warrantable to  contend,  that  the  omission,  or  in- 
frequency, of  such  recitals  in  the  speeches  of  the 
apostles,  negatives  the  existence  of  the  miracles, 
when  the  speeches  are  given  in  immediate  con- 
junction with  the  history  of  those  miracles:  and 
that  a  conclusion  which  cannot  he  inferred  from 
the  speeches,  without  contradicting  the  whole 
tenor  of  the  book  which  contains  them,  cannot  be 
inferred  from  letters,  which,  in  this  respect,  are 
similar  only  to  the  speeches. 

To  prove  the  similitude  which  we  allege,  it  rntiy 
be  remarked,  that  although  in  Saint  Luke's  Gos- 
pel the  apostle  Peter  is  represented  to  have  been 
present  at  many  decisive  miracles  wrought  by 
Christ ;  and  although  the  second  part  of  the  same 
history  ascribes  other  decisive  miracles  to  Peter 
himself,  particularly  the  cure  of  the  lame  man  at 
the  gate  of  the  temple,  (Actsiii.  1,)  the  death  of 
Ananias  and  Sapphira,  (Acts  v.  1,)  the  cure  of 
^neas,  (Acts  ix.  34,)  the  resurrection  of  Dorcas; 
(Acts  ix.  40,)  yet  out  of  six  speeches  of  Peter, 
preserved  in  the  Acts,  I  know  but  two  in  which 
reference  is  made  to  the  miracles  wrought  by 
Christ,  and  only  one  in  which  he  refers  to  mira- 
culous powers  possessed  by  himself.  In  his  speech 
upon  the  day  of  Pentecost,  Peter  addressed  his 
audience  with  great  solemnity,  thus :  "  Ye  men 
of  Israel,  hear  these  words :  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  a 
man  approved  of  God  among  you,  by  miracles, 
and  wonders,  and  signs,  which  God  did  by  him 
in  the  midst  of  you,  as  ye  yourselves  also  know,"* 
&c.  In  his  speech  upon  the  conversion  of  Corne- 
lius, he  delivers  his  testimony  to  the  miracles  per- 
formed by  Christ,  in  these  words;  "  we  are  wit- 
nesses of  all  thintTs  which  he  did,  both  in  the  land 
of  the  Jews,  and  in  Jerusalem. "'t  But  in  this  lat- 
ter speech,  no  allusion  appears  to  the  miracles 
wrought   by  himself,    notwithstanding  that  the 


i 


t  I.  3'J. 


37S 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


miracles  above  enumerated  all  preceded  the  time 
in  which  it  was  delivered.  In  his  speech  upon 
the  election  of  Matthias,*  no  distinct  reference  is 
made  to  any  of  the  miracles  of  Christ's  history, 
except  his  resurrection.  The  same  also  may  be 
observed  of  his  speech  upon  the  cure  of  the  lame 
k  man  at  the  gate  of  the  temple  :t  the  same  in  his 
r  speech  before  the  Sanhedrim  ;t  the  same  in  his 
second  apology  in  the  presence  of  that  assembly. 
Stephen's  long  speech  contains  no  reference  what- 
ever to  miracles,  though  it  be  expressly  related  of 
him,  in  the  book  which  preserves  the  speech,  and 
almost  immediately  before  the  speech,  "that  he 
did  great  wonders  and  miracles  among  the  peo- 
ple."! Again,  although  miracles  be  expressly  at- 
tributed to  Saint  Paul  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles, 
first  generally,  as  at  Iconium,  (Acts  xiv.  3,)  during 
the  whole  tour  through  the  Upper  Asia,  (xiv.  27; 
XV.  12,)  at  E))hesus;  (xix.  11,  1'2:)  secondly,  in 
specific  instances,  as  the  bUndness  of  Elymas  at 
Paphos,ll  the  cure  of  the  crii)ple  at  Lystra,1T  of 
the  Pythoness  at  Philippi,**  the  miraculous  liber- 
ation from  prison  in  the  same  city,tt  the  restora- 
tion of  EutychuSjtt  the  predictions  of  his  ship- 
wreck.§§  the  viper  at  Melita,llll  the  cure  of  Pub- 
lius's  father,inr  at  all  which  miracles,  except  the 
first  two,  the  historian  himself  was  present :  not- 
withstanding, I  say,  this  positive  ascription  of  mi- 
racles to  Saint  Paul,  yet  in  the  speeches  delivered 
by  him,  and  given  as  delivered  by  him,  in  the 
same  book  in  which  the  miracles  are  related,  and 
the  miraculous  powers  asserted,  the  appeals  to  his 
own  miracles,  or  indeed  to  any  miracles  at  all,  are 
nre  and  incidental.  In  his  speech  at  Antioch  in 
Pisidia,***  there  is  no  allusion  but  to  the  resurrec- 
tion. In  his  discourse  at  Miletus, +tt  none  to  any 
miracle;  none  in  his  speech  before  Felix ;$tt 
none  in  his  s|X'ech  before  Festus ;  §§§  except  to 
Christ's  resurrection,  and  his  own  conversion. 

Agreeably  hereunto,  in  thirteen  letters  ascribed 
to  Saint  Paul,  we  have  incessant  references  to 
Christ's  resurrection,  frequent  references  to  his 
own  conversion,  three  indubitable  references  to 
the  miracles  which  he  wrought ;  II II II  four  other 
references  to  the  same,  less  direct,  yet  highly  pro- 
bable ;  irUIT  but  more  copious  or  circumstantial 
recitals  we  have  not.  The  con.sent,  therefore,  be- 
tween Saint  Paul's  speeches  and  letters,  is  in  this 
respect  sufficiently  exact :  and  the  reason  in  both 
is  the  same ;  namely,  that  the  miraculous  history 
was  all  along  presupposed,  and  that  the  question, 
which  occupied  the  speaker's  and  the  writer's 
thoughts,  was  this :  whether,  allowing  the  history 
of  Jesus  to  be  true,  he  was,  upon  the  strength  of 
it,  to  be  received  as  the  promised  Messiah;  and, 
if  he  was,  what  were  the  consequences,  what  was 
the  object  and  benefit  of  his  mission  1 

The  general  observation  which  has  been  made 
upon  the  apostolic  writings,  namely,  that  the  sub- 
ject of  which  they  treated,  did  not  lead  them  to 
any  direct  recital  of  the  Christian  history,  belongs 
also  to  the  writings  of  the  apostolic  fathers.  The 
epistle  of  Barn.abas  is,  in  its  subject  and  general 
composition,  much  like  the  epistle  to  the  He- 
brews ;  an  allegorical  apjilication  of  divers  passages 
of  the  Jewish  history,  of  their  law  and  ritual^  to 

*  Acts  1.15.    tiii-12.  liv.  8.  §  vi.  8. 

Ilxiii.  11.         irxiv.8.  **xvi.  16.       tfxvi.  26. 

ttxx.  10.        §?xxvii.  1.        ixxviii.6.      TT^rxxviii  8. 
**«'xiii.  16.    tttxx.  17.         Itlxxiv.  10.     §§§xxv.8. 
KIHfRal.  iii..5.     Rom.  xv.  IP,  10.     2Cnr.  xii.  12. 
TITTT 1  Cor.  ii.  4,  5.    Eph.  iii.7.    Gal.  ii.  8.   IThess.  i.5. 


those  parts  of  the  Christian  dispensation  in  whici': 
the  author  perceived  a  resemblance.  The  epistle 
of  Clement  was  written  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
quieting  certain  dissensions  that  had  arisen 
amongst  the  members  of  the  church  of  Corinth, 
and  of  reviving  in  their  minds  that  temper  and 
spirit  of  which  their  predecessors  in  the  Gospel 
had  left  them  an  example.  The  work  of  Hernias 
is  a  vision:  quotes  neither  the  Old  Testament 
nor  the  New ;  and  merely  falls  now  and  then  into 
the  language,  and  the  mode  of  speech,  which  the 
author  had  read  in  our  Gospels.  The  epistles  of 
Polycarp  and  Ignatius  had  for  their  principal  ob- 
ject the  order  and  discipline  of  the  churches  which 
they  addressed.  Yet,  under  all  these  circum- 
stances of  disadvantage,  the  great  points  of  the 
Clu"istian  history  are  fully  recognised.  This  hath 
been  shown  in  its  proper  place.* 

There  is,  however,  another  class  of  writers,  to 
whom  the  answer  above  given,  viz.  the  unsuita- 
bleness  of  any  such  appeals  or  references  as  the 
objection  demands,  to  the  subjects  of  which  the 
writings  treated,  does  not  apply ;  and  that  is,  the 
class  of  ancient  apologists,  whose  declared  design 
it  was  to  defend  Christianity,  and  to  give  the  rea- 
sons of  their  adherence  to  it.  It  is  necessary, 
therefore,  to  inquire  how  the  matter  of  the  objec- 
tion stands  in  these. 

The  most  ancient  apologist,  of  whose  works 
we  have  the  smallest  knowledge,  is  duadratus. 
dnadratus  lived  about  sevent}'  years  after  the  as- 
cension, and  presented  his  apology  to  the  emperor 
Adrian.  From  a  passage  of  this  work,  preserved 
in  Eusebius,  it  appears  that  the  author  did  directly 
and  formally  appeal  to  the  miracles  of  Christ,  and 
in  terms  as  express  and  confident  as  we  could  de- 
sire. The  passage  (which  has  been  once  already 
stated)  is  as  follows:  "  The  works  of  our  Saviour 
were  always  conspicuous,  for  they  were  real ;  both 
they  that  were  healed,  and  they  that  were  raised 
from  the  dead,  were  seen,  not  only  when  they 
were  healed,  or  raised,  but  for  a  long  time  after- 
ward: not  only  whilst  he  dwelled  on  this  earth, 
but  also  after  his  departure,  and  for  a  good  while 
after  it ;  insomuch  as  that  some  of  them  have 
reached  to  our  times. "+  Nothing  can  be  more 
rational  or  satisfactory  than  this. 

Justin  Martyr,  the  next  of  the  Christian  apolo- 
gists whose  work  is  not  lo.st,  and  who  followed 
duadratus  at  the  distance  of  about  thirty  years, 
has  touched  upon  passages  of  Christ's  history  in 
so  many  places,  that  a  tolerably  complete  account 
of  Christ's  life  might  be  collected  out  of  his  works. 
In  the  following  quotation,  he  asserts  the  perform- 
ance of  miracles  by  Christ  in  words  as  strong  and 
positive  as  the  language  possesses :  "  Christ  healed 
those  who  from  their  birth  were  blind,  and  deaf, 
and  lame ;  causing  by  his  word,  one  to  leap,  an- 
other to  hear,  and  a  third  to  see  :  and  having  raised 
the  dead,  and  caused  them  to  live,  he,  by  his 
works,  excited  attention,  and  induced  the  men  of 
that  age  to  know  him.  Who,  however,  seeing 
these  things  done,  said  that  it  was  a  magical  ap- 
pearance, and  dared  to  call  him  a  magician,  and  a 
deceiver  of  the  people. "t 

In  his  first  apology, §  Justin  expressly  assigns 
the  reason  for  his  having  recourse  to  the  argument 
from  prophecy,  rather  than  alleging  the  miracles 
of  the  Christian  history:  which  reason  was,  that 

*  See  pases  297,298,  &c.     f  Eiiseb.  Hist.  1.  iv.  c.  3. 
t  Just,  Dial.  p.  258.  ed.  Thirlby. 
§  Apolog.  prim.  p.  48.  ed.  Thiilby. 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


377 


the  persons  with  whom  he  contended  would  ascribe 
these  miracles  to  majric;  "  Lest  any  of  our  oppo- 
nents should  sa}',  What  hinders,  but  that  he  who 
is  called  Christ  by  us,  bcinj  a  man  sprung  from 
men,  performed  the  miracles  which  we  attribute 
to  him,  by  magical  art  V  The  suggestion  of  this 
reason  meets,  as  I  apprehend,  the  very  point  of 
the  present  objection ;  more  especially  when  we 
find  Justin  followed  in  it  by  other  writers  of  that 
age.  Irenaeus,  who  came  about  forty  years  after 
him,  notices  the  same  evasion  in  the  adversaries 
of  Christianity,  and  replies  to  it  by  the  same  ar- 
gument: "But  if  they  shall  say,  that  the  Lord 
performed  these  things  by  an  illusory  appearance, 
(?:«vT:<crij^^,-,)  leading  these  objectors  to  the  pro- 
phecies, we  will  show  from  them,  that  all  things 
were  thus  predicted  concerning  him,  and  strictly 
came  to  pass.''*  Lactantius,  who  lived  a  century 
lower,  deUvers  the  same  sentiment,  upon  the  same 
occasion;  ''He  performed  miracles; — we  might 
have  supposed  him  to  have  been  a  magician,  as  ye 
say,  and  as  the  Jews  then  supposed,  if  all  the  pro- 
phets had  not  with  one  spirit  foretold  that  Christ 
should  perform  these  very  things. "t 

But  to  return  to  the  Christian  apologists  in  their 
order.  Tertulhan  ; — "That  person  whom  the 
Jews  had  vainly  imagined,  from  the  meanness  of 
his  appearance,  to  be  a  mere  man,  they  alterward, 
in  consequence  of  the  power  he  exerted,  considered 
as  a  magician,  when  he,  with  one  word,  ejected 
devils  out  of  the  bodies  of  men,  gave  sight  to  the 
blind,  cleansed  the  leprous,  strengthened  the  nerves 
of  those  that  had  the  palsy,  and,  la.stly,  with  one 
command,  restored  the  dead  to  lilc ;  when  he,  I 
say,  made  the  very  elements  obey  him,  assuaged 
the  storms,  walked  upon  the  seas,  demonstrating 
nimself  to  he  the  Word  of  God."$ 

Next  in  the  catalogue  of  professed  apologists  we 
may  place  Origen,  who,  it  is  well  known,  published 
a  formal  defence  of  Christianity,  in  answer  to  Cel- 
sus,  a  Heathen,  who  had  written  a  discourse 
against  it.  I  know  no  expressions,  by  which  a 
plainer  or  more  positive  appeal  to  the  Christian 
miracles  can  be  made,  than  the  expressions  used 
by  Origen;  "Undoubtedly  we  do  think  him  to  be 
the  Christ,  and  the  Son  of  God,  because  he  healed 
the  lame  and  the  blind  ;  and  we  are  the  more  con- 
firmed in  this  persuasion,  by  what  is  written  in 
the  prophecies:  '  Then  shall  the  eyes  of  the  blind 
be  opened,  and  the  ears  of  the  deaf  shall  hear,  and 
the  lame  man  shall  leap  as  a  hart.'  But  that  he 
also  raised  the  dead  ;  and  that  it  is  not  a  fiction  of 
those  who  wrote  the  Gospels,  is  evident  from 
hence,  that,  if  it  had  been  a  fiction,  there  would 
have  been  many  recorded  to  be  raised  up,  and 
such  as  had  been  a  long  time  in  their  graves. 
But,  it  not  being  a  fiction,  few  have  been  recorded : 
for  instance,  the  daughter  of  the  ruler  of  a  syna- 
gogue, of  whom  1  do  not  know  why  he  said,  She 
is  not  dead  but  s!ee[)eth,  expressing  something 
peculiar  to  her,  not  common  to  all  dead  persons : 
and  the  only  son  of  a  widow,  on  whom  he  had 
compassion,  and  raised  hina  to  life,  after  he  had 
hid  the  bearers  of  the  corpse  to  stop ;  and  the  third, 
Lazarus,  who  had  been  buried  four  days."  This 
is  positively  to  assert  the  miracles  of  Christ,  and 
It  is  also  to  comment  upon  them,  and  that  with  a 
considerable  degree  of  accuracy  and  candour. 

In  another  passage  of  the  same  author,  we  meet 


*  Iran.  .  n.  c.  57.  t  Lactant.  v.  3. 

t  Terlull.  ApoloR.  p.  20 ;  ed.  Priorii,  Par.  1675. 
3B 


with  the  old  solution  of  magic  applied  to  the  mira- 
cles of  Christ  by  the  adversaries  of  the  religion. 
"Celsus,"  saith  Origen,  "well  knowing  what 
great  works  may  be  alleged  to  have  been  done  by 
Jesus,  pretends  to  grant  that  the  things  related  of 
him  are  true;  such  as  healing  diseases,  raising 
the  dead,  feeding  multitudes  with  a  few  loaves,  of 
which  large  fragments  were  left."*  And  then 
Celsus  gives,  it  seems,  an  answer  to  these  proofs 
of  our  Lord's  mission,  which,  as  Origen  under- 
stood it,  resolved  the  phenomena  into  magic  ;  for 
Origen  begins  his  reply  by  observing,  "  You  see 
that  Celsus  in  a  manner  allows  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  magic. "t 

It  ajipears  also  from  the  testimony  of  Saint  Je- 
rome, that  Porphyry,  the  most  learned  and  able 
of  the  Heathen  writers  against  Christianity,  re- 
sorted to  the  same  solution:  "Unless,"  says  he, 
s|^)eaking  to  Vigilantius,  "  according  to  the  man- 
ner of  the  Gentiles  and  the  profane,  of  Porphyry 
and  Eunomius,  you  pretend  that  these  are  the 
tricks  of  demons,  "t 

This  magic,  these  demons,  this  illusory  appear- 
ance, this  comparison  with  the  tricks  of  jugglers, 
by  which  many  of  that  age  accounted  so  easily 
for  the  Christian  miracles,  and  which  answers 
the  advocates  of  Christianity  often  thought  it  ne- 
cessary to  refute  by  arguments  drawn  from  other 
topics,  and  particularly  from  prophecy,  (to  which, 
it  seems  these  solutions  did  not  apply,)  we  now 
perceive  to  be  gross  subterfuges.  That  such  rea- 
sons were  ever  seriously  urged,  and  seriously  re- 
ceived, is  only  a  proof,  what  a  gloss  and  varnish 
fashion  can  give  to  any  opinion. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  miracles  of  Christ 
understood  as  we  understand  them,  in  their  literal 
and  historical  sense,  were  positively  and  ))recisely 
asserted  and  appealed  to  by  the  apologists  for 
Christianity  ;  which  answers  the  allegation  of  the 
objection. 

I  am  ready,  however,  to  admit,  that  the  ancient 
Christian  advocates  did  not  insist  upon  the  mira- 
cles in  argument,  so  frequently  as  1  should  have 
done.  It  was  their  lot  to  contend  with  notions  of 
maoical  agency,  against  which  the  mere  produc- 
tion of  the  facts  was  not  sufficient  for  the  con- 
vincing of  their  adversaries :  I  do  not  know  whe- 
ther they  themselves  thought  it  quite  decisive  of 
the  controversy.  But  since  it  is  proved,  I  conceive 
with  certainty,  that  the  sparingness  with  which 
they  appealed  to  miracles,  was  owing  neither  to 
their  ignorance,  nor  their  doubt  of  the  facts,  it  is, 
at  any  rate,  an  objection,  not  to  the  truth  of  the 
history,  but  to  the  judgment  of  its  defenders. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Want  of  iinirersality  in  the  knoicledge  and  re 
ceplion  of  Christianity,  and  of  greater  dear 
ness  in  the  evidence. 

Of  a  revelation  which  really  came  from  God, 
the  proof,  it  has  been  said,  would  in  all  ages  be  so 
public  and  manifest,  that  no  part  of  the  human 
species  would  remain  ignorant  of  it,  no  under- 
standing could  fail  of  being  convinced  by  it. 

The  advocates  of  Christianity  do  not  pretend 


*  Orig.  Cont.  Cels.  1.  ii.  sect.  -JS. 
t  Lardner"s  Jewish  and  Heath.  Test.  vol.  li.  p.  294.  ed 
410.  1  Jerome  cont.  Vigil. 

32* 


378 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


that  the  evidence  of  their  reUgion  possesses  these 
qualities.  They  Jo  not  deny  that  we  can  con- 
ceive it  to  be  within  the  compass  of  divine  power, 
to  have  communicated  to  the  world  a  higher  de- 
gree of  assurance,  and  to  have  given  to  his  com- 
munication a  stronger  and  more  extensive  influ- 
ence. For  any  thing  we  are  able  to  discern,  God 
could  have  so  formed  men,  as  to  have  perceived 
the  truths  of  religion  intuitively  ;  or  to  have  car- 
ried on  a  communication  with  the  other  world, 
whilst  they  lived  in  this  ;  or  to  have  seen  the  in- 
dividuals of  the  species,  instead  of  dying,  pass  to 
heaven  by  a  sensible  translation.  He  could  have 
presented  a  separate  miracle  to  each  man's  senses. 
He  could  have  established  a  standing  miracle. 
He  could  have  caused  miracles  to  he  wrought  in 
every  different  age  and  country.  These,  and 
many  more  methods,  which  we  may  imagine,  if 
we  once  give  loose  to  our  imaginations,  are,  so  far 
as  we  can  judge,  all  practicable. 

The  question,  therefore,  is,  not  whether  Chris- 
tianity possesses  the  highest  possible  degree  of 
evidence,  but  whether  the  not  having  more  evi- 
dence be  a  sufficient  reason  for  rejecting  that 
which  we  have. 

Now  their  appears  to  be  no  fairer  method  of 
judging,  concerning  any  dispensation  which  is 
alleged  to  come  from  God,  when  a  question  is 
made  whether  such  a  dispensation  could  come 
from  God  or  not,  than  by  comparing  it  with  other 
things  which  are  acknowledged  to  proceed  from 
the  same  counsel,  and  to  be  produced  by  the  same 
agency.  If  the  dispensation  in  question  labour 
under  no  defects  but  what  apparently  belong  to 
other  dispensations,  these  seeming  defects  do  not 
justify  us  in  setting  aside  the  proofs  which  are  of- 
fered of  its  authenticity,  if  they  be  otherwise  en- 
titled to  credit. 

Throughout  that  order  then  of  nature,  of  which 
God  is  the  author,  what  we  find  is  a  system  of 
beneficence :  we  are  seldom  or  ever  able  to  make 
out  a  system  o{  optimism.  I  mean,  that  there  are 
few  cases  in  which,  if  we  permit  ourselves  to 
range  in  possibilities,  we  cannot  suppose  some- 
thing more  perfect,  and  more  unobjectionable, 
thin  what  we  see.  The  rain  which  descends 
from  heaven,  is  confessedly  amongst  the  contri- 
vances of  the  Creator,  for  the  sustentation  of  the 
animals  and  vegetables  which  subsist  upon  the 
surface  of  the  earth.  Yet  how  partially  and  ir- 
regularly is  it  supplied!  How  much  of  it  flills 
upon  the  sea,  where  it  can  be  of  no  use  !  how  often 
is  it  wanted  where  it  would  be  of  the  greatest! 
What  tracts  of  continent  are  rendered  deserts  by 
the  SL'ari'ity  of  it!  Or,  not  to  speak  of  extreme 
cases,  how  much,  sometimes,  do  inhabited  coun- 
tries suffer  by  its  deficiency  or  delay  ! — We  could 
imagine,  if  to  imagine  were  our  business,  the 
matter  to  be  otherwise  regulated.  We  could 
imagine  showers  to  fall,  just  where  and  when  tliey 
would  do  good;  always  seasonable,  everywhere 
sufficient;  so  distributed  as  not  to  leave  a  field 
upon  the  face  of  the  globe  scorched  by  drought, 
or  even  a  plant  withering  for  the  lack  of  moisture. 
Yet,  does  the  difference  between  the  real  case  and 
the  imagined  case,  or  the  seeming  inferiority  of 
the  one  to  the  other,  authorize  us  to  say,  that  the 
present  disposition  of  the  atmosphere  is  not 
amongst  the  productions  or  the  designs  of  the 
Deity ']  Does  it  check  the  inference  which  we 
draw  from  the  confessed  beneficence  of  the  provi- 
sion 1  or  does  it  make  us  cease  to  admire  the  con- 


trivance?— The  observation,  which  7/e  have  es- 
emplified  in  the  single  instance  of  the  rain  of 
heaven,  may  be  repeated  concerning  most  of  the 
phenomena  of  nature ;  and  the  true  conclusion  to 
which  it  leads  is  this  :  that  to  inquire  what  the 
Deity  might  have  done,  could  have  done,  or,  as 
we  even  sometimes  presume  to  speak,  ought  to 
have  done,  or,  in  hypothetical  cases  would  have 
done,  and  to  build  any  propositions  upon  such  in- 
quiries against  evidence  of  facts,  is  wholly  unwar- 
rantable. It  is  a  mode  of  reasoning  which  will 
not  do  in  natural  history,  which  will  not  do  in 
natural  religion,  which  cannot  therefore  be  applied 
with  safety  to  revelation.  It  may  have  some 
foundation,  in  certain  speculative  a  priori  ideas  of 
the  divine  attributes;  but  it  has  none  in  expe- 
rience, or  in  analogy.  The  general  character  of 
the  works  of  nature  is,  on  the  one  hand,  goodness 
both  in  design  and  efit'ct ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  liability  to  difficulty,  and  to  objections,  if  such 
objections  be  allowed,  by  reason  of  seeming  in- 
completeness or  uncertainty  in  attaining  their 
end.  Christianity  participates  of  this  character. 
The  true  similitude  between  nature  and  revelation 
consists  in  this  ;  that  they  each  bear  strong  marks 
of  their  original;  that  they  each  also  bear  appear- 
ances of  irrregularity  and  defect.  A  system  of 
strict  optimism  may  nevertheless  be  the  real  sys- 
tem in  both  cases.  But  what  I  contend  is,  that 
the  proof  is  hidden  from  us ;  that  we  ought  not  to 
expect  to  perceive  that  in  revelation,  which  we 
hardly  perceive  in  any  thing;  that  beneficence,  of 
which  we  ca7i  judge,  ought  to  satisfy  us,  that  op- 
timism, of  which  we  cannot  judge,  ought  not  to  be 
sought  after.  We  can  judge  of  beneficence,  be- 
cause it  depends  upon  effects  which  we  experience 
and  upon  the  relation  between  the  means  which 
we  see  acting  and  the  ends  which  we  see  produced. 
We  cannot  judge  of  optimism,  becguse  it  neces- 
sarily implies  a  comparison  of  that  which  is  tried, 
with  that  which  is  not  tried;  of  consequences 
which  we  see,  with  others  which  we  imagine,  and 
concerning  many  of  which,  it  is  more  than  jjrolia- 
ble  we  know  nothing ;  concerning  some,  that  we 
have  no  notion. 

If  Christianity  he  compared  with  the  state  and 
progress  of  natural  religion,  the  argument  of  the 
objector  will  gain  nothing  by  the  comparison.  I 
remember  hearing  an  unbeliever  say,  that,  if  God 
had  given  a  revelation,  he  would  have  written  it 
in  the  skies.  Are  the  truths  of  natural  religion 
written  in  the  skies,  or  in  a  language  which  every 
one  reads'!  oris  this  the  case  with  the  most  useful 
arts,  or  the  most  necessary  sciences  of  human  Hie '! 
An  Otaheitean  or  an  Esquimaux  knows  nothing 
of  Christianity  ;  does  he  know  more  of  the  princi- 
ples of  deism,  or  morality?  which,  notwithstand- 
ing his  ignorance,  are  neither  untrue,  nor  unim- 
portant, nor  uncertain.  The  existence  of  the 
Deity  is  left  to  be  collected  from  observations, 
which  every  man  does  not  make,  which  every  man 
perhaps,  is  not  caj)able  of  making.  Can  it  be 
argued,  that  God  does  not  exist,  because,  if  he 
did,  he  would  let  us  see  him,  or  discover  himself 
to  mankind  by  jjroofs  (such  as,  we  may  think,  the 
nature  of  the  subject  merited,)  which  no  iiuidver- 
tency  could  miss,  no  prejudice  withstand  ? 

If  Christianity  be  regarded  as  a  providential  in- 
strument for  the  melioration  of  mankind,  its  ))ro- 
gress  and  diliusion  resemble  that  of  other  c:iuses 
by  which  human  life  is  improved.  The  diversity 
is  not  greater,  nor  the  advance  more  slow,  in  reli- 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


379 


gion,  than  we  find  it  to  be  in  learning,  liberty, 
government,  laws.  The  Deity  hath  not  touched 
the  order  of  nature  in  vain.  The  Jewish  religion 
produced  great  and  permanent  effects;  the  Chris- 
tian religion  hath  done  the  same.  It  hath  dispos- 
ed the  world  to  amendment.  It  hath  put  things 
in  a  train.  It  is  by  no  means  improbable,  that  it 
may  become  universal :  and  that  the  world  may 
continue  in  that  stage  so  long  as  that  the  duration 
of  its  reign  may  bear  a  vast  proportion  to  the  time 
of  its  partial  influence. 

When  we  argue  concerning  Christianity,  that 
it  must  necessarily  be  true,  because  it  is  beneficial, 
we  go,  perhaps,  too  far  on  one  side :  and  we  cer- 
tainly go  too  far  on  the  other,  when  we  conclude 
that  it  must  be  false,  because  it  is  not  so  efficacious 
as  we  could  have  supposed.  The  question  of  its 
truth  is  to  be  tried  upon  its  proper  evidence, 
without  deferring  much  to  this  sort  of  argument, 
on  either  side.  "  The  evidence,"  as  Bishop  Butler 
hath  rightly  observed,  "  depends  upon  the  judg- 
ment we  form  of  human  conduct,  under  given  cir- 
cum.stances,  of  which  it  may  be  presumed  that  we 
know  something;  the  objection  stands  upon  the 
supposed  conduct  of  the  Deity,  under  relations 
with  which  we  are  not  acquainted." 

What  would  be  the  real  effect  of  that  over- 
powering evidence  which  our  adversaries  require 
in  a  revelation,  it  is  difficult  to  foretell ;  at  least,  we 
must  speak  of  it  as  of  a  dispensation  of  which  we 
have  no  experience.  Some  consequences  however 
would,  it  is  probable,  attend  this  economy,  which 
do  not  seem  to  befit  a  revelation  that  proceeded 
from  God.  One  is,  that  irresistible  proof  would 
restrain  the  voluntary  powers  too  much  ;  would 
not  answer  the  purpose  of  trial  and  probation ; 
would  call  for  no  exercise  of  candour,  seriousness, 
humility,  inquiry;  no  submission  of  passion, 
interests,  and  prejudices,  to  moral  evidence  and  to 
probable  truth  ;  no  habits  of  reflection ;  none  of 
that  previous  desire  to  learn  and  to  obey  the  will 
of  God,  which  forms  perhaps  the  test  of  the  vir- 
tuous principle,  and  which  induces  men  to  attend, 
with  care  and  reverence,  to  every  credible  inti- 
mation of  that  will,  and  to  resign  present  advan- 
tages and  present  pleasures  to  every  reasonable 
expectation  of  propitiating  his  favour.  "  Men's 
moral  probation  may  be,  whether  they  will  take 
due  care  to  inform  themselves  by  impartial  consi- 
deration ;  and,  afterward,  whether  they  will  act 
as  the  case  requires,  upon  the  evidence  which 
they  have.  And  this  we  find  by  experience,  is 
ofton  our  probation  in  our  temporal  capacity."  * 

II.  These  modes  of  communication  would  leave 
no  place  for  the  admission  of  internal  eviderice  ; 
which  ought,  perhaps,  to  bear  a  considerable  part 
in  the  proof  of  every  revelation,  because  it  is  a 
species  of  evidence,  which  applies  itself  to  the 
knowledge,  love,  and  practice  of  virtue,  and 
which  operates  in  proportion  to  the  degree  of 
those  qualities  which  it  finds  in  the  person  whom 
it  addresses.  Men  of  good  dispositions,  amongst 
Christians,  are  greatly  aflected  by  the  impression 
which  the  Sciiptures  themselves  make  upon  their 
minds.  Their  conviction  is  much  strengthened 
by  these  impressions.  And  this  perhaps  was  in- 
tended to  be  one  effect  to  be  produced  by  the  reli- 
gion. It  is  likewise  true,  to  whatever  cause  we 
ascribe  it  (for  I  am  not  in  this  work  at  liberty  to 
nitroduce  the  Christian  doctrine  of  grace  or  assist- 


*  Butler's  Analogy,  part  ii.  c.  vi. 


ance,  or  the  Christian  promiot,  Uui,,,  "  if  any  man 
will  do  his  will,  he  dhall  know  of  the  doctrine, 
whether  it  be  of  God,"  *) — it  is  true,  I  say,  that  they 
who  sincerely  ac'  or  sincerely  endeavour  to  act, 
according  to  what  they  believe,  that  is,  according 
to  the  just  result  of  the  probabilities,  or,  if  you 
please,  the  possibilities  of  natural  and  revealed  re- 
ligion, wliich  they  themselves  perceive,  and  ac- 
cording to  a  rational  estimate  of  consequences,  and 
above  all,  according  to  the  just  eflect  of  those 
principles  of  gratitude  and  devotion,  which  even 
the  view  of  nature  generates  in  a  well  ordered 
mind,  seldom  fail  of  proceeding  farther.  This 
also  may  have  been  exactly  what  was  designed. 

Whereas,  may  it  not  be  said  that  irresistible 
evidence  would  confound  all  characters  and  all 
dispositions  1  would  subvert,  rather  than  promote, 
the  true  purpose  of  the  divine  counsels ;  which  is, 
not  to  produce  obedience  by  a  force  little  short  of 
mechanical  constraint,  (which  obedience  would  be 
regularity,  not  virtue,  and  would  hardly,  perhaps, 
difler  from  that  which  inanimate  bodies  pay  to  the 
laws  impressed  upon  their  nature,)  but  to  treat 
moral  agents  agreeably  to  what  they  are ;  which 
is  done,  when  light  and  motives  are  of  such  kinds, 
and  are  imparted  in  such  measures,  that  the  in- 
fluence of  them  depends  upon  the  recipients  them- 
selves ?  "  It  is  not  meet  to  govern  rational  free 
agents  in  rid  by  sight  and  sense.  It  would  be  no 
trial  or  thanks  to  the  most  sensual  wretch  to  for- 
bear sinning,  if  heaven  and  hell  were  open  to  his 
sight.  That  spiritual  vision  and  fruition  is  our 
state  in  patrid."  (Baxter's  Reasons,  page  357.) 
— There  may  be  truth  in  this  thought,  though 
roughly  expressed.  Few  things  arc  more  impro- 
bable than  that  we  (the  human  species)  should  be 
the  highest  order  of  beings  in  the  universe :  that 
animated  nature  should  ascend  from  the  lowest 
reptile  to  us,  and  all  at  once  stop  there.  If  there 
be  classes  above  us  of  rational  inteUigences,  clear- 
er manifestations  may  belong  to  them.  This  may 
be  one  of  the  distinctions.  And  it  may  be  one,  to 
which  we  ourselves  hereafter  shall  attain. 

III.  But  may  it  not  also  be  asked,  whether  the 
perfect  display  of  a  future  state  of  existence  would 
he  compatible  with  the  activity  of  civil  life,  and 
with  the  success  of  human  atiliirs  1  I  can  easily 
conceive  that  this  impression  may  be  overdone; 
that  it  may  so  seize  and  fill  the  thouglits,  as  to 
leave  no  place  for  the  cares  and  offices  of  men's  | 
several  stations,  no  anxiety  for  worldly  prosperity, 
or  even  for  a  worldly  provision,  and,  by  conse- 
quence, no  sufficient  stimulus  to  secular  industry. 
Of  the  first  Christians  we  read,  "  that  all  that  be- 
lieved were  together,  and  had  all  things  common; 
and  sold  their  possessions  and  goods,  and  parted 
them  to  all  men,  as  every  man  had  need ;  and, 
continmng  daily  with  one  accord  in  the  temple, 
and  breaking  bread  from  house  to  house,  did  eat 
their  meat  with  gladness  and  singleness  of  heart. ''t 
This  was  extremely  natural,  and  just  what  might 
be  expected  from  miraculous  evidence  coming 
with  full  force  upon  the  senses  of  mankind  :  but 
I  much  doubt  whether,  if  this  state  of  mind  had 
been  universal,  or  long-continued,  the  business  of 
the  world  could  have  gone  on.  The  necessary 
arts  of  social  life  would  have  been  little  cultivated. 
The  plough  and  the  loom  would  have  stood  still. 
Agriculture,  manufactures,  trade,  and  navigation, 
would  not,  I  think,  have  flourished,  if  they  could 


*  John  vii.  17. 


t  Acts  ii.  44— 4G. 


380 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


h;ive  been  exercised  at  all.  Men  would  have  ad- 
dicted them.selves  to  contemplative  and  a.scctic 
livfS,  instead  of  lives  of  business  and  of  useful  in- 
dustry. We  observe  that  Saint  Paul  found  it 
necessary,  frequently  to  recall  his  converts  to  the 
ordinary  labours  anil  domestic  duties  of  their  con- 
dition; and  to  give  them,  in  his  own  example,  a 
lesson  of  contented  application  to  their  worldly 
employ  I  ucnts. 

By  the  manner  in  which  the  religion  is  now 
proposed,  a  gri'at  portion  of  the  human  species  is 
enabled,  and  of  these  multitudes  of  every  genera- 
tion are  induced,  to  seek  and  to  effectuate  their 
salvation,  through  the  medium  of  Christianity, 
without  interruption  of  the  prosperity  or  of  the  re- 
gular course  of  human  alfairs. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  supposed  effects  of  Christianity. 

That  a  religion,  which,  under  every  form  in 
which  it  is  taught,  holds  forth  the  final  reward  of 
virtue  and  punishment  of  vice,  and  proposes  those 
distinctions  of  virtue  and  vice,  which  the  wisest 
and  most  cultivated  part  of  mankind  confess  to  be 
just,  should  not  be  believed,  is  very  possible ;  but 
that,  so  far  as  it  is  believed,  it  should  not  produce 
any  good,  but  rather  a  bad  effect  upon  public  hap- 
piness, is  a  proposition  which  it  requires  very 
strong  evidence  to  render  credible.  Yet  many 
have  been  found  to  contend  for  this  paradox,  and 
very  confident  appeals  have  been  made  to  history, 
and  to  observation,  for  the  truth  of  it. 

In  the  conclusions,  however,  which  these  wri- 
ters draw  from  what  they  call  experience,  two 
sources,  I  think,  of  mistake,  may  be  perceived. 

One  is,  that  they  look  for  the  influence  of  reli- 
gion in  the  wrong  place. 

The  other,  that  they  charge  Christianity  with 
many  consequences,  for  which  it  is  not  respon- 
sible. 

I.  The  influence  of  religion  is  not  to  be  sought 
for  in  the  councils  of  princes,  in  the  debates  or  re- 
solutions of  popular  assemblies,  in  the  conduct  of 
governments  towards  their  subjects,  or  of  states 
and  sovereigns  towards  one  another  ;  of  conquer- 
ors at  the  head  of  their  aruiies,  or  of  parties  in- 
triguing for  power  at  home,  (topics  which  alone 
almost  occupy  the  attention,  and  fill  the  pages  of 
history ;)  but  must  be  perceived,  if  perceived  at 
all,  in  the  silent  course  of  private  and  domestic 
life.  Nay  more ;  even  there  its  influence  may  not 
be  very  obvious  to  observation.  If  it  check,  in 
some  degree,  personal  dissoluteness,  if  it  beget  a 
general  probity  in  the  transaction  of  business,  if 
it  produce  soft  and  humane  manners  in  the  mass 
of  the  community,  and  occasional  exertions  of  la- 
borious and  expensive  benevolence  in  a  few  indi- 
viduals, it  is  all  the  effect  which  can  offer  itself  to 
external  notice.  The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  with- 
in us.  That  which  is  the  substance  of  the  reli- 
gion, its  hopes  and  consolations,  its  intermixture 
with  the  thoughts  by  day  and  by  night,  the  devo- 
tion of  the  heart,  the  control  of  appetite,  the  steady 
direction  of  the  will  to  the  commands  of  God,  is 
necessarily  invisible.  Yet  upon  these  depend  the 
virtue  and  happiness  of  millions.  This  cause  ren- 
ders the  representations  of  history,  with  respect  to 
-eligiou,  defective  and  fallacious,  in  a  greater  de- 


gree than  they  are  upon  any  other  subject.  Re- 
ligion operates  most  upon  those  of  whom  history 
knows  the  least;  upon  fathers  and  mothers  in 
their  families,  upon  men-servants  and  maid-ser- 
vants, Ujjon  the  orderly  tradesjiian,  the  quiet  vil- 
lager, the  manufacturer  at  his  loom,  the  husband- 
man in  his  fields.  Amongst  such,  its  influence 
collectively  may  be  of  inestimable  value,  yet  its 
effects,  in  the  mean  time,  little  upon  those  who 
figure  upon  the  stage  of  the  world.  They  may 
know  nothing  of  it ;  they  may  believe  nothing  of 
it ;  they  may  be  actuated  by  motives  more  im- 
petuous than  those  which  religion  is  able  to  ex- 
cite. It  cannot,  therefore,  be  thought  strange,  that 
this  influence  should  elude  the  grasp  and  touch  of 
public  history:  for,  what  is  public  history,  but  a 
register  of  the  successes  and  disappointments,  the 
vices,  the  follies,  and  the  quarrels,  of  those  who 
engage  in  contentions  for  power  ] 

I  will  add,  that  much  of  this  influence  may  be 
felt  in  times  of  public  distress,  and  little  of  it  in 
times  of  public  wealth  and  security.  This  also 
increases  the  uncertainty  of  any  opinions  that  we 
draw  from  historical  representations.  The  in- 
fluence of  Christianity  is  commensurate  with  no 
effects  which  history  states.  We  do  not  pretend 
that  it  has  any  such  necessary  and  irresistible 
power  over  the  affairs  of  nations,  as  to  surmount 
the  force  of  other  causes. 

The  Christian  religion  also  acts  upon  public 
usages  and  institutions,  by  an  operation  which  is 
only  secondary  and  indirect.  Christianity  is  not 
a  code  of  civil  law.  It  can  only  reach  public  in- 
stitutions through  private  character.  Now  its  in- 
fluence upon  private  character  may  be  consider- 
able, yet  many  public  usages  and  institutions  re- 
pugnant to  its  principles  may  remain.  To  get 
rid  of  these,  the  reigning  part  of  the  community 
must  act,  and  act  together.  But  it  may  be  long 
before  the  persons  who  compose  this  body  be  suf- 
ficiently touched  with  the  Christian  character,  to 
join  in  the  suppression  of  practices,  to  which  they 
and  the  public  have  been  reconciled  by  causes 
which  will  reconcile  the  human  mind  to  any 
thing,  by  habit  and  interest.  Nevertheless,  the 
effects  of  Christianity,  even  in  this  view,  have 
been  important.  It  has  mitigated  the  conduct  of 
war,  and  the  treatment  of  captives.  It  has  soften- 
ed the  administration  of  despotic,  or  of  nominally 
despotic  government.?.  It  has  abolished  polygamy'. 
It  has  restrained  the  licentiousness  of  divorces.  It 
has  put  an  end  to  the  exposure  of  children,  and 
the  immolation  of  slaves.  It  has  suppressed  the 
combats  of  gladiators,*  and  the  impurities  of  reli- 
gious rites.  It  has  banished,  if  not  unnatural  vices, 
at  least  the  toleration  of  them.  It  has  greatly 
meliorated  the  condition  of  the  laborious  part,  that 
is  to  say,  of  the  mass  of  every  community,  by  pro- 
curing for  them  a  day  of  weekly  rest.  In  all  coun- 
tries in  which  it  is  professed,  it  has  produced  nu- 
merous establishments  for  the  relief  of  sickness 
and  poverty ;  and,  in  some,  a  regular  and  general 
provision  by  law.  It  has  triumphed  over  the 
slavery  established  in  the  Roman  empire;  it  is 
contending,  and,  I  trust,  will  one  day  prevail, 
against  the  worse  slavery  of  the  West  Indies. 


*  Lipsiiis  affirms,  (Sat.  b.  i  c.  12,)  that  the  gladiato- 
rial shows  soirietiines  cost  Europe  twenty  or  thirty 
thousand  lives  in  a  month;  and  tiiat  not  onlyttie  men, 
but  even  the  women  of  all  ranks  were  passionately  fond 
of  these  shows.— See  Kishop  Porteus's  Sermon  XI II 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


381 


A  Christian  writer,*  so  early  as  in  the  second 
century,  has  testified  the  resistance  which  Chris- 
tianity made  to  wicked  and  hcentious  practices, 
though  estabUshed  by  law  and  by  public  usage  : — 
"  Neither  in  Partlua,  do  the  Christians,  though 
Partluans,  use  polygamy  ;  nor  in  Persia,  though 
Persians,  do  they  marry  their  own  daughters ; 
nor  among  the  Bactri,  or  Galli,  do  they  violate 
the  sanctity  of  marriage  ;  nor,  wherever  they  are, 
do  they  suHer  themselves  to  be  overcome  by  ill- 
constituted  laws  and  manners." 

Socrates  did  not  destroy  the  idolatry  of  Athens, 
or  produce  the  slightest  revolution  in  the  manners 
of  his  country. 

But  the  argument  to  which  I  recur,  is,  that  the 
benefit  of  religion,  being  felt  chiefly  in  the  obscu- 
rity of  private  stations,  necessarily  escapes  the 
observation  of  history.  From  the  first  general 
notification  of  Christianity  to  the  present  day, 
there  have  been  in  every  age  many  millions,  whose 
names  were  never  heard  of,  made  better  by  it,  not 
only  in  their  conduct,  but  in  their  disposition ; 
and  happier,  not  so  much  in  their  external  cir- 
cumstances, as  in  that  which  is  inter  prcecordia, 
in  that  which  alone  deserves  the  name  of  happi- 
ness, the  tranquillity  and  consolation  of  their 
thoughts.  It  has  been  since  its  commencement, 
the  author  of  happiness  and  virtue  to  millions  and 
millions  of  the  human  race.  Who  is  there  that 
would  not  wish  his  son  to  be  a  Christian  1 

Christianity  also,  in  every  country  in  which  it 
is  professed,  hath  obtained  a  sensible,  although 
not  a  complete  influence,  upon  the  public  judg- 
ment of  morals.  And  this  is  very  important. 
P^or  without  the  occasional  correction  which  pub- 
lic opinion  receives,  by  referring  to  some  fixed 
standard  of  morality,  no  man  can  Ibrctell  into  what 
extravagances  it  might  wander.  Assassination 
might  become  as  honourable  as  duelling ;  unna- 
tural crimes  be  accounted  as  venial  as  fornication 
is  wont  to  be  accounted.  In  this  way  it  is  possi- 
ble, that  many  may  be  kept  in  order  by  Christi- 
anity, who  are  not  themselves  Christians.  They 
may  lie  guided  by  the  rectitude  which  it  conmiu- 
nical  es  to  public  opinion.  Their  consciences  may 
suggest  their  duty  truly,  and  they  may  ascribe 
these  suggestions  to  a  moral  sense,  or  to  the 
native  capacity  of  the  human  intellect,  when  in 
fact  they  are  nothing  more  than  the  public  opi- 
nion, reflected  from  their  own  minds  ;  and  opinion, 
in  a  considerable  degree,  modified  by  the  lessons 
of  Christianity.  "  Certain  it  is,  and  this  is  a  great 
deal  to  say,  that  the  generality,  even  of  the  meanest 
and  most  vulgar  and  ignorant  people,  have  truer 
and  worthier  notions  of  God,  more  just  and  right 
apprehensions  concerning  his  attributes  and  per- 
fections, a  deeper  sense  of  the  difference  of  good 
and  evil,  a  greater  regard  to  moral  obligations, 
and  to  the  plain  and  most  necessary  duties  of 
life,  and  a  more  firm  and  universal  expectation 
of  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments, 
than,  in  any  Heathen  country,  any  considerable 
Jiuinber  of  men  were  found  to  have  had."t 

After  all,  the  value  of  Christianity  is  not  to  be 
appreciated  by  its  temporal  effects.  The  object 
of  revelation  is  to  influence  human  conduct  in  this 
life  ;  but  what  is  gained  to  happiness  by  that 
influence,  can  only  be  estimated  by  taking  in  the 
whole  of  human  existence.  Then,  as  hath  already 


*  Bardesanes,  ap.  Euseb.  Prep.  Evang.  vi.  10. 
t  Clarke,  Ev.  Nat.  Ret.  p.  208.  ed.  v. 


been  observed,  there  may  be  also  great  conse- 
quences of  Christianity,  which  do  not  belong  to 
it  as  a  revelation.  The  cflects  upon  human  s;il- 
vation,  of  the  mission,  of  the  death,  of  the  present, 
of  the  future  agency  of  Christ,  may  be  universal, 
though  the  religion  be  not  universally  known. 

Secondly,  I  assert  that  Christianity  is  charged 
with  many  consequences  for  which  it  is  not  re- 
sponsible. I  believe  that  religious  motives  have 
had  no  more  to  do  in  the  formation  of  nine  tenths 
of  the  intolerant  and  persecuting  laws,  which  in 
different  countries  have  been  established  upon  the 
subject  of  religion,  than  they  have  had  to  do  in 

j  England   with    the   making   of  the   game-laws. 

j  These  measures,  although  they  have  the  Chris- 
tian religion  for  their  subject,  are  resolvable  into 
a  principle  which  Christianity  certainly  did  not 
plant  (and  which  Christianity  could  not  uni- 
versally condemn,  because  it  is  not  universally 
wrong),  which  principle  is  no  other  than  this, 
that  they  who  are  in  possession  of  power  do  what 
they  can  to  keep  it.  Christianity  is  answerable 
for  no  part  of  the  mischief  which  has  been  brought 
upon  the  world  by  persecution,  except  that  which 
has  arisen  from  conscientiuus  persecutors.  Now 
these  perhaps  have  never  been  either  numerous 
or  powerful.  Nor  is  it  to  Christianity  that  even 
their  mistake  can  fairly  be  imputed.  They  have 
been  misled  by  an  error  not  properly  Christian  or 
religious,  but  by  an  error  in  their  moral  philoso- 
phy. They  pursued  the  particular,  without  ad- 
verting to  the  general  consequence.  Believing 
certain  articles  of  faith,  or  a  certain  mode  of  wor- 
ship, to  be  highl}' conducive,  or  perhaps  essential, 
to  salvation,  they  thought  themselves  bound  to 
bring  all  they  could,  by  every  means,  into  them. 
And  this  they  thought,  without  considering  what 
would  be  the  effect  of  such  a  conclusion,  when 
adopted  amongst  mankind  as  a  general  rule  of 
conduct.  Had  there  been  in  the  New  Testament, 
what  there  are  in  the  Koran,  precepts  authorizing 
coercion  in  the  propagation  of  the  religion,  and 
the  use  of  violence  towards  unbelievers,  the  case 
would  have  been  different.  This  distinction  could 
not  have  been  taken,  nor  this  defence  made. 

I  apologize  for  no  species  nor  degree  of  perse- 
cution, but  I  think  that  even  the  fact  has  been 
exaggerated.  The  slave-trade  destroys  more  in 
a  year,  than  the  inquisition  does  in  a  hundred,  o. 
perhaps  hath  done  since  its  foundation. 

If  it  be  objected,  as  I  apprehend  it  will  he,  that 
Christianity  is  chargeable  with  every  mi.schief,  of 
which  it  has  been  the  occasion,  though  not  the 
motive;  I  answer,  that,  if  the  malevolent  passions 
be  there,  the  world  will  never  want  occasions. 
The  noxious  element  will  always  find  a  conduc- 
tor. Any  point  will  produce  an  explosion.  Did 
the  applauded  intercommunity  of  the  Pagan  the- 
ology preserve  the  peace  of  the  Roman  world  1 
did  it  prevent  oppressions,  proscriptions,  massa- 
cres, devastations  ]  Was  it  bigotry  that  carried 
Alexander  into  the  East,  or  brought  Ca3sar  into 
Gaul  1  Are  the  nations  of  the  world,  into  which 
Christianity  hath  not  found  its  way,  or  from 
which  it  hath  been  banished,  free  from  conten- 
tions ']  Are  their  contentions  less  ruinous  and 
sanguinary  1  Is  it  owing  to  Christianity,  or  to 
the  want  of  it,  that  the  finest  regions  of  the  East, 
the  countries  inter  quatuor  maria,  the  peninsula 
of  Greece,  together  with  a  great  part  of  the  Medi- 
terranean coast,  are  at  this  day  a  desert  1  or 
that  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  whose  constantly  re- 


382 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


newed  fbrtility  is  not  to  be  impaired  by  neglect, 
or  destroyed  liy  t'le  ravages  of  war,  serve  only  lor 
tlie  scene  of  a  ferocious  anarchy,  or  the  supply  of 
unceasing  hostilities  1  Europe  itself  has  known 
no  religious  wars  for  some  centuries,  yet  has 
hardly  ever  been  without  war.  Are  the  calami- 
ties, which  at  this  day  afflict  it,  to  be  im[)uted  to 
Christianity  1  Hath  Poland  fallen  by  a  Christian 
crusade  ?  Hath  the  overthrow  in  France  of  civil 
order  and  security,  lieen  effected  by  the  votaries 
of  our  religion,  or  by  the  foes  1  Amongst  the 
awful  lessons  which  the  crimes  and  the  miseries 
of  that  country  afford  to  mankind,  this  is  one  : 
that,  in  order  to  be  a  persecutor,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  be  a  bigot;  that  in  rage  and  cruelty,  in 
mischief  and  destruction,  fanaticism  itself  can  be 
outdone  by  infidelity. 

Finally,  If  war,  as  it  is  now  carried  on  between 
nations,  produces  less  misery  and  ruin  than  for- 
merly, we  are  indebted  perhaps  to  Christianity 
for  the  change,  more  than  to  any  other  cause. 
Viewed  therefore  even  in  its  relation  to  this  sub- 
ject, it  ajipears  to  have  been  of  advantage  to  the 
world.  It  hath  humanized  the  conduct  of  wars  : 
it  hath  ceased  to  excite  them. 

The  differences  of  opinion,  that  have  in  all 
ages  prevailed  amongst  Christians^  fall  very  much 
within  the  alternative  which  has  been  stated.  If 
we  possessed  the  disposition  which  Christianity 
labours,  above  all  other  qualities  to  inculcate, 
these  diflc-rences  would  do  little  harm.  If  that 
disj)osition  be  wanting,  other  causes,  even  were 
these  absent,  would  continually  rise  up  to  call  forth 
the  malevolent  passions  into  action.  Differences 
of  opinions,  when  accompanied  with  mutual  cha- 
rity, which  Christianity  forbids  them  to  violate, 
are  for  the  most  part  innocent,  and  for  some  pur- 
poses useful.  They  promote  inquiry,  discussion, 
and  knowledge.  They  help  to  keep  up  an  atten- 
tion to  religions  subjects,  and  a  concern  about 
them,  which  might  be  apt  to  die  away  in  the  calm 
and  silence  of  universal  agreement.  I  do  not 
know  that  it  is  in  any  degree  true,  that  the  influ- 
ence of  religion  is  the  greatest,  where  there  are 
the  fewest  dissenters. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Conclusion. 

In  religion,  as  in  every  other  subject  of  human 
reasoning,  much  depends  upon  the  order  in  which 
we  dispose  our  in(juiries.  A  man  who  takes  up 
a  system  of  divinity  with  a  previous  opinion  that 
either  every  part  must  be  true,  or  the  whole  false, 
approaches  the  discussion  with  great  disadvantage. 
No  other  system,  which  is  founded  upon  moral 
evidence,  would  bear  to  be  treated  in  the  same 
manner.  Nevertheless,  in  a  certain  degree,  we 
are  all  introduced  to  our  religious  studies,  under 
this  prejuilication  And  it  cannot  be  avoided. 
The  weakness  of  the  human  judgment  in  the 
early  part  of  youth,  yet  its  extreme  susceptibility 
of  impression,  renders  it  necessary  to  furnish  it 
with  some  opinions,  and  with  some  principles  or 
other.  Or  indeed,  without  much  express  care,  or 
much  endeavour  for  this  purpose,  the  tendency  of 
the  mind  of  man  to  assimilate  itself  to  the  habits 
if  thinking  and  speaking  which  prevails  around 
him,  [)roduces  the  same  effect.    That  inditferency 


and  suspense,  that  waiting  and  equilibrium  of  the 
judgment,  which  some  require  in  religious  mat- 
ters, and  which  some  would  wish  to  be  aimed  at 
in  the  conduct  of  education,  are  impossible  to  be 
preserved.  They  are  not  given  to  the  condition 
of  human  life. 

It  is  a  consequence  of  this  institution  that  the 
doctrines  of  religion  come  to  us  before  tlie  proofs ; 
and  come  to  us  with  that  mixture  of  explications 
and  inferences  from  whicli  no  j)ublic  creeil  is,  or 
can  be,  free.  And  the  effect  which  too  frequently 
follows,  from  Christianity  being  presented  to  the 
understanding  in  this  form,  is,  that  when  any 
articles,  which  appear  as  parts  of  it,  contradict  the 
apprehension  of  the  persons  to  whom  it  is  jiro- 
posed,  men  of  rash  and  confident  tempers  hastily 
and  indiscriminately  reject  the  whole.  But  is  this 
to  do  justice,  either  to  themselves  or  to  the  reli- 
gion 1  The  rational  way  of  treating  a  subject  of 
such  acknowledged  importance  is  to  attend,  in  the 
first  place,  to  the  general  and  substantial  truth  of 
its  principles,  and  to  that  alone.  When  we  once 
feel  a  foundation  ;  when  we  once  perceive  a  ground 
of  credibility  in  its  history,  we  shall  proceed  with 
safety  to  inquire  into  the  interjjretation  of  its  re- 
cords, and  into  the  doctrines  which  have  been  de- 
duced from  them.  Nor  will  it  either  endanger 
our  faith,  or  diminish  or  alter  our  motives  for  obe- 
dience, if  we  should  discover  that  these  conclu- 
sions are  formed  with  very  difli^rent  degrees  of 
[)robability,  and  possess  very  difierent  degrees  of 
importance. 

This  conduct  of  the  understanding,  dictated  by 
every  rule  of  right  reasoning,  will  uphold  personal 
Christianity,  even  in  those  countries  m  which  it 
is  estabh.shed  under  forms  the  most  liable  to  diffi- 
culty and  objection.  It  will  also  have  the  farther 
eflect  of  guarding  us  against  the  prejudices  which 
are  wont  to  arise  in  our  minds  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  religion,  from  observing  the  numerous  con- 
troversies which  are  carried  on  amongst  its  pro- 
fessors, and  likewise  of  inducing  a  spirit  of  lenity 
and  moderation  in  our  judgment,  as  well  as  in  our 
treatment  of  those  who  stand,  In  ouch  controver- 
sies, upon  sides  opposite  to  ours.  What  is  clear 
in  Christianity,  we  shall  find  to  be  sufficient,  and 
to  be  infinitely  valuable ;  what  is  dubious,  unne- 
cessary to  be  decided,  or  of  very  subordinate  im- 
portance ;  and  what  is  most  obscure,  will  teach 
us  to  bear  with  the  opinions  which  others  may 
have  formed  upon  the  same  subject.  We  sliall 
say  to  those  who  the  most  widely  dissent  from  us, 
what  Augustine  said  to  the  worst  heretics  of  his 
age:  "  Illi  in  vos  sjeviant,  qui  nesciunt,  cum  quo 
labore  verum  inveniatur,  et  quam  difficile  ca  veantur 
errores  ; — qui  nesciunt,  cum  quanta  diliicultate 
sanetur  oculus  interioris  hominis; — qui  nesciunt, 
quibus  suspiriis  et  gemitibus  fiat  ut  ex  quantula- 
cunque  parte  possit  intelligi  Deus."* 

A  judgment,  moreover,  which  is  once  pretty 
well  satisfied  of  the  genera!  truth  of  the  religion, 
will  not  only  thus  discriminate  in  its  doctrines, 
but  will  possess  sufficient  strength  to  overcome 
the  reluctance  of  the  imagination  to  admit  articles 
of  faith  which  are  attended  with  difficulty  of  ap- 
prehension, if  such  articles  of  faith  appear  to  be 
truly  parts  of  the  revelation.  It  was  to  be  ex])ect- 
ed  beforehand,  that  what  related  to  the  economy, 
and  to  the  persons,  of  the  invisible  world,  which 
revelation   professes  to  do,  and  which,  if  true,  it 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 


383 


actually  does,  should  contain  some' points  remote 
from  our  analogies,  and  from  the  comprehension 
of  a  mind  which  hath  acquired  all  its  ideas  from 
sense  and  from  experience. 

It  hath  been  my  care,  in  the  preceding  work,  to 
preserve  the  separation  between  evidences  and 
doctrin?s  as  inviolable  as  I  could ;  to  remove  from 
the  primary  question  all  considerations  which 
have  been  unnecessarily  joined  with  it;  and  to 
ofler  a  defence  to  Christianity,  which  every  Chris- 
tian might  read,  without  seeing  the  tenets  in 
which  he  had  been  brought  up  attacked  or  decried : 
and  it  always  afliirded  a  satisfiction  to  my  mind 
to  observe  that  this  was  practicable ;  that  few  or 
none  of  our  many  controversies  with  one  another 
allect  or  relate  to  the  proofs  of  our  religion  ;  that 
the  rent  never  descends  to  the  foundation. 

The  truth  of  Christianity  depends  upon  its 
leading  facts,  and  upon  them  alone.  Now  of  these 
we  have  evidence  which  ought  to  satisfy  us,  at 
least  until  it  appear  that  mankind  have  ever  been 
deceived  by  the  same.  We  have  some  uncontest- 
ed and  incontestable  points,  to  which  the  history 
of  tlie  human  species  have  nothing  similar  to  offer. 
A  Jewish  peasant  changed  the  religion  of  the 
world,  and  that,  without  force,  without  power, 
witliout  support;  without  one  natural  source,  or 
circumstance  of  attraction,  influence,  or  success. 
Such  a  thing  hath  not  happened  in  any  other  in- 
stance. The  companions  of  this  Person,  after  he 
himself  had  been  put  to  death  for  his  attempt,  as- 
serted his  supernatural  character,  founded  upon 
his  supernatural  operations;  and.  in  testimony  of 
the  truth  of  their  assertions,  i.  e.  in  consequence 
of  their  own  belief  of  that  truth,  and  in  order  to 
communicate  their  knowledge  of  it  to  others,  vo- 
luntarily entered  upon  lives  of  toil  and  hardship, 
and  with  a  full  experience  of  their  danger,  com- 
mitted themselves  to  the  last  extremities  of  perse- 
cution. This  hath  not  a  parallel.  More  parti- 
cularly, a  very  few  davs  after  this  Person  had 
been  publicly  executed,  and  in  the  very  city  in 
winch  he  was  buried,  these  his  companions  de- 
clared with  one  voice  that  his  bodv  was  restored 
to  life;  that  they  had  seen  him,  handled  him.  ate 
with  him  ;  conversed  with  him;  and.  in  pursuance 
of  their  persuasion  of  the  truth  of  what  they  told, 
preached  his  rehgion,  with  this  strange  fact  as  the 
foundation  of  it,  in  the  face  of  those  who  had 
killed  him,  who  were  armed  with  the  power  of  the 
country,  ami  necessarily  and  naturally  disposed  to 
treat  his  followers  as  they  had  treated  himself; 
and  having  done  this  upon  the  spot  where  the 
event  took  place,  carried  the  intelligence  of  it 
abroad,  in  despite  of  difficulties  and  opposition, 
and  where  the  nature  of  their  errand  gave  them 
nothing  to  expect  but  derision,  insult,  and  outrage. 
— This  is  without  example.  These  three  facts,  I 
think,  are  certain,  and  would  have  been  nearly  so, 
if  the  Gospels  had  never  been  written.  The 
Christian  story,  as  to  these  points,  hath  never 
varie<l.  No  other  hath  been  set  up  against  it. 
Every  letter,  every  discourse,  every  controversy, 
amongst  the  followers  of  the  relisxion  ;  everv  book 
written  by  them,  from  the  age  of  its  commence- 
ment to  the  present  time,  in  everv  part  of  the 
vyorM  in  which  it  hath  been  professed,  and  with 
every  sect  into  which  it  hath  been  divided  (and 
we  have  letters  and  discourses  written  by  contem- 
poraries, by  witnesses  of  the  transaction,  by  per- 
sons themselves  bearing  a  share  in  it,  and  other 
writings  following  that  age  in  regular  succession,) 


concur  in  representing  these  facts  in  this  manner. 
A  religion,  which  now  possesses  the  greatest  part 
of  the  civilized  world,  unquestionably  sprang  up 
at  Jerusalem  at  this  time.  Some  account  must  b« 
given  of  its  origin ;  some  cause  assigned  for  it.s 
rise.  All  the  accounts  of  this  origin,  all  the  ex- 
plications of  this  cause,  whether  taken  from  the 
writings  of  the  early  followers  of  the  religion  (in 
which,  and  in  which  perhaps  alone,  it  could  be 
expected  that  they  should  be  distinctly  unfolded,) 
or  from  occasional  notices  in  other  writings  of  that 
or  the  adjoining  age,  either  expressly  allege  the 
facts  above  stated  as  the  means  by  which  the  re- 
ligion was  set  up,  or  advert  to  its  commencement 
in  a  manner  which  agrees  with  the  supposition  of 
these  facts  being  true,  and  which  testifies  their 
operation  and  effects. 

These  propositions  alone  lay  a  foundation  for 
our  faith  ;  for  they  prove  the  existence  of  a  trans- 
action, which  cannot  even  in  its  most  general 
parts  be  accounted  for,  upon  any  reasonal>le  sup- 
position, except  that  of  the  truth  of  the  mission. 
But  the  particulars,  the  detail  of  the  miracles  or 
miraculous  pretences  (for  such  there  necessarily 
must  have  been,)  upon  which  this  unexampled 
transaction  rested,  and  far  which  these  men  acted 
and  suffered  as  they  did  act  and  suffer,  it  is  un- 
doubtedly of  great  importance  to  us  to  know.  We 
hare  this  detail  from  the  fountain-head,  from  the 
persons  themselves;  in  accounts  written  by  eye- 
witnesses of  the  scene,  by  contemporaries  and 
companions  of  those  who  were  so ;  not  in  one 
book,  but  four,  each  containing  enough  for  the 
verification  of  the  religion,  all  agreeing  in  the  fun- 
damental parts  of  the  history.  We  have  the  au- 
thenticity of  these  books  established,  by  more  and 
stronger  proofs  than  belong  to  almost  any  other 
ancient  book  whatever,  and  by  proofs  which 
widely  distinguish  them  from  any  others  claiming 
a  similar  authority  to  theirs.  If  there  were  any 
good  reason  for  doubt  concerning  the  names  to 
which  these  books  are  ascribed,  Avhich  there  is 
not,  for  they  were  never  ascribed  to  any  other, 
and  we  have  evidence  not  long  after  their  publi- 
cation of  their  bearing  the  names  which  they  now 
bear.)  their  antiquity,  of  which  there  is  no  question, 
their  reputation  and  authority  amongst  the  early 
disciples  of  the  religion,  of  which  there  is  as  little, 
form  a  valid  proof  that  they  must,  in  the  main  at 
least,  have  agreed  with  what  the  first  teachers  of 
the  religion  delivered. 

When  we  open  these  ancient  volumes,  we  dis- 
cover in  them  marks  of  truth,  whether  we  consi- 
der each  in  itself  or  collate  them  with  one  another. 
The  writers  certainly  knew  something  of  what 
they  were  writing  about,  for  they  manifest  an  ac- 
quaintance with  local  circumstances,  with  the  his- 
tory and  usages  of  the  times,  which  could  only 
belong  to  an  ^inhabitant  of  that  country,  living  in 
that  age.  In  everv  narrative  we  perceive  simplicity 
and  undesiirnedness ;  the  air  and  the  language  of 
reahtv.  When  we  compare  the  different  narra- 
tives together,  we  find  them  so  varying  as  to  re- 
pel all  suspicion  of  confederacy  ;  so  agreeing  under 
this  variety,  as  to  show  that  the  accounts  had  one 
real  transaction  for  their  common  foundation; 
often  attributing  different  actions  and  discourses 
to  the  person  whose  history,  or  rather  memoirs  of 
whose  history,  they  profess  to  relate,  yet  actions 
and  discourses  so  similar,  as  very  much  to  bespeak 
the  same  character;  which  is  a  coincidence,  that, 
in  such  writers  as  they  were,  could  only  be  the 


r 


3S4 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


consequence  of  theif  writing  from  fact,  and  not 
from  imagination. 

These  four  narratives  are  confined  to  the  his- 
tory of  the  Founder  of  the  rehgion,  and  end  with 
his  ministry.  Since,  however,  it  is  certain  that 
the  affair  went  on,  we  cannot  help  being  anxious 
to  know  how  it  proceeded.  This  intelligence  hath 
come  cown  down  to  us  in  a  work  purporting  to  be 
written  by  a  person,  himself  connected  with  the 
business  during  the  first  stages  of  its  progress, 
taking  up  the  story  where  the  former  histories 
had  left  it,  carrying  on  the  narrative,  oftentimes 
with  great  particularity,  and  throughout  with  the 
appearance  of  good  sense,*  information,  and  can- 
dour ;  stating  all  along  the  origin,  and  the  only  pro- 
bable origin,  of  eflects  which  unquestionably  were 
produced,  together  with  the  natural  consequences 
of  situations  which  unquestionably  did  exist ;  and 
confirmed,  in  the  substance  at  least  of  the  account, 
by  the  strongest  possible  accession  of  testimony 
which  a  history  can  receive,  original  letters,  writ- 
ten by  the  person  who  is  the  principal  subject  of 
the  history,  written  upon  the  business  to  which 
the  history  relates,  and  during  the  period,  or  soon 
after  the  period,  which  the  history  comprises.  No 
man  can  say  that  this  all  together  is  not  a  body  of 
strong  historical  evidence. 

When  we  reflect  that  some  of  those  from  whom 
the  books  proceeded,  are  related  to  have  themselves 
wrought  miracles,  to  have  been  the  subject  of  mi- 
racles, or  of  supernatural  assistance  in  propagat- 
ing the  religion,  we  may  perhaps  be  led  to  think, 
that  more  credit,  or  a  different  kind  of  credit,  is 
due  to  these  accounts,  than  what  can  be  claimed 
by  merely  human  testimony.  But  this  is  an  ar- 
gument which  cannot  be  addressed  to  sceptics  or 
unbelievers.  A  man  must  be  a  Christian  before 
he  can  receive  it.  The  inspiration  of  the  histori- 
cal Scriptures,  the  nature,  degree,  and  extent  of 
that  inspiration,  are  questions  undoubtedly  of  se- 
rious discussion ;  but  they  are  questions  amongst 
Christians  themselves,  and  not  between  them  and 
others.  The  doctrine  itself  is  by  no  means  neces- 
sary to  the  belief  of  Christianity,  which  must,  in 
the  first  instance  at  least,  depend  upon  the  ordi- 
nary maxims  of  historical  credibility. + 

In  viewing  the  detail  of  miracles  recorded  in 
these  books,  we  find  every  supposition  negatived, 
by  which  they  can  be  resolved  into  fraud  or  delu- 
sion. They  were  not  secret,  not  momentary,  not 
tentative,  nor  ambiguous ;  nor  performed  under 
the  sanction  of  authority,  with  the  spectators  on 
their  side,  or  in  affirmance  of  tenets  and  practices 
already  established.  We  find  also  the  evidence 
alleged  for  them,  and  which  evidence  was  by  great 
numbers  received,  different  from  that  upon  which 
other  miraculous  accounts  rest.  It  was  contem- 
porary, it  was  published  upon  the  spot,  it  conti- 
nued ;  it  involved  interests  and  questions  of  the 
greatest  magnitude ;  it  contradicted  the  most  fixed 
persuasions  and  prejudices  of  the  persons  to  whom 
it  was  addressed ;  it  required  from  those  who  ac- 
cepted it,  not  a  simple,  indolent  assent,  but  a 
change,  from  thenceforward,  of  principles  and 
conduct,  a  submission  to  conse<iuences  the  most 
serious  and  the  most  deterring,  to  loss  and  danger, 

*  See  Peter's  speech  upon  curing  the  cripple,  (Acts  iii. 
18.)  the  council  of  the  apostle.'!,  (.xv,)  Paul's  discourse  at 
Athens  (xvii.  SS,)  before  Agiippa.  (xxvi.)  I  notice  these 
passages,  both  as  fraught  with  good  sense,  and  as  free 
from  tlie  smallest  tincture  of  enthusiasm. 

t  See  Power*  Discourses,  disc.  xv.  p.  345. 


to  hisult,  outrage,  and  persecution.  How  such  a 
story  should  be  false,  or,  if  false,  how  under  such 
circumstances  it  should  make  its  way,  I  tiiink  'my 
possible  to  be  explained;  yet  such  the  Christian 
story  was.  such  were  the  circumstances  under 
which  it  came  forth,  and  in  opposition  to  such 
difficulties  did  it  prevail. 

An  event  so  connected  with  the  religion,  and 
with  the  fortunes,  of  the  Jewish  people,  as  one  of 
their  race,  one  born  amongst  them,  establishing 
his  authority  and  his  law  throughout  a  great  por- 
tion of  the  civilized  world,  it  was  perhaps  to  be 
expected,  should  be  noticed  in  the  prophetic  writ- 
ings of  that  nation ;  especially  when  tliis  Person, 
together  with  his  own  mission,  caused  also  to  be 
acknowledged  the  divine  original  of  their  institu- 
tion, and  by  those  who  before  had  altogether  re- 
jected it.  Accordingly,  we  perceive  in  these 
writings  various  intimations  concurring  in  the 
person  and  history  of  Jesus,  in  a  manner,  and  in 
a  degree,  in  which  passages  taken  from  these  books 
could  not  be  made  to  concur  in  any  person  arbi- 
trarily assumed,  or  in  any  person  except  him  who 
has  been  the  author  of  great  changes  in  the  affairs 
and  opinions  of  mankind.  Of  some  of  these  pre- 
dictions the  weight  depends  a  good  deal  upon 
the  concurrence.  Others  possess  great  separate 
strength :  one  in  particular  does  this  in  an  emirient 
degree.  It  is  an  entire  description,  manifestly  di- 
rected to  one  character  and  to  one  scene  of  things : 
it  is  extant  in  a  writing,  or  collection  of  writings, 
declaredly  prophetic;  and  it  applies  to  Christ's 
character,  and  to  the  circumstances  of  his  life  and 
death,  with  considerable  precision,  and  in  a  way 
which  no  diversity  of  interpretation  hatli,  in  my 
opinion,  been  able  to  confound.  That  the  advetit 
of  Christ,  and  the  consequences  of  it  should  not 
have  been  more  distinctly  revealed  in  the  Jewish 
sacred  books,  is,  I  think,  in  some  measure  accounted 
for  by  the  consideration,  that  for  the  Jews  to  have 
foreseen  the  fall  of  their  institution,  and  that  it 
was  to  emerge  at  length  into  a  more  perfect  and 
comprehensive  dispensation,  would  have  cooled 
too  much,  and  relaxed  their  zeal  for  it,  and  their 
adherence  to  it,  upon  which  zeal  and  adherence 
the  preservation  in  the  world  of  any  remains,  for 
many  ages,  of  religious  truth  might  in  a  great 
measure  depend. 

Of  wliat  a  revelation  discloses  to  mankind,  one, 
and  only  one,  question  can  properly  be  asked. 
Was  it  of  importance  to  mankind  to  know,  or  to 
be  better  assured  of?  In  this  question,  when 
we  turn  our  thoughts  to  the  great  Christian  doc- 
trine of  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  and  of  a  fu- 
ture judgment,  no  doubt  can  possibly  be  entertain- 
ed. He  who  gives  me  riches  or  honours,  does 
nothing ;  he  who  even  gives  me  health,  does  little 
in  comparison  with  that  which  lays  before  me 
just  grounds  for  expecting  a  restoration  to  life, 
and  a  day  of  account  and  retributioji :  which  thing 
Christianity  hath  done  for  millions. 

Other  articles  of  the  Christian  faith,  although  of 
infinite  importance  when  placed  beside  any  other 
topic  of  human  mquiry,  are  only  the  adjuncts  and 
circumstances  of  this.  They  are,  however,  such 
as  appear  wortliy  of  the  original  to  which  we 
ascribe  them.  The  morality  of  the  religion,  whe- 
ther taken  from  the  precepts  or  the  example  of  its 
Founder,  or  from  the  lessons  of  its  primitive 
teachers,  derived,  as  it  should  seem,  from  what 
had  been  inculcated  by  their  Master,  is,  in  all  its 
parts,  wise  and  pure;  neither  adapted  to  vulgar 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


385 


prejudices,  nor  flattering  popular  notions,  nor  ex- 
cusing established  practices,  hut  calculated,  in  the 
matter  of  its  instruction,  truly  to  promote  human 
happiness,  and  in  the  form  in  which  it  was  con- 
veyed, to  produce  impression  and  effect ;  a  morality, 
which,  let  it  have  proceeded  from  any  person 
whatever,  would  have  been  satisfactory  evidence 
of  his  good  sense  and  integrity,  of  the  soundness 
of  his  understanding  and  the  probity  of  his  designs ; 
a  morality,  in  every  view  of  it,  much  more  perfect 
than  could  have  been  expected  from  the  natural 
circumstances  and  character  of  the  person  who 
delivered  it ;  a  morality,  in  a  word,  which  is,  and 
hath  been,  most  beneficial  to  mankind. 

Upon  the  greatest,  therefore,  of  all  possible  oc- 
casions, and  for  a  purpose  of  inestimable  value,  it 
pleased  the  Deity  to  vouchsafe  a  miraculous 
attestation.  Having  done  this  for  the  institution, 
when  this  alone  could  fix  its  authority,  or  give  to 
it  a  beginning,  he  committed  its  future  progress  to 
the  natural  means  of  human  communication,  and 
to  the  influence  of  those  causes  by  which  human 
conduct  and  human  affairs  are  governed.  The 
seed,  being  sown,  was  left  to  vegetate  ;  the  leaven, 
being  inserted,  was  left  to  ferment ;  and  both  ac- 
cording to  the  laws  of  nature  :  laws,  nevertheless, 
disposed  and  controlled  by  that  Providence  which 
conducts  the  affairs  of  the  universe,  though  by  an 
influence  inscrutable,  aud  generally  undistinguish- 
able  by  us.  And  in  this  Christianity  is  analogous 
to  most  other  provisions  for  happiness.  The 
provision  is  made  ;  and,  being  made,  is  left  to  act 
according  to  laws,  which,  forming  a  part  of  a  more 
general  system,  regulate  this  particular  subject,  in 
common  with  many  others. 

Let  the  constant  recurrence  to  our  observation 
of  contrivance,  design,  and  wisdom,  in  the  works 
of  nature,  once  fix  upon  our  minds  the  belief  of  a 
God,  and  after  that  all  is  easy.  In  the  counsels 
of  a  being  possessed  of  the  power  and  disposition 
which  the  Creator  of  the  universe  must  possess,  it 
is  not  improbable  that  there  should  be  a  future 
state  ;  it  is  not  improbable  that  we  should  be  ac- 
quainted with  it.  A  future  state  rectifies  every 
thing :  because,  if  moral  agents  be  made,  in  the 
last  event,  happy  or  miserable,  according  to  their 
conduct  in  the  stations  and  under  the  circum- 
stances in  which  they  are  placed,  it  seems  not 
very  material  by  the  operation  of  what  causes, 
according  to  what  rules,  or  even,  if  you  please  to 
call  it  so,  by  what  chance  or  caprice,  these  stations 
are  assigned,  or  these  circumstances  determined. 
This  hypothesis,  therefore,  solves  all  that  objec- 
tion to  the  divine  care  and  goodness,  which  the 
promiscuous  distribution  of  good  and  evil  ^I  do 
not  mean  in  the  doubtful  advantages  of  riches 
and  grandeur,  but  in  the  unquestionably  import- 
ant distinctions  of  health  and  sickness,  strength 
and  infirmity,  bodily  case  and  pain,  mental  ala- 
crity and  depression)  is  apt  on  so  many  occasions 
to  create.  This  one  truth  changes  the  nature  of 
things ;  gives  order  to  confusion ;  makes  the  moral 
world  of  a  piece  with  the  natural. 

Nevertheless,  a  higher  degree  of  assurance  than 
that  to  which  it  is  possible  to  advance  this,  or  any 
argument  drawn  from  the  light  of  nature,  was 
necessary,  especially  to  overcome  the  shock  which 
the  imagination  and  the  senses  receive  from  the 
effects  and  the  appearances  of  death,  and  the 
obstruction  which  thence  arises  to  the  expectation 
of  either  a  continued  or  a  future  existence.  This 
ditficulty,  although  of  a  nature  no  doubt  to  act 
3C 


very  forcibly,  will  be  found,  I  think,  upon  reflec- 
tion, to  reside  more  in  our  habits  of  a|)i)rehension. 
than  in  the  subject ;  and  that  the  giving  way  to 
it,  when  we  have  any  reasonable  grounds  for  the 
contrary,  is  rather  an  indulging  of  tlie  iiiuigina- 
tion,  than  any  thing  else.  Abstractedly  considtT- 
ed,  that  is,  considered  without  relation  to  the  dif- 
ference which  habit,  and  merely  habit,  produces 
in  our  faculties  and  modes  of  apprehension,  I  do 
not  see  any  thing  more  in  the  resurrection  of  a 
dead  man,  than  in  the  conception  of  a  child  ; 
except  it  be  this,  that  the  one  conies  into  his  v\  orld 
with  a  system  of  prior  consciousnesses  about  him, 
which  the  other  does  not :  and  no  person  will  say, 
that  he  knows  enough  of  either  subject  to  percei\  e, 
that  this  circumstance  makes  such  a  difference  in 
the  two  cases,  that  the  one  should  be  easy,  and 
the  other  impossible  ;  the  one  natural,  the  other 
not  so.  To  the  first  man,  the  succession  of  the 
species  would  be  as  incomprehensible,  as  the  re- 
surrection of  the  dead  is  to  us. 

Thought  is  different  from  motion,  perception 
from  impact :  the  individuality  of  a  m.ind  is  hardly 
consistent  with  the  divisibility  of  an  extended 
substance;  or  its  volition,  that  is,  its  power  of 
originating  motion,  with  the  inertness  which 
cleaves  to  every  portion  of  matter  which  our  ob- 
servation or  our  experiments  can  reach.  These 
distinctions  lead  us  to  an  immaterial  principle  : 
at  least,  they  do  this ;  they  so  negative  the  me- 
chanical properties  of  matter,  in  the  constitution 
of  a  sentient,  still  more  of  a  rational  being,  that 
no  argument  drawn  from  these  properties,  can  be 
of  any  great  weight  in  opposition  to  other  reasons, 
when  the  question  respects  the  changes  of  which 
such  a  nature  is  capable,  or  the  manner  in  which 
these  changes  are  efltcted.  Whatever  thought 
be,  or  whatever  it  depend  upon,  the  regular  expe- 
rience of  sleep  malccs  one  thing  concerning  it  cer- 
tain, that  it  can  be  completely  suspended,  and 
completely  restored. 

If  any  one  find  it  too  great  a  strain  upon  his 
thoughts,  to  admit  the  notion  of  a  substance 
strictly  immaterial,  that  is,  from  which  extension 
and  solidity  are  excluded,  he  can  find  no  difficulty 
in  allowing  that  a  particle  as  small  as  a  particle 
of  light,  minuter  than  all  conceivable  dimensions, 
may  just  as  easily  be  the  depositary,  the  organ, 
and  the  vehicle,  of  consciousness,  as  the  conge- 
ries of  animal  substance  which  fonns  a  human 
body,  or  the  human  brain ;  that,  being  so,  it  may 
transfer  a  proper  identity  to  whatever  shall  here- 
after be  united  to  it ;  may  be  safe  amidst  the  de- 
struction of  its  integuments ;  may  connect  the 
natural  with  the  spiritual,  the  corruptible  with 
the  glorified  body.  If  it  be  said,  that  the  mode 
and  means  of  all  this  is  imperceptible  by  ou. 
senses,  it  is  only  what  is  true  of  the  most  import- 
ant agencies  and  operations.  The  great  powers 
of  nature  are  all  invisible.  Gravitation,  electricity, 
magnetism,  though  constantly  present,  and  con- 
stantly exerting  their  influence :  though  within 
us,  near  us,  and  about  us ;  though  diffused  through- 
out all  space,  overspreading  the  surface,  or  pene- 
trating the  contexture,  of  all  bodies  with  which 
we  are  acquainted,  depend  upon  substances  and 
actions  which  are  totally  concealed  from  our 
senses.  The  Supreme  Intelligence  is  so  himself 
But  whether  these  or  any  other  attempts  to 
satisfy  the  imagination,  bear  any  resemblance  to 
the  truth,  or  whether  the  imagination,  which,  as 
I  have  said  before,  is  a  mere  slave  of  habit,  can  be 
33 


38C 


EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


satisfied  or  not;  when  a  future  state,  and  the 
revelation  of  a  future  state,  is  not  only  perfectly 
consistent  with  the  attributes  of  the  Being  who 
governs  the  universe ;  but  when  it  is  more,  when 
it  alone  removes  the  appearances  of  contrariety 
which  attend  the  operations  of  his  will  towards 
creatures  capable  of  comparative  merit  and  de- 
merit, of  reward  and  punishment ;  when  a  strong 
body  of  historical  evidence,  confirmed  by  many 
internal  tokens  of  truth  and  authenticity,  gives 
us  just  reason  to  believe  that  such  a  revelation 
hath  actually  been  made ;  we  ought  to  set  our 
minds  at  rest  with  the  assurance,  that  in  the 
resources  of  Creative  Wisdom,  expedients  can- 
not be  wanted  to  carry  into  effect  what  the  Deity 
hath  purposed :  that  either  a  new  and  mighty 
Influence  will  descend  upon  the  human  world  to 


resuscitate  extinguished  consciousness ;  or  tha" 
amidst  the  other  wonderful  contrivances  with 
which  the  universe  abounds,  and  by  some  of  whic?: 
we  see  ajiimal  life,  in  many  instances,  assuming 
improved  forms  of  existence,  acquiring  new  or- 
gans, new  perceptions,  and  new  sources  of  enjoy- 
ment, provision  is  also  made,  though  by  methods 
secret  to  us  (as  all  the  great  processes  of  nature 
are,)  for  conducting  the  objects  of  God's  moral 
government,  through  the  necessary  changes  of 
their  frame,  to  those  final  distinctions  of  happi- 
ness and  misery,  which  he  hath  declared  to  be 
reserved  for  obedience  and  transgression,  for  vir- 
tue and  vice,  for  the  use  and  the  negled..,  he 
right  and  the  wrong  employment,  of  the  facul- 
ties and  opportunities  with  which  he  hath  jeen 
pleased,  severally,  to  intrust,  and  to  try  us. 


r^ 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


TO  THE  HONOURABLE  AND  RIGHT  REV.  SHUTE  BARRINGTON,  L.L.D. 
LORD  BISHOP  OF  DURHAM. 

My  Lord, —  The  following  Work  was  undertaJ<en  at  your  Lordship's  recommendation,  and 
amongst  other  motives,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  inost  acceptable  return  that  I  could,  for  a 
great  and  important  benefit  conferred  upon  me. 

It  may  be  unnecessary,  yet  not  perhaps  quite  impertinent,  to  state  to  your  Lordship,  and  to  the 
reader,  the  several  inducements  that  have  led  me  once  more  to  the  press.  The  favour  of  my  first 
and  ever-honoured  Patron  had  put  me  in  possession  of  so  liberal  a  provision  in  the  Church,  as 
abundantly  to  satisfy  my  wants,  and  much  to  exceed  my  pretensions.  Your  Lordship's  munifi- 
cence, in  conjunction  with  that  of  some  other  excellent  Prelates,  who  regarded  my  services  with  the 
partiality  with  which  your  Lordship  was  pleased  to  consider  them,  hath  since  placed  me  in 
ecclesiastical  situations,  more  than  adequate  to  every  object  of  reasonable  ambition.  In  the  mean 
time,  a  weak,  and,  of  late,  a  painful  state  of  health,  deprived  me  of  the  power  of  discharging  the 
duties  of  my  station  in  a  manner  at  all  suitable,  either  to  my  sense  of  those  duties,  or  to  my  most 
anxious  wishes  concerning  them.  My  inability  for  the  public  functions  of  my  profession,  amongst 
other  consequences,  left  me  much  at  leisure.  That  leisure  was  not  to  be  lost.  It  was  only  in  my 
study  that  I  could  repair  my  deficiencies  in  the  church  :  it  was  only  through  the  press  that  I  could 
speak.  These  circumstances  entitled  your  Lordship  in  particular  to  call  upon  me  for  the  only 
species  of  exertion  of  which  I  was  capable,  and  disposed  me  without  hesitation  to  obey  the  call  in 
the  best  manner  that  I  could.  In  the  choice  of  a  subject,  I  had  no  place  left  for  doubt :  in  saying 
which,  I  do  not  so  much  refer,  either  to  the  supreme  importance  of  the  subject,  or  to  any  scepticism 
concerning  it  with  which  the  present  times  are  charged,  as  I  do  to  its  connexion  icilh  the  subjects 
treated  of  in  my  former  publications.  The  following  discussion  alone  was  wanted  to  make  up  my 
works  into  a  system  :  in  which  works,  such  as  they  are,  the  public  have  now  before  thetn,  the  evi- 
dences of  Natural  Religion,  the  evidences  of  Revealed  Religion,  and  an  account  of  the  duties  that 
result  from  both.  It  is  of  small  i?nporta nee  that  they  have  been  written  in  an  order  the  very  re- 
verse of  that  in  which  they  ought  to  be  read.  I  commend,  therefore,  the  present  volume  to  your 
Lordship's  protection,  not  only  as,  in  all  probability,  my  last  labour,  but  as  the  completion  of  a 
regular  and  comprehensive  design. 

Hitherto,  my  Lord,  I  have  been  speaking  of  myself,  and  not  of  my  Patron.  Your  Lordship 
wants  not  the  testimony  of  a  Dedication  ;  nor  any  testimony  from  me  :  I  consult  therefore  the  im- 
pulse of  my  own  mind  alone  when  I  declare,  that  in  no  respect  has  my  intercourse  with  your 
Lordship  been  more  gratifying  to  me,  than  in  the  opportunities  which  it  has  afforded  me,  of  observ- 
ing your  earnest,  active,  and  unwearied  solicitude,  for  the  advancement  of  substantial  Christianity  ; 
a  solicitude,  nevertheless,  accompanied  with  that  candour  of  mind,  which  suffers  no  subordinate 
differences  of  opinion,  when  there  is  a  coincidence  in  the  main  intention  and  object,  to  produce  any 
alienation  of  esteem,  or  diminution  of  favour.  It  is  fortunate  for  a  country,  and  honourable  to 
its  government,  when  qualities  and  dispositions  like  these  are  placed  in  high  and  influencing  sta 
lions.  Such  is  the  sincere  judgment  which  I  have  formed  of  your  Lordship's  character,  and  of  its 
public  value  :  my  personal  obligations  I  can  never  forget.  Under  a  due  sense  of  both  these  consi- 
derations, I  beg  leave  to  subscribe  myself,  with  great  respect  and  gratitude.  My  Lord,  your  Lord- 
ship's faithful  and  7nost  devoted  servant,  WILLIAM  PALEY. 
Bishop-Wearmouth,  July,  1802. 


CHAPTER  I. 

State  of  the  Argument. 

In  crossing  a  heath,  suppose  I  pitched  my  foot 
aijainst  a  stone,  and  were  asked  how  the  stone 


came  to  be  there :  I  might  possibly  answer,  that 
for  any  thing  I  knew  to  the  contrary,  it  had  lain 
there  for  ever :  nor  would  it  perhaps  be  very  easy 
to  show  the  absurdity  of  this  answer.  But  sup- 
pose I  had  found  a  watch  upon  the  ground,  and 

387 


388 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


it  should  he  inquired  how  the  watch  happened  to  he 
in  that  place  ;  I  should  hardly  think  of  the  answer 
which  i  had  hefore  given,  that  for  any  thing  I 
knew,  the  watch  might  have  always  been  there. 
Yet  why  should  not  this  answer  serve  for  the 
watch  as  well  as  for  the  stone  1  why  is  it  not  as 
admissable  in  the  second  case  as  in  the  first  1  For 
this  reason,  and  for  no  other,  viz.  that  when  we 
come  to  inspect  the  watch,  we  perceive  (what  we 
could  not  discover  in  the  stone)  that  its  several 
parts  are  framed  and  put  together  for  a  purpose, 
e.  g.  tliat  they  are  so  formed  and  adjusted  as  to 
produce  motion,  and  that  motion  so  regulated  as 
to  point  out  the  hour  of  the  day  ;  that,  if  the  dif- 
ferent parts  had  been  differently  shaped  from  what 
they  are,  of  a  different  size  from  what  they  are,  or 
placed  after  any  other  manner,  or  in  any  other 
order,  than  that  in  which  they  are  placed,  either  no 
motion  at  all  would  have  been  carried  on  in  the 
machine,  or  none  which  would  have  answered  the 
use  that  is  now  served  by  it.  To  reckon  up  a 
few  of  the  plainest  of  these  parts,  and  of  their  of- 
fices, all  tending  to  one  result: — We  see  a  cylin- 
drical box  containing  a  coiled  elastic  spring,  which, 
by  its  endeavour  to  relax  itself,  turns  round  the 
box.  We  next  observe  a  flexible  chain  (artifi- 
cially wrciught  for  the  sake  of  flexure,)  communi- 
cating the  action  of  the  spring  from  the  box  to  the 
fusee.  We  then  find  a  series  of  wheels,  the 
teeth  of  which  catch  in,  and  apply  to  each  other, 
conducting  tlie  motion  from  the  fusee  to  the 
balance,  and  from  the  balance  to  the  pointer ;  and 
at  the  same  time,  by  the  size  and  shape  of  those 
wheels  so  regulating  that  motion,  as  to  terminate 
in  causing  an  index,  by  an  equable  and  measured 
progression,  to  pass  over  a  given  space  in  a  given 
time.  We  take  notice  that  the  wheels  are  made 
of  brass  in  order  to  keep  them  from  rust ;  the 
springs  of  steel,  no  other  metal  being  so  elastic  ; 
that  over  the  tace  of  the  watch  there  is  placed  a 
glass,  a  material  employed  in  no  other  part  of  the 
work,  but  in  the  room  of  which,  if  there  had  been 
any  other  than  a  transparent  substance,  the  hour 
could  not  be  seen  without  opening  the  case.  This 
mechanism  being  observed  (it  requires  indeed  an 
examination  of  the  instrument,  and  perhaps  some 
previous  knowledge  of  the  subject,  to  perceive  and 
understand  it ;  but  being  once,  as  we  have  said,  ob- 
served and  understood,)  the  inference,  we  think,  is 
inevitable,  that  the  watch  must  have  had  a  maker ; 
that  there  must  have  existed,  at  some  time,  and  at 
some  place  or  other,  an  artificer  or  artificers,  who 
formed  it  for  the  purpose  which  we  find  it  actual- 
ly to  answer ;  who  comprehended  its  construction, 
and  designed  its  use. 

I.  Nor  would  it,  I  apprehend,  weaken  the  con- 
clusion, that  we  had  never  seen  a  watch  made  ; 
that  we  had  never  known  an  artist  capable  of 
making  one ;  that  we  were  altogether  incapable  of 
executing  such  a  piece  of  workmanship  ourselves, 
or  of  understanding  in  what  manner  it  was  per- 
formed ;  all  this  being  no  more  than  what  is  true 
of  some  exquisite  remains  of  ancient  art,  of  some 
lost  arts,  and,  to  the  generality  of  mankind,  of  the 
more  curious  productions  of  modern  manufu'turc. 
Does  one  man  in  a  million  know  how  oval  frames 
are  turned  1  Ignorance  of  this  kind  exalts  our 
opinion  of  the  unseen  and  unknown  artist's  skill 
if  he  be  unseen  and  unknown,  but  raises  no  doubt 
in  our  minds  of  the  existence  and  agency  of  such 
an  artist,  at  some  former  time,  and  in  some  place 
or  other.     Nor  can  I  perceive  that  it  varies  at  all 


the  inference,  whether  the  question  arise  con- 
cerning a  human  agent,  or  concerning  an  agent  of 
a  different  species,  or  an  agent  possessing  in  some 
respects  a  different  nature. 

II.  Neither,  secondly,  would  it  invalidate  our 
conclusion,  that  the  watch  sometimes  went  wrong, 
or  that  it  seldom  went  exactly  right.  The  pur- 
pose of  the  machinery,  the  design  and  the  design- 
er, might  be  evident,  and  in  the  case  supposed 
would  be  evident,  in  whatever  way  we  accounted 
for  the  irregularity  of  the  movement,  or  whether 
we  could  account  for  it  or  not.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary that  a  machine  be  perfect,  in  order  to  show 
with  what  design  it  was  made ;  still  less  necessary, 
where  the  only  question  is,  whether  it  were  made 
with  any  design  at  all. 

III.  Nor,  thirdly,  would  it  bring  any  uncertain- 
ty into  the  argument,  if  there  were  a  few  parts  of 
the  watch,  concerning  which  we  could  not  dis- 
cover, or  had  not  yet  discovered,  in  what  manner 
they  conduced  to  the  general  effect,  or  even  some 
parts,  concerning  which  we  could  not  ascertain, 
whether  they  conduced  to  that  effect  in  any  man- 
ner whatever.  For,  as  to  the  first  branch  of  the 
case ;  if  by  the  loss,  or  disorder,  or  decay,  of  the 
parts  in  question,  the  movement  of  the  watch 
were  found  in  fact  to  be  stopped,  or  disturbed,  or 
retarded,  no  doubt  would  remain  in  our  minds  as 
to  the  utility  or  intention  of  these  parts,  although 
we  should  be  unable  to  investigate  the  manner 
according  to  which,  or  the  connexion  by  which, 
the  ultimate  effect  depended  upon  their  action  or 
assistance ;  and  the  more  complex  is  the  machine, 
the  more  likely  is  this  obscurity  to  arise.  Then, 
as  to  the  second  thing  supposed,  namely,  that 
there  were  parts  which  might  be  spared,  without 
prejudice  to  the  movement  of  the  watch,  and  that 
we  had  proved  this  by  experiment, — these  super- 
fluous parts,  even  if  we  were  completely  assured 
that  they  were  such,  would  not  vacate  the  reason- 
ing which  we  had  instituted  concerning  other 
parts.  The  indication  of  contrivance  remained, 
with  respect  to  them,  nearly  as  it  was  before. 

IV.  Nor,  fourthly,  would  any  man  in  his 
senses  think  the  existence  of  the  watch,  with  its 
various  machinery,  accounted  for,  by  being  told 
that  it  was  one  out  of  possible  (»mbinations  of 
material  forms  ;  that  whatever  he  had  found  in  the 
place  where  he  found  the  watch,  must  have  con- 
tained some  internal  configuration  or  other;  and 
that  this  configuration  might  be  the  structure 
now  exhibited,  inz.  of  the  works  of  a  watch,  as 
well  as  a  different  structure. 

V.  Nor,  fifthly,  would  it  yield  his  inquiry  more 
satisfaction  to  be  answered,  that  there  existed 
in  things  a  principle  of  order,  which  had  dispo.sed 
the  parts  of  the  watch  into  their  present  form 
and  situation.  He  never  knew  a  watch  made  by 
the  principle  of  order ;  nor  can  he  even  form  to 
himself  an  idea  of  what  is  meant  by  a  principle  of 
order,  distinct  from  the  intelligence  of  the  watch- 
maker. 

VI.  Sixthly,  he  would  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
the  mechanism  of  the  watch ,  was  no  proof  of  con- 
trivance, only  a  motive  to  induce  the  mind  to 
think  so. 

VII.  And  not  less  surprised  to  be  informed, 
that  the  watch  in  his  hand  was  nothing  more 
than  the  result  of  the  laws  of  metallic  nature.  It 
is  a  perversion  of  language  to  assign  any  law,  as 
the  efficient,  operative  cause  of  any  thing.  A 
law  presupposes  an  agent ;  for  it  is  only  the  mode. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


389 


according  to  which  an  agent  proceeds :  it  implies 
a  power;  for  it  is  the  order,  according  to  which 
that  power  acts.  Without  this  agent,  without 
this  power,  which  are  both  distinct  from  itself, 
the  law  does  nothing ;  is  nothing.  The  expres- 
sion, "the  law  of  metalHc  nature,"  may  sound 
strange  and  harsh  to  a  philosophic  ear ;  but  it 
seems  quite  as  justifiable  as  some  others  which 
are  more  familiar  to  him,  such  as  "  the  law  of  ve- 
getable nature,"  "  the  law  of  animal  nature,"  or 
indeed  as  "the  law  of  nature,"  in  general,  when 
assigned  as  the  cause  of  phenomena,  in  exclusion 
of  agency  and  power ;  or  when  it  is  substituted 
into  the  place  of  these. 

VIII.  Neither,  lastly,  would  our  observer  be 
driven  out  of  his  conclusion,  or  from  his  confi- 
dence in  its  truth,  by  being  told  that  he  knows 
nothing  at  all  about  the  matter.  He  knows 
enough  for  his  argument :  he  knows  the  utility  of 
the  end  ;  he  knows  the  subserviency  and  adapta- 
tion 01  the  means  to  the  end.  These  points  being 
known,  his  ignorance  of  other  points,  his  doubts 
concerning  other  points,  aflect  not  the  certainty  of 
his  reasoning.  The  consciousness  of  knowing 
Jittle,  need  not  beget  a  distrust  of  that  which  he 
does  know. 


CHAPTER  II. 

State  of  the  Argument  continued. 

Suppose,  in  the  next  place,  that  the  person  who 
found  the  watch,  should,  after  some  time,  discover 
that,  in  addition  to  all  the  properties  which  he  had 
hitherto  observed  in  it,  it  possessed  the  unexpected 
property  of  producing,  in  the  course  of  its  move- 
ment, another  watch  like  itself  (the  thing  is  con- 
ceivable) ;  that  it  contained  within  it  a  mechanism, 
a  system  of  parts,  a  mould  for  instance,  or  a  com- 
plex adjustment  of  lathes,  files,  and  other  tools, 
evidently  and  separately  calculated  for  this  pur- 
pose; let  us  inquire,  what  effect  ought  such  a  dis- 
covery to  have  upon  his  former  conclusion. 

I.  The  first  effect  would  be  to  increase  his  ad- 
miration of  the  contrivance,  and  his  conviction  of 
the  consummate  skill  of  the  contriver.  Whether 
he  regarded  the  object  of  the  contrivance,  the  dis- 
tinct apparatus,  the  intricate,  yet  in  many  parts 
intelligible  mechanism,  by  which  it  was  carried 
on,  he  would  perceive,  in  this  new  observation, 
nothing  but  an  additional  reason  for  doing  what 
he  had  already  done, — for  referring  the  construc- 
tion of  the  watch  to  design,  and  to  supreme  art. 
If  that  construction  -without  this  property,  or, 
which  is  the  same  thing,  before  this  property  had 
been  noticed,  proved  intention  and  art  to  have 
been  employed  about  it ;  still  more  strong  would 
the  proof  appear,  when  he  came  to  the  knowledge 
of  this  farther  property,  the  crown  and  perfection 
of  all  the  rest. 

II.  He  would  reflect,  that  though  the  watch  be- 
fore him  were,  in  some  sense,  the  maker  of  the 
watch  which  was  fabricated  in  the  course  of  its 
movements,  yet  it  was  in  a  very  different  sense 
from  that  in  which  a  carpenter,  for  instance,  is 
the  maker  of  a  chair ;  the  author  of  its  contrivance, 
the  cause  of  the  relation  of  its  parts  to  their  use. 
With  respect  to  these,  the  first  watch  was  no 
cause  at  all  to  the  second :  in  no  such  sense  as  this 
was  it  the  author  of  the  constitution  and  order, 


either  of  the  parts  which  the  new  watch  contained, 
or  of  Ihe  parts  by  the  aid  and  instrumentality  of 
which  it  was  produced.  We  might  possibly  say, 
but  with  great  latitude  of  expression,  that  a  stream 
of  water  ground  corn;  but  no  latitude  of  expres- 
sion would  allow  us  to  say,  no  stretch  of  conjec- 
ture could  lead  us  to  think,  that  the  stream  of 
water  built  the  mill,  though  it  were  too  ancient 
for  us  to  know  who  the  builder  was.  What  the 
stream  of  water  does  in  the  alfiiir,  is  neither  more 
nor  less  than  this;  by  the  application  of  an  unin- 
telligent impulse  to  a  mechanism  previously  ar- 
ranged, arranged  independently  of  it,  and  arranged 
by  intelligence,  an  effect  is  produced,  viz.  the  corn 
is  ground.  But  the  cflect  results  from  the  ar- 
rangement. The  force  of  the  stream  cannot  be 
said  to  be  the  cause  or  author  of  the  eflect,  still 
less  of  the  arrangement.  Understanding  and  plan 
in  the  formation  of  the  mill  were  not  the  less  ne- 
cessary, for  any  share  which  the  water  has  in  grind- 
ing the  corn ;  yet  is  this  share  the  same  as  that 
which  the  watch  would  have  contributed  to  the 
production  of  the  new  watch,  upon  the  supposition 
assumed  in  the  last  section.     Therefore, 

III.  Though  it  be  now  no  longer  probable,  that 
the  individual  watch  which  our  observer  had 
found,  was  made  immediately  by  the  hand  of  an 
artificer,  yet  doth  not  this  alteration  in  any  wise 
affect  the  inference,  that  an  artificer  had  been  ori- 
ginally employed  and  concerned  in  the  production. 
The  argument  from  design  remains  as  it  was. 
Marks  of  design  and  contrivance  are  no  more  ac- 
counted for  now  than  they  were  before.  In  the 
same  thing,  we  may  ask  for  the  cause  of  different 
properties.  We  may  ask  for  the  cause  of  the  co- 
lour of  a  body,  of  its  hardness,  of  its  heat;  and 
these  causes  may  be  all  different.  We  are  now 
asking  for  the  cause  of  that  subserviency  to  a  use, 
that  relation  to  an  end,  which  we  have  remarked 
in  the  watch  before  us.  No  answer  is  given  to 
this  question,  by  telling  us  that  a  prccetling  watch 
produced  it.  There  cannot  be  design  without  a 
designer ;  contrivance,  without  a  contriver ;  order, 
without  choice;  arrangement,  without  any  thing 
capable  of  arranging  ;  subserviency  and  relation 
to  a  purpose,  without  that  which  could  intend  a 
purpose ;  means  suitable  to  an  end,  and  executing 
their  office  in  accomplishing  that  end,  without  the 
end  ever  having  been  contemplated,  or  the  means 
accommodated  to  it.  Arrangement,  disposition 
of  parts,  subserviency  of  means  to  an  end,  rela- 
tion of  instruments  to  a  use,  imply  the  presence 
of  intelligence  and  mind.  No  one,  therefore,  can 
rationally  believe,  that  the  insensible,  inanimate 
watch,  from  which  the  watch  before  us  issued, 
was  the  proper  cause  of  the  mechanism  we  so 
much  admire  in  it ; — could  be  truly  said  to  have 
constructed  the  instrument,  disposed  its  parts,  as- 
signed their  office,  determined  their  order,  action, 
and  mutual  dependency,  combined  their  several 
motions  into  one  result,  and  that  also  a  result  con- 
nected with  the  utilities  of  other  beings.  All  these 
properties,  therefore,  are  as  much  unaccounted  for 
as  they  were  before. 

IV.  Nor  is  any  thing  gained  by  running  the 
difficulty  farther  back,  i.  e.  by  supposing  the  watch 
before  us  to  have  been  produced  from  another 
watch,  that  from  a  former,  and  so  on  indefinitely. 
Our  going  back,  ever  so  far,  brings  us  no  nearer 
to  the  least  degree  of  satisfaction  u[)on  the  subject. 
Contrivance  is  still  unaccounted  for.  We  still 
want  a  contriver.  A  designing  mind  is  neithef 
33* 


390 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


supplied  by  this  supposition,  nor  dispensed  with. 
If  the  ditiiculty  were  diminished  the  farther  we 
went  back,  by  going  back  iiidelinitely,  we  might 
exhaust  it.  And  this  is  the  only  case  to  which 
this  sort  of  reasoning  applies.  Where  tiiere  is  a 
tendency,  or,  as  we  increase  the  number  of  terms, 
a  continual  approach  towards  a  limit,  there,  by 
supposing  the  number  of  terms  to  be  what  is 
called  inlinite,  we  may  conceive  the  limit  to  be 
attained :  but  where  there  is  no  such  tendency, 
or  approach,  nothing  is  effected  by  lengthening 
the  series.  There  is  no  diffijrence  as  to  the  point 
in  question  (whatever  there  may  be  as  to  many 
points,)  between  one  series  and  another;  be- 
tween a  series  which  is  finite,  and  a  series  which 
is  infinite.  A  chain  composed  of  an  infinite  num- 
Ix-r  of  links,  can  no  more  support  itself,  than  a 
chain  composed  of  a  finite  number  of  links.  And 
of  this  we  are  assured  (though  we  never  can 
have  tried  the  experiment),  because,  by  increas- 
ing the  number  of  links,  from  ten  for  instance  to 
a  hundred,  from  a  hundred  to  a  thousand,  &c. 
we  make  not  the  smallest  approach,  we  observe 
not  the  smallest  tendency  towards  self-support. 
There  is  no  diderence  in  this  respect  (yet  there 
may  be  a  great  difference  in  several  respects)  be- 
tween a  chain  of  a  greater  or  less  length,  between 
one  chain  an<l  another,  between  one  that  is  finite 
and  one  that  is  infinite.  This  very  much  resem- 
bles the  case  before  us.  The  machine  which  we 
are  inspecting  demonstrates,  by  its  construction, 
contrivance  and  design.  Contrivance  must  have 
had  a  contriver ;  design  a  designer;  whether  the 
machine  immediately  proceeded  from  another  ma- 
chine or  not.  That  circumstance  alters  not  the 
case.  That  other  machine  may,  in  like  manner, 
have  proceeded  from  a  former  machine  :  nor  does 
that  alter  the  case ;  contrivance  must  have  had  a 
contriver.  That  former  one  from  one  preceding 
it :  no  alteration  still ;  a  contriver  is  still  necessary. 
No  tendency  is  perceived,  no  approach  towards  a 
diminution  of  this  necessity.  It  is  the  same  with 
any  and  every  succession  of  these  machines;  a 
succession  of  ten,  of  a  hundred,  of  a  thousand ; 
with  one  series,  as  with  another;  a  series  which 
is  finite,  as  with  a  series  which  is  infinite.  In 
whatever  other  respects  they  may  differ,  in  this 
they  do  not.  In  all  equally,  contrivance  and  design 
are  unaccounted  for. 

The  question  is  not  simply.  How  came  the  first 
watch  into  existence  1  which  question,  it  may  be 
pretended,  is  done  away  by  supposing  the  series 
of  watches  thus  produced  from  one  another  to 
have  been  infinite,  and  consequently  to  have  had 
no  such^rsf,  for  which  it  was  necessary  to  pro- 
vide a  cause.  This,  perhaps,  would  have  been 
nearly  the  state  of  the  question,  if  nothing  had 
been  before  us  but  an  unorganized,  unmechanized 
substance,  without  mark  or  indication  of  contri- 
vance. It  miglit  be  difficult  to  show  that  such 
substance  could  not  have  existed  from  eternity, 
either  in  succession  (if  it  were  possible,  which  I 
think  it  is  not,  for  unorganized  bodies  to  spring 
from  one  another,)  or  by  individual  perpetuity. 
But  that  is  not  the  question  now.  To  suppose  it 
to  be  so,  is  to  suppose  that  it  made  no  difference 
whether  he  had  found  a  watch  or  a  stone.  As  it 
is,  the  metaphysics  of  that  question  have  no  place ; 
for,  in  the  watch  which  we  are  examining,  are 
seen  contrivance,  design;  an  end,  a  purpose; 
means  for  the  end,  adaptation  to  the  purpose. 
And  the  question  which  irresistibly  presses  upon 


our  thoughts,  is,  whence  this  contrivance  and  de- 
sign 1  The  thing  required  is  the  intending  mind, 
the  ada])ting  hand,  the  intelligence  by  which  that 
hand  was  directed.  This  question,  this  demand, 
is  not  shaken  off,  by  increasing  a  number  or  suc- 
cession of  substances,  destitute  of  these  properties ; 
nor  the  more,  by  increasing  that  number  to  infini- 
ty. If  it  be  said,  that  upon  the  sup|)osition  of  one 
watch  being  produced  from  another  in  the  course 
of  that  other's  movements,  and  by  means  of  the 
mechanism  within  it,  we  have  a  cause  for  the 
watch  in  my  hand,  viz.  the  watch  from  which  it 
proceeded :  I  deny,  that  for  the  design,  the  contn- 
vance,  the  suitableness  of  means  to  an  end,  the 
adaptation  of  instruments  to  a  use  (all  which  we 
discover  in  the  watch,)  we  have  any  cause  what- 
ever. It  is  in  vain,  therefore,  to  assign  a  series  of 
such  causes,  or  to  allege  that  a  series  may  be  car- 
ried back  to  infinity ;  for  I  do  not  admit  that  we 
have  yet  any  cause  at  all  of  the  phenomena,  still  less 
any  series  of  causes,  either  finite  or  infinite.  Here 
is  contrivance,  but  no  contriver ;  proofs  of  design, 
but  no  designer. 

V.  Our  observer  would  farther  also  reflect, 
that  the  maker  of  the  watch  before  him,  was,  in 
truth  and  reality,  the  maker  of  every  watch  pro- 
duced from  it;  there  being  no  difference  except 
that  the  latter  manifests  a  more  exquisite  skill  be- 
tween the  making  of  another  watch  with  his  own 
hands,  by  the  mediation  of  files,  lathes,  chisels, 
&c.  and  the  disposing,  fixing,  and  inserting,  of 
these  instruments,  or  of  others  equivalent  to  them, 
in  the  body  of  the  watch  already  made,  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  form  a  new  watch  in  the  course  of 
the  movements  which  he  had  given  to  the  old 
one.  It  is  only  working  by  one  set  of  tools  instead 
of  another. 

The  conclusion  which  theirs/  examination  of 
the  watch,  of  its  works,  construction,  and  move- 
ment, suggested,  was,  that  it  must  have  had,  for 
the  cause  and  author  of  that  construction,  an  arti- 
ficer, who  understood  its  mechanism,  and  design- 
ed its  use.  This  conclusion  is  invincible.  A  se- 
cond examination  presents  us  with  a  new  disco- 
very. The  watch  is  found,  in  the  course  of  its 
movement,  to  produce  another  watch,  similar  to 
itself;  and  not  only  so,  but  we  perceive  in  it  a  sys- 
tem or  organization,  separately  calculated  for  that 
purpose.  What  effect  would  this  discovery  have, 
or  ought  it  to  have,  upon  our  former  inference  1 
What,  as  hath  already  been  said,  but  to  increase, 
beyond  measure,  our  admiration  of  the  skill  which 
had  been  employed  in  the  formation  of  such  a  ma- 
chine 1  Or  shall  it,  instead  of  this,  all  at  once 
turn  us  round  to  an  opposite  conclusion,  viz.  that 
no  art  or  skill  whatever  has  been  concerned  in  the 
business,  although  all  other  evidences  of  art  and 
skill  remain  as  they  were,  and  this  last  and  su- 
preme piece  of  art  be  now  added  to  the  resf?  Can 
this  be  maintained  without  absurdity  1  Yet  this  is 
atheism. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Application  of  the  Argument. 

This  is  atheism :  for  every  indication  of  contri- 
vance, every  manifestation  of  design,  which  exist- 
ed in  the  watch,  exists  in  the  works  of  nature ; 
with  the  difference,  on  the  side  of  nature,  of  being 
greater  and  more,  and  that  in  a  degree  which  ex- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


391 


ceeds  all  computation.  I  mean,  that  the  contri- 
vances of  nature  surpass  the  contrivances  of  art, 
in  the  complexity,  subtilty,  and  curiosity,  of  the 
mechanism ;  and  still  more,  if  possible,  do  they 
go  beyond  them  in  number  and  variety ;  yet,  in 
a  multitude  of  cases,  are  not  less  evidently  me- 
chanical, not  less  evidently  contrivances,  not  less 
e\idently  accommodated  to  their  end,  or  suited  to 
their  office,  than  are  the  most  perfect  productions 
of  human  ingenuity. 

I  know  no  better  method  of  introducing  so  large 
a  subject,  than  that  of  comparing  a  single  thing 
with  a  single  thing ;  an  eye,  for  example,  with  a 
telescope.  As  far  as  the  examination  of  the  in- 
strument goes,  there  is  precisely  the  same  proof 
that  the  eye  was  made  for  vision,  as  there  is  that 
the  telescope  was  made  for  assisting  it.  They  are 
made  upon  the  same  principles;  both  being  ad- 
justed to  the  laws  by  which  the  transmission  and 
refraction  of  rays  of  light  are  regulated.  I  speak 
not  of  the  origin  of  the  laws  themselves  ;  but  such 
laws  being  fixed,  the  construction,  in  both  cases, 
is  adapted  to  them.  For  instance ;  these  laws  re- 
quire, in  order  to  produce  the  same  effect,  that  the 
rays  of  light,  in  passing  from  water  into  the  eye, 
should  be  refracted  by  a  more  convex  surface, 
than  when  it  passes  out  of  air  into  the  eye.  Ac- 
cordingly we  find  that  the  eye  of  a  fish,  in  that 
part  of  it  called  the  crystalline  lens,  is  much 
rounder  than  the  eye  of  terrestrial  animals.  What 
plainer  manifestation  of  design  can  there  be  than 
this  difference]  What  could  a  mathematical 
instrument-maker  have  done  more,  to  show  his 
knowledge  of  his  principle,  his  application  of  that 
knowledge,  his  suiting  of  his  means  to  his  end  ;  I 
will  not  say  to  display  the  compass  or  excellence 
of  his  skill  and  art,  for  in  these  all  comparison  is 
indecorous,  but  to  testify  counsel,  choice,  consider- 
ation, purpose  1 

To  some  it  may  appear  a  difference  sufficient 
to  destroy  all  similitude  between  the  eye  and  the 
telescope,  that  the  one  is  a  perceiving^ organ,  the 
other  an  unperceiving  instrument.  The  fact  is, 
that  they  are  both  instruments.  And,  as  to  the 
mechanism,  at  least  as  to  mechanism  being  em- 
ployed, and  even  as  to  the  kind  of  it,  this  circum- 
stance varies  not  the  analogy  at  all.  For,  observe 
what  the  constitution  of  the  eye  is.  It  is  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  produce  distinct  vision,  that  an 
im.ige  or  picture  of  the  object  be  formed  at  the 
bottom  of  the  eye.  Whence  this  necessity  arises, 
or  how  the  picture  is  connected  with  the  sensa- 
tion, or  contributes  to  it,  it  may  be  difficult,  nay, 
we  will  confess,  if  you  please,  impossible  for  us  to 
search  out.  But  the  present  question  is  not  con- 
cerned in  the  inquiry.  It  may  be  true,  that,  in 
this,  and  in  other  instances,  we  trace  mechanical 
contrivance  a  certain  way:  and  that  then  we 
come  to  something  which  is  not  mechanical,  or 
which  is  inscrutable.  But  this  affects  not  the 
certaint)'  of  our  investigation,  as  far  as  we  have 
gone.  The  difference  between  an  animal  and  an 
automatic  statue,  consists  in  this,  that,  in  the  ani- 
mal, we  trace  the  mechanism  to  a  certain  point, 
and  then  we  are  stopped ;  either  the  mechanism 
becoming  too  subtile  for  our  discernment,  or  some- 
thing else  beside  the  known  laws  of  mechanism 
taking  place ;  whereas,  in  the  automaton,  for  the 
comparatively  few  motions  of  which  it  is  capable, 
we  trace  the  mechanism  throughout.  But  up  to 
the  limit,  the  reasoning  is  as  clear  and  certain  in 
the  one  case  as  iia  the  other.     In  the  example  be^ 


fore  us,  it  is  a  matter  of  certainty,  because  it  is  a 
matter  which  experience  and  observation  demon- 
strate, that  the  formation  of  an  image  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  eye  is  necessary  to  perfect  vision.  The 
image  itself  can  be  shown.  Whatever  affects  the 
distinctness  of  the  image,  affects  the  distinctness 
of  the  vision.  The  formation  then  of  such  an 
image  being  necessary  (no  matter  how)  to  the 
sense  of  sight,  and  to  the  exercise  of  that  sense, 
the  apparatus  by  which  it  is  formed  is  constructed 
and  put  together,  not  only  with  infinitely  more 
art,  but  upon  the  self-same  principles  of  art,  as  in 
the  telescope  or  the  camera  obscura.  The  per- 
ception arising  from  the  image  may  be  laid  out  of 
the  question;  for  the  production  of  the  image, 
these  are  instruments  of  the  same  kind.  The  end 
is  the  same ;  the  means  are  the  same.  The  pur- 
pose in  both  is  alike;  the  contrivance  for  accom- 
plishing that  purpose  is  in  both  alike.  The  lenses 
of  the  telescope,  and  the  humours  of  the  eye,  bear 
a  complete  resemblance  to  one  another,  in  their 
figure,  their  position,  and  in  their  power  over  the 
rays  of  light,  viz.  in  bringing  each  pencil  to  a 
point  at  the  right  distance  from  the  lens ;  namely, 
in  the  eye,  at  the  exact  place  where  the  mem- 
brane is  spread  to  receive  it.  How  is  it  possible,  un- 
der circumstances  of  such  close  affinity,  and  under 
the  operation  of  equal  evidence,  to  exclude  contri- 
vance from  the  one,  yet  to  acknowledge  the  proof 
of  contrivance  having  been  employed,  as  the  plain- 
est and  clearest  of  all  propositions,  in  the  other  ] 

The  resemblance  between  the  two  cases  is  still 
more  accurate,  and  obtains  in  more  points  than 
we  have  yet  represented,  or  than  we  are,  on  the 
first  view  of  the  subject,  aware  of  In  dioptric 
telescopes,  there  is  an  imperfection  of  this  nature. 
Pencils  of  light,  in  passing  through  glass  lenses, 
are  separated  into  different  colours,  thereby  ting- 
ing the  object,  especially  the  edges  of  it,  as  if  it 
were  viewed  through  a  prism.  To  correct  this 
inconvenience  had  been  long  a  desideratum  in 
the  art.  At  last  it  came  into  the  mind  of  a  saga- 
cious optician,  to  inquire  how  this  matter  was 
managed  in  the  eye ;  in  which  there  was  exactly 
the  same  difficulty  to  contend  with  as  in  the  tele- 
scope. His  observation  taught  him,  that,  in  the 
eye,  the  evil  was  cured  by  combining  lenses  com- 
posed of  different  substances,  i.  e.  of  Substances 
which  possessed  different  refracting  powers.  Our 
artist  borrowed  thence  his  hint ;  and  produced  a 
correction  of  the  defect,  by  imitating,  in  glasses 
made  from  different  materials,  the  effects  of  the 
different  humours  through  which  the  rays  of  light 
pass  before  they  reach  the  bottom  of  the  eye. 
Could  this  be  in  the  eye  without  purpose,  which 
suggested  to  the  optician  the  only  efiectual  means 
of  attaining  that  purpose  1 

But  farther;  there  are  other  points,  not  so  much 
perhaps  of  strict  resemblance  between  the  two,  as 
of  superiority  of  the  eye  over  the  telescope ;  yet  of 
a  superiority  which,  being  founded  in  the  laws 
that  regulate  both,  may  furnish  topics  of  fair  and 
just  comparison.  Two  things  were  wanted  to 
the  eye,  which  were  not  wanted  (at  least  in  the 
same  degree)  to  the  telescope ;  and  these  were,  the 
adaptation  of  the  organ,  first,  to  different  degrees 
of  light ;  and,  secondly,  to  the  vast  diversity  of  dis- 
tance at  which  objects  are  viewed  by  the  naked 
eye,  vi:.  from  a  few  inches  to  as  many  miles. 
These  difficulties  present  not  themselves  to  the 
maker  of  the  telescope.  He  wants  all  the  light  he 
can  get;  and  he  never  directs  his  instrument  to 


39i 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


objects  near  at  hand.  In  the  eye,  both  these 
cases  were  to  be  provided  for  ;  and  for  the  purpose 
of  providing  for  them,  a  subtile  and  appropriate 
nieclianisin  is  introduced : 

I.  In  order  to  exclude  excess  of  light,  when  it  is 
excessive,  and  to  render  objects  visible  under  ob- 
scurer degrees  of  it,  when  no  more  can  be  had, 
the  hole  or  aperture  in  the  eye,  through  which  the 
light  enters,  is  so  formed,  as  to  contract  or  dilate 
itself  lor  the  purpose  of  admitting  a  greater  or  less 
number  of  rays  at  the  same  tune.  The  chamber 
of  the  eye  is  a  camera  obscura,  which,  when  the 
light  is  too  small,  can  enlarge  its  opening ;  when 
too  strong,  can  again  contract  it ;  and  that  without 
any  other  assistance  than  that  of  its  own  exqui- 
site machinery.  It  is  farther  also,  in  the  human 
subject,  to  be  observed,  that  this  hole  in  the  eye 
which  we  call  the  pupil,  under  all  its  diiferent  di- 
mensions, retains  its  exact  circular  shape.  This 
is  a  structure  extremely  artificial.  Let  an  artist 
only  try  to  execute  the  same :  he  will  find  that  his 
threads  and  strings  must  be  disposed  with  great 
consideration  and  contrivance,  to  make  a  circle, 
which  shall  continually  change  its  diameter,  yet 
preserve  its  form.  This  is  done  in  the  eye  by  an 
application  of  fibres,  i.  e.  of  strings,  similar,  in 
their  position  and  action,  to  what  an  artist  would 
and  must  employ,  if  he  had  the  same  piece  of 
workmanship  to  perform. 

II.  The  second  ditiiculty  which  has  been  stated, 
was  the  suiting  of  the  same  organ  to  the  percep- 
tion of  objects  that  he  near  at  hand,  within  a  few 
inches,  we  will  suppose,  of  the  eye,  and  of  objects 
which  are  placed  at  a  considerable  distance  Irom 
it,  that,  for  example,  of  as  many  furlongs  (I  speak 
in  both  cases  of  the  distance  at  which  distinct 
vision  can  be  exercised.)  Now  this,  according  to 
the  principles  of  optics,  that  is,  according  to  the 
laws  by  which  the  transmission  of  light  is  regu- 
lated (and  these  laws  are  fixed,)  could  not  be  done 
without  the  organ  itself  undergoing  an  alteration, 
and  receiving  an  adj  ustment,  that  might  correspond 
with  the  exigency  of  the  case,  that  is  to  say,  with 
the  difierent  inclination  to  one  another  under 
which  the  rays  of  light  reached  it.  Rays  i-ssuing 
from  points  placed  at  a  small  distance  from  the 
eye,  and  which  consequently  must  enter  the  eye 
in  a  spreading  or  diverging  order,  cannot,  by  the 
optical  instrument  in  the  same  state,  be  brought 
to  a  point,  i.  e.  be  made  to  form  an  image,  in  the 
same  place  with  rays  proceeding  from  objects  situ- 
ated at  a  much  greater  distance,  and  which  rays 
arrive  at  the  eye  in  directions  nearly  (and  physi- 
cally speaking)  parallel.  It  requires  a  rounder 
lens  to  do  it.  The  point  of  concourse  behind  the 
lens  must  fall  critically  upon  the  retina,  or  the  vi- 
sion is  confused;  yet,  other  things  remaining  the 
same,  this  point,  by  the  immutable  properties  of 
light,  is  carried  farther  back  when  the  rays  proceed 
from  a  near  object,  than  when  they  are  sent  from 
one  that  is  remote.  A  person  who  was  using  an 
optical  instrument,  would  manage  this  matter  by 
changing,  as  the  occasion  required,  his  lens  or  his 
telescope;  or  by  adjusting  the  distance  of  his 
glasses  with  his  hand  or  his  screw :  but  how  is  it 
to  be  managed  in  the  eye  1  What  the  alteration 
was,  or  in  what  part  of  the  eye  it  took  place,  or  by 
what  means  it  was  efiected  (for  if  the  known  laws 
which  govern  the  refraction  of  light  be  maintained, 
some  alteration  in  the  state  of  the  organ  there  must 
be,)  had  long  formed  a  subject  of  inquiry  and  con- 
jecture.    The  change,  though  sufficient  for  the 


'  purpose,  is  so  minute  as  to  elude  ordinary  observa- 
tion. Some  very  late  discoveries,  deduced  from  a 
laborious  and  most  accurate  inspection  of  the 
structure  and  operation  of  the  organ,  seem  at  length 
to  have  ascertained  the  mechanical  alteration 
which  the  parts  of  the  eye  undergo.  It  is  found, 
that  by  the  action  of  certain  muscles,  called  the 
straight  muscles,  and  which  action  is  the  most  ad- 
vantageous that  could  be  imagined  for  the  purpose, 
— it  is  found,  I  say,  that  whenever  the  eye  is  di- 
rected to  a  near  object,  three  changes  are  produced 
in  it  at  the  same  time,  all  severally  contributing 
to  the  adjustment  required.  The  cornea,  or  outer- 
most coat  of  the  eye,  is  rendered  more  round  and 
prominent;  the  crystalline  lens  underneath  is 
pushed  forward ;  and  the  axis  of  vision,  as  the 
depth  of  the  eye  is  called,  is  elongated.  These 
changes  in  the  eye  vary  its  power  oxer  the  rays  of 
light  in  such  a  manner  and  degree  as  to  produce 
exactly  the  elTect  which  is  wanted,  viz.  the  forma- 
tion of  an  image  upon  the  retina,  whether  the 
rays  come  to  the  eye  in  a  state  of  divergency, 
which  is  the  case  when  the  object  is  near  to  the 
eye,  or  come  parallel  to  one  another,  which  is  the 
case  when  the  object  is  placed  at  a  distance.  Can 
any  thing  be  more  decisive  of  contrivance  than 
this  is  ]  The  most  secret  laws  of  optics  nmst  have 
been  known  to  the  author  of  a  structure  endowed 
with  such  a  capacity  of  change.  It  is  as  though 
an  optician,  when  he  had  a  nearer  oliject  to  view, 
should  rectify  his  instrument  by  putting  in  another 
glass,  at  the  same  time  drawing  out  also  his  tube 
to  a  dilTerent  length. 

Observe  a  new-born  child  first  lifting  uj;  its  eye- 
lids. What  docs  the  opening  of  the  curtain  dis- 
cover 1  The  anterior  part  of  two  pellucid  globes, 
which,  when  they  come  to  be  examined,  are  found 
to  be  constructed  upon  strict  optical  principles; 
the  self-same  principles  upon  which  we  ourselves 
construct  optical  instruments.  We  find  them  per- 
fect for  the  purpose  of  forming  an  image  by  retrac- 
tion ;  composed  of  parts  executing  different  ofiices  : 
one  part  having  fulfilled  its  office  upon  the  pencil 
of  light,  delivering  it  over  to  the  action  of  another 
part ;  that  to  a  third,  and  so  onward  ;  the  progress- 
ive action  depending  for  its  success  upon  the  nicest 
and  minutest  adjustment  of  the  parts  concerned  ; 
yet  these  parts  so  in  fact  adjusted,  as  to  produce, 
not  by  a  simple  action  or  efiect,  but  by  a  combina- 
tion of  actions  and  effects,  the  result  which  is  ul- 
timately wanted.  And  forasmuch  as  this  organ 
would  have  to  operate  under  different  circum- 
stances, with  strong  degrees  of  light,  and  with 
weak  degrees,  upon  near  objects,  and  upon  remote 
ones;  and  these  differences  demanded,  according 
to  the  laws  by  which  the  transmission  of  light  is 
regulated,  a  corresponding  diversity  of  structure ; 
that  the  aperture,  for  example,  through  which  the 
light  passes,  should  be  larger  or  less ;  the  lenses 
rounder  or  flatter,  or  that  their  distance  from  tlie 
tablet,  upon  which  the  picture  is  delineated,  should 
be  shortened  or  lengthened :  this,  I  say,  being  the 
ca.se,  and  the  difiiculty  to  which  the  eye  was  to 
be  adapted,  we  find  its  several  parts  capable  of 
being  occasionally  changed,  and  a  most  artificial 
apparatus  provided  to  produce  that  change.  This 
is  far  beyond  the  connnon  regulator  of  a  watch, 
which  requires  the  touch  of  a  foreign  hand  to  set 
it;  but  it  is  not  altogether  unlike  Harrison's  con- 
trivance for  making  a  watch  regulate  itself,  by  in- 
serting within  it  a  machinery,  which,  by  the  artful 
use  of  the  difierent  expansion  of  metals,  preserves 


J 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


393 


the  equability  of  the  motion  under  all  the  various 
temperatures  of  heat  and  cold  in  which  the  instru- 
ment may  happen  to  be  placed.  The  ingenuity 
of  this  last  contrivance  has  been  justly  praised. 
Shall,  therefore,  a  structure  which  differs  from  it, 
chiefly  by  surpassing  it,  be  accounted  no  contriv- 
ance at  all  ]  or,  if  it  be  a  contrivance,  that  it  is 
without  a  contriver ! 

But  this,  though  much,  is  not  the  whole :  by 
different  species  of  animals  the  faculty  we  are  de- 
Bcribing  is  possessed,  in  degrees  suited  to  the  dif- 
ferent range  of  vision  which  their  mode  of  life,  and 
of  procuring  their  food,  requires.  Birds,  for  in- 
stance, in  general,  procure  their  food  by  means  of 
their  beak;  and,  the  distance  between  the  eye  and 
the  point  of  tiie  beak  being  small,  it  becomes  ne- 
cessary that  they  should  have  the  power  of  seeing 
very  near  objects  distinctly.  On  the  other  hand, 
from  being  often  elevated  much  above  the  ground, 
hving  in  air,  and  moving  through  it  with  great 
velocity,  they  require,  for  their  safety,  as  well  as 
for  assisting  them  in  descrying  their  prey,  a  power 
of  seeing  at  a  great  distance ;  a  power  of  which,  in 
birds  of  rapine,  surprising  examples  are  given. 
The  fact  accordingly  is,  that  two  peculiarities  are 
found  in  the  eyes  of  birds,  both  tending  io  facili- 
tate the  change  upon  which  the  adjustment  of  the 
eye  to  diflerent  di-stances  depends.  The  one  is  a 
bony,  yet,  in  most  species,  a  flexible  rim  or  hoop, 
surrounding  the  broadest  part  of  the  eye  ;  which, 
conJining  the  action  of  the  muscles  to  that  part, 
increases  the  effect  of  their  lateral  pressure  upon 
the  orb,  by  which  pressure  its  axis  is  elongated 
for  the  purpose  of  looking  at  very  near  objects. 
The  other  is  an  additional  muscle,  called  the  mar- 
supmm,  to  draw,  on  occasion,  the  crystalhne  lens 
back,  and  to  fit  the  same  eye  for  the  viewing  of 
very  distant  objects.  By  these  means,  the  eyes  of 
birds  can  pass  from  one  extreme  to  another  of  their 
scale  of  adjustment,  with  more  ease  and  readiness 
than  the  eyes  o)  other  animals. 

The  eyes  ofjishes  also,  compared  with  those  of 
terrestrial  animals,  exhibit  certain  distinctions  of 
structure,  adapted  to  their  state  and  element.  We 
have  already  observed  upon  the  figure  of  the 
crystalline  compensating  by  its  roundness  the 
density  of  the  medium  through  which  their  light 
passes.  To  which  we  have  to  add,  that  the  eyes 
offish,  in  their  natural  and  indolent  state,  appear 
to  be  adjusted  to  near  objects,  in  this  respect  dif- 
fering from  the  human  eye,  as  well  as  those  of 
quadrupeds  and  birds.  The  ordinary  shape  of 
the  fish's  eye  being  in  a  much  higher  degree  con- 
vex than  that  of  land  animals,  a  corresponding 
difference  attends  its  muscular  conformation,  riz. 
that  it  is  throughout  calculated  ioT  Jiattening  the 
eye. 

The  iris  also  in  the  eyes  offish  does  not  admit 
of  contraction.  This  is  a  great  difference,  of 
which  the  probable  reason  is,  that  the  diminished 
light  in  water  is  never  too  strong  for  the  retina. 

In  the  eel,  which  has  to  work  its  head  through 
sand  and  gravel,  the  roughest  and  harshest  sub- 
stances, there  is  placed  before  the  eye,  and  at 
some  distance  from  it,  a  transparent,  horny,  con- 
vex case  or  covering,  which,  without  obstructing 
the  sight,  defends  the  organ.  To  such  an  ani- 
mal, could  any  thing  be  more  wanted,  or  more 
useful ? 

Thus,  in  comparing  the  eyes  of  different  kinds 
of  animals,  we   see,  in  their  resemblances  and 
distinctions,  one  general  plan  laid  down,  and  that 
3D 


plan  varied  with  the  var}ing  exigencies  to  wliich 
it  is  to  be  applied. 

There  is  one  property,  however,  common,  1 
believe,  to  all  ej'cs,  at  least  to  all  which  have  been 
examined,*  namely,  that  the  optic  nerve  enters 
the  bottom  of  the  eye,  not  in  the  centre  or  middle, 
but  a  little  on  one  side ;  not  in  the  point  where 
the  axis  of  the  eye  meets  the  retina,  but  between 
that  point  and  the  nose.  The  difference  which 
this  makes  is,  tliat  no  part  of  an  object  is  unper- 
ceived  by  both  ej'es  at  the  same  time. 

In  considering  vision  as  achieved  by  the  means 
of  an  image  formed  at  the  bottom  of  the  eye,  we 
can  never  reflect  without  wonder  upon  the  small- 
ness,  yet  correctness  of  the  picture,  the  subtilty 
of  the  touch,  the  fineness  of  the  lines.  A  land- 
scape of  five  or  six  square  leagues  is  brought  into 
a  space  of  half  an  inch  diameter ;  yet  the  multi- 
tude of  objects  which  it  contains,  are  all  preserved ; 
are  all  discriminated  in  their  magnitudes,  positions, 
figures,  colours.  The  prospect  from  Hampstead- 
hiJl  is  compressed  into  the  compass  of  a  sixpence, 
yet  circumstantially  represented.  A  stage  coach, 
travelling  at  its  ordinary  speed  for  half  an  hour, 
passes,  in  the  eye,  only  over  one  twelfth  of  an 
inch,  yet  is  this  change  of  place  in  the  ijnage  dis- 
tinctly perceived  throughout  its  whole  progress ; 
for  it  is  only  by  means  of  that  perception  that  the 
motion  of  the  coach  itself  is  made  sensible  to  the 
eye.  If  any  thing  can  abate  our  admiration  of 
the  smallness  of  this  visual  tablet  compared  with 
the  extent  of  vision,  it  is  a  reflection  which  the 
view  of  nature  leads  us,  every  hour  to  make,  viz. 
that,  in  the  hands  of  the  Creator,  great  and  little 
are  nothing. 

Sturmius  held,  that  the  examination  of  the  eye 
was  a  cure  for  atheism.  Besides  that  conformity 
to  optical  principles  which  its  internal  constitution 
displays,  and  which  alone  amounts  to  a  manifest- 
ation of  intelligence  having  been  exerted  in  the 
structure  ;  besides  this,  which  forms,  no  doubt, 
the  leading  character  of  the  organ,  there  is  to  be 
seen,  in  every  thing  belonging  to  it  and  about  it, 
an  extraordinary  degree  of  care,  an  anxiety  for  its 
preservation,  due,  if  we  may  so  speak,  to  its  value 
and  its  tenderness.  It  is  lodged  in  a  strong,  deep, 
bony  socket,  composed  by  the  junction  of  seven 
different  bones,t  hollowed  at  their  edges.  In  some 
few  species,  as  that  of  the  coatimondi,t  the  orbit 
is  not  bony  throughout ;  but  whenever  this  is  the 
case,  the  upper,  which  is  the  deficient  part,  is  sup- 
plied by  a  cartilaginous  ligament ;  a  substitution 
which  shows  the  same  care.  Within  this  socket 
it  is  imbedded  in  fat,  of  all  animal  substances  the 
best  adapted  both  to  its  repose  and  motion.  It  is 
sheltered  by  the  eye-brows ;  an  arch  of  hair, 
which,  hke  a  thatched  penthouse,  prevents  the 
sweat  and  moisture  of  the  forehead  from  running 
down  into  it. 

But  it  is  still  better  protected  by  its  lid.  Of 
the  superficial  parts  of  the  animal  frame,  I  know 
none  which,  in  its  office  and  structure,  is  more 
deserving  of  attention  than  the  eyelid.  It  defends 
the  eye ;  it  wipes  it;  it  closes  it  in  sleep.  Are 
there,  in  any  work  of  art  whatever,  purposes  more 
evident  than  those  which  this  organ  fulfils  1  or  an 
apparatus  for  executing  those  purjxjses  more  in- 
telligible, more  appropriate,  or  more  mechanical  1 


*The  eye  of  the  seal  or  sea-calf,  [  understand,  is  an 
e.xception ;  Mem.  Acad.  Paris,  1701,  p.  123. 

f  Heister,  sect.  89.  I  Mem.  R.  Ac.  Paris,  p.  117 


394 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


If  it  be  overlooked  by  Oie  observer  of  nature,  it 
can  only  be  because  it  is  obvious  and  familiar. 
This  is  a  tendency  to  be  guarded  against.  We 
pass  by  trie  plainest  instances,  whilst  w^e  are  ex- 
ploring those  which  are  rare  and  curious:  by 
which  conduct  of  the  understanding  we  sometimes 
neglect  the  strongest  observations,  being  taken  up 
with  others,  which,  though  more  recondite  and 
scientific,  are,  as  solid  arguments,  entitled  to  much 
less  consideration. 

In  order  to  keep  the  eye  moist  and  clean,  (which 
qualities  are  necessary  to  its  brightness  and  its 
use,)  a  wash  is  constantly  supplied  by  a  secretion 
for  the  purpose ;  and  the  superfluous  brine  is  con- 
veyed to  the  nose  through  a  perforation  in  the 
bone  as  large  as  a  goose-quill.  When  once  the 
fluid  has  entered  the  nose,  it  spreads  itself  upon 
the  inside  of  the  nostril,  and  is  evaporated  by  the 
current  of  warm  air,  which  in  the  course  of  respi- 
ration is  continually  passing  over  it.  Can  any 
pipe  or  outlet,  for  carrying  off  the  waste  liquor 
from  a  dye-house  or  a  distillery,  be  more  mecha- 
nical than  this  isl  It  is  easily  perceived,  that  the 
eye  must  want  moisture :  but  could  the  want  of 
the  eye  generate  the  gland  which  produces  the 
tear,  or  bore  the  hole  by  which  it  is  discharged, — 
a  hole  through  a  bone  1 

It  is  observable  that  this  provision  is  not  found 
in  fish, — the  element  in  which  they  live  supplying 
a  constant  lotion  to  the  eye. 

It  were,  however,  injustice  to  dismiss  the  eye  as 
a  piece  of  mechanism,  without  noticing  that  most 
exquisite  of  all  contrivances,  the  nictitating  mem- 
brane, which  is  found  in  the  eyes  of  birds  and  of 
many  quadrupeds.  Its  use  is  to  sweep  the  eye, 
which  it  does  in  an  instant,  to  spread  over  it  the 
lachrymal  humour ;  to  defend  it  also  from  sudden 
injuries;  yet  not  totally,  when  drawn  upon  the 
pupil,  to  shut  out  the  hght.  The  commodious- 
ness  with  which  it  lies  folded  up  in  the  upper 
corner  of  the  eye,  ready  for  use  and  action,  and 
the  quickness  with  which  it  executes  its  purpose, 
are  properties  known  and  obvious  to  every  ob- 
server :  but  what  is  equally  admirable,  though  not 
quite  so  obvious,  is  the  combination  of  two  kinds 
of  substance,  muscular  and  elastic,  and  of  two  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  action,  by  which  the  motion  of 
this  membrane  is  performed.  It  is  not,  as  in 
ordinary  cases,  by  the  action  of  two  antagonist 
muscles,  one  pulling  forward  and  the  other  back- 
ward, that  a  reciprocal  change  is  effected  ;  but  it 
is  thus :  The  membrane  itself  is  an  elastic  sub- 
stance, capable  of  being  drawn  out  by  force  like 
a  piece  of  elastic  gum,  and  by  its  own  elasticity 
returning,  when  the  force  is  removed,  to  its  former 
position.  Such  being  its  nature,  in  order  to  fit  it 
up  for  its  oflice,  it  is  connected  by  a  tendon  or 
thread  with  a  muscle  in  the  back  part  of  the  eye : 
this  tendon  or  thread,  though  strong,  is  so  fine  as 
not  to  obstruct  the  sight,  even  when  it  passes 
across  it ;  and  the  muscle  itself,  being  placed  in 
the  back  part  of  the  eye,  derives  from  its  situation 
the  advantage,  not  only  of  being  secure,  but  of 
being  out  of  the  way ;  which  it  would  hardly  have 
been  in  any  position  that  could  be  assigned  to  it 
in  the  anterior  part  of  the  orb,  where  its  function 
lies.  When  the  muscle  behind  the  eye  contracts, 
the  membrane,  by  means  of  the  communicating 
thread,  is  instantly  drawn  over  the  fore-part  of  it. 
When  the  muscular  contraction  (which  is  a  posi- 
tive, and,  most  probably,  a  voluntary  effort)  ceases 
to  be  exerted,  the  elasticity  alone  of  the  membrane 


brings  it  back  again  to  its  position.*  Does  not 
this,  if  any  thing  can  do  it,  bespeak  an  artist, 
master  of  his  work,  acquainted  with  his  materials  1 
"  Of  a  thousand  other  things,"  say  the  French 
academicians,  "we  perceive  not  the  contrivance, 
because  we  understand  them  only  by  the  effects, 
of  which  we  know  not  the  causes :  but  we  here 
treat  of  a  machine,  all  the  parts  whereof  are  visi- 
ble :  and  which  need  only  be  looked  upon,  to  dis- 
cover the  reasons  of  its  motion  and  action. "+ 

In  the  configuration  of  the  muscle  which, 
though  placed  behind  the  eye,  draws  the  nictitat- 
ing membrane  over  the  eye,  there  is,  what  the 
authors,  just  now  quoted,  deservedly  call  a  mar- 
vellous mechanism.  I  suppose  this  structure  to 
be  found  in  other  animals ;  but,  in  the  memoirs 
from  which  this  account  is  taken,  it  is  anatomi- 
cally demonstrated  only  in  the  cassowary.  The 
muscle  is  passed  through  a  loop  formed  by  an- 
other Tnuscle ;  and  is  there  inflected,  as  if  it  were 
round  a  pulley.  This  is  a  peculiarity ;  and  ob- 
serve the  advantage  of  it.  A  single  muscle  with  a 
straight  tendon,  which  is  the  common  muscular 
form,  would  have  been  sufficient,  if  it  had  had  power 
to  draw  far  enough.  But  the  contraction,  neces- 
sary to  draw  the  membrane  over  the  whole  eye, 
required  a  longer  muscle  than  could  lie  straight 
at  the  bottom  of  the  eye.  Therefore,  in  order  to 
have  a  greater  length  in  a  less  compass,  the  cord 
of  the  main  muscle  makes  an  angle.  This,  so  far, 
answers  the  end ;  but,  still  farther,  it  makes  an 
angle,  not  round  a  fixed  pivot,  but  round  a  loop 
formed  by  another  muscle  ;  which  second  muscle, 
whenever  it  contracts,  of  course  twitches  the  first 
muscle  at  the  point  of  inflection,  and  thereby  as- 
sists the  action  designed  by  both. 


One  question  may  possibly  have  dwelt  in  the 
reader's  mind  during  the  perusal  of  these  observa- 
tions, namely,  Why  should  not  the  Deity  have 
given  to  the  animal  the  faculty  of  vision  at  once  ? 
Why  this  circuitous  perception  ;  the  ministry  of 
so  many  means ;  an  element  provided  for  the  pur- 
pose ;  reflected  from  opaque  substances,  refracted 
through  transparent  ones ;  and  both  according  to 
precise  laws;  then  a  com|)lex  organ,  an  intricate 
and  artificial  apparatus,  in  order,  by  the  operation 
of  this  element,  and  in  conformity  with  the  re- 
strictions of  these  laws,  to  produce  an  image  upon 
a  membrane  communicating  with  the  brain  1 
Wherefore  all  this  1  Why  make  the  difficulty  in 
order  to  surmount  if?  If  to  perceive  objects  hy 
some  other  mode  than  that  of  touch,  or  objects 
which  lay  out  of  the  reach  of  that  sense,  were  the 
thing  proposed;  could  not  a  simple  vohtion  of  the 
Creator  have  communicated  the  capacity "?  Why 
resort  to  contrivance,  where  power  is  omnipotent"? 
Contrivance,  by  its  very  definition  and  nature,  is 
the  refuge  of  imperfection.  To  have  recourse  to 
expedients,  implies  difficulty,  impediments,  re- 
straint, defect  of  power.  This  question  belongs 
to  the  other  senses,  as  well  as  to  sight;  to  the 
general  functions  of^  animal  life,  as  nutrition,  se- 
cretion, respiration ;  to  the  economy  of  vegetables ; 
and  indeed  to  almost  all  the  operations  of  nature. 
The  question,  therefore,  is  of  very  wide  extent; 


*  Phil.  Trans.  1796. 

t  Memoirs  for  a  Natural  History  of  Animals,  by  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Sciences  at  Paris,  done  i  nto  English 
by  order  of  the  Royal  Society,  1701.  page  249. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


395 


and  amongst  other  answers  which  may  be  given 
to  it,  besides  reasons  of  which  probably  we  are 
ignorant,  one  answer  is  tliis :  It  is  only  by  the 
display  of  contrivance,  that  the  existence,  the 
agency,  the  wisdom,  of  the  Deity,  could  be  testi- 
fied to  his  rational  creatures.  This  is  the  scale  by 
which  we  ascend  to  all  the  knowledge  of  our 
Creator  which  we  possess,  so  far  as  it  depends 
upon  the  phenomena,  or  the  works  of  nature. 
Take  away  this,  and  you  take  away  from  us 
every  subject  of  observation,  and  ground  of  rea- 
soning ;  I  mean  as  our  rational  faculties  are  form- 
ed at  present.  Whatever  is  done,  God  could  have 
done  without  the  intervention  of  instruments  or 
means ;  but  it  is  in  the  construction  of  instruments, 
in  the  choice  and  adaptation  of  means,  that  a  crea- 
tive intelligence  is  seen.  It  is  this  which  constitutes 
the  order  and  beauty  of  the  universe.  God,  there- 
fore, has  been  pleased  to  prescribe  limits  to  his 
own  power,  and  to  work  his  ends  within  those 
limits.  The  general  laws  of  matter  have  perhaps 
the  nature  of  these  limits ;  its  inertia,  its  re-action ; 
the  laws  which  govern  the  communication  of  mo- 
tion, the  refraction  and  reflection  of  light,  the  con- 
stitution of  fluids  non-elastic  and  elastic,  the  trans- 
mission of  sound  through  the  latter;  the  laws  of 
magnetism,  of  electricity;  and  probably  others, 
yet  undiscovered.  These  are  general  laws ;  and 
when  a  particular  purpose  is  to  be  eflfected,  it  is 
not  by  making  a  new  law,  nor  by  the  suspension 
of  the  old  ones,  nor  by  making  them  wind,  and 
bend,  and  yield  to  the  occasion  (for  nature  with 
great  steadiness  adheres  to  and  supports  them  ;) 
but  it  is,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  eye,  by  the  inter- 
position of  an  apparatus,  corresponding  with  these 
laws,  and  suited  to  the  exigency  which  results 
from  them,  that  the  purpose  is  at  length  attained. 
As  we  have  said,  therefore,  God  prescribes  limits 
to  his  power  that  he  may  let  in  the  exercise,  and 
thereby  exhibit  demonstrations  of  his  wisdom. 
For  then,  i.  e.  such  laws  and  Hmitations  being 
laid  down,  it  is  as  though  one  Being  should  have 
fixed  certain  rules;  and,  if  we  may  so  speak,  pro- 
vided certain  materials ;  and,  afterward,  have  com- 
mitted to  another  Being,  out  of  these  materials, 
and  in  subordination  to  these  rules,  the  task  of 
drawing  forth  a  creation  :  a  supposition  which  evi- 
dently leaves  room,  and  induces  indeed  a  necessity, 
for  contrivance.  Nay,  there  may  be  many  such 
agents,  and  many  ranks  of  these.  We  do  not 
advance  this  as  a  doctrine  either  of  philosophy  or 
of  rehgion ;  but  we  say  that  the  subject  may  safely 
be  represented  under  this  view,  because  the  Deity, 
acting  himself  by  general  laws,  will  have  the  same 
consequences  upon  our  reasoning,  as  if  he  had 
prescribed  these  laws  to  another.  It  has  been 
said,  that  the  problem  of  creation  was,  "  attraction 
and  matter  being  given,  to  make  a  world  out  of 
them;"  and,  as  above  explained,  this  statement 
perhaps  does  not  convey  a  false  idea. 


We  have  made  choice  of  the  eye  as  an  instance 
upon  which  to  rest  the  argument  of  this  chapter. 
Some  single  example  was  to  be  proposed ;  and  the 
eye  offered  itself  under  the  advantage  of  admitting 
of  a  strict  comparison  with  optical  instruments^ 
The  ear,  it  is  probable,  is  no  less  artificially  and 
mechanically  adapted  to  its  office,  than  the  eye. 
But  we  know  less  about  it :  we  do  not  so  well  un- 
derstand the  action,  the  use,  or  the  mutual  de- 
pendency, of  its  internal  parts.     Its  general  form 


however,  both  external  and  internal,  is  sufficient 
to  show  that  it  is  an  instrument  adapted  to  the  re- 
ception of  sound  ;  that  is  to  say,  already  knowing 
that  sound  consists  in  pulses  of  the  air,  we  per- 
ceive, in  the  structure  of  the  ear,  a  suitableness  to 
receive  impressions  from  this  species  of  action, 
and  to  propagate  these  impressions  to  the  brain. 
For  of  what  does  this  structure  consist  1  An  ex- 
ternal ear  (the  concha,)  calculated,  like  an  ear- 
trumpet,  to  catch  and  collect  the  pulses  of  which 
we  have  spoken ;  in  large  quadrupeds,  turning  to 
the  sound,  and  possessing  a  configuration,  as  well 
as  motion,  evidently  fitted  for  the  office :  of  a  tube 
which  leads  into  the  head,  lying  at  the  root  of  this 
outward  ear,  the  folds  and  sinuses  thereof  tending 
and  conducting  the  air  towards  it :  of  a  thin  mem- 
brane, like  the  pelt  of  a  drum,  stretched  across 
this  passage  upon  a  bony  rim :  of  a  chain  of  move- 
able, and  infinitely  curious,  bones,  forming  a  com- 
munication, and  the  only  communication  that  can 
be  observed,  between  the  membrane  last  mention- 
ed and  the  interior  channels  and  recesses  of  the 
skull :  of  cavities,  similar  in  shape  and  form  to 
wind  instruments  of  music,  being  spiral  or  portions 
of  circles :  of  the  eustachian  tube,  like  the  hole  in 
a  drum,  to  let  the  air  pass  freely  into  and  out  of 
the  barrel  of  the  ear,  as  the  covering  membrane 
vibrates,  or  as  the  temperature  may  be  altered :  the 
whole  labyrinth  hewn  out  of  a  rock;  that  is 
wrought  into  the  substance  of  the  hardest  bone  of 
the  body.  This  assemblage  of  connected  parts 
constitutes  together  an  apparatus,  plainly  enough 
relative  to  the  transmission  of  sound,  or  of  the  im- 
pulses received  from  sound,  and  only  to  be  lament- 
ed in  not  being  better  understood. 

The  communication  within,  formed  by  the 
small  bones  of  the  ear,  is,  to  look  upon,  more  like 
what  we  are  accustomed  to  call  machinery,  than 
any  thing  I  am  acquainted  with  in  animal  bodies. 
It  seems  evidently  designed  to  continue  towards 
the  sensorium  the  tremulous  motions  which  are 
excited  in  the  membrane  of  the  tympanum,  or 
what  is  better  known  by  the  name  of  the  "  drum 
of  the  ear."  The  compages  of  bones  consists  of 
four,  which  are  so  disposed,  and  so  hinge  upon  one 
another,  as  that  if  the  membrane,  the  drum  of  the 
ear,  vibrate,  all  the  four  are  put  in  motion  together ; 
and,  by  the  result  of  their  action,  work  the  base 
of  that  which  is  the  last  in  the  series,  upon  an  aper- 
ture which  it  closes,  and  upon  which  it  plays,  and 
which  aperture  opens  into  the  tortuous  canals  that 
lead  to  the  brain.  This  last  bone  of  the  four  is 
called  the  stapes.  The  office  of  the  drum  of  the 
ear  is  to  spread  out  an  extended  surface,  capable 
of  receiving  the  impressions  of  sound,  and  of  being 
put  by  them  into  a  state  of  vibration.  The  office 
of  the  stapes  is  to  repeat  these  vibrations.  It  is  a 
repeating  frigate,  stationed  more  within  the  line. 
From  which  account  of  its  action  may  be  under- 
stood, how  the  sensation  of  sound  will  be  excited 
by  any  thing  which  communicates  a  vibratory 
motion  to  the  stapes,  though  not,  as  in  all  ordinary 
cases,  through  the  intervention  of  the  membrana 
tympani.  This  is  done  by  sohd  bodies  applied  to 
the  bones  of  the  skull,  as  by  a  metal  bar  holden  at 
one  end  between  the  teeth,  and  touching  at  the 
other  end  a  tremulous  body.  It  likewise  appears 
to  be  done,  in  a  considerable  degree,  by  the  air 
itself,  even  when  this  membrane,  the  drum  of  the 
ear,  is  greatly  damaged.  Either  in  the  natural  or 
preternatural  state  of  the  organ,  the  use  of  the 
chain  of  bones  is  to  propagate  the  impulse  in  a 


396 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


direction  towards  the  brain,  and  to  propagate  it 
with  the  advantage  of  a  lever ;  which  advantage 
consists  in  increasing  the  force  and  strength  of 
the  vibration,  and  at  the  same  time  diminishing 
the  space  through  which  it  oscillates;  both  of 
whi-^.h  changes  may  augment  or  facilitate  the  still 
deeper  action  of  the  auditory  nerves. 

The  benefit  of  the  eustachian  tube  to  the  organ, 
may  be  made  out  upon  known  pneumatic  princi- 
ples. Behind  the  drum  of  the  ear  is  a  second  ca- 
vity, or  barrel,  called  the  tympanum.  The  eusta- 
chian tube  is  a  slender  pipe,  but  sufficient  for  the 
passage  of  air,  leading  from  this  cavity  into  the 
back  part  of  the  mouth.  Now,  it  would  not  have 
done  to  have  had  a  vacuum  in  this  cavity ;  for,  in 
that  case,  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  from 
without  would  have  burst  the  membrane  which 
covered  it.  Nor  would  it  have  done  to  have  filled 
the  cavity  with  lymph  or  any  other  secretion ; 
which  would  necessarily  have  obstructed  both  the 
vibration  of  the  membrane  and  the  play  of  the 
small  bones.  Nor,  lastly,  would  it  have  done  to 
have  occupied  the  space  with  confined  air,  be- 
cause the  expansion  of  that  air  by  heat,  or  its 
contraction  by  cold,  would  have  distended  or  re- 
laxed the  covering  membrane,  in  a  degree  incon- 
sistent with  the  purpose  which  it  was  assigned  to 
execute.  The  only  remaining  expedient,  and  that 
for  which  the  eustachian  tube  serves,  is  to  open  to 
this  cavity  a  comnmnication  with  the  external  air. 
In  one  word ;  it  exactly  answers  the  purpose  of 
the  hole  in  a  drum. 

The  membrana  tympani  itself,  likewise,  de- 
serves all  the  examination  which  can  be  made  of 
it.  It  is  not  found  in  the  ears  of  fish ;  which  fur- 
nishes an  additional  proof  of  what  indeed  is  indi- 
cated by  every  thing  about  it,  that  it  is  appropri- 
ated to  the  action  of  air,  or  of  an  elastic  medium. 
It  bears  an  obvious  resemblance  to  the  pelt  or 
head  of  a  drum,  from  which  it  takes  its  name.  It 
resembles  also  a  drum-head  in  this  principal  pro- 
perty, that  its  use  depends  upon  its  tension.  Ten- 
sion is  the  state  essential  to  it.  Now  we  know 
that,  \\\  a  drum,  the  pelt  is  carried  over  a  hoop, 
and  braced  as  occasion  requires,  by  the  means  of 
strings  attached  to  its  circumference.  In  the 
membrane  of  the  ear,  the  same  purpose  is  provided 
for,  more  simply,  but  not  less  mechanically,  nor 
less  successfully,  by  a  different  expedient,  viz.  by 
the  end  of  a  bone  (the  handle  of  the  malleus) 
pressing  upon  its  centre.  It  is  only  in  very  large 
animals  that  the  texture  of  this  membrane  can  be 
discerned.  In  the  Philosophical  Transactions  for 
the  year  1800,  (vol.  i.)  Mr.  Everard  Home  has 
given  some  curious  observations  upon  the  ear,  and 
the  drum  of  the  ear  of  an  elephant.  He  discovered 
in  it,  what  he  calls  a  radiated  muscle,  that  is, 
straight  muscular  fibres,  passing  along  the  mem- 
brane from  the  circumference  to  the  centre  ;  from 
the  bony  rim  which  surrounds  it  towards  the  han- 
dle of  the  malleus  to  which  the  central  part  is  at- 
ached.  This  muscle  he  supposes  to  be  designed 
J  bring  the  membrane  into  unison  with  diflferent 
junds:  but  then  he  also  discovered,  that  this 
muscle  itself  cannot  act  unless  the  membrane  be 
drawn  to  a  stretch,  and  kept  in  a  due  state  of 
tightness,  by  what  may  be  called  a  foreign  force, 
viz.  the  action  of  the  muscles  of  the  malleus.  Sup- 
posing his  explanation  of  the  use  of  the  parts  to 
be  just,  our  author  is  well  founded  in  the  reflec- 
tion which  he  makes  upon  it,  "  that  this  mode 
ui  adapting  the  ear  to  different  sounds,  is  one  of 


the  most  beautiful  applications  of  muscles  in  the 
body:  the  mechanism  is  so  simple,  and  the  varie- 
ty of  cjfeds  so  great.'" 

In  another  volume  of  the  Transactions  above 
referred  to,  and  of  the  same  year,  two  most  curious 
cases  are  related,  of  persons  who  retained  the 
sense  of  hearing,  not  in  a  perfect,  but  in  a  very 
considerable  degree,  notwithstanding  the  almost 
total  loss  of  the  membrane  we  have  been  describing. 
In  one  of  these  cases,  the  use  here  assigned  to 
that  membrane,  of  modifying  the  impressions  of 
sound  by  change  of  tension,  was  attempted  to  be 
supplied  by  straining  the  muscles  of  the  outward 
ear.  "  The  external  ear,"  we  are  told,  "  had  ac- 
quired a  distinct  motion  upward  and  backward, 
which  was  observable  whenever  the  patient  lis- 
tened to  any  thing  which  he  did  not  distinctly 
hear;  when  he  was  addressed  in  a  whisper,  the 
ear  was  seen  immediately  to  move ;  when  the  tone 
of  voice  was  louder,  it  then  remained  altogether 
motionless." 

It  appears  probable,  from  both  these  cases,  that 
a  collateral,  if  not  principal,  use  of  the  membrane, 
is  to  cover  and  protect  the  barrel  of  the  ear  which 
lies  behind  it.  Both  the  patients  suflered  from  cold  : 
one,  "  a  great  increase  of  deafness  from  catching 
cold;"  the  other,  "very  considerable  pain  from 
exposure  to  a  stream  of  cold  air."  Bad  eflects 
therefore  followed  from  this  cavity  being  left  open 
to  the  external  air ;  yet,  had  the  Author  of  nature 
shut  it  up  by  any  other  cover,  than  what  was  ca- 
pable, by  its  texture,  of  receiving  vibrations  from 
sound,  and,  by  its  connexion  with  the  interior 
parts,  of  transmitting  those  vibrations  to  the  brain, 
the  use  of  the  organ,  so  Ihr  as  we  can  judge,  must 
have  been  entirelv  obstructed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Of  the  Succession  of  Plants  and  Animals. 

The  generation  of  the  animal  no  more  accounts 
for  the  contrivance  of  the  eye  or  ear,  than,  upon 
the  supposition  stated  in  a  preceding  chapter,  the 
production  of  a  watch  by  the  motion  and  mechan- 
ism of  a  former  watch,  would  account  for  the  skill 
and  intention  evidenced  in  the  watch,  so  produced  ; 
than  it  would  account  for  the  disposition  of  the 
wheels,  the  catching  of  their  teeth,  the  relation  of 
the  several  parts  of  the  works  to  one  another,  and 
to  their  common  end  ;  for  the  suitableness  of  their 
forms  and  places  to  their  offices,  for  their  con- 
nexion, their  operation,  and  the  useful  result  of 
that  operation.  I  do  insist  most  strenuously  upon 
the  correctness  of  this  comparison ;  that  it  holds 
as  to  every  mode  of  specific  propagation;  and 
that  whatever  was  true  of  the  watch,  under  the 
hypothesis  above-mentioned,  is  true  of  plants  and 
animals. 

I.  To  begin  with  the  fructification  of  plants. 
Can  it  be  doubted  but  that  the  seed  contains  a 
particular  organization  %  Whether  a  latent  plan- 
tule  with  the  means  of  temporary  nutrition,  or 
whatever  else  it  be,  it  encloses  an  organization 
suited  to  the  germination  of  a  new  plant.  Has 
the  plant  which  produced  the  seed  anj^  thing  more 
to  do  with  that  organization,  than  the  watch 
would  have  had  to  do  with  the  structure  of  the 
watch  which  was  produced  in  the  course  of  its 
mechanical  movement  1  I  mean,  has  it  any  thing 
at  all  to  do  with  the  contrivance  ?  The  maker  and 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


397 


contriver  of  one  watch,  when  he  inserted  within 
it  a  mechanism  suited  to  the  production  of  another 
watch,  was,  in  truth,  the  maker  and  contriver  of 
that  other  watch.  All  the  properties  of  the  new 
watch  were  to  be  referred  to  his  agency ;  the  de- 
sign manifested  in  it,  to  his  intention :  the  art,  to 
hi:n  as  the  artist :  the  collocation  of  each  part  to 
his  placing:  the  action,  efl'ect,  and  use,  to  his 
counsel,  intelligence,  and  workmanship.  In  pro- 
ducing it  by  the  intervention  of  a  former  watch,  he 
was  only  working  by  one  set  of  tools  instead  of 
another.  So  it  is  with  the  plant,  and  the  seed 
produced  by  it.  Can  any  distinction  be  assigned 
between  the  two  cases;  between  the  producing 
watch  and  the  producing  plant ;  both  passive,  un- 
conscious substances  ;  both,  by  the  organization 
which  was  given  to  them,  producing  their  like, 
without  understanding  or  design;  both,  that  is, 
instruments  ] 

II.  From  plants  we  may  proceed  to  oviparous 
animals  ;  from  seeds  to  eggs.  Now  I  say,  that  the 
bird  has  the  same  concern  in  the  formation  of  the 
egg  which  she  lays,  as  the  plant  has  in  that  of  the 
seed  which  it  drops ;  and  no  other,  nor  greater. 
The  internal  constitution  of  the  egg  is  as  much  a 
secret  to  the  hen,  as  if  the  hen  were  inanimate. 
Her  will  cannot  alter  it,  or  change  a  single  feather 
of  the  chick.  She  can  neither  foresee  nor  deter- 
mine of  which  sex  her  brood  shall  he,  or  how  ma- 
ny of  either ;  j-et  the  thing  produced  shall  be,  from 
the  first,  very  different  in  its  make,  according  to  the 
sex  which  it  bears.  So  far,  therefore,  from  adapt- 
ing the  means,  she  is  not  beforehand  apprised  of 
the  effect.  If  there  be  concealed  within  that  smooth 
shell  a  provision  and  a  preparation  for  the  produc- 
tion and  nourishment  of  a  new  animal,  they  are 
not  of  her  providing  or  preparing :  if  there  be 
contrivance,  it  is  none  of  hers.  Although,  there- 
fore, there  be  the  diffprence  of  life  and  perceptivity 
between  the  animal  and  the  plant,  it  is  a  differ- 
ence which  enters  not  into  the  account ;  it  is  a 
foreign  circumstance:  it  is  a  difference  of  proper- 
ties not  employed.  The  animal  function  and  the 
vegetable  function  are  alike  destitute  of  any  de- 
sign which  can  operate  upon  the  form  of  the 
thing  produced.  The  plant  has  no  design  in  pro- 
ducing the  seed;  no  comprehension  of  the  nature 
or  use  of  what  it  produces;  the  bird,  with  respect 
to  its  egg,  is  not  above  the  plant  with  respect  to  its 
seed.  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  bears  that 
sort  of  relation  to  what  proceeds  from  them,  which 
a  joiner  does  to  the  chair  which  he  makes.  Now 
a  cause,  whicli  bears  this  relation  to  the  efiJjct,  is 
what  we  want,  in  order  to  account  for  the  suita- 
bleness of  means  to  an  end,  the  fitness  and  fitting 
of  one  thing  to  another;  and  this  cause  the  parent 
plant  or  animal  does  not  supply. 

It  is  farther  observable  concerning  the  propaga- 
rion  of  plants  and  animals,  that  the  apparatus  em- 
ployed exhibits  no  resemblance  to  the  thing  pro- 
duced ;  in  this  respect  holding  an  analogy  with 
instruments  and  tools  of  art.  The  filaments,  an- 
theroj,  and  stigmata  of  flowers'  bear  no  more  re- 
semblance to  the  young  plant,  or  even  to  the  seed, 
wliich  is  formed  by  their  intervention,  than  a  chisel 
or  a  plane  does  to  a  table  or  chair.  What  then  are 
the  filaments,  antherae,  and  stigmata  of  plants,  but 
instruments  strictly  so  called  ] 

III.  We  may  advance  from  animals  which  bring 
forth  egirs,  to  animals  which  bring  forth  their 
young  alive;  and  of  this  latter  class,  from  the  low- 
est to  the  highest ;  from  irrational  to  rational  life, 


from  brutes  to  the  human  species ;  without  per- 
ceiving, as  we  proceed,  any  alteration  whatever 
in  the  terms  of  the  comparison.  The  rational 
animal  does  not  produce  its  offspring  with  more 
certainty  or  success  than  the  irrational  animal ;  a 
man  than  a  quadruped,  a  quadruped  than  a  bird ; 
nor  (for  we  may  follow  the  gradation  through  its 
whole  scale)  a  bird  than  a  plant ;  nor  a  plant  than 
a  watch,  a  piece  of  dead  mechanism,  would  do, 
upon  the  supposition  which  has  already  so  often 
been  repeated.  Rationality,  therefore,  has  nothing 
to  do  in  the  business.  If  an  account  must  be  given 
of  the  contrivance  which  we  observe ;  if  it  he  de- 
manded, whence  arose  either  the  contrivance  by 
which  the  young  animal  is  produced,  or  the  con- 
trivance manifested  in  the  young  animal  itself,  it 
is  not  from  the  reason  of  the  parent  that  any  such 
account  can  be  drawn.  He  is  the  cause  of  his  off- 
spring in  the  same  sense  as  that  in  which  a  gar- 
dener is  the  cause  of  the  tulip  which  grows  upon 
his  parterre,  and  in  no  other.  We  admire  the 
flower;  we  examine  the  plant;  we  perceive  the 
conduciveness  of  many  of  its  parts  to  their  end 
and  office;  we  observe  a  provision  for  its  nourish- 
ment, growth,  protection,  and  fecundity ;  but  we 
never  think  of  the  gardener  in  all  this.  We  at- 
tribute nothing  of  this  to  his  agency ;  yet  it  may 
still  be  true,  that  without  the  gardener,  we  should 
not  have  had  the  tulip :  just  so  it  is  with  the  suc- 
cession of  animals  even  of  the  highest  order.  For 
the  contrivance  discovered  m  the  structure  of  the 
thing  produced,  we  want  a  contriver.  The  parent 
is  not  the  contriver.  His  consciousness  decides 
that  question.  He  is  in  total  ignorance  why  that 
which  is  produced  took  its  present  form  rather 
than  any  other.  It  is  for  him  only  to  be  astonish- 
ed by  the  effect.  We  can  no  more  look,  therefore, 
to  the  intelligence  of  the  parent  animal  for  what 
we  are  in  search  of,  a  cause  of  relation,  and  of 
subserviency  of  parts  to  their  use,  which  relation 
and  subserviency  we  see  in  the  procreated  body, 
than  we  can  refer  the  internal  conformation  of  an 
acorn  to  the  intelligence  of  the  oak  from  which  it 
dropped,  or  the  structure  of  the  watch  to  the  in- 
telligence of  the  watch  which  produced  it ;  there 
being  no  diflerence,  as  far  as  argument  is  concern- 
ed, between  an  intelligence  which  is  not  exerted, 
and  an  intelligence  which  does  not  exist. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Application  of  the  Argument  continued. 

Every  observation  which  was  made  in  our  first 
chapter,  concerning  the  watch,  may  be  repeated 
with  strict  propriety  concerning  the  eye;  concern- 
ing animals;  concerning  plants;  concerning,  in- 
deed, all  the  organized  parts  of  the  works  of  na- 
ture.    As, 

I.  When  we  are  inquiring  simply  after  the 
existence  of  an  intelligent  Creator,  imperfection, 
inaccuracy,  liability  to  disorder,  occasional  irre- 
gularities, may  subsist  in  a  considerable  degree, 
without  inducing  any  doubt  into  the  question: 
just  as  a  watch  may  frequently  go  wrong,  seldom 
perhaps  exactly  right,  may  be  faulty  in  some 
parts,  defective  in  some,  without  the  smallest 
ground  of  suspicion  from  thence  arising  that  it 
was  not  a  watch ;  not  made ;  or  not  made  for  the 
purpose  ascribed  to  it.  When  faults  are  pointed 
34 


398 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


out,  and  when  a  question  is  started  concerning 
the  skill  of  the  artist,  or  dexterity  with  which  the 
work  is  executed,  then,  indeed,  in  order  to  defend 
these  qualities  from  accusation,  we  must  be  able, 
either  to  expose  some  intractableness  and  imper- 
fection in  the  materials,  or  point  out  some  invinci- 
ble difficulty  in  the  execution,  into  which  imper- 
fection and  difficulty  the  matter  of  complaint  may 
be  resolved;  or  if  we  cannot  do  this,  we  must  ad- 
duce such  specimens  of  consummate  art  and  con- 
trivance, proceeding  from  the  same  hand,  as  may 
convince  the  inquirer  of  the  existence,  in  the  case 
before  him,  of  impediments  like  those  which  we 
have  mentioned,  although,  what  from  the  nature 
of  the  case  is  very  likely  to  happen,  they  be  un- 
known and  unperceived  by  him.  This  we  must 
do  in  order  to  vindicate  the  artist's  skill,  or,  at 
least,  the  perfection  of  it:  as  we  must  also  judge 
of  his  intention,  and  of  the  provisions  employed 
in  fulfilling  that  intention,  not  from  an  instance 
in  which  they  fail,  but  from  the  great  plurality  of 
instances  in  which  they  succeed.  But,  after  all, 
these  are  different  questions  from  the  question  of 
the  artist's  existence ;  or,  which  is  the  same,  whe- 
ther the  thing  before  us  be  a  work  of  art  or  not : 
and  the  questions  ought  always  to  be  kept  sepa- 
rate in  the  mind.  So  likewise  it  is  in  the  works 
of  nature.  Irregularities  and  imperfections  are 
of  little  or  no  weight  in  the  consideration,  when 
that  consideration  relates  simply  to  the  existence 
of  a  Creator.  When  the  argument  respects  his 
attributes,  they  are  of  weight ;  but  are  then  to  be 
taken  in  conjunction  (the  attention  is  not  to  rest 
upon  them,  but  they  are  to  be  taken  in  conjunc- 
tion) with  the  unexceptionable  evidences  which 
we  possess,  of  skill,  power,  and  benevolence,  dis- 
played in  other  instances:  which  evidences  may, 
in  strength,  number,  and  variety,  be  such,  and 
may  so  overpower  apparent  blemishes,  as  to  in- 
duce us,  upon  the  most  reasonable  ground,  to  be- 
lieve, that  these  last  ought  to  be  referred  to  some 
cause,  though  we  be  ignorant  of  it,  other  than  de- 
fect of  knowledge  or  of^  benevolence  in  the  author. 
II.  There  may  be  also  parts  of  plants  and  ani- 
mals ;  as  there  were  eupposed  to  be  of  the  watch, 
of  which,  in  some  instances,  the  operation,  in 
others,  the  use,  is  unknown.  These  form  differ- 
ent cases:  for  the  operation  may  be  unknown, 
yet  the  use  be  certain.  Thus  it  is  with  the  lungs 
of  animals.  It  does  not,  I  think,  appear,  that  we 
are  acquainted  with  the  action  of  the  air  upon  the 
blood,  or  in  what  manner  that  action  is  communi- 
cated by  the  lungs ;  yet  we  find  that  a  very  short 
suspension  of  their  office  destroys  the  life  of  the 
animal.  In  this  case,  therefore,  we  may  be  said 
to  know  the  use,  nay  we  experience  the  necessity, 
of  the  organ,  though  we  be  ignorant  of  its  opera- 
tion. Nearly  the  same  thing  may  be  observed  of 
what  is  called  the  lymphatic  system.  We  suffer 
grievous  inconveniences  from  its  disorder,  without 
being  informed  of  the  office  which  it  sustains  in 
the  economy  of  our  bodies.  There  may  possibly 
also  be  some  few  examples  of  the  second  class,  in 
which  not  only  the  operation  is  unknown,  but  in 
which  experiments  may  seem  to  prove  that  the 
part  is  not  necessary ;  or  may  leave  a  doubt,  how 
far  it  is  even  useful  to  the  plant  or  animal  in  which 
it  is  found.  This  is  said  to  be  the  case  with  the 
spleen;  which  has  been  extracted  from  dogs, 
without  any  sensible  injury  to  their  vital  func- 
tions. Instances  of  the  former  kind,  namely,  in 
which  we  cannot  explain  the  operation,  may  be 


numerous :  for  they  will  be  so  in  proportion  to  oui 
ignorance.  They  will  be  more  or  fewer  to  differ- 
ent persons,  and  in  different  stages  of  science. 
Every  improvement  of  knowledge  diminishes  their 
number.  There  is  hardly,  perhaps,  a  year  passes, 
that  does  not,  in  the  works  of  nature,  bring  some 
operation,  or  some  mode  of  operation,  to  light, 
which  was  before  undiscovered, — probably  unsus- 
pected. Instances  of  the  second  kind,  namely, 
where  the  part  appears  to  be  totally  useless,  I  be- 
lieve to  be  extremely  rare ;  compared  with  the 
number  of  those,  of  which  the  use  is  evident,  they 
are  beneath  any  assignable  proportion;  and,  per- 
haps, have  never  been  submitted  to  a  trial  and 
examination  sufficiently  accurate,  long  enough 
continued,  or  often  enough  repeated.  No  accounts 
which  I  have  seen  are  satisfactory.  The  muti- 
lated animal  may  live  and  grow  fat,  (as  was  the 
case  of  the  dog  deprived  of  its  spleen,)  yet  may  be 
defective  in  some  other  of  its  functions ;  which, 
whether  they  can  all,  or  in  what  degree  of  vigour 
and  perfection,  be  performed,  or  how  long  pre- 
served, without  the  extirpated  organ,  does  not 
seem  to  be  ascertained  by  experiment.  But  to 
this  case,  even  were  it  fully  made  out,  may  be  ap- 
plied the  consideration  which  we  suggested  con- 
cerning the  watch,  viz.  that  these  superfluous 
parts  do  not  negative  the  reasoning  which  we  in- 
stituted concerning  those  parts  which  are  useful, 
and  of  which  we  know  the  use :  the  indication  of^ 
contrivance,  with  respect  to  them,  remains  as  it 
was  before. 

III.  One  atheistic  way  of  replying  to  our  ob- 
servations upon  the  works  of  nature,  and  to  the 
proofs  of  a  Deity  which  we  think  that  we  perceive 
in  them,  is  to  tell  us,  that  all  which  we  see  must 
necessarily  have  had  some  form,  and  that  it  might 
as  well  be  its  present  form  as  any  other.  Let  us 
now  apply  this  answer  to  the  eye,  as  we  did 
before  to  the  watch.  Something  or  other  must 
have  occupied  that  place  in  the  animal's  head ; 
must  have  filled  up,  we  will  say,  that  socket;  we 
will  say  also,  that  it  must  have  been  of  that  sort 
of  substance  which  we  call  animal  substance,  as 
flesh,  bone,  membrane,  cartilage,  &c.  But  that 
it  should  have  been  an  eye,  knowing  as  we  do 
what  an  eye  comprehends. — viz.  that  it  should 
have  consisted,  first  of  a  scries  of  transparent 
lenses  (very  different,  by  the  by,  even  in  their 
substance,  from  the  opaque  materials  of  which  the 
rest  of  the  body  is,  in  general  at  least,  composed ; 
and  with  which  the  whole  of  its  surface,  this 
single  portion  of  it  excepted,  is  covered ;)  secondly, 
of  a  black  cloth  or  canvass  (the  only  membrane  of 
the  body  which  is  black)  spread  out  behind  these 
lenses,  so  as  to  receive  the  image  formed  by 
pencils  of  light  transmitted  through  them  ;  and 
placed  at  the  precise  geometrical  distance  at 
which,  and  at  which  alone,  a  distinct  image  could 
be  formed,  namely,  at  the  concourse  of  the  refract- 
ed rays :  thirdly,  of  a  large  nerve  communicating 
between  this  membrane  and  the  brain ;  without 
which,  the  action  of  light  upon  the  membrane, 
however  modified  by  the  organ,  would  be  lost  to 
the  purposes  of  sensation : — that  this  fortunate 
conformation  of  parts  should  have  been  the  lot,  not 
of  one  individual  out  of  many  thousand  indivi- 
duals, like  the  great  prize  in  a  lottery,  or  like  some 
singularity  in  nature,  but  the  happy  chance  of  a 
whole  species;  nor  of  one  species  out  of  many 
thousand  species,  with  which  we  are  acquainted, 
but  of  by  far  the  greatest  number  of  all  that  exist; 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


399 


and  that  under  varieties,  not  casual,  or  capricious, 
but  bearing  marks  of  being  suited  to  their  resjject- 
ive  exigencies : — that  all  this  should  have  taken 
place,  merely  because  something  must  have  occu- 
pied those  points  in  every  animal's  forehead ; — or, 
that  all  this  should  be  thought  to  be  accounted  for, 
by  the  short  answer,  "that  whatever  was  there, 
must  have  had  some  fonn  or  other,"  is  too  absurd 
to  be  made  more  so  by  any  augmentation.  We 
are  not  contented  with  this  answer;  we  find  no 
siitisfaction  in  it,  by  way  of  accounting  for  appear- 
ances of  organization  far  short  of  those  of  the  eye, 
such  as  we  observe  in  fossil  shells,  petrified  hones, 
or  other  substances  which  bear  the  vestiges  of 
animal  or  vegetable  recrements,  but  which,  either 
in  resf^ect  of  utility,  or  of  the  situation  in  which 
they  are  discovered,  may  seem  accidental  enough. 
It  is  no  way  of  accounting  even  for  these  things, 
to  sa)'  that  the  stone,  for  instance,  which  is  shown 
to  us  (supposing  the  question  to  ,be  concerning  a 
petrifaction.)  must  have  contained  some  internal 
conformation  or  other.  Nor  does  it  mend  the  an- 
swer to  add,  with  respect  to  the  singularity  of  the 
conformation,  ihat,  after  the  event,  it  is  no  longer 
to  be  computed  what  the  chances  were  against  it. 
This  is  always  to  be  computed,  when  the  question 
is,  whether  a  useful  or  imitative  conformation  be 
the  produce  of  chance  or  not :  I  desire  no  greater 
certainty  in  reasoning,  than  that  by  which  chance 
is  excluded  from  the  present  disposition  of  the 
natural  world.  Universal  experience  is  against 
it.  What  does  chance  ever  do  for  us  1  in  the 
human  body,  for  instance,  chance,  i.  e.  the  opera- 
tion of  causes  without  design,  may  produce  a  wen, 
a  wart,  a  mole,  a  pimple,  but  never  an  eye. 
Amongst  inanimate  substances,  a  clod,  a  pebble,  a 
liquid  drop,  might  be  ;  but  never  was  a  watch,  a 
telescope,  an  organized  body  of  any  kind,  answer- 
ing a  valuable  purpose  by  a  compjicated  mechan- 
ism, the  effect  of  chance.  In  no  assignable 
instance  hath  such  a  thing  existed  without  inten- 
tion somewhere. 

IV.  There  is  another  answer,  which  has  the 
same  effect  as  the  resolving  of  things  into  chance ; 
which  answer  would  persuade  us  to  believe,  that 
the  eye,  the  animal  to  which  it  belongs,  every 
other  animal,  every  plant,  indeed  every  organized 
body  which  we  see,  are  only  so  many  out  of  the 
possible  varieties  and  combinations  of  being, 
which  the  lapse  of  infinite  ages  has  brought  into 
existence ;  that  the  present  world  is  the  relict  of 
that  variety ;  millions  of  other  bodily  forms  and 
other  species  having  perished,  being  by  the  defect 
of  their  constitution  incapable  of  preservation,  or 
of  continuance  by  generation.  Now  there  is  no 
foundation  whatever  for  this  conjecture  in  any 
thing  which  we  observe  in  the  works  of  nature ; 
no  such  experiments  are  going  on  at  present ;  no 
such  energy  operates,  as  that  which  is  here  sup- 
posed, and  which  should  be  constantly  pushing 
into  existence  new  varieties  of  beings.  Nor  are 
there  any  appearances  to  support  an  opinion,  that 
every  possible  combination  of  vegetable  or  animal 
structure  has  formerly  been  tried.  Multitudes  of 
conformations,  both  of  vegetables  and  animals, 
may  be  conceived  capable  of  existence  and  succes- 
sion, which  yet  do  not  exist.  Perhaps  almost  as 
many  forms  of  plants  might  have  been  found  in 
the  fields,  as  figures  of  plants  can  be  delineated 
upon  paper.  A  countless  variety  of  animals 
might  have  existed,  which  do  not  exist.  Upon 
the  supposition  here  stated,  we  should  see  uni- 


corns and  mermaids,  sylphs  and  centaurs,  the 
fancies  of  painters,  and  the  fables  of  poets,  realized 
by  examples.  Or,  if  it  be  alleged  that  these  may 
transgress  the  limits  of  possible  life  and  propaga- 
tion, we  might,  at  least,  have  nations  of  human 
beings  without  nails  upon  their  fingers,  with  more 
or  fewer  fingers  and  toes,  than  ten ;  some  with 
one  eye,  others  with  one  ear,  with  one  nostril,  oi 
without  the  sense  of  smelling  at  all.  All  these, 
and  a  thousand  other  imaginable  varieties,  might 
live  and  propagate.  We  may  modify  any  one 
species  many  ditierent  ways,  all  consistent  with 
life,  and  with  the  actions  necessary  to  preservation, 
although  affording  difl(?rent  degrees  of  convcnien- 
cy  and  enjoyment  to  the  animal.  And  if  we  carry 
these  modifications  through  the  difl'erent  species 
which  are  known  to  subsist,  their  number  would 
be  incalculable.  No  reason  can  be  given  why, 
if  these  deperdits  ever  existed,  they  have  now  dis- 
appeared. Yet,  if  all  possible  existences  have 
been  tried,  they  must  have  formed  part  of  the 
catalogue. 

But,  moreover,  the  division  of  organized  sub- 
stances into  animals  and  vegetables,  and  the  dis- 
tribution and  sub-distribution  of  each  into  genera 
and  species,  which  distribution  is  not  an  arhitrar)' 
act  of  the  mind,  but  founded  in  the  order  which 
prevails  in  external  nature,  appear  to  me  to  con- 
tradict the  supposition  of  the  present  world  being 
the  remains  of  an  indefinite  variety  of  existences ; 
of  a  variety  which  rejects  all  plan.  The  hypothe- 
sis teaches,  that  every  possible  variety  of  being 
hath,  at  one  time  or  other,  found  its  way  into  ex- 
istence, (by  what  cause  or  in  what  manner  is  not 
said,)  and  that  those  which  were  badly  formed, 
perished ;  but  how  or  why  those  which  survived 
should  be  cast,  as  we  see  that  plants  and  animals 
are  cast,  into  regular  classes,  the  hypothesis  docs 
not  explain;  or  rather  the  hypothesis  is  inconsist- 
ent with  this  phenomenon. 

The  hvpothesis,  indeed,  is  hardly  deserving  of 
the  consideration  which  we  have  given  to  it. 
What  should  we  think  of  a  man  who,  because 
we  had  never  ourselves  seen  watches,  telescopes, 
stocking-mills,  steam-engines,  &c.  made,  knew 
not  how  they  were  made,  or  could  prove  by  testi- 
mony when  they  were  made,  or  by  whom, —  would 
have  us  believe  that  these  machines,  instead  of  de- 
riving their  curious  structures  from  the  thought 
and  design  of  their  inventors  and  contrivers,  in 
truth  derive  them  from  no  other  origin  than  this ; 
riz.  that  a  mass  of  metals  and  other  materials 
having  run  when  melted  into  all  possible  figures, 
and  combined  themselves  in  all  possible  forms, 
and  shapes,  and  proportions,  these  things  which 
we  see,  are  what  were  left  from  the  accident,  as 
best  worth  preserving;  and,  as  such,  are  become 
the  remaining  stock  of  a  magazine,  which,  at  one 
time  or  other,  has,  by  this  means,  contained  every 
mechanism,  useful  and  useless,  convenient  and  in- 
convenient, into  which  such-like  materials  could 
be  thrown  1  I  cannot  distinguish  the  hypothesis 
as  applied  to  the  works  of  nature,  from  this  solu- 
tion, which  no  one  would  accept,  as  applied  to  a 
collection  of  machines. 

V.  To  the  marks  of  contrivance  discoverable  in 
animal  bodies,  and  to  the  argument  deduced  from 
them,  in  proof  of  design,  and  of  a  designing  Cre- 
ator, this  turn  is  sometimes  attempted  to  be  given, 
namely,  that  the  parts  were  not  intended  for  the 
use.  but  that  the  use  arose  out  of  the  parts.  This 
distinction  is  intelligible.     A  cabinet-maker  rubs 


400 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


his  mahogany  with  f5&.h-skin;  yet  it  would  be 
too  much  to  assert  that  the  skin  of  the  dog-fish 
was  made  rough  and  granulated  on  purpose  lor  the 
pohshing  of  wood,  and  the  use  of  cabinet-makers. 
Ttierefore  the  distinction  is  inteUigihle.  But  1 
think  that  there  is  very  httle  place  for  it  in  the 
works  of  nature.  When  roundly  and  generalh' 
affirmed  of  them,  as  it  hath  sometimes  been,  it 
amoimts  to  such  another  stretch  of  assertion,  as  it 
would  he  to  say,  that  all  the  implements  of  the 
cabinet-maker's  work-shop,  as  well  as  his  fish-skin, 
were  substances  accidentally  configurated,  which 
he  had  picked  up,  and  converted  to  his  use ;  that 
his  adzes,  saws,  planes,  and  gimblets,  were  not 
made,  as  we  suppose,  to  hew,  cut,  and  smooth, 
shape  out,  or  bore  wood  with;  but  that,  these 
things  being  made,  no  matter  with  what  design, 
or  wriether  with  any,  the  cabinet-maker  perceived 
that  they  were  applicable  to  his  purpose,  and 
turned  them  to  account. 

But  again.  So  far  as  this  solution  is  attempted 
to  be  applied  to  those  parts  of  animals,  the  action 
of  which  does  not  depend  upon  the  will  of  the  ani- 
mal, it  is  fraught  with  still  more  evident  absurdity. 
Is  it  possible  to  believe  that  the  eye  was  formed 
without  any  regard  to  vision ;  that  it  was  the  ani- 
mal itself  which  found  out,  that  though  formed 
with  no  such  intention,  it  would  serve  to  see  with ; 
and  that  the  use  of  the  eye,  as  an  organ  of  sight, 
resulted  from  this  discovery,  and  the  animal's  ap- 
plication of  it  1  The  same  question  may  be  asked 
of  the  ear;  the  same  of  all  the  senses.  None  of 
the  senses  fundamentally  depend  upon  the  election 
of  the  animal;  conse(iuently,  neither  upon  his  sa- 
gat!ity,  nor  his  experience.  It  is  the  impression 
which  objects  make  upon  them,  that  constitutes 
their  use.  Under  that  impression,  he  is  passive. 
He  may  bring  objects  to  the  sense,  or  within  its 
reach ;  he  may  select  these  objects :  but  over  the 
impression  itself  he  has  no  power,  or  very  little  ; 
and  that  properly  is  the  sense. 

Secondly,  There  are  many  parts  of  animal  bo- 
dies which  seem  to  depend  upon  the  will  of  the 
animal  in  a  greater  degree  than  the  senses  do,  and 
yet  with  respect  to  which,  this  solution  is  equally 
unsatisfactory.  If  we  apply  the  solution  to  the 
human  body,  for  instance,  it  forms  itself  into  ques- 
tions, upon  which  no  reasonable  mind  can  doubt; 
such  as,  whether  the  teeth  were  made  expressly 
for  the  mastication  of  food,  the  feet  for  walking, 
the  hands  for  holding?  or  whether,  these  things 
being  as  they  are,  being  in  fact  in  the  animal's 
possession,  his  own  ingenuity  taught  him  that 
they  were  convertible  to  these  purposes,  though 
no  such  purposes  were  contemplated  in  their 
formation  1 

All  that  there  is  of  the  appearance  of  reason  in 
this  way  of  considering  the  subject  is,  that  in 
some  cases  the  organization  seems  to  determine 
the  habits  of  the  animal,  and  its  choice,  to  a  parti- 
cular mode  of  life ;  which,  in  a  certain  sense,  may 
be  called  "  the  use  arising  out  of  the  part."  Now 
to  all  the  instances,  in  which  there  is  any  place 
for  this  suggestion,  it  may  be  replied,  that  the 
organization  determines  the  animal  to  habits  bejie- 
ficial  and  salutary  to  itself;  and  that  this  efi'ect 
would  not  be  seen  so  regularly  to  follow,  if  the 
several  organizations  did  not  bear  a  concerted  and 
contrived  relation  to  the  substance  by  which  the 
animal  was  surrounded.  They  would,  otherwise, 
be  capacities  without  objects ;  powers  without  em- 
ployment.    The  web-foot   determines,   you  say. 


the  duck  to  swim;  but  what  would  that  avail,  i( 
there  were  no  water  to  swim  inl  The  strong 
hooked  bill,  and  sharp  talons,  of  one  species  of 
bird,  determine  it  to  prey  upon  animals  ;  the  soft, 
straight  bill  and  weak  claws  of  another  species, 
determine  it  to  pick  up  seeds :  but  neither  deter- 
mination could  take  effect  in  providing  for  the 
sustenance  of  the  birds,  if  animal  bodies  and  vege- 
table seeds  did  not  lie  within  their  reach.  The 
peculiar  conformation  of  the  bill  and  tongue  and 
claws  of  the  woodpecker,  determines  that  bird  to 
search  for  his  food  amongst  the  insects  lotlgcd  be- 
liind  the  bark,  or  in  the  wood,  of  decayed  trees: 
but  what  should  this  profit  him,  if  there  were  no 
trees,  no  decayed  trees,  no  insects  lodged  under 
their  bark,  or  in  their  trunk  1  The  proboscis  with 
which  the  bee  is  furnished,  determines  him  to 
seek  for  honey :  but  what  would  that  signify,  if 
flowers  supplied  none  ?  Faculties  thrown  down 
upon  animals  at  random,  and  without  reference  to 
the  objects  amidst  which  they  are  placed,  would 
not  produce  to  them  the  services  and  benefits  which 
we  see ;  and  if  there  be  that  reference,  then  there 
is  intention. 

Lastly,  the  solution  fails  entirely  when  applied 
to  plants.  The  parts  of  plants  answer  their  uses, 
without  any  concurrence  from  the  will  or  choice 
of  the  plant. 

VI.  Others  have  chosen  to  refer  every  thing  to 
a  principle  of  order  in  nature.  A  principle  of 
order  is  the  word  :  hut  what  is  meant  by  a  princi- 
ple of  order,  as  different  from  an  intelligent  Crea- 
tor, has  not  been  explained  either  by  definition  or 
example ;  and,  without  such  explanation,  it  should 
seem  to  he  a  mere  substitution  of  words  for  rea- 
sons, names  for  causes.  Order  itself  is  only  the 
adaptation  of  means  to  an  end ;  a  principle  of  order 
therefore  can  only  signify  the  mind  and  intention 
which  so  adapts  them.  Or,  were  it  capable  of 
being  explained  in  any  other  sense,  is  there  any 
experience,  any  analogy,  to  sustain  itl  Was  a 
watch  ever  produced  by  a  principle  of  order?  and 
why  might  not  a  watch  be  so  produced  as  well  as 
an  eye  'I 

Furthermore,  a  principle  of  order,  acting  blindly, 
and  without  choice,  is  negatived  by  the  observation, 
that  order  is  not  universal;  which  it  would  be,  if 
it  issued  from  a  constant  and  necessary  principle ; 
nor  indiscriminate,  which  it  would  be,  if  it  issued 
from  an  unintelligent  principle.  Where  order  is 
wanted,  there  we  find  it ;  where  order  is  not  want- 
ed, i.  e.  where,  if  it  prevailed,  it  would  be  useless, 
there  we  do  not  find  it.  In  the  structure  of  the 
eye,  (for  we  adhere  to  our  example,)  in  the  figure 
and  position  of  its  several  parts,  the  most  exact 
order  is  maintained.  In  the  forms  of  rocks  and 
mountains,  in  the  lines  winch  bound  the  coasts  of 
continents  and  islands,  in  the  shape  of  bays  and 
promontories,  no  order  whatever  is  perceived,  be- 
cause it  would  have  been  superfluous.  No  useful 
purpose  would  have  arisen  from  moulding  rocks 
and  mountains  into  regular  solids,  bounding  the 
channel  of  the  ocean  by  geometrical  curves;  or 
from  the  map  of  the  world  resembling  a  table  of 
diagrams  in  Euclid's  Elements,  or  Simpson's  Conic 
Sections. 

VII.  Lastly,  The  confidence  which  we  place 
in  our  observations  upon  the  works  of  nature,  in 
the  marks  which  we  discover  of  contrivance, 
choice,  and  design,  and  in  our  reasoning  upon  the 
proofs  afforded  us,  ought  not  to  be  shaken,  as  it  is 
sometimes  attempted  to  be  done,  by  bringing  for- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


401 


ward  to  our  view  our  own  ignorance,  or  rather  the 
general  imperfection  of  our  knowledge  of  nature. 
Nor,  in  many  cases,  ought  this  consideration  to 
affect  us,  even  when  it  respects  some  parts  of  the 
subject  immediately  under  our  notice.  True  for- 
titude of  understanding  consists  in  not  suffering 
what  we  know,  to  be  disturbed  by  wiiat  we  do  not 
know.  If  we  perceive  a  useful  end,  and  means 
adapted  to  that  end,  we  perceive  enough  for  our 
conclusion.  If  these  things  be  clear,  no  matter 
what  is  obscure.  The  argument  is  finished.  For 
instance ;  if  the  utihty  of  vision  to  the  animal 
which  enjoys  it,  and  the  adaptation  of  the  eye  to 
this  office,  be  evident  and  certain,  (and  lean  men- 
tion nothing  which  is  more  so,)  ought  it  to  preju- 
dice the  inference  which  we  draw  from  these  pre- 
mises, that  we  cannot  explain  the  use  of  the  spleen  1 
Nay,  more  :  if  there  be  parts  of  the  eye,  viz.  the 
cornea,  the  crystalline,  the  retina,  in  their  sub- 
stance, figure,  and  position,  manifestly  suited  to 
the  formation  of  an  image  by  the  refraction  of  rays 
of  light,  at  least,  as  manifestly  as  the  glasses  and 
tubes  of  a  dioptric  telescope  are  suited  to  that  pur- 
pose ;  it  concerns  not  the  proof  which  these  afford  of 
design,  and  of  a  designer,  that  there  may  perhaps  be 
other  parts,  certain  muscles  for  instance,  or  nerves 
in  the  same  eye,  of  the  agency  or  effect  of  which 
we  can  give  no  account,  any  more  than  we  should 
be  inclined  to  doubt,  or  ought  to  doubt,  about  the 
construction  of  a  telescope,  viz.  for  what  purpose 
it  was  constructed,  or  whether  it  were  constructed 
at  all,  because  there  belonged  to  it  certain  screws 
and  pins,  the  use  or  action  of  which  we  did  not 
comprehend.  I  take  it  to  be  a  general  way  of  in- 
fusing doubts  and  scruples  into  the  mind,  to  recur 
to  its  own  ignorance,  its  own  imbecility :  to  tell  us 
that  upon  these  subjects  we  know  little;  that  little 
imperfectly ;  or  rather,  that  we  know  nothing  pro- 
perly about  the  matter.  These  suggestions  so  fall 
in  with  our  consciousness,  as  sometimes  to  pro- 
duce a  general  distrust  of  our  faculties  and  our 
conclusions.  But  this  is  an  unfounded  jealousy. 
The  uncertainty  of  one  thing  does  not  necessarily 
affect  the  certainty  of  another  thing.  Our  igno- 
rance of  many  points  need  not  suspend  our  assur- 
ance of  a  few.  Before  we  yield,  in  any  particular 
in.stance,  to  the  scepticism  which  this  sort  of  in- 
sinuation would  induce,  we  ought  accurately  to 
ascertain,  whether  our  ignorance  or  doubt  concern 
those  precise  points  upon  which  our  conclusion 
rests.  Other  points  are  nothing.  Our  ignorance 
of  other  points  may  be  of  no  consequence  to  these, 
though  they  be  points,  in  various  respects,  of  great 
importance.  A  just  reasoner  removes  from  his 
consideration,  not  only  what  he  knows,  but  what 
he  does  not  know,  touching  matters  not  strictly 
connected  with  his  argument,  i.  e.  not  forming 
the  very  steps  of  his  deduction  :  beyond  these,  his 
knowledge  and  his  ignorance  are  alike  relative. 


CHAPTER  VL 

The  Argument  cumulative. 

Were  there  no  example  in  the  world,  of  con- 
trivance, except  that  of  the  eye,  it  woald  be  alone 
sufficient  to  support  the  conclusion  which  we 
draw  from  it,  as  to  the  necessity  of  an  intelligent 
Creator.  It  c^uld  never  be  got  rid  of;  because  it 
could  not  be  accounted  for  by  any  other  supposi- 
3E 


tion,  which  did  not  contradict  all  the  principles 
we  possess  of  knowledge  ;  the  principles  accord- 
ing to  which,  things  do,  as  often  as  they  can  be 
brought  to  the  test  of  experience,  turn  out  to  be 
true  or  false.  Its  coats  and  humours,  constructed, 
as  the  lenses  of  a  telescope  are  constructed,  for 
the  refraction  of  rays  of  light  to  a  point,  which 
forms  the  proper  action  of  the  organ  ;  the  provi- 
sion in  its  muscular  tendons  for  turning  its  pupil 
to  the  object,  similar  to  that  which  is  given  to  the 
telescope  by  screws,  and  upon  which  power  of 
direction  in  the  eye,  the  exercise  of  its  otlice  as 
an  optical  instrument  depends  ;  the  farther  provi- 
sion for  its  defence,  for  its  constant  lubricity  and 
moisture,  which  we  see  in  its  socket  and  its  hds, 
in  its  gland  for  the  secretion  of  the  matter  of  tears, 
its  outlet  or  communication  with  the  nose  for  car- 
rying off  the  liquid  after  the  eye  is  washed  with 
it ;  these  provisions  compose  altogether  an  appa- 
ratus, a  system  of  parts,  a  preparation  of  means, 
so  manifest  in  their  design,  so  exquisite  in  their 
contrivance,  so  successful  in  their  issue,  so  preci- 
ous, and  so  infinitely  beneficial  in  their  use,  as,  in 
my  opinion,  to  bear  down  all  doubt  that  can  be 
raised  upon  the  subject.  And  what  I  wish,  under 
the  title  of  the  present  chapter,  to  observe  is,  that 
if  other  parts  of  nature  were  inaccessible  to  our 
inquiries,  or  even  if  other  parts  of  nature  pre- 
sented nothing  to  our  examination  but  disorder 
and  confusion,  the  validity  of  this  example  would 
remain  the  same.  If  there  were  but  one  watch 
in  the  world,  it  would  not  be  less  certain  that  it 
had  a  maker.  If  we  had  never  in  our  lives  seen 
any  but  one  single  kind  of  hj'draulic  machine,  yet, 
if  of  that  one  kind  we  understood  the  mechanism 
and  use,  we  should  be  as  perfectly  assured  that  it 
proceeded  from  the  hand,  and  thought,  and  skill, 
of  a  workman,  as  if  we  visited  a  museum  of 
the  arts,  and  saw  collected  there  twenty  different 
kinds  of  machines  for  drawing  water,  or  a  thou- 
sand different  kinds  for  other  purposes.  Of  this 
point,  each  machine  is  a  proof,  independently  of 
all  the  rest.  So  it  is  with  the  evidences  of  a 
Divine  agency.  The  proof  is  not  a  conclusion 
which  lies  at  the  end  of  a  chain  of  reasoning,  of 
which  chain  each  instance  of  contrivance  is  only 
a  link,  and  of  which,  if  one  link  fail,  the  whole 
falls ;  but  it  is  an  argument  separately  supplied 
by  every  separate  example.  An  error  in  stating 
an  example,  affects  only  that  example.  The 
argument  is  cumulative,  in  the  fullest  sense  of  that 
term.  The  eye  proves  it  without  the  ear ;  th« 
ear  without  the  eye.  The  proof  in  each  example 
is  complete  ;  for  when  the  design  of  the  part,  and 
the  conducivencss  of  its  structure  to  that  design, 
is  shown,  the  mind  may  set  itself  at  rest ;  no  future 
consideration  can  detract  any  thing  from  the  Ibrce 
of  the  example. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Of  the  mechanical  and  immechanical  Paris  ana 
Functions  of  AnimaU  and  Vegetables. 

It  is  not  that  every  part  of  an  animal  or  vege 
table  has  not  proceeded  from  a  contriving  mind ; 
or  that  every  part  is  not  constructed  with  a  \iew 
to  its  proper  end  and  purjjose,  according  to  the 
laws  belonging  to  and  governing  the  substance  or 
the  action  made  use  of  in  that  part ;  or  that  each 
34* 


403 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


part  is  not  so  constructed  as  to  effectuate  its  pur- 
pose whilst  it  operates  according  to  these  laws ; 
but  it  is  because  these  laws  themselves  are  not  in 
all  cases  equally  understood ;  or,  what  amounts  to 
nearly  the  same  thing,  are  not  equally  exemplilied 
in  more  simple  processes,  and  more  simple  ma- 
chines ;  that  we  lay  down  the  distinction,  here 
proposed,  between  the  mechanical  parts  and  other 
parts  of  animals  and  vegetables. 

For  instance :  Tlie  principle  of  muscular  mo- 
tion, viz.  upon  what  cause  the  swelling  of  the 
belly  of  tiic  muscle,  and  consequent  contraction  of 
its  tendons,  either  by  an  act  of  the  will,  or  by 
involuntary  irritation,  depends,  is  wholly  un- 
known to  us.  The  substance  employed,  whether 
it  be  riuid,  gaseous,  elastic,  electrical,  or  none  of 
these,  or  nothing  resembling  these,  is  also  un- 
known to  us  :  of  course  the  laws  belonging  to 
that  substance,  and  which  regulate  its  action,  are 
unknown  to  us.  We  see  nothnig  similar  to  this 
contraction  in  any  machiire  which  we  can  make, 
or  any  process  which  we  can  execute.  So  far  (it 
is  confessed)  we  are  in  ignorance,  but  no  farther. 
This  power  and  principle,  from  whatever  cause  it 
proceeds,  being  assumed,  the  collocation  of  the 
fibres  to  receive  the  principle,  the  disposition  of 
the  muscles  for  the  use  and  application  of  the 
power,  is  mechanical ;  and  is  as  intelligible  as  the 
adjustment  of  the  wires  and  strings,  by  which  a 
puppet  is  moved.  We  see,  therefore,  as  far  as 
respects  the  subject  before  us,  what  is  not  mecha- 
nical in  the  animal  frame,  and  what  is.  The 
nervous  inlluence  (for  we  are  often  obliged  to  give 
names  to  things  which  we  know  little  about) — I 
say  the  nervous  inlluence,  by  which  the  belly,  or 
middle,  of  the  muscle  is  swelled,  is  not  mechani- 
cal. The  utility  of  the  effect  we  perceive ;  the 
means,  or  the  preparation  of  means,  by  which  it 
is  produced,  we  do  not.  But  obscurity  as  to  the 
origin  of  muscular  motion,  brings  no  doubtfulness 
into  our  observations  upon  the  sequel  of  the  pro- 
cess: which  observations  relate,  1st,  To  the  con- 
stitution of  the  muscle ;  in  consequence  of  which 
constitution,  the  swelling  of  the  belly  or  middle 
part  is  necessarily  and  mechanically  followed  by 
the  contraction  of  the  tendons :  'Mlt/,  To  the 
number  and  variety  of  the  muscles,  and  the  cor- 
responding number  and  variety  of  useful  powers 
which  they  supply  to  the  animal ;  which  is  asto- 
nishingly great:  Sdly,  To  the  judicious  (if we 
may  be  permitted  to  use  that  term,  in  speaking  of 
the  Author,  or  of  the  works,  of  nature,)  to  the 
wise  and  well-contrived  disposition  of  each  muscle 
for  its  specific  purpose  :  for  moving  the  joint  this 
way,  and  that  way,  and  the  other  way ;  for  pulling 
and  drawing  the  part  to  which  it  is  attached,  in  a 
determinate  and  particular  direction  ;  which  is  a 
mechanical  operation,  exemplified  in  a  multitude 
of  instances.  To  mention  only  one:  The  tendon 
of  the  trochlear  muscle  of  the  eye,  to  the  end  that 
it  may  draw  in  the  line  required,  is  passed  through 
a  cartilaginous  ring,  at  which  it  is  reverted,  exact- 
ly in  the  same  manner  as  a  rope  in  a  ship  is 
carried  over  a  block  or  round  a  stay,  in  order  to 
make  it  pull  in  the  direction  which  is  wanted. 
All  this,  as  we  have  said,  is  mechanical ;  and  is 
as  accessible  to  inspection,  as  capable  of  being 
ascertained,  as  the  mechanism  of  the  automaton 
m  the  Strand.  Suppose  the  automaton  to  be  put 
in  motion  by  a  magnet  (which  is  probable,)  it 
will  supply  us  with  a  comparison  very  apt  for  our 
present  purpose.     Of  the  magnetic  effluvium,  we 


know  perhaps  as  little  as  we  do  of  the  nervous 
fluid.  But,  magnetic  attraction  being  assumed  (it 
signifies  notiiing  from  what  cause  it  proceed.-*,) 
we  can  trace,  or  there  can  be  ^nted  out  to  us, 
with  perfect  clearness  and  certainty,  the  mecha- 
nism, viz.  the  steel  bars,  the  wheels,  the  joints, 
the  wires,  by  which  the  motion  so  much  admired 
is  communicated  to  the  fingers  of  the  image  :  and 
to  make  any  obscurity,  or  difficulty,  or  controver- 
sy, in  the  doctrine  of  magnetism,  azi  objection  to 
our  knowledge  or  our  certainty  concerning  the 
contrivance,  or  the  marks  of  contrivance,  displayed 
in  the  automaton,  would  be  exactly  the  same 
thing,  as  it  is  to  make  our  ignorance  (which  we 
acknowledge)  of  the  cause  of  nervous  agency,  or 
even  of  the  substance  and  structure  of  the  nerves 
themselves,  a  ground  of  question  or  suspicion  as 
to  the  reasoning  which  we  institute  concerning 
the  mechanical  part  of  our  frame.  That  an  ani- 
mal is  a  machine,  is  a  proposition  neither  correct- 
ly true  nor  wholly  false.  The  distinction  which 
we  have  been  discussing  will  serve  to  show  how 
far  the  comparison,  which  this  expression  implies, 
holds ;  and  wherein  it  tails.  And  whether  the 
distinction  be  thought  of  importance  or  not,  it  is 
certainly  of  importance  to  remember,  that  there  is 
neither  truth  nor  justice  in  endeavouring  to  bring 
a  cloud  over  our  understandings,  or  a  distrust  into 
our  reasonings  upon  this  subject,  by  suggesting 
that  we  know  nothing  of  voluntary  motion,  of  irri- 
tability, of  the  principle  of  life,  of  sensation,  of 
animal  heat,  upon  all  which  the  animal  functions 
depend ;  for,  our  ignorance  of  these  parts  of  the 
animal  frame  concerns  not  at  all  our  knowledge  of 
the  mechanical  parts  of  the  same  frame.  1  con- 
tend, therefore,  that  there  is  mechanism  in  ani- 
mals; that  this  mechanism  is  as  properly  such, 
as  it  is  in  machines  made  by  art ;  that  this  me- 
chanism is  intelligible  and  certain ;  that  it  is  not 
the  less  so,  because  it  oiten  begins  or  terminates 
with  something  which  is  not  mechanical ;  that 
whenever  it  is  intelligible  and  certain,  it  demon- 
strates intention  and  contrivance,  as  well  in  the 
works  of  nature  as  in  those  of  art ;  and  that  it  is 
the  best  demonstration  which  either  can  afford. 

But  whilst  I  contend  for  these  propositions,  I  • 
do  not  exclude  myself  from  asserting,  that  therfe 
may  be,  and  that  there  are,  other  cases,  in  which, 
although  we  cannot  exhibit  mechanism,  or  prove 
indeed  that  mechanism  is  employed,  we  want  not 
sufficient  evidence  to  conduct  us  to  the  same  con- 
clusion. 

There  is  what  may  be  called  the  chymical  part 
of  our  frame  ;  of  which,  by  reason  of  the  impcrfec 
tion  of  our  'hymistry,  we  can  attain  to  no  distinct 
knowledge ,  I  mean,  not  to  a  knowledge,  either 
in  degree  or  kind,  similar  to  that  which  we  pos- 
sess of  the  mechanical  part  of  our  frame.  It  does 
not,  therefore,  afford  the  same  species  of  argument 
as  that  which  mechanism  affords  ;  and  yet  it  may 
aflbrd  an  argument  in  a  high  degree  satisfactory. 
The  gastric  juice,  or  the  liquor  which  digests  the 
food  in  the  stomachs  of  animals,  is  of  this  class. 
Of  all  menstrua,  it  is  the  most  active,  the  most 
universal.  In  the  human  stomach,  for  instance, 
consider  what  a  variety  of  strange  substances,  and 
how  widely  different  from  one  another,  it,  in  a 
few  hours,  reduces  to  a  uniform  pulp,  milk,  or 
mucilage.  It  seizes  upon  every  thing,  it  dissolves 
the  texture  of  almost  everything  that  comes  in  its 
way.  The  flesh  of  perhaps  all  animals  ;  the  seeds 
and  fruits  of  the  greatest  number  of  plants ;  the 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


403 


toots,  and  stalks,  and  leaves,  of  many,  hard  and 
tough  as  they  are,  yield  to  its  powerful  pervasion. 
The  change  wrought  by  it  is  different  from  any 
chymical  solution  which  we  can  produce,  or  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,  in  this  respect  as  well 
as  many  others,  that,  in  our  chymistry,  particular 
menstrua  act  only  upon  particular  substances.  Con- 
sider moreover,  that  this  fluid,  stronger  in  its  ope- 
ration than  a  caustic  alkali  or  mineral  acid,  than 
red  precipitate,  or  aqua-fortis  itself,  is  nevertheless 
as  mild,  and  bland,  and  inoffensive  to  the  touch  or 
taste,  as  saUva  or  gum-water,  which  it  much  re- 
sembles. Consider,  I  say,  these  several  properties 
of  the  digestive  organ,  and  of  the  juice  with  which 
it  is  supplied,  or  rather  with  which  it  is  made  to 
supply  itself,  and  you  will  confess  it  to  be  entitled 
to  a  name,  which  it  has  sometimes  received,  that 
of  "  the  chymical  wonder  of  animal  nature." 

Still  we  are  ignorant  of  the  composition  of  this 
fluid,  and  of  the  mode  of  its  action  ;  by  which  is 
meant,  that  we  are  not  capable,  as  we  are  in  the 
mechanical  part  of  our  frame,  of  collating  it  with 
the  operations  of  art.  And  this  I  call  the  imper- 
fection of  our  chymistry ;  for,  should  the  time  ever 
arrive,  which  is  not  perhaps  to  be  despaired  of, 
when  we  can  compound  ingredients,  so  as  to  form 
a  solvent  which  will  act  in  the  manner  in  which 
the  gastric  juice  acts,  we  may  be  able  to  ascertain 
the  chymical  principles  upon  which  its  efficacy 
depends,  as  well  as  from  what  part,  and  by  what 
concoction,  in  the  human  body,  these  principles 
are  generated  and  derived. 

In  the  mean  time,  ougiit  that,  which  is  in  truth 
the  defect  of  our  chymistry,  to  hinder  us  from  ac- 
quiescing in  the  inference,  which  a  production  of 
nature,  by  its  place,  its  })roperties,  its  action,  its 
surprising  efficacy,  its  invaluable  use,  authorises 
us  to  draw  in  respect  of  a  creative  design  1 

Another  most  subtile  and  curious  function  of 
animal  bodies  is  secretion.  This  function  is  semi- 
chymical  and  semi-mechanical ;  exceedingly  im- 
portant and  diversified  in  its  effects,  hut  obscure 
in  its  process  and  in  its  apparatus.  The  import- 
ance of  the  secretory  organs  is  but  too  well  attest- 
ed by  the  diseases,  which  an  excessive,  a  deficient, 
or  a  vitiated  secretion  is  almost  sure  of  producing. 
A  single  secretion  being  wrong,  is  enough  to 
m:ikc  life  miserable,  or  sometimes  to  destroy  it. 
Nor  is  the  variety  less  than  the  importance.  From 
one  and  the  same  blood  (I  speak  of  the  human 
body)  about  twenty  dift'erent  fluids  are  separated; 
in  their  sensible  properties,  in  taste,  smell,  colour, 
and  consistency,  the  most  unlike  one  another  that 
is  possible;  thick,  thin,  salt,  bitter,  sweet;  and,  if 
from  our  own  we  pass  to  other  species  of  animals, 
we  find  amongst  their  secretions  not  only  the  most 
various,  but  the  most  opposite  properties  ;  the  most 
nutritious  aliment,  the  deadliest  poison ;  the  sweet- 
est perfumes,  the  most  foetid  odours.  Of  these 
the  greater  part,  as  the  gastric  juice,  the  saliva, 
the  bile,  the  slippery  mucilage  which  lubricates 
the  joints,  the  tears  which  moisten  the  eye,  the 
Wax  which  defends  the  ear,  are,  afler  they  are 
secreted,  made  use  of  in  the  animal  economy  ;  are 
evidently  subservient,  and  are  actually  contribut- 
ing to  the  utilities  of  the  animal  itself  Other 
fluids  seem  to  be  separated  only  to  be  rejected. 
That  this  also  is  necessary  (though  why  it  was 
Driginally  necessary,  we  cannot  tell.)  is  shown  by 
the  consequence  of  the  separation  being  lonff  sus- 
pended ;  which  consequence  is  disease  and  death 
A  km  to  secretion,  if  not  the  same  thing,  is  assimi- 


lation, by  which  one  and  the  same  blood  is  con- 
verted into  bone,  muscular  flesh,  nerves,  mem- 
branes, tendons  ;  things  as  different  as  the  wood 
and  iron,  canvass  and  cordage,  of  which  a  ship 
with  its  furniture  is  composed.  We  have  no  ope- 
ration of  art  wherewith  exactly  to  compare  all  tliis, 
for  no  other  reason  perhaps  than  that  all  opera- 
tions of  art  are  exceeded  by  it.  No  chymical  elec- 
tion, no  chymical  analysis  or  resolution  of  a  sub- 
stance into  its  constituent  parts,  no  mechanical 
sifting  or  division,  that  we  are  acquainted  with,  in 
perfection  or  variety,  come  up  to  animal  secretion. 
Nevertheless,  the  apparatus  and  process  are  ob- 
scure ;  not  to  say  absolutely  concealed  from  our 
inquiries.  In  a  few,  and  only  a  few  instances, 
we  can  discern  a  little  of  the  constitution  of  a 
gland.  In  the  kidneys  of  large  animals,  we  can 
trace  the  emulgent  artery  dividing  itself  into  an 
infinite  number  of  branches;  their  extremities 
every  where  communicating  with  little  round 
bodies,  in  the  substance  of  which  bodies  the  secret 
of  the  machinery  seems  to  reside,  for  there  the 
change  is  made.  We  can  discern  pipes  laid  from 
these  round  bodies  toward  the  pelvis,  which  is  a 
basin  within  the  solid  of  the  kidney.  We  can 
discern  these  pipes  joining  and  collecting  togethei 
into  larger  pipes ;  and,  when  so  collected,  ending 
in  innumerable  papillte,  through  which  the  se- 
creted fluid  is  continually  oozing  into  its  receptacle. 
This  is  all  we  know  of  the  mechanism  of  a  gland, 
even  in  the  case  in  which  it  seems  most  capable  of 
being  investigated.  Yet  to  pronounce  that  we 
know  nothing  of  animal  secretion,  or  nothing 
satisfactorily,  and  with  that  concise  remark  to 
dismiss  the  article  from  our  argument,  would  be 
to  dispose  of  the  subject  very  hastily  and  very  ir- 
rationally. For  the  purpose  which  we  want,  that 
of  evincing  intention,  we  know  a  great  deal.  And 
what  we  know  is  this.  We  see  the  blood  carried 
by  a  pipe,  conduit,  or  duct,  to  the  gland.  We  see 
an  organized  apparatus,  be  its  construction  or 
action  what  it  will,  which  we  call  that  gland.  We 
see  the  blood,  or  part  of  the  blood,  after  it  has 
passed  through  and  undergone  the  action  of  the 
gland,  coming  fiom  it  by  an  emulgent  vein  or 
artery,  i.  e.  by  another  pipe  or  conduit.  And  we 
see  also  at  the  same  time  a  new  and  specific  fluid 
issuing  from  the  same  gland  by  its  excretory  duct, 
i.  e.  by  a  third  pipe  or  conduit;  which  new  fluid 
is  in  some  cases  discharged  out  of  the  body,  in 
more  cases  retained  within  it,  and  there  execut- 
ing some  important  and  intelligent  office.  Now 
supposing,  or  admitting,  that  we  know  nothing  of 
the  proper  internal  constitution  of  a  gland,  or  of 
the  mode  of  its  acting  upon  the  blood ;  then  our 
situation  is  precisely  like  that  of  an  unmechanical 
looker  on,  who  stands  by  a  stocking-loom,  a  corn- 
mill,  a  carding-machine,  or  a  thrashing-machine,  at 
work,  the  fabric  and  mechanism  of  which,  as  well 
as  all  that  passes  within,  is  hidden  from  his  sight 
by  the  outside  case  ;  or,  if  seen,  would  be  too  com- 
plicated for  his  uninformed,  uninstructed  under- 
standing to  comprehend.  And  what  is  that  situa- 
tion? This  spectator,  ignorant  as  he  is,  sees  at 
one  end  a  material  enter  the  machine,  as  un- 
ground  grain  the  mill,  raw  cotton  the  carding- 
machine,  sheaves  of  unthrashed  corn  the  thrash- 
ing-machine ;  and,  when  he  casts  his  eye  to  the 
other  end  of  the  apparatus,  he  sees  the  material 
issuing  from  it  in  a  new  state ;  and,  what  is  more, 
in  a  state  manifestly  adapted  to  future  uses ;  the 
<rrain  in  meal  fit  for  the  making  of  bread,  the  wool 


404 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


in  rovings  ready  for  spinning  into  threads,  the 
sheaf  in  corn  dressed  for  the  mill.  Is  it  necessary 
that  this  man,  in  order  to  be  convinced  that  de- 
sign, that  intention,  that  contrivance,  has  been 
employed  about  the  machine,  should  be  allowed 
to  pull  it  to  pieces ;  should  be  enabled  to  examine 
the  parts  separately;  explore  their  action  upon  one 
another,  or  their  operation,  whether  simultaneous 
or  successive,  upon  the  material  presented  to  them  1 
He  may  long  to  do  this  to  gratify  his  curiosity ;  he 
may  desire  to  do  it  to  improve  his  theoretic  know- 
ledge ;  or  he  may  have  a  more  sul)stantial  reason 
for  requesting  it,  if  he  happen,  instead  of  a  com- 
mon visitor,  to  be  a  millwright  by  profession,  or  a 
person  sometimes  called  in  to  repair  such-like 
machines  when  out  of  order  ;  but,  for  the  purpose 
of  ascertaining  the  existence  of  counsel  and  design 
in  the  formation  of  the  machine,  he  wants  no  such 
intromission  or  privity.  What  he  sees,  is  suffi- 
cient. The  effect  upon  the  material,  the  change 
produced  in  it,  the  utility  of  that  change  for  future 
applications,  abundantly  testify,  be  the  concealed 
part  of  the  machine  or  of  its  construction  what  it 
will,  the  hand  and  agency  of  a  contriver. 

If  any  confirmation  were  wanting  to  the  evi- 
dence which  the  animal  secretions  aflord  of  design, 
it  may  be  derived,  as  has  been  already  hinted, 
from  their  variety,  and  from  their  appropriation  to 
their  place  and  use.  They  all  come  from  the  same 
blood  :  they  are  all  drawn  ofl  by  glands :  yet  the 
produce  is  very  different,  and  the  diflcrence  ex- 
actly adapted  to  the  work  which  is  to  be  done,  or 
the  end  to  be  answered.  No  account  can  be  given 
of  this,  without  resorting  to  appointment.  Why, 
for  instance,  is  the  saliva,  which  is  difi'used  over 
the  seat  of  taste,  insi[)id,  whilst  so  many  others  of 
the  secretions,  the  urine,  the  tears,  and  the  sweat, 
are  salt  1  Why  does  the  gland  within  the  ear  se- 
parate a  viscid  substance,  which  defends  that  pas- 
sage ;  the  gland  in  the  upper  angle  of  the  eye,  a 
thin  brine  which  washes  the  ball  1  Why  is  the 
synovia  of  the  joints  mucilaginous ;  the  bile  bitter, 
stimulating,  and  soapy"?  Why  does  the  juice, 
which  flows  into  the  stomach,  contain  powers, 
which  make  that  bowel  the  great  laboratory,  as  it 
is  by  its  situation  the  recipient,  of  the  materials  of 
future  nutrition  1  These  are  all  fair  questions; 
and  no  answer  can  be  given  to  them  but  what  calls 
in  intelligence  and  intention. 

My  object  in  the  present  chapter  has  been  to 
teach  three  things :  first,  that  it  is  a  mistake  to 
su))pose  that,  in  reasoning  from  the  appearances  of 
nature,  the  imperfection  of  our  knowledge  propor- 
tionably  afiects  the  certainty  of  our  conclusion  ; 
for  in  many  cases  it  does  not  affect  it  at  all :  se- 
condly, that  the  different  parts  of  the  animal  frame 
may  be  classed  and  distributed,  according  to  the 
degree  of  exactness  with  which  we  can  compare 
them  with  works  of  art :  thirdly,  that  the  meckard- 
cal  parts  of  our  frame,  or  those  in  which  this  com- 
parison is  most  complete,  although  constituting, 
probably,  the  coarsest  portions  of  nature's  work- 
manship, are  the  most  proper  to  be  alleged  as 
proofs  and  specimens  of  design. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Of  Mechanical  Arrangement  in  the  Human 
Frame. 

We  proceed,  therefore,  to  propose  certain  exam- 
•les  taken  out  of  this  class :  making  choice  of  such 


as,  amongst  those  which  have  come  to  our  know- 
ledge, appear  to  be  the  most  striking,  and  the  best 
understood  ;  but  obliged,  perhaps,  to  postpone  both 
these  recommendations  to  a  third  ;  tliat  of  the  ex- 
ample being  capable  of  explanation  without  plates, 
or  figures,  or  technical  language. 

Of  the  Bones. 

I. — I  challenge  any  man  to  produce,  in  the 
joints  and  pivots  of  the  most  complicated  or  the 
most  flexible  machine  that  was  ever  contrived,  a 
construction  more  artificial,  or  more  evidently 
artificial  than  that  which  is  seen  in  the  vcrte- 
bra3  of  the  human  neck. — Two  things  were  to 
be  done.  The  head  was  to  have  the  power  of 
bending  forward  and  backward,  as  in  the  act 
of  nodding,  stooping,  looking  upward  or  down- 
ward ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  of  turning  itself 
round  upon  the  body  to  a  certain  extent,  the 
quadrant  we  will  say,  or  rather,  perhaps,  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  degrees  of  a  circle.  For  these 
two  purposes,  two  distinct  contrivances  are  em- 
ployed :  First,  the  head  rests  immediately  upon 
the  uppermost  of  the  vertebrse,  and  is  united  to  it 
by  a  /i4?i^c-joint ;  upon  which  joint  the  head  plays 
freely  forward  and  backward,  as  far  either  way  as 
is  necessary,  or  as  the  ligaments  allow;  which 
was  the  first  thing  required.  But  then  the  rotato- 
ry motion  is  unprovided  for;  Therefore,  secondly, 
to  make  the  head  capable  of  tliis,  a  farther  me- 
chanism is  introduced ;  not  between  the  head  and 
the  uppermost  bone  of  the  neck,  where  the  hinge 
is,  but  between  that  bone,  and  the  bone  next  un- 
derneath it.  It  is  a  mechanism  resembling  a  te- 
non and  mortice.  This  second,  or  uppermost 
bone  but  one,  has  what  anatomists  call  a  })roces3, 
viz.  a  projection,  somewhat  similar,  in  size  and 
shape,  to  a  tooth ;  which  tooth,  entering  a  corres- 
ponding hole  or  socket  in  the  bone  above  it,  forms 
a  pivot  or  axle,  upon  which  that  upper  bone,  to- 
gether with  the  head  which  it  supports,  turns 
freely  in  a  circle ;  and  as  far  in  the  circle  as  the 
attached  muscles  permit  the  head  to  turn.  Thus 
are  both  motions  perfect,  without  interfering  with 
each  other.  When  wo  nod  the  head,  we  use  the 
hinge-joint,  which  lies  between  the  head  and  the 
first  bone  of  the  neck.  When  we  turn  the  head 
round,  we  use  the  tenon  and  mortice,  which  runs 
between  the  first  bone  of  the  neck  and  the  second 
We  see  the  same  contrivance  and  the  same  prin- 
ciple employed  in  the  frame  or  mounting  of  a  teles- 
cope. It  is  occasionally  requisite,  that  the  object- 
end  of  the  instrument  be  moved  up  and  down,  as 
well  as  horizontally  or  cquatorially.  For  the  ver- 
tical motion,  there  is  a  hinge,  upon  which  the 
telescope  plays ;  for  the  horizontal  or  equatorial 
motion,  an  axis  upon  which  the  telescope  and  the 
hinge  turn  round  together.  And  this  is  exactly 
the  mechanism  which  is  applied  to  the  motion  of 
the  head :  nor  will  any  one  here  doubt  of  the  ex- 
istence of  counsel  and  design,  except  it  be  by  that 
debility  of  mind,  which  can  trust  to  its  own  rea- 
sonings in  nothing. 

We  may  add,  that  it  was  on  another  account 
also,  expedient,  that  the  motion  of  the  head  back- 
ward and  forward  should  be  performed  u))on  the 
upper  surface  of  the  fir.st  vertebrae :  for  if  the  first 
vertebrae  itself  had  bent  forward,  it  would  have 
brought  the  spinal  marrow,  at  the  very  beginning 
of  its  course,  upon  the  point  of  the  tooth. 

II.  Another  mechanical  contrivance,  not  unlike 
the  last  in  its  object,  but  different  and  original  in 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


405 


its  means,  is  seen  in  what  anatomists  call  ihc  fore- 
arm ;  that  is,  in  the  arm  between  the  elbow  and 
the  wrist,  ttere,  for  the  perfect  use  of  the  limb, 
two  motions  are  wanted :  a  motion  at  the  elbow 
backward  and  forward,  which  is  called  a  recipro- 
cal motion;  and  a  rotatory  motion,  by  which  the 
palm  of  the  hand,  as  occasion  requires,  may  be 
turned  upward.  How  is  this  managed  \  the  fore- 
arm, it  is  well  known,  consists  of  two  bones,  lying 
along-side  each  other,  but  touching  only  towards 
the  ends.  One,  and  only  one,  of  these  bones,  is 
joined  to  the  cubit,  or  upper  jjart  of  the  arm  at  j 
the  elbow ;  the  other  alone,  to  the  hand  at  the  ] 
wrist.  The  tirst,  by  means,  at  the  elbow,  of  a  i 
hinge-joint  (which  allows  only  of  motion  in  the  i 
same  plane,)  swings  backward  and  forward,  car- 
rying along  with  it  the  other  bone,  and  the  whole 
fore-arm.  In  the  mean  time,  as  often  as  there  is 
occasion  to  turn  the  palm  upward,  that  other  bone 
to  which  the  hand  is  attached,  rolls  upon  the  first, 
by  the  help  of  a  groove  or  hollow  near  each  end 
of  one  bone,  to  which  is  fitted  a  corresponding 
prominence  in  the  other.  If  both  bones  had  been 
joined  to  the  cubit  or  upper  arm,  at  the  elbow,  or 
both  to  the  hand  at  the  wrist,  the  thing  could  not 
have  been  done.  The  first  was  to  be  at  liberty 
at  one  end,  and  the  second  at  the  other;  by  which 
means  the  two  actions  may  be  performed  together. 
The  great  Ixjne  which  carries  the  fore-arm,  may 
be  swinging  upon  its  hinge  at  the  elbow,  at  the 
very  time  that  the  lesser  bone,  which  carries  the 
hand,  may  be  turning  round  it  in  the  grooves. 
The  management  also  of  these  grooves,  or  rather 
the  tubercles  and  grooves,  is  ver_y  observable.  The 
two  bones  are  called  the  radius  and  the  ulna. 
Above,  i.  e.  towards  the  elbow,  a  tubercle  of  the 
radius  plays  into  the  socket  of  the  ulna ;  whilst 
below,  i.  e.  towards  the  wrist,  the  radius  finds  the 
socket,  and  the  ulna  the  tubercle.  A  single  bone 
in  the  fore-arm,  with  a  ball  and  socket  joint  at  the 
elbow,  wliich  admits  of  motion  in  all  directions, 
might,  in  some  degree,  have  answered  the  purpose 
of  both  moving  the  arm  and  turning  the  hand. 
But  how  much  better  it  is  accomplished  by  the 
present  mechanism,  any  person  may  convince 
himself  who  puts  the  ease  and  quickness  with 
which  he  can  shake  his  hand  at  the  wrist  circu- 
larly (moving  likewise,  if  he  pleases,  his  arm  at 
the  elbow  at  the  same  time,)  in  competition  with 
the  com|)aratively  slow  and  laborious  motion,  with 
which  his  arm  can  be  made  to  turn  round  at  the 
shoulder,  by  the  aid  of  a  ball  and  socket  joint. 

III.  The  spine,  or  back-bone,  is  a  chain  of 
joints  of  very  wonderful  construction.  Various, 
difficult,  and  almost  inconsistent  oiiiccs  were  to  be 
executed  by  the  same  instrument.  It  was  to  be 
firm,  yet  flexible :  (now  I  know  no  chain  made  by 
art,  which  is  both  these  ;  for  by  firmness  I  mean, 
not  only  strength,  liut  stability  :)jf7-??!,  to  support 
the  erect  position  of  the  body  :^e.r(6/e,  to  allow  of 
the  bending  of  the  trunk  in  all  degrees  of  curva- 
ture. It  was  farther  also  (which  is  another,  and 
quite  a  distinct  purpose  from  the  rest)  to  become 
a  pipe  or  conduit  for  the  safe  conveyance  from  the 
brain,  of  the  most  important  fluid  of  the  animal 
frame,  that,  namely,  upon  which  all  voluntary 
motion  depends,  the  spinal  marrow ;  a  substance 
not  only  of  the  first  necessity  to  action,  if  not  to 
fife,  but  of  a  nature  so  delicate  and  tender,  so  sus- 
ceptible, and  so  impatient  of  injury,  as  that  any 
unusual  pressure  upon  it,  or  any  considerable  ob- 
struction of  its  course,  is  followed  by  paralysis  or 


death.  Now  the  spme  was  not  only  to  furnisl; 
the  main  trunk  for  the  passage  of  the  medullary 
substance  from  the  brain,  but  to  give  out,  in  the 
course  of  its  progress,  small  pipes  therefrom,  which 
being  afterward  indefinitely  subdivided,  might, 
under  the  name  of  nerves,  distribute  this  exquisite 
supply  to  every  part  of  the  body.  The  sam« 
spine  was  also  to  serve  another  use  not  less 
wanted  than  the  preceding,  viz.  to  afford  a  fulcrum, 
stay,  or  basis  (or  more  properly  speaking,  a  series 
of  these,)  for  the  insertion  of  the  muscles  which 
are  spread  over  the  trunk  of  the  body:  in  wliich 
trunk  there  are  not,  as  in  the  limbs,  cylindrical 
bones  to  which  they  can  be  fastened :  and,  likewise, 
which  is  a  similar  use,  to  furnish  a  support  for  the 
ends  of  the  ribs  to  rest  uj)on. 

Bespeak  of  a  workman  a  piece  of  mechanism 
which  shall  comprise  all  these  purposes,  and  let 
him  set  about  to  contrive  it :  let  him  try  his  skill 
upon  it ;  let  him  feel  the  difficulty  of  accomplish- 
ing the  task,  before  he  be  told  how  the  same  thing 
is  effected  in  the  animal  frame.  Nothing  will 
enable  him  to  judge  so  well  of  the  wisdom  which 
has  been  employed;  nothing  will  dispose  him  to 
think  of  it  so  truly.  First,  for  the  firmness,  yet 
flexibility,  of  the  spine;  it  is  composed  of  a  great 
number  of  bones  (in  the  human  subject,  of  twen- 
ty-four) joined  to  one  another,  and  compacted  by 
broad  bases.  The  breadth  of  the  bases  upon 
which  the  parts  severally  rest,  and  the  closeness 
of  the  junction,  give  to  the  chain  its  firmness  and 
stability ;  the  number  of  jiarts,  and  consequent  fre- 
quency of  joints,  its  flexibility.  Which  flexibility, 
we  may  also  observe,  varies  in  different  parts  of 
the  chain ;  is  least  in  the  back,  where  strength 
more  than  flexure  is  wanted;  greater  in  the  loins, 
which  it  was  necessary  should  be  more  supple 
than  the  back;  and  greatest  of  all  in  the  neck,  for 
the  free  motion  of  the  head.  Then,  secondly,  in 
order  to  afford  a  passage  for  the  descent  of  the 
medullary  substance,  each  of  these  bones  is  bored 
through  in  the  middle  in  such  a  manner,  as  that, 
when  put  together,  the  hole  in  one  bone  fiills  into 
a  line,  and  corresponds  with  the  holes  in  the  two 
bones  contiguous  to  it.  By  which  means,  the 
perforated  pieces,  when  joined,  form  an  entire, 
close,  uninterrupted  channel ;  at  least,  whilst  the 
spine  is  upright,  anJ  at  rest.  But  as  a  settled 
posture  is  inconsistent  with  its  use,  a  great  diffi- 
culty still  remained,  which  was  to  prevent  the 
vertebrse  shifting  upon  one  another,  so  as  to  break 
the  line  of  the  canal  as  often  as  the  body  moves 
or  twists ;  or  the  joints  gaping  externally,  when- 
ever the  body  is  bent  forward,  and  the  spine  there- 
upon made  to  take  the  form  of  a  bow.  These 
dangers,  which  are  mechanical,  are  mechanically 
provided  against.  The  vertebrae,  by  means  of 
their  processes  and  projections,  and  of  the  articu- 
lations which  some  of  these  form  with  one  another 
at  their  extremities,  are  so  locked  in  and  confined, 
as  to  maintain,  in  what  are  called  the  bodies  or 
broad  surfaces  of  the  bones,  the  relative  position 
nearly  unaltered  ;  and  to  throw  the  change  and 
the  pressure,  produced  by  flexion,  almost  entirely 
upon  the  intervening  cartilages,  the  springinesrs 
and  yielding  nature  of  whose  substance  admits  of 
all  the  motion  which  is  necessary  to  be  performed 
upon  them,  without  any  chasms  being  produced 
by  a  separation  of  the  parts.  I  say,  of  all  the  mo- 
tion which  is  necessary  ;  for  although  we  bend 
our  backs  to  every  degree  almost  of  inclination, 
the  motion  of  each  vertebrce  is  very  small :  such  is 


406 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


the  advantage  we  receive  from  the  chain  being 
composed  of  so  nianj'  hiiks,  the  spine  of  so  many 
bones.     Had  it  consisted  of  three  or  four  bones 
only ;   in  bending  the  body,  the  spinal  marrow 
must  have  been  bruised  at  every  angle.      The 
reader  need  not  be  told,  that  these  intervening  car- 
tilages are  gristles ;  and  he  may  see  them  in  per- 
fection in  a  loin  of  veal.     Their  form  also  favours 
the  same  intention.     They  are  thicker  before  than 
behind ;   so   that,  when  we   stoop   forward,    the 
compressible  substance  of  the  cartilage,  yielding 
in  its  thicker  and  interior  part  to  the  Ibrce  which 
squeezes  it,  brings  the  surfaces  of  the  adjoining 
vertebrae   nearer  to  the  being  parallel  with  one 
another  than  they  were  before,  instead  of  increas- 
ing the  inclination  of  their  planes,  which  must 
have  occasioned  a  fissure  or  opening  between  them. 
Thirdly,  for  the  medullary  canal  giving  out  in  its 
course,   and   in   a  convenient   order  a  supply  of 
nerves  to  different  parts  of  the  body,  notches  are 
made  in  the  upper  and  lower  edge  of  every  verte-- 
bra;  two  on  each  edge;  equidistant  on  each  side 
from   the  middle  line  of  the  back.     When  the 
vertebrse  are  put  together,   these  notches,  exactly 
fitting,    form    small   holes,    through   which    the 
nerves,  at  each  articulation,  issue  out  in  pairs,  in 
order  to  send  their  branches  to  every  part  of  the 
body,  and  with  an  equal  bounty  to  both  sides  of 
the  body.     The  fourth  purpo.so  assigned  to  the 
same  instrument,  is  the  insertion  of  tne  bases  of 
the  muscles,  and  the  support  of  the  ends  of  tlie 
ribs;  and  for  this  fourth  purpose,  especially  the 
former  part  of  it,  a  figure,  specifically  suited  to  the 
design,  and  unnecessary  for  the  other  purposes,  is 
given  to  the  constituent  bones.     Whilst  they  are 
plain,  and  round,  and  smooth,  towards  the  front, 
where   any  roughness  or  projection  might  have  ] 
wounded  theadjacent  viscera,  they  run  out  behind 
and  on  each  side,  into  long  processes,  to  which 
processes  the  muscles  necessary  to  the  motions  of 
the  trunk  are  fixed ;  and  fixed  with  such  art,  that, 
whilst  the  vertebrae  supply  a  basis  for  the  muscles, 
the  muscles  help  to  kcc[>  these  bones  in  their  posi- 
tion, or  by  their  tendons  to  tie  them  together. 

That  most  important,  however,  and  general 
property,  viz.  the  strength  of  the  compagos,  and 
the  security  against  luxation,  was  to  be  still  more 
especially  consulted:  for  where  so  many  joints 
were  concerned,  and  where,  in  every  one  a  de- 
rangement would  have  been  fatal,  it  became  a 
subject  of  studious  precaution.  For  this  purpose, 
the  vertebrae  are  articulated,  that  is,  the  moveable 
joints  between  them  are  formed  by  means  of  those 
projections  of  their  substance,  which  we  have 
mentioned  under  the  name  of  processes ;  and 
these  so  lock  in  with,  and  overwrap  one  another 
as  to  secure  the  body  of  the  vertebra  not  only 
from  accidentally  slipping,  but  even  from  being 
pushed  out  of  its  place  by  any  violence  short  of 
that  which  would  break  the  bone.  I  have  often 
remarked  and  admired  this  structure  in  the  chine 
of  a  hare.  In  this,  as  in  many  instances,  a  plain 
observer  of  the  animal  economy  may  spare  himself 
the  disgust  of  being  present  at  human  dissections, 
and  yet  learn  enough  for  his  information  and  sa- 
tisfaction, by  even  examining  the  bones  of  the 
animals  which  come  upon  his  table.  Let  him 
take,  for  example,  into  his  hands,  a  piece  of  the 
clean-picked  bone  of  a  hare's  back;  consisting,  we 
will  su[)pose,  of  three  vertebra.  He  will  find  the 
middle  bone  of  the  three  so  implicated,  by  means 
uf  its  projections  or  processes,  with  the  bone  on 


each  side  of  it,  that  no  pressure  which  he  can  use 
will  force  it  out  of  its  place  between  them.  It  will 
give  way  neither  forward  nor  backward,  nor  on 
either  side,  [n  whichever  direction  he  pushes,  he 
perceives,  in  the  form,  or  junction,  or  over-lapping, 
of  the  bones,  an  impediment  opposed  to  his  at- 
tempt; a  check  and  guard  against  dislocation.  In 
one  part  of  the  spine,  he  will  find  a  still  farther 
fortifying  expedient,  in  the  mode  according  to 
w'hich  the  ribs  are  annexed  to  the  spine.  Lach 
rib  rests  upon  two  vertebrae.  That  is  the  thing 
to  be  remarked,  and  any  one  may  remark  it  in 
carving  a  neck  of  mutton.  The  manner  of  it  is 
this:  the  end  of  the  rib  is  divided  by  a  niiddle 
ridge  into  two  surfaces;  which  surfaces  are  joined 
to  the  bodies  of  two  contiguous  vertebrae,  the  ridge 
applying  itself  to  the  intervening  cartilage.  Now 
this  is  the  very  contrixance  which  is  employed 
in  the  famous  iron  bridge  at  my  door  at  Bishop 
Wearmouth ;  and  forthe  same  purpose  of  stability ; 
viz.  the  cheeks  of  the  bars,  which  pass  between 
the  arches,  ride  across  the  joints,  by  which  the 
pieces  composing  each  arch  are  united.  Each 
cross-bar  rests  upon  two  of  these  pieces  at  their 
place  of  junction ;  *nd  by  that  position  resists,  at 
least  in  one  direction,  any  tendency  in  either  piece  to 
slip  out  of  its  place.  Thus  perfectly,  by  one  means 
or  the  other,  is  the  danger  of  slipping  laterally, 
or  of  being  drawn  aside  out  of  the  line  of  the  back, 
provided  against :  and  to  withstand  the  bones  being 
pulled  as  under  longitudinally,  or  in  the  direction 
of  that  line,  a  strong  membrane  runs  from  one 
end  of  the  chain  to  the  other,  sufficient  to  resist 
any  ibrce  which  is  ever  likely  to  act  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  back,  or  parallel  to  it,  and  consequently 
to  secure  the  whole  combination  in  their  places. 
The  general  result  is,  that  not  only  (he  motiojis 
of  the  human  body  necessary  for  the  ordinary  of- 
fices of  life  are  performed  with  safety,  but  that  it 
is  an  accident  hardly  ever  heard  of,  that  even  the 
gesticulations  of  a  harlequin  distort  his  spine. 

Upon  the  whole,  and  as  a  guide  to  those  who 
may  be  inclined  to  carry  the  consideration  of  this 
subject  fiirther,  there  are  three  views  under  which 
the  spine  ought  to  be  regarded,  and  in  all  which 
it  cannot  fail  to  excite  our  admiration.  These 
views  relate  to  its  articulations,  its  ligaments,  and 
its  perforation ;  and  to  the  corresponding  advan- 
tages which  the  body  derives  from  it,  for  action, 
for  strength,  and  for  that  which  is  essential  to 
every  part,  a  secure  connuunication  with  the  brain. 
The  structure  of  the  spine  is  not  in  general 
difierent  in  diflerent  animals.  In  the  serpent 
tribe,  however,  it  is  considerably  varied ;  but  with 
a  strict  reference  to  the  conveniency  of  the  animal. 
For,  whereas,  in  quadrupeds  the  number  of  verte- 
brae is  from  thirty  to  forty,  in  the  serpent  it  is 
nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty:  whereas  in  men 
and  quadrupeds  the  surfaces  of  the  bones  are  flat, 
and  these  flat  surfaces  laid  one  against  the  other, 
and  bound  tight  by  sinews;  in  the  serpent,  the 
bones  play  one  within  another  like  a  ball  and 
socket,*  so  that  they  have  a  free  motion  upon  one 
another  in  every  direction :  that  is  to  say,  in  men 
and  quadrupeds,  firmness  is  more  consulted ;  in 
serpents,  pliancy.  Yet  even  phancy  is  not  ob- 
tained at  the  expense  of  safety.  The  back-bone 
of  a  serpent,  for  coherence  and  flexibility,  is  one 
of  the  most  curious  pieces  of  animal  mechanism 
with  which  we  are  acquainted.     The  chain  of  a 


*  Der.  I'hys.  Tljeol.  p.  396. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


407 


watch  (I  mean  the  chain  which  passes  between 
the  spring-barrel  and  the  fusee,)  which  aims  at 
the  same  properties,  is  but  a  Imngling  piece  of 
workmanship  in  comparison  with  that  of  which 
we  speak. 

IV.  The  reciprocal  enlargement  and  contraction 
of  the  chest  to  allow  for  the  play  of  the  lungs,  de- 
pends upon  a  simple  3'et  beautiful  mechanical 
contrivance,  refcralile  to  the  structure  of  the  bones 
wliich  enclose  it.  The  ribs  are  articulated  to  the 
back-bone,  or  rather  to  its  side  projections,  ob- 
liquely:  that  is,  in  their  natural  position  they  beind 
or  slope  irom  the  place  of  articulation  downwards. 
But  the  basis  upon  which  they  rest  at  this  end 
being  fixed,  the  consequence  of  the  obliquity,  or 
the  inclination  downwards,  is,  that  when  they 
come  to  move,  whatever  pulls  the  ribs  upwards, 
necessarily,  at  the  same  time,  draws  them  out ; 
and,  that,  whilst  the  ribs  are  brought  to  a  right 
angle  with  the  spine  behind,  the  sternum,  or  part 
of  the  chest  to  which  they  are  attached  in  front,  is 
thrust  forward.  The  simple  action,  therefore,  of 
the  elevating  muscles  does  the  business:  whereas, 
if  the  ribs  had  been  articulated  with  the  bodies  of 
the  vertebrse  at  right  angles,  the  cavity  of  the  tho- 
rax could  never  have  been  farther  enlarged  by  a 
change  of  their  position.  If  each  rib  had  been  a 
rigid  bone,  articulated  at  both  ends  to  fixed  bases, 
the  whole  chest  had  been  immoveable.  Keill  has 
observed,  that  the  breast-bone,  in  an  easy  inspira- 
tion, is  thrust  out  one  tenth  of  an  inch :  and  he 
calculates  that  this,  added  to  what  is  gained  to  the 
space  within  the  chest  by  the  flattening  or  descent 
of  the  diaphragm,  leaves  room  for  forty-two  cubic 
inches  of  air  to  enter  at  every  dra wing-in  of  the 
breath.  When  there  is  a  necessity  for  a  deeper 
and  more  laborious  inspiration,  the  enlargement 
of  the  capacity  of  the  chest  may  be  so  int'reased 
by  effort,  as  that  the  lungs  may  be  distended  with 
seventy  or  a  hundred  such  cubic  inches.*  The 
thorax,  sa3's  Schelhammer,  forms  a  kind  of  bel- 
lows, such  as  never  have  been,  nor  probably  will 
be,  made  by  any  artificer. 

V.  The  patella,  or  knee-pan,  is  a  curious  little 
bone  ;  in  its  form  and  oflice,  unlike  any  other  bone 
of  the  body.  It  is  circular;  the  size  of  a  crown 
piece;  pretty  thick;  a  little  convex  on  both  sides, 
and  covered  with  a  smooth  cartilage.  It  lies  upon 
the  front  of  the  knee  ;  and  the  powerful  tendons, 
by  which  the  leg  is  brought  forward,  pass  through 
it  (or  rather  it  makes  a  part  of  their  continuation,) 
from  their  origin  in  the  thigh  to  their  insertion  in 
the  tibia.  It  protects  both  the  tendon  and  the 
joint  from  any  injury  which  either  might  suffer, 
by  the  rubbing  of  one  against  the  other,  or  by  the 
pressure  of  unequal  surlaces.  It  also  gives  to  the 
tendons  a  very  considerable  mechanical  advantage, 
by  altering  the  line  of  their  direction,  ami  by  ad- 
vancing it  farther  out  from  the  centre  of  motion  ; 
and  this  upon  the  principles  of  the  resolution  of 
force,  upon  which  principles  all  machinery  is 
founded.  These  are  its  uses.  But  what  is  most 
observable  in  it  is,  that  it  appears  to  be  supple- 
mental, as  it  were,  to  the  frame :  added,  as  it  should 
almost  seem,  afterward  ;  not  quite  necessary,  but 
very  convenient.  It  is  separate  from  the  other 
bones  ;  that  is,  it  is  not  connected  with  any  other 
bones  by  the  common  mode  of  union.  It  is  soft, 
or  hardly  formed,  in  infancy ;  and  produced  by  an 
ossification,  of  the  inception  or  progress  of  which 

*  Anat.  p.  229. 


no  account  can  be  given  from  the  structure  or 
exercise  of  the  part. 

VI.  The  shoulder-blade  is,  in  some  material 
respects,  a  very  singular  bone;  appearing  to  be 
made  so  expressly  for  its  own  purpose,  and  so  in- 
dependently of  every  other  reason.  In  such  qua- 
drupeds as  have  no  collar-bones,  which  are  by  far 
the  greater  number,  the  shoulder-blade  has  no 
bony  communication  with  the  trunk,  either  by  a 
joint  or  process,  or  in  any  other  way.  It  does  not 
grow  to,  or  out  of,  any  other  bone  of  the  trunk. 
It  does  not  apply  to  any  other  bone  of  the  trunk :  (I 
know  not  whether  this  be  true  of  any  second  bone 
in  the  body,  except  perhaps  the  os  hyoides:)  in 
strictness  it  forms  no  part  of  the  skeleton.  It  is 
bedded  in  the  flesh ;  attached  only  to  the  muscles. 
It  is  no  other  than  a  foundation  bone  for  the  arms, 
laid  in,  separate,  as  it  were,  and  distinct,  from  the 
general  ossification.  The  lower  limbs  connect 
themselves  at  the  hip  with  bones  which  form  part 
of  the  skeleton:  but  this  connexion,  in  the  upper 
limbs,  being  wanting,  a  basis,  whereupon  the  arm 
might  be  articulated,  was  to  be  supplied  by  a  de- 
tached ossification  for  the  purpose. 

Of  the  Joints. 

I.  The  above  area  few  examples  of  bones  made 
remarkable  by  their  configuration  :  but  to  almost 
all  the  bones  belong  joints ;  and  in  these,  still 
more  clearly  than  in  the  form  or  shape  of  the 
bones  themselves,  are  seen  both  contrivance  and 
contriving  wisdom.  Every  joint  is  a  curiosity, 
and  is  also  strictly  mechanical.  There  is  the 
hinge-joint,  and  the  mortice  and  tenon-joint ;  each 
as  manifestly  such,  and  as  accurately  defined,  as 
any  which  can  be  produced  out  of  a  cabinet- 
maker's shop ;  and  one  or  the  other  prevails,  as 
either  is  adapted  to  the  motion  which  is  wanted  : 
e.  g.  a  mortice  and  tenon,  or  ball  and  socket -joint, 
is  not  required  at  the  knee,  the  leg  standing  in 
need  only  of  a  motion  backward  and  forward  in 
the  same  plane,  for  which  a  hinge-joint  is  sufficient ; 
a  mortice  and  tenon,  or  ball  and  socket-joint,  is 
wanted  at  the  hip,  that  not  only  the  progressive 
step  may  be  provided  for,  but  the  interval  between 
the  limbs  may  be  enlarged  or  contracted  at  plea- 
sure. Now  observe  what  would  have  been  the 
inconveniency,  i.  e.  both  the  superfluity  and  the 
defect  of  articulation,  if  the  case  had  been  inverted  : 
if  the  ball  and  socket-joint  had  been  at  the  knee, 
and  the  hinge-joint  at  the  hip.  The  thighs  must 
have  been  kept  constantly  together,  and  the  legs 
have  been  loose  and  straddling.  There  would 
have  been  no  use,  that  we  know  of,  in  being  able 
to  turn  the  calves  of  the  legs  before;  and  there 
would  have  been  great  confinement  by  restraining 
the  motion  of  the  thighs  to  one  plane.  The  dis- 
advantage would  not  have  been  less,  if  the  joints 
at  the  hip  and  the  knee  had  been  both  of  the  same 
sort ;  both  balls  and  sockets,  or  both  hinges :  yet 
why,  independently  of  utility,  and  of  a  Creator 
who  consulted  that  utility,  should  the  same  bone 
(the  thigh-bone)  be  rounded  at  one  end,  and  chan- 
nelled at  the  otlier  1 

The  hinge-joint  is  not  formed  by  a  bolt  passing 
through  the  two  parts  of  the  hinge,  and  thus  keep- 
ing them  in  their  places;  but  by  a  different  expe- 
dient. A  strong,  tough,  parchment-like  mem- 
brane, rising  from  the  receiving  bones,  and  in- 
serted all  round  the  received  bones  a  little  below 
their  heads,  encloses  the  joint  on  every  side.  This 


408 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


membrane  ties,  confines,  and  holds,  the  ends  of 
the  bones  together;  keeping  the  corresponding 
parts  of  the  joint,  i.e.  the  relative  convexities  and 
concavities,  in  close  application  to  each  other. 

For  the  h(dl  and  socket-joint,  beside  the  mem- 
brane already  described,  there  is  in  some  import- 
ant joints,  as  an  additional  security,  a  short, 
strong,  yet  flpxible  ligament,  inserted  by  one  end 
into  the  head  of  the  ball,  by  the  other  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  cup;  wliich  ligament  keeps  the  two  parts 
of  the  joint  so  firmly  in  their  place,  that  none  of 
the  motions  which  the  limb  naturally  performs, 
none  of  the  jerks  and  twists  to  which  it  is  ordi- 
narily liable,  nothing  less  indeed  than  the  utmost 
and  the  most  unnatural  violence,  can  pull  them 
asunder.  It  is  hardly  imaginable,  how  great  a 
force  is  necessary,  even  to  stretch,  still  more  to 
break,  this  ligament;  yet  so  flexible  is  it,  as  to  op- 
pose no  impediment  to  the  suppleness  of  the  joint. 
By  its  situation  also,  it  is  inaccessible  to  injury 
from  sharp  edges.  As  it  cannot  be  ruptured,  (such 
is  its  strength,)  so  it  cannot  be  cut,  except  bj'  an 
accident  which  would  sever  the  limb.  If  I  had 
been  permitted  to  frame  a  proof  of  contrivance, 
such  as  might  satisfy  the  most  distrustful  inqui- 
rer, I  know  not  whether  I  could  have  chosen  an 
exami)le  of  mechanism  more  unequivocal,  or  more 
free  from  objection,  than  this  ligament.  Nothing 
can  be  more  mechanical;  nothing,  however  sub- 
servient to  the  safety,  less  capable  of  being  gene- 
rated by  the  action  of  the  joint.  I  would  particu- 
larly solicit  the  reader's  attention  to  this  provision, 
as  it  is  found  in  the  head  of  the  thigh-bone  ;  to 
its  strength,  its  structure,  and  its  use.  It  is  an 
instance  upon  which  I  lay  my  hand.  One  single 
tiict,  weighed  by  a  mind  in  earnest,  leaves  often- 
times the  deepest  impression.  For  the  ]iur()ose  of 
addres.Mng  ditlirent  understandings  and  diHerent 
apprehensions, — for  the  purpose  of  sentiment,  for 
the  purpose  of  exciting  admiration  of  the  Creator's 
works,  we  diversify  our  views,  we  multiply  ex- 
amples ;  but  for  the  purpose  of  strict  argument, 
one  clear  instance  is  sufficient ;  and  not  only  suf- 
ficient, but  capable  perhaps  of  generating  a  firmer 
assurance  than  what  can  arise  from  a  divided  at- 
tention. 

The  ginghjmus,  or  hinge-joint,  does  not,  it  is 
manifest,  admit  of  a  ligament  of  the  same  kind 
with  that  of  the  ball  and  socket-joint,  but  it  is  al- 
ways fortified  by  the  species  of  ligament  of  which 
it  does  admit.  The  strong,  firm,  investing  mem- 
brane, above  described,  accompanies  it  in  every 
part:  and  in  particular  joints,  this  membrane, 
which  is  properly  a  ligament,  is  considerably 
stronger  on  the  sides  than  either  before  or  behind, 
in  order  that  the  convexities  may  play  true  in 
their  concavities,  and  not  be  subject  to  slip  side- 
ways, which  is  the  chief  danger ;  for  the  muscu- 
lar tendons  generally  restrain  the  parts  from  go- 
ing farther  than  they  ought  to  go  in  the  plane  of 
their  motion.  In  the  knee,  which  is  a  joint  of 
this  form,  and  of  great  importance,  there  are  su- 
jieradded  to  the  common  provisions  for  the  sta- 
bility of  the  joint,  two  strong  ligaments  which 
cross  each  other ;  and  cross  each  other  in  such  a 
manner,  as  to  secure  the  joint  from  being  dis- 
placed in  any  assignable  direction.  "  I  think," 
says  Cheselden,  "  that  the  knee  cannot  be  com- 
pletely dislocated  without  breaking  the  cross  liga- 
ments."* We  can  hardly  help  comparing  this  with 


the  binding  up  of  a  fracture,  where  the  fillet  is  al- 
most always  strapped  across,  for  the  sake  of  giving 
firmness  and  strength  to  the  bandage. 

Another  no  less  important  joint,  and  that  also 
of  the  ginglymus  sort,  is  the  ankle  ;  yet  though 
important,  (in  order,  perhaps,  to  preserve  the 
symmetry  and  lightness  of  the  limb,)  small,  andj 
on  that  account,  more  liable  to  injury.  Now  this 
joint  is  strengthened,  i.  e.  is  defended  from  dislo- 
cation, by  two  remarkable  processes  or  prolonga- 
tions of  the  bones  of  the  leg ;  which  processes 
form  the  protuberances  that  we  call  the  inner  and 
outer  ankle.  It  is  part  of  each  bone  going  down 
lower  than  the  other  part,  and  thereby  overlap- 
ping the  joint:  so  that,  if  the  joint  be  in  danger 
of  slipping  outward,  it  is  curbed  by  the  inner  pro- 
jection, i.  e.  that  of  the  tibia;  if  inward,  by  the 
outer  projection,  i.  e.  that  of  the  fibula.  Between 
both,  it  is  locked  in  its  position.  I  know  no  ac- 
count that  can  be  given  of  this  structure,  except 
its  utility.  Why  should  the  tibia  terminate  at  its 
lower  extremity,  with  a  double  end,  and  the  fibula 
the  same, — but  to  barricade  the  joint  on  both  sides 
by  a  continuation  of  part  of  the  thickest  of  the 
bone  over  it  1  The  joint  at  the  shoulder  compared 
with  the  joint  at  the  hip,  though  both  ball  and 
socket-joints,  discovers  a  difierence  in  their  form 
and  proportions,  well  suited  to  the  diflerent  offices 
which  the  limbs  have  to  execute.  The  cup  or 
socket  at  tlie  shoulder  is  much  shallower  and  flat- 
ter than  it  is  at  the  hip,  and  is  also  in  part  formed 
of  cartilage  set  round  the  rim  of  the  cup.  The 
socket,  into  which  the  head  of  the  thigh-bone  is 
inserted,  is  deeper,  and  made  of  more  solid  ma- 
terials. This  agrees  with  the  duties  assigned  to 
each  part.  The  arm  is  an  instrument  of  motion, 
prineipalh^  if  not  solely.  Accordingly  the  shal- 
lowness of  the  socket  at  the  shoulder,  and  the 
yieldingness  of  the  cartilaginous  substance  with 
which  its  edge  is  set  round,  and  which,  in  fact, 
composes  a  considerable  part  of  its  concavity,  are 
excellently  adapted  for  the  allowance  of  a  free  mo- 
tion and  a  wide  range ;  both  which  the  arm  wants. 
Whereas,  the  lower  limb,  forming  a  part  of  the 
column  of  the  body ;  having  to  support  the  body, 
as  well  as  to  be  the  means  of  its  locomotion  ;  firm- 
ness was  to  be  consulted,  as  well  as  action.  With 
a  capacity  for  motion  in  all  directions,  indeed,  as 
at  the  shoulder,  but  not  in  any  direction  to  the 
same  extent  as  in  the  arm,  was  to  be  united  sta- 
bility, or  resistance  to  dislocation.  Hence  the 
deeper  excavation  of  the  socket ;  and  the  presence 
of  a  less  proportion  of  cartilage  upon  the  edge. 

The  suppleness  and  pliability  of  the  joints,  we 
every  moment  experience;  and  the  Jirmness  of 
animal  articulation,  the  i>roperty  we  have  hitherto 
been  considering,  may  be  judged  of  from  this  sin- 
gle observation,  that,  at  any  given  moment  of 
time,  there  are  inillioas  of  animal  joints  in  com- 
plete repair  and  use,  for  one  that  is  dislocated ; 
and  this,  notwithstanding  the  contortions  and 
wrenches  to  which  the  limbs  of  animals  are  con- 
tinually subject. 

II.  The  joints,  or  rather  the  ends  of  the  bones 
which  form  them,  display  also,  in  their  configura- 
tion, another  use.  The  nerves,  blood-vessels,  and 
tendons,  which  are  necessary  to  the  life,  or  for  the 
motion,  of  the  limbs,  must,  it  is  evident,  in  their 
way  from  the  trunk  of  the  body  to  the  place  of 
their  destination,  travel  over  the  moveable  joints  ; 
and  it  is  no  less  evident,  that,  in  this  part  of  their 
course,  they  will  have,  from  sudden  motions  and 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


409 


from  almipt  changns  of  curvature,  to  encounter 
the  danger  of  coni[)rehension,  attrition,  or  lacera- 
tion. To  guard  fibres  so  tender  against  conse- 
quences so  injurious,  their  path  is  in  those  parts 
protected  with  pecuhar  care ;  and  that  by  a  provi- 
sion, in  the  figure  of  the  bones  themselves.  The 
nerves  which  supply  the  fore-arm ,  especially  the 
inferior  cubital  nerves,  are  at  the  elbow  conducted, 
by  a  kind  of  covered  way,  between  the  condyls,  or 
rather  under  the  inner  extuberances  of  the  bone 
which  composes  the  upper  part  of  the  arm.*  At 
the  knee,  the  extremity  of  the  thigh-bone  is  di- 
vided by  a  sinus  or  cliff  into  two  heads  or  protu- 
berances :  and  these  heads  on  the  back  part  stand 
out  beyond  the  cyUnder  of  the  bone.  Through 
the  hollow,  which  lies  between  the  hind  parts  of 
these  two  heads,  that  is  to  say,  under  the  ham, 
between  the  ham-strings,  and  within  the  concave 
recess  of  the  bone  formed  by  the  extuberances  on 
each  side ;  in  a  word,  along  a  defile  between  rocks, 
pass  the  great  vessels  and  nerves  which  go  to  the 
Icg.t  Who  led  these  vessels  by  a  road  so  defended 
and  secured  ?  In  the  joint  at  "the  shoulder,  in  the 
edge  the  cup  which  receives  the  head  of  the  bone, 
is  a  notch,  which  is  joined  or  covered  at  the  top 
with  a  ligament.  Through  this  hole,  thus  guard- 
ed, the  blood-vessels  steal  to  their  destination  in 
the  arm,  instead  of  mounting  over  the  edge  of  the 
concavity.! 

III.  In  all  joints,  the  ends  of  the  bones,  which 
work  against  each  other,  are  tipped  with  gristle. 
In  the  ball  and  socket-joint,  the  cup  is  lined,  and 
the  ball  capped  with  it.  The  smooth  surface,  the 
elastic  and  unfriable  nature  of  cartilage,  render  it 
of  all  substances  the  most  proper  for  the  place  and 
purpose.  I  should,  therefore,  have  pointed  this 
out  amongst  the  foremost  of  the  provisions  which 
have  been  made  in  the  joints  for  the  facilitating  of 
their  action,  had  it  not  been  alleged,  that  cartilage, 
in  truth,  is  only  nascent  or  imperfect  bone ;  and 
that  the  bone  in  these  places  is  kept  soft  and  im- 
perfect, in  consequence  of  a  more  complete  and 
rigid  ossification  being  prevented  from  taking 
place  by  the  continual  motion  and  rubbing  of  the 
surfaces:  which  being  so,  what  we  represent  as  a 
designed  advantage,  is  an  unavoidable  effect.  I 
am  fiir  from  being  convinced  that  this  is  a  true  ac- 
count of  the  fact;  or  that,  if  it  were  so,  it  answers 
the  argument.  To  me,  the  surmounting  of  the 
ends  of  the  bones  with  gristle,  looks  more  like  a 
plating  with  a  dilferent  metal,  than  like  the  same 
metal  kept  in  a  different  state  by  the  action  to 
which  it  is  exposed.  At  all  events,  we  have  a 
a  great  particular  benefit,  though  ari.sing  from  a 
general  constitution :  but  this  last  not  being  quite 
what  my  argument  requires,  lest  I  should  seem 
by  applying  the  instance  to  over-rate  its  value,  I 
have  tliought  it  fair  to  state  the  question  which  at- 
tends it. 

IV.  In  some  joints,  very  particularly  in  the 
knees,  tliere  are  loose  cartilages  or  gristles  between 
the  bones,  and  within  the  joint,  so  that  the  ends 
of  the  bones,  instead  of  working  upon  one  another, 
work  upon  the  intermediate  cartilages.  Chesel- 
den  has  observed, §  that  the  contrivance  of  a  loose 
ring  is  practised  by  mechanics,  where  the  friction 
of  the  joints  of  any  of  their  machines  is  great;  as 
between  the  parts  of  crook-hinges  of  large  gates, 
or  under  the  head  of  the  male  screw  of  large  vices. 


*  CliGs.  Anat.  p.  255.  ed.  7. 
J  lb.  p.  30. 

3F 


tib.  p.  35. 
§  lb.  p.  13. 


The  cartilages  of  which  we  speak,  have  very  much 
of  the  form  of  these  rings.  The  comparison  more- 
over shows  the  reason  why  we  find  them  in  the 
knees  rather  than  in  other  joints.  It  is  an  expe- 
dient, we  have  seen,  which  a  mechanic  resorts  to, 
only  when  some  strong  and  heavy  work  is  to  be 
done.  So  here  the  thigh-bone  has  to  achieve  its 
motion  at  the  knee,  with  the  whole  weight  of  tlie 
body  pressing  upon  it,  and  often,  as  in  rising  from 
our  seat,  with  the  whole  weight  of  the  body  to 
lift.  It  should  seem,  also,  from  Chcselden's  ac- 
count, that  the  slipping  and  sliding  of  the  loo.se 
cartilages,  though  it  be  probably  a  small  and  ob- 
scure change,  humoured  the  motion  of  the  end  of 
the  thigh-bone,  under  the  particular  conficruration 
which  was  necessary  to  be  given  to  it  for  the  com- 
modious action  of  the  tendons ;  (and  which  con- 
figuration requires  what  he  calls  a  variable  socket, 
that  is,  a  concavity,  the  lines  of  which  assume  a 
different  curvature  in  different  inclinations  of  the 
bones.) 

V.  We  have  now  done  with  the  configuration : 
but  there  is  also  in  the  joints,  and  that  common  to 
them  all,  another  exquisite  provision,  manitestly 
adapted  to  their  use,  and  concerning  which  tliere 
can,  I  think,  be  no  dispute,  namely,  the  regular 
supply  of  a  mucilage,  more  emollient  and  slippery 
than  oil  itself,  which  is  constantly  softening  and 
lubricating  the  parts  that  rub  upon  each  other,  and 
thereby  diminishing  the  effect  of  attrition  in  the 
highest  possiitle  degree.  For  the  continual  se- 
cretion of  this  important  liniment,  and  lor  the 
feeding  of  the  cavities  of  the  joint  with  it,  glands 
are  fixed  near  each  joint;  the  excretory  ducts  of 
which  glands,  dripping  with  their  balsamic  con- 
tents, hang  loose  like  fringes  within  the  cavity  of 
the  joints.  A  late  improvement  in  what  arc  called 
friction-wheels,  which  consist  of  a  mechanism  so 
ordered,  as  to  be  regularly  dropping  oil  into  a  box, 
which  encloses  the  axis,  the  nave,  and  certain 
balls  upon  which  the  nave  revolves,  may  be  said, 
in  some  sort,  to  represent  the  contrivance  in  the 
animal  joint ;  with  this  superiority,  however,  on 
the  part  of  the  joint,  viz.  that  here,  the  oil  is  not 
only  dropped,  but  made. 

In  considering  the  joints,  there  is  nothing,  per- 
haps, which  ought  to  move  our  gratitude  more 
than  the  reflection,  how  well  they  wear.  A  limb 
shall  swing  upon  its  hinge,  or  play  in  its  socket, 
many  hundred  times  in  an  hour,  for  sixty  years 
together,  without  diminution  of  its  agility :  which 
is  a  long  time  for  any  thing  to  last ;  for  any  thing 
so  much  worked  and  exercised  as  the  joints  are. 
This  durability  I  should  attribute,  in  part,  to  the 
provision  which  is  made  for  the  preventing  of 
wear  and  tear,  first,  by  the  polish  of  the  cartilagi- 
nous surfaces;  secondly,  by  the  healing  lubrication 
of  the  mucilage ;  and,  in  part,  to  that  astonishing 
property  of  animal  constitutions,  assimilation,  by 
which,  in  every  portion  of  the  body,  let  it  consist 
of  what  it  will,  substance  is  restored,  and  waste 
repaired. 

JVloveable  joints,  I  think,  compose  the  curiosity 
of  bones ;  but  their  union,  even  where  no  motion 
is  intended  or  wanted,  carries  marks  of  mecha- 
nism and  of  mechanical  wisdom.  The  teeth,  espe- 
cially the  front  teeth,  are  one  bone  fixed  in  ano- 
ther, like  a  peg  driven  into  a  board.  The  sutures 
of  the  skull  are  like  the  edges  of  two  saws  clapped 
together,  in  such  a  manner  as  that  the  teeth  of 
one  enter  the  intervals  of  the  other.  We  have 
sometimes  one  bone  lapping  over  another,  and 
33 


410 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


planed  dow  n  at  the  edges :  sometimes  also  the  thin 
lamella  of  one  bone  received  into  a  narrow  furrow 
of  another.  In  all  which  varieties,  we  seem  to 
discover  the  same  design,  viz.  firmness  of  juncture, 
without  clumsiness  in  the  seam. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Of  the  Muscles. 

Muscr,Es,  with  their  tendons,  are  the  instru- 
ments by  which  animal  motion  is  performed.  It 
will  be  our  business  to  point  out  instances  in 
which,  and  properties  with  respect  to  which,  the 
disposition  of  these  muscles  is  as  strictly  mechani- 
cal, as  that  of  the  wires  and  strings  of  a  puppet. 

I.  We  may  observe,  what  I  believe  is  universal, 
an  exact  relation  between  the  joint  and  the  mus- 
cles which  move  it.  Whatever  motion  the  joint, 
by  its  mechanical  construction,  is  capable  of  per- 
forming, that  motion,  the  annexed  muscles,  by 
their  position,  are  capable  of  producing.  For  ex- 
ample ;  if  there  be,  as  at  the  knee  and  elbow,  a 
hinge-joint,  capable  of  motion  only  in  the  same 
plane,  the  leaders,  as  they  are  called,  i.  e.  the 
muscular  tendons,  are  placed  in  directions  parallel 
to  the  bone,  so  as,  by  the  contraction  or  relaxation 
of  the  muscles  to  which  they  belong,  to  produce 
that  motion  and  no  other.  If  these  joints  were 
capable  of  a  freer  motion,  there  are  no  muscles  to 
produce  it.  Whereas  at  the  shoulder  and  the  hip, 
where  the  ball  and  socket-joint  allows  by  its  con- 
struction of  a  rotatory  or  sweeping  motion,  ten- 
dons are  placed  in  such  a  position,  and  pull  in 
such  a  direction,  as  to  produce  the  motion  of  which 
the  joint  admits.  For  instance,  the  sartorius  or 
tailor's  muscle,  rising  from  the  spine,  running  di- 
agonally across  the  thigh,  and  taking  hold  of  the 
inside  of  the  main  bone  of  the  leg,  a  little  below 
t!ie  knee,  enables  us,  by  its  contraction,  to  throw 
one  leg  and  thigh  over  the  other;  giving  effect, 
at  t!ie  same  time,  to  the  ball  and  socket-joint  at 
the  hip,  and  the  hinge-joint  at  the  knee.  There 
is,  as  we  have  seen,  a  specific  mechanism  in  the 
bones,  for  the  rotatory  motions  of  the  head  and 
hands:  there  is,  also,  in  the  oblique  direction  of 
the  muscles  belonging  to  them,  a  specific  provision 
for  thi!  putting  of  this  mechanism  of  the  bones 
into  action.  And  mark  the  consent  of  uses.  The 
oblique  muscles  would  have  been  inefficient  with- 
out that  particular  articulation:  that  particular 
articulation  would  have  been  lost,  without  the  ob- 
liijue  muscles.  It  may  be  proper  however  to  ob- 
serve, with  respect  to  the  head,  although  I  think 
it  does  not  vary  the  ca.se,  that  its  oblique  motions 
and  inclinations  are  often  motions  in  a  diagonal, 
produced  l)y  the  joint  action  of  muscles  lying  in 
straight  directions.  But  whether  the  pull  be  sin- 
gle or  combined,  the  articulation  is  always  such, 
as  to  be  capable  of  obeying  the  action  of  the  mu.s- 
cles.  The  oblique  muscles  attached  to  the  head, 
arc?  likewise  so  disposed,  as  to  be  capable  of  stea- 
dying the  globe,  as  well  as  of  moving  it.  The 
head  of  a  new-born  infant  is  often  obliged  to  be 
filleted  up.  Alter  death,  the  head  drops  and  rolls 
in  every  direction.  So  that  it  is  by  the  equilibre 
of  the  muscles,  by  the  aid  of  a  considerable  and 
equipollent  muscular  force  in  constant  exertion, 
that  the  head  maintains  its  erect  posture.  The 
muscles  here  supply  what  would  otherwise  be  a 


great  defect  in  the  articulation :  for  the  joint  ir, 
the  neck,  although  admirably  adapted  to  the  mo- 
tion of  the  head,  is  insufficient  for  its  sup[>ort.  It 
is  not  only  by  the  means  of  a  most  curious  struc- 
ture of  the  bones  that  a  man  turns  his  head,  but 
by  virtue  of  an  adjusted  muscular  power,  that  he 
even  holds  it  up. 

As  another  example  of  what  we  are  illustrating, 
viz.  conformity  of  use  between  the  bones  and  the 
muscles,  it  has  been  ob.served  of  the  difit'rent  ver- 
tebrae, that  their  processes  are  exactly  proportioned 
to  the  quantity  of  motion  which  the  other  bones 
allow  of,  and  which  the  respecff^e  muscles  are 
capable  of  producing. 

II.  A  muscle  acts  only  by  contraction.  Its 
force  is  exerted  in  no  other  way.  When  the  ex- 
ertion ceases,  it  relaxes  itself,  that  is,  it  returns  by 
relaxation  to  its  former  state,  but  without  energy. 
This  is  the  nature  of  the  muscular  fibre ;  and 
being  so,  it  is  evident  that  the  reciprocal  energetic 
motion  of  the  limbs,  by  which  we  mean  motion 
ivith  force  in  opposite  directions,  can  only  be  pro- 
duced by  the  instrumentality  of  opposite  or  anta- 
gonist muscles ;  of  flexors  and  extensors  answeiing 
to  each  other.  For  instance,  the  biceps  and  bra- 
chiajus  internus  muscles  placed  in  the  front  par*^ 
of  the  upper  arm,  by  their  contraction,  bend  the 
elbow ;  and  with  such  degree  of  force,  as  the 
case  requires,  or  the  strength  admits  of  The  re- 
laxation of  these  muscles,  after  the  effort,  would 
merely  let  the  fore-arm  drop  down.  For  the  back 
stroke,  therefore,  and  that  the  arm  may  not  only 
bend  at  the  elbow,  but  also  extend  and  straighten 
itself,  with  force,'  other  muscles,  the  longus  and 
brevis  brachireus  externus  and  the  anconeus, 
placed  on  the  hinder  part  of  the  arms,  by  their  con- 
tractile twitch  fetch  back  the  fore-arm  into  a 
straight  line  with  the  cubit,  with  no  less  force 
than  that  with  which  it  was  bent  out  of  it.  The 
same  thing  obtains  in  all  the  limbs,  and  in  every 
moveable  part  of  the  body.  A  finger  is  not  bent 
and  straightened,  vk-ithout  the  cuntruciion  of  two 
muscles  taking  place.  It  is  evident,  therelbre,  that 
the  animal  functions  require  that  particular  dispo- 
sition of  the  muscles  which  we  describe  by  the 
name  of  antagonist  muscles.  And  they  are  ac- 
cordingly so  disposed.  Every  muscle  is  provided 
with  an  adversary.  They  act,  like  two  sawyers 
in  a  pit,  by  an  opposite  pull :  and  nothing  surely 
can  more  strongly  indicate  design  and  attention 
to  an  end,  than  their  being  thus  stationed,  than 
this  collocation.  The  nature  of  the  mu.scular  fibre 
being  what  it  is,  the  purposes  of  the  animal  could 
be  answered  by  no  other.  And  not  only  the  ca- 
pacity for  motion,  but  the  aspect  and  symmetry  of 
tlie  body,  is  preserved  by  the  muscles  being  mar- 
shalled according  to  this  order;  e.  g.  the  mouth  is 
holden  in  the  middle  of  the  face,  and  its  angles 
kept  in  a  state  of  exact  correspondency,  by  two 
muscles  drawing  againist,  and  balancing  each  other. 
In  a  hemiplegia,  when  the  muscle  on  one  side  is 
weakened,  the  muscle  on  the  other  side  draws  the 
mouth  awry. 

III.  Another  property  of  the  muscles,  which 
could  only  be  the  result  of  care,  is,  their  being  al- 
most universally  so  disposed,  as  not  to  obstruct  or 
interfere  with  one  another's  action.  I  know  but 
one  instance  in  which  this  impediment  is  perceived. 
We  cannot  easily  swallow  whilst  we  gape.  This, 
I  understand,  is  owing  to  the  muscles  employed 
in  the  act  of  deglutition  being  so  implicnted  with 
the  muscles  of  the  lower  jaw,  that,  whilst  these 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY 


411 


last  are  contracted,  the  former  cannot  act  witli 
freedom.  The  obstruction  is,  in  this  instance, 
attended  with  httle  inconveniency ;  but  it  shows 
what  the  efl'ect  is  where  it  docs  exist ;  and  what 
loss  of  faculty  there  would  be  if  it  were  more  fre- 
quent. Now  when  we  reflect  upon  the  number 
of  muscles,  not  fewer  than  four  hundred  and 
forty-six  in  the  human  body,  known  and  named,* 
how  contiguous  they  he  to  each  other,  in  layers, 
as  it  were,  over  one  another,  crossing  one  another, 
sometimes  imbedded  in  one  another,  sometimes 
perforating  one  another;  an  arrangement,  which 
leaves  to  each  its  liberty,  and  its  lull  play,  must 
necessarily  require  meditation  and  counsel. 

IV.  The  following  is  oftentimes  the  case  with 
the  muscles.  Their  action  is  wanted,  where  their 
situation  would  be  inconvenient.  In  which  case, 
the  body  of  the  muscle  is  placed  in  some  commo- 
dious position  at  a  distance,  and  made  to  commu- 
nicate with  tlie  point  of  action,  by  slender  strings 
or  wires.  If  the  muscles  which  move  the  fingers 
had  been  placed  in  the  palm  or  back  of  the  hand, 
they  would  have  swelled  that  part  to  an  awkward 
ancl  clums}'  thickness.  The  beauty,  the  propor- 
tions of  the  part,  would  have  been  destroyed. 
They  are  therefore  disposed  in  the  arm,  and  even 
up  to  the  elbow  ;  and  act  by  long  tendons,  strapped 
down  at  the  wrist,  and  passing  under  the  liga- 
ments to  the  fingers,  and  to  the  joints  of  the  fingers, 
which  they  are  severally  to  move.  In  like  man- 
ner, the  muscles  which  move  the  toes,  and  many 
of  the  joints  of  the  foot,  how  gracefully  are  they 
dispo.^ed  in  the  calf  of  the  leg,  instead  of  forming 
an  unvvieldy  tumefaction  in  the  foot  itself?  The 
observation  may  be  repeated  of  the  muscle  winch 
draws  the  nictitating  membrane  over  the  eye ; 
its  office  is  in  the  front  of  the  eye ;  but  its  body  is 
lodged  in  the  back  part  of  the  globe,  where  it  lies 
safe,  and  where  it  encumbers  nothing. 

V.  The  great  mechanical  variety  of  the  figure 
of  the  mus(  les  may  be  thus  stated.  It  appears  to 
be  a  fixed  law,  that  the  contraction  of  a  muscle 
shall  be  towards  its  centre.  Therefore  the  subject 
for  mechanism  on  each  occasion  is,  so  to  modify 
the  figure,  and  adjust  the  position  of  the  muscle, 
as  to  produce  the  motion  required,  agreeably  with 
this  law.  This  can  only  be  done  by  giving  to 
ditTerent  muscles  a  diversity  of  configuration, 
suited  to  their  several  oflSces,  and  to  their  situation 
with  respect  to  the  work  which  they  have  to  per- 
form. On  which  account  we  find  them  under  a 
multiplicity  of  forms  and  attitudes ;  sometimes 
with  double,  sometimes  with  treble  tendons,  some- 
times with  none  :  sometimes  one  tendon  to  seve- 
ral muscles,  at  other  times  one  muscle  to  several 
tendons.  The  shape  of  the  organ  is  susceptible 
of  an  incalculable  variety,  whilst  the  original  pro- 
perty of  the  muscle,  the  law  and  line  of  its  con- 
traction, remains  the  same,  and  is  simple.  Herein 
the  muscular  system  may  be  said  to  bear  a  perfect 
resemblance  to  our  works  of  art.  An  artist  does 
not  alter  the  native  quality  of  his  materials,  or 
their  laws  of  action.  He  takes  these  as  he  finds 
them.  His  skill  and  ingenuity  are  employed  in 
turning  them,  such  as  they  are,  to  his  account, 
by  giving  to  the  parts  of  his  machine  a  form  and 
relation,  in  wliich  these  unalterable  properties 
may  operate  to  the  production  of  the  eiiects  in- 
tended. 

VI.  The  ejaculations  can  never  too  often  be 


repeated — Iiow  many  mittgs  minrt  ^j  right  for  us 
to  be  an  hour  at  eaae  I  how  many  more  lor  us  to 
be  vigorous  and  active  !  Yet  vigour  and  activity 
are,  in  a  vast  plurahty  of  instances,  preserved  in 
human  bodies,  notwithstanding  that  they  depend 
upon  so  great  a  number  of  instruments  of  motion, 
and  notwithstanding  that  the  deliect  or  disorder 
sometunes  of  a  very  small  instrument,  of  a  smgle 
pair,  for  instance,  out  of  the  four  hundred  and 
forty-six  muscles  which  are  employed,  may  be 
attended  with  grievous  inconveniency.  There  is 
piety  and  good  sense  in  the  following  observation, 
taken  out  of  the  Religious  Philosopher:  "  With 
much  compassion,"  says  this  writer,  "as  well  as 
astonishment  at  the  goodness  of  our  loving  Cre- 
ator, have  I  considered  the  sad  state  of  a  certain 
gentleman,  who,  as  to  the  rest,  was  in  pretty  good 
health,  but  only  wanted  the  use  of  these  iuo  lit- 
tle muscles  th.a.t  ser\e  to  lift  up  the  eyelids,  and  so 
had  almost  lost  the  use  of  his  sight,  being  lorced, 
as  long  as  tliis  defect  lasted,  to  shove  up  iiis  eye- 
lids every  moment  with  his  own  hands!'' — in 
general  we  may  remark  in  how  small  a  degree 
those,  who  enjoy  the  perfect  use  of  their  organs, 
know  the  comprehensiveness  of  the  blessing,  the 
variety  of  their  obligation.  They  perceive  a  re- 
sult, but  they  think  little  of  the  multitude  of  con- 
currences and  rectitudes  which  go  to  form  it. 

Beside  these  observations,  wliich  belong  to  the 
muscular  organ  as  such,  we  may  notice  some  ad- 
vantages of  structure  which  are  more  conspicuous 
in  muscles  of  a  certain  class  or  description  tlian 
in  others.     Thus: 

I.  The  variety,  quickness,  and  precision,  of 
which  muscular  motion  is  capable,  are  seen,  I 
think,  in  no  part  so  remarkably  as  in  the  tongue. 
It  is  worth  any  man's  while  to  watch  the  agihty 
of  Ins  tongue ;  the  wonderful  promptitude  with 
which  it  executes  changes  of  position,  and  the 
perfect  exactness.  Each  syllable  of  articulated 
sound  requires  for  its  utterance  a  specific  action 
of  the  tongue  and  of  the  parts  adjaceiit  to  it.  I'lie 
disposition  and  configuration  of  the  moutli,  apper- 
taining to  every  letter  and  word,  is  not  onl^-  pecu- 
liar, but,  if  nicely  and  accurately  attended  to,  per- 
ceptible to  the  sight ;  in  so  much,  that  curious 
persons  have  availed  themselves  of  this  circum- 
stance to  teach  the  deaf  to  speak,  and  to  under- 
stand what  is  said  by  otliers.  In  the  same  person, 
and  after  his  habit  of  speaking  is  formed,  one,  and 
only  one,  position  of  the  parts,  will  produce  a 
given  articulate  sound  correctly.  How  instanta- 
neously are  these  positions  assumed  and  dismiss- 
ed; how  numerous  are  the  permutations,  how 
various,  yet  how  infallible  !  Arbitrary  and  antic 
variety  is  not  the  thing  we  admire ;  but  variety 
obeying  a  rule,  conducing  to  an  eifect,  and  com- 
mensurate with  exigencies  infinitely  diversified.  I 
believe  also  that  the  anatomy  of  the  tongue  cor- 
responds with  these  observations  upon  its  activity. 
The  muscles  of  the  tongue  are  so  numerous,  and 
so  implicated  with  one  another,  that  they  cannot 
be  traced  by  the  nicest  dissection;  nevertheless, 
(wliich  is  a  great  perfection  of  the  organ,)  neither 
the  number,  nor  the  complexity,  nor  what  might 
seem  to  be  the  entanglement  of  its  fibres,  in  any 
wise  impede  its  motion,  or  render  the  determina- 
tion or  success  of  its  efforts  uncertain. 


I  HERE  entreat  the  reader's  pennission  to  step  a 
little  out  of  my  way,  to  consider  the  parts  of  the 


413 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


mouth,  in  some  of  their  other  properties.  It  has 
been  said,  and  that  by  an  eminent  physiologist,  that 
whenever  nature  attempts  to  work  two  or  more 
purjwses  by  one  instrument,  she  does  both  or  all 
imperfectly.  Is  this  true  of  the  tongue,  regarded 
as  an  instrument  of  speech,  and  of  taste;  or  re- 
garded as  an  instrument  of  speech,  of  taste,  and 
of  deglutition  1  So  much  otherwise,  that  many 
persons,  that  is  to  say,  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  |jersons  out  of  a  thousand,  by  the  instru- 
mentality of  this  one  organ,  talk,  and  taste,  and 
swallow,  very  well.  In  fact,  the  constant  warmth 
and  moisture  of  the  tongue,  the  thinness  of  the 
skin,  the  papillae  upon  its  surface,  qualify  this  or- 
gan for  its  office  of  tasting,  as  much  as  its  inex- 
tricable multiplicity  of  fibres  do  for  the  rapid 
movements  which  are  necessary  to  speech.  Ani- 
mals which  feed  upon  grass,  have  their  tongues 
covered  with  a  perforated  skin,  so  as  to  admit  the 
dissol\'ed  food  to  the  papillffi  underneath,  which, 
in  the  mean  time,  remani  defended  from  the  rough 
action  of  the  unbruised  spiculag. 

There  are  brought  together  within  the  cavity  of 
the  mouth  more  distinct  uses,  and  parts  executing 
more  distinct  ofiices,  than  I  think  can  be  found 
lying  so  near  to  one  another,  or  within  the  same 
compass,  in  any  other  portion  of  the  body:  vi:. 
teeth  of  diUerent  shape,  first  for  cutting,  secondly 
for  grinding;  muscles,  most  artificially  disposed 
for  carrying  on  the  compound  motion  ofthe  lower 
jaw,  half  lateral  and  half  vertical,  by  which  the 
mill  is  worked :  fountains  of  saliva,  springing  up 
in  difi'erent  parts  of  the  cavity  for  the  moistening 
ofthe  food,  whilst  the  mastication  is  going  on: 
glands,  to  feed  the  fountains;  a  muscular  constric- 
tion of  a  very  peculiar  kind  in  the  back  part  ofthe 
cavity,  for  the  guiding  of  the  prepared  aliment 
into  its  passage  towards  the  stomach,  and  in  many 
cases  for  carrying  it  along  that  passage;  for,  al- 
though we  may  imagine  this  to  be  done  simply  by 
the  weight  of  the  food  itself,  it  in  truth  is  not  so, 
even  in  the  upright  posture  of  the  human  neck; 
and  most  evidently  is  not  the  case  with  quadru- 
peds, with  a  horse  for  instance,  in  which,  when 
pasturing,  the  food  is  thrust  upward  by  muscular 
strength,  instead  of  descending  of  its  own  accord. 

In  the  mean  time,  and  within  the  same  cavity, 
is  going  on  another  business,  altogether  different 
from  what  is  here  described, — that  of  respiration 
and  speech.  In  addition  therefore  to  all  that  has 
been  mentioned,  we  have  a  passage  opened,  from 
this  cavity  to  the  lungs  for  the  admission  of  air, 
exclusively  of  every  other  substance;  we  have 
muscles,  some  in  the  larynx,  and  without  number 
in  the  tongue,  for  the  purpose  of  modulating  that 
air  in  its  j)assage,  with  a  variety,  a  compass,  and 
precision,  of  which  no  other  musical  instrument 
is  capable.  And,  lastly,  which  in  my  opinion 
crowns  the  whole  as  a  piece  of  machinery,  we  have 
a  specific  contrivance  for  dividing  the  pneumatic 
part  from  the  mechanical,  and  for  preventing  one 
set  of  actions  interfering  with  the  other.  Where 
various  functions  are  united,  the  difficulty  is  to 
guard  against  the  inconveniences  of  a  too  great 
complexity.  In  no  apparatus  put  together  by  art, 
and  for  the  purposes  of  art,  do  I  know  such  multi- 
farious uses  so  aptly  combined,  as  in  the  natural 
organization  of  the  human  mouth ;  or  where  the 
structure  compared  with  the  uses,  is  so  siir.ple. 
The  mouth,  with  all  these  intentions  to  serve,  is  a 
single  cavity;  is  one  machine;  with  its  parts  nei- 
ther crowded  nor  confused,  and  each  unembarrass- 


ed by  the  rest :  each  at  least  at  liberty  in  a  degree 
sufficient  for  the  end  to  be  attained.  If  we  cannot 
eat  and  sing  at  the  same  moment,  we  can  eat  ona 
moment,  and  sing  the  next:  the  respiration  pro- 
ceeding freely  all  the  while. 

There  is  one  case  however  of  this  double  office, 
and  that  of  the  earliest  necessity,  which  the  mouth 
alone  could  not  perform;  and  that  is,  carrying  on 
together  the  two  actions  of  sucking  and  breathing. 
Another  rout  therefore  is  opened  for  the  air,  namely 
through  the  nose,  which  lets  the  breath  pass  back- 
ward and  forward,  whilst  the  lips,  in  the  act  of 
sucking,  are  necessarily  shut  close  upon  the  body 
from  which  the  nutriment  is  drawn.  This  is  a 
circumstance  which  always  appeared  tome  worthy 
of  notice.  The  nose  would  have  been  necessary, 
although  it  had  not  been  the  organ  of  smelling. 
The  making  it  the  seat  of  a  sense  was  superadding 
a  new  use  to  a  part  already  wanted ;  was  taking 
a  wise  advantage  of  an  antecedent  and  a  constitu- 
tional necessity. 


But  to  return  to  that  which  is  the  proper  subject 
of  the  present  section, — the  celerity  and  precision 
of  muscular  motion.  These  qualities  may  be  par- 
ticularly observed  in  the  execution  of  many  species 
of  instrumental  music,  in  which  the  changes  pro- 
duced by  the  handof  the  musician  are  exceedingly 
rapid  ;  are  exactly  measured,  even  when  most  mi- 
nute ;  and  display,  on  the  part  of  the  muscles,  an 
obedience  of  action,  alike  wonderful  for  its  quick- 
ness and  its  correctness. 

Or  let  a  person  only  observe  his  own  hand 
whilst  he  is  writing ;  the  number  of  muscles, 
which  are  brought  to  bear  upon  the  pen ;  how  the 
joint  and  adjusted  operation  of  several  tendons  is 
concerned  in  every  stroke,  yet  that  five  hundred 
such  strokes  are  drawn  in  a  minute.  Not  a  letter 
can  be  turned  without  more  than  one,  or  two,  or 
three  tendinous  contractions,  definite,  both  as  to 
the  choice  of  the  tendon,  and  as  to  the  space 
through  which  the  contraction  moves ;  yet  how 
currently  does  the  work  proceed !  and  when  we 
look  at  it,  how  faithful  have  the  muscles  been  to 
their  duty,  how  true  to  the  order  which  endeavour 
or  habit  hath  inculcated !  For  let  it  be  remem- 
bered, that,  whilst  a  man's  handwriting  is  the 
same,  an  exactitude  of  order  is  preserved,  whether 
he  write  well,  or  ill.  These  two  instances,  of  mu- 
sic and  writing,  show  not  only  the  quickness  and 
precision  of  muscular  action,  but  the  docility. 

II.  Regarding  the  particular  configuration  of 
muscles,  sphincter  or  circular  muscles  appear  to 
me  admirable  pieces  of  mechanism.  It  is  the 
muscular  power  most  happily  applied ;  the  same 
quality  of  the  muscular  substance,  but  under  a 
new  modification.  The  circular  disposition  of  the 
fibres  is  strictly  mechanical ;  but,  though  the  most 
mechanical,  is  not  the  only  thing  in  sphincters 
which  deserves  our  notice.  The  regulated  degree 
of  contractile  force  with  which  they  are  endowed, 
sufiic.ient  for  retention,  yet  vincible  when  requi- 
site, together  with  their  ordinary  state  of  actual 
contraction,  by  means  of  which  their  dependence 
upon  the  will  is  not  constant,  but  occasional,  gives 
them  a  constitution,  of  which  the  conveniency  is 
inestimable.  This  their  semi-voluntary  character, 
is  exactly  such  as  suits  with  the  wants  and  func- 
tions of  I  he  animal. 

III.  We  may  also,  upon  the  subject  of  muscles, 
observe,  that  many  of  our  most  important  actions 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


413 


are  achieved  by  the  combined  help  of  different 
muscles.  Frequently,  a  diagonal  motion  is  pro- 
duced, by  the  contraction  of  tendons  pulling  in 
the  direction  of  the  sides  of  the  parallelogram. 
This  is  the  case,  as  hath  been  already  noticed, 
with  some  of  the  oblique  nutations  of  the  head. 
Sometimes  the  number  of  co-operating  muscles  is 
very  great.  Dr.  Nieuentyt,  in  the  Leipsic  Trans- 
actions, reckons  up  a  hundred  muscles  that  are 
employed  every  time  we  breathe ;  yet  we  take  in, 
or  let  out,  our  breath,  without  reflecting  what  a 
work  is  thereby  performed  ;  what  an  apparatus  is 
laid  in,  of  instruments  for  the  service,  and  how 
many  such  contribute  their  assistance  to  the  ctlect ! 
Breathing  with  ease,  is  a  blessing  of  every  moment ; 
yet,  of  all  others,  it  is  that  which  we  possess  with 
the  least  consciousness.  A  man  in  an  asthma  is 
the  only  man  who  knows  how  to  estimate  it. 

IV.  Mr.  Home  has  observed,*  that  the  most 
important  and  the  most  delicate  actions  are  per- 
formed in  the  body  by  the  smallest  muscles:  and 
he  mentions,  as  his  examples,  the  muscles  which 
have  been  discovered  in  the  iris  of  the  eye,  and  the 
drum  of  the  ear.  The  tenuity  of  these  muscles  is 
astonishing.  They  are  microscopic  hairs ;  must 
be  mugnified  to  be  visible;  yet  are  they  real,  eficct- 
ive  muscles:  and  not  only  such,  but  the  grandest 
and  most  precious  of  our  faculties,  sight  and  hear- 
ing, depend  upon  their  health  and  action. 

V.  The  muscles  act  in  the  limbs  with  what  is 
called  a  mechanical  disadvantage.  The  muscle 
at  the  shoulder,  by  which  the  arm  is  raised,  is 
fixed  nearly  in  the  same  manner  as  the  load  is 
fixed  upon  a  steelyard,  within  a  few  decimals,  we 
will  say,  of  an  inch,  from  the  centre  upon  which 
the  steelyard  turns.  In  this  situation,  we  find 
that  a  very  heavy  draught  is  no  more  than  suffi- 
cient to  countervail  the  force  of  a  small  lead  plum- 
met, placed  upon  the  long  arm  of  the  steelyard,  at 
the  distance  of  perhaps  fifteen  or  twenty  inches 
from  the  centre,  and  on  the  other  side  of  it.  And 
this  is  the  disadvantage  whidi  is  meant.  And  an 
absolute  disadvantage,  no  doubt,  it  would  be,  if 
the  object  were,  to  spare  the  force  of  muscular 
contraction.  But  observe  how  conducive  is  this 
constitution  to  animal  conveniency.  Mechanism 
has  alwa3's  in  view  one  or  other  of  these  two  pur- 
poses ;  either  to  move  a  great  weight  slowly,  and 
through  a  small  space,  or  to  move  a  light  weight 
rapidly,  through  a  considerable  sweep.  For  the 
former  of  these  purposes,  a  different  species  of 
lever,  and  a  different  collocation  of  the  muscles, 
might  be  better  than  the  present ;  but  for  the  second, 
the  present  structure  is  the  true  one.  Now  so  it  hap- 
pens, that  the  second,  and  not  the  first,  is  that 
which  the  occasions  of  animal  life  principally  call 
for.  In  what  concerns  the  human  body,  it  is  of 
much  more  consequence  to  any  man  to  be  able  to 
carry  his  hand  to  his  head  with  due  expedition, 
than  it  would  be  to  have  the  power  of  raising  from 
the  ground  a  heavier  load  (of  two  or  three  more 
hundred  weight,  we  will  suppose,)  than  he  can 
lifl  at  present.  This  last  is  a  faculty,  which,  on 
some  e:{traordinarv  occasions,  he  may  desire  to 
possess ;  but  the  other  is  what  he  wants  and  uses 
every  hour  or  minute.  In  like  manner,  a  husband- 
man or  a  gardener  will  do  more  execution,  by 
being  able  to  carry  his  scythe,  his  rake,  or  his  flail, 
with  a  sufficient  despatch  through  a  sufficient 
space,  than  if,  with  greater  strength,  his  motions 

*  Phil.  Trans,  part.  i.  1800.  p.  8. 


were  proportionably  more  confined  and  slow.  It 
is  the  same  with  a  mechanic  in  the  use  of  his  tools. 
It  is  the  same  also  with  other  animals  in  the  use 
of  their  limbs.  In  general,  the  vivacity  of  their 
motions  would  be  ill  exchanged  for  greater  force 
under  a  clumsier  structure. 

We  have  ofiered  our  observations  upon  (he 
structure  of  muscles  in  general ;  we  have  al.-^o  no- 
ticed certain  species  of  muscles;  but  there  are 
also  single  muscles  which  bear  marks  of  me- 
chanical contrivance,  appropriate  as  well  as  par- 
ticular. Out  of  many  instances  of  this  kind,  we 
select  the  following. 

I.  Of  muscular  actions,  even  of  those  which  are 
well  understood,  some  of  the  most  curious  are  in- 
capable of  popular  explanation ;  at  least,  without 
the  aid  of  plates  and  figures.  This  is  in  a  great 
measure  the  case,  with  a  very  familiar,  but  at  the 
same  time,  a  very  complicated  motion, — that  of 
the  lower  Jaw;  and  with  the  muscular  structure 
by  which  it  is  produced.  One  of  the  muscles 
concerned  may,  however,  be  described  in  such  a 
manner,  as  to  be,  I  think,  sufficiently  compre- 
hended for  our  present  purpose.  The  problem  is 
to  pull  the  lower  jaw  down.  The  obvious  method 
should  seem  to  be,  to  place  a  straight  muscle,  viz. 
to  fix  a  string  from  the  chin  to  the  breast,  the  con- 
traction of  which  would  open  the  mouth  and  pro- 
duce the  motion  required  at  once.  But  it  is 
evident  that  the  form  and  liberty  of  the  neck 
forbid  a  muscle  being  laid  in  such  a  position  ;  and 
that,  consistently  with  the  preservation  of  this 
form,  the  motion,  which  we  want,  must  be  eflcc- 
tuated  by  some  muscular  mechanism  disposed 
farther  back  in  the  jaw.  The  mechaiiism  adopt- 
ed is  as  follows.  A  certain  muscle  called  the  dia- 
gastric,  rises  on  the  side  of  the  face,  considerably 
above  the  insertion  of  the  lower  jaw,  and  comes 
down,  being  converted  in  its  progress  into  a  round 
tendon.  Now  it  is  manifest  that  the  tendon, 
whilst  it  pursues  a  direction  descending  towards 
the  jaw,  must,  by  its  contraction,  pull  the  jaw  up, 
instead  of  down.  What  then  was  to  be  done  1 
This,  we  find,  is  done:  the  descending  tendon, 
when  it  is  got  low  enough,  is  passed  through  a 
loop,  or  ring,  or  pulley,  in  the  os  hyoides,  and  then 
made  to  ascend ;  and  having  thus  changed  its  line 
of  direction,  is  inserted  into  the  inner  part  of  the 
chin  :  by  which  device,  viz.  the  turn  at  the  loop, 
the  action  of  the  muscle  (which  in  all  muscles  is 
contraction)  that  before  would  have  pulled  the 
jaw  up,  now  as  necessarily  draws  it  down.  "  The 
mouth,"  says  Hcister,  "  is  opened  by  means  of  this 
trochlea  in  a  most  wonderful  and  elegant  man- 
ner." 

II.  What  contrivance  can  be  more  mechanical 
than  the  following,  rir.  a  slit  in  one  tendon  to  let 
another  tendon  pass  through  it  1  This  structure 
is  found  in  the  tendons  which  move  the  toes  and 
fingers.  The  long  tendon,  as  it  is  called,  in  the 
foot,  which  bends  the  first  joint  of  the  toe,  passes 
through  the  short  tendon  which  bends  the  second 
joint ;  which  course  allows  to  the  sinew  more 
liberty,  and  a  more  commodious  action  than  it 
would  otherwise  have  been  capable  of  exerting.* 
There  is  nothing,  I  believe,  in  a  silk  or  cotton 
mill,  in  the  belts,  or  straps,  or  ropes,  by  which  mo- 
tion is  communicated  from  one  partof  the  machine 
to  another,  that  is  more  artificial,  or  more  evident- 
ly so,  than  this  perforation. 


*Ches.  Anat.  p.  119. 
35* 


414 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


III.  The  next  circumstance  which  I  shall  men- 
tion, under  this  head  of  muscular  arrangement,  is 
so  decisive  a  mark  ot' intention,  that  it  always  ap- 
peared to  me  to  supersede,  in  some  measure,  the 
necessity  of  seeking  i'or  any  other  observation 
Ufion  the  subject;  and  that  circumstance  is,  the 
tendons,  which  pass  from  the  leg  to  the  foot,  being 
bound  down  by  a  ligament  at  the  ankle.  The 
foot  is  placed  at  a  considerable  angle  with  the  leg. 
It  is  manifest,  therefore,  that  flexible  strings,  pass- 
ing along  the  interior  of  the  angle,  if  left  to  them- 
selves, would,  when  stretched,  start  from  it.  The 
obvious  preventive  is  to  tie  them  down.  And  this 
is  done  in  fact.  Across  the  instep,  or  rather  just 
above  it,  the  anatomist  finds  a  strong  ligament, 
under  which  the  tendons  pass  to  the  foot.  The 
eftect  of  the  ligament  as  a  bandage  can  be  made 
evident  to  the  senses ;  for  if  it  be  cut,  the  tendons 
start  up.  The  simplicity,  yet  the  clearness  of  this 
contrivance,  its  exact  resemblance  to  established 
resources  of  art,  place  it  among.st  the  most  indubi- 
table manifestations  of  design  with  which  we  are 
acquainted. 

There  is  also  a  farther  use  to  be  made  of  the 
present  example,  and  that  is,  as  it  precisely  con- 
tradicts the  opinion,  that  the  parts  of  animals  may 
have  been  all  formed  by  what  is  called  appetency, 
i.  e.  endeavour,  perpetuated,  and  imperceptibly 
working  its  effect,  through  an  incalculable  series 
of  generations.  We  have  here  no  endeavour,  but 
the  reverse  of  it ;  a  constant  renitency  and  reluct- 
ance. The  endeavour  is  all  the  other  way.  The 
pressure  of  the  ligament  constrains  the  tendons ; 
the  tendons  re-act  upon  the  pressure  of  the  liga- 
ment. It  is  impossible  that  the  ligament  should 
ever  have  been  generated  by  the  exercise  of  the 
tendon,  or  in  the  course  of  that  exercise,  forasmuch 
as  the  force  of  the  tendon  perpendicularlj'  resists 
the  fibre  which  confines  it,  and  is  constantly  en- 
deavouring, not  to  form,  but  to  rupture  and  dis- 
place the  threads  of  which  the  ligament  is  com- 
posed. 


Keill  has  reckoned  up,  in  the  human  body, 
four  hundred  and  forty-six  muscles,  dissectible  and 
describable:  and  hath  assigned  a  use  to  every  one 
of  the  number.     This  cannot  be  all  imagination. 

Bishop  Wiikins  hath  observed  from  Galen,  that 
there  are,  at  least,  ten  several  qualifications  to  be 
attended  to  in  each  particular  muscle;  viz.  its 
just  magnitude  ;  its  fulcrum  ;  its  point  of  action, 
supposing  the  figure  to  be  fixed ;  its  collocation, 
with  respect  to  its  two  ends,  the  upper  and  the 
lower;  the  place;  the  position  of  the  whole  mus- 
cle; the  introduction  into  it  of  nerves,  arteries, 
veins.  How  are  things,  including  so  many  ad- 
justments, to  be  made;  or,  when  made,  how  are 
they  to  be  put  together  without  intelligence  1 

I  have  sometimes  wondered  why  we  are  not 
struck  with  mechanism  in  animal  bodies,  as  readi- 
ly and  as  strongly  as  we  are  struck  with  it,  at 
first  sight,  in  a  watch  or  a  mill.  One  reason  of 
the  difference  may  be,  that  animal  bodies  are,  in 
a  great  measure,  made  up  of  soft,  flabby  substances, 
euch  as  muscles  and  membranes;  whereas  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  trace  mechanism  in  sharp 
lines,  in  the  configuration  of  hard  materials,  in 
the  moulding,  chiselling,  and  filing  into  shapes, 
of  such  articles  as  metals  or  wood.  There  is 
Bomething  therefore  of  habit  in  the  case;  but  it  is 
sufficiently  evident,  that  there  can  be  no  proper 


reason  for  any  distinction  of  the  sort.  Mechan- 
ism may  be  displayed  in  the  one  kind  of  substance, 
as  well  as  in  the  other. 

Although  the  few  instances  we  have  selected, 
even  as  they  stand  in  ourdescrijition,  are  nothing 
short  perhai)s  of  logical  proofs  of  design,  yet  it 
must  not  be  forgotten,  that,  in  every  part  of  ana- 
tomy. descri]ition  is  a  poor  substitute  for  inspec- 
tion. It  is  well  said  by  an  able  anatomist,*  and 
said  in  reference  to  the  very  part  of  the  subject 
which  we  have  been  treating  of: — "  Imperfecta 
hsec  musculorum  descriptio,  non  minnsarida  est 
legentibus,  quam  inspectanlibus  fucrit  jucimda 
eorundem  prssparatio.  Elegantissima  enim  me- 
chanices  artificia,  creberrime  in  illis  obvia,  verbis 
nonnisi  obscure  exprimuntur:  carnium  autem 
ductu,  tendinum  colore,  insertionum  proportione, 
et  trochlearium  distributione,  oculis  exposita.  om- 
nem  superant  admirationem." 


CHAPTER  X. 

Gfthe  Vessels  of  Animal  Bodies. 

The  circulation  of  the  blood,  through  the  bodies 
of  men  and  quadrupeds,  and  the  apparatus  by 
which  it  is  carried  on,  compose  a  system,  and  tes- 
tify a  contrivance,  perhaps  the  best  understood  of 
any  part  of  the  animal  frame.  The  lymphatic 
system,  or  the  nervous  system,  may  be  more  sub- 
tile and  intricate :  nay,  it  is  possible,  that  in  their 
structure  they  may  he  even  more  artificial  than 
the  sanguiferous,  but  we  do  not  know  so  much 
about  them. 

The  utility  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  I  as- 
sume as  an  acknowledged  point.  One  grand  pur- 
pose is  plainly  answered  by  it ;  the  distributing  to 
every  part,  every  extremity,  every  nook  and  cor- 
ner of  the  body,  the  nourishment  which  is  receiv- 
ed into  it  by  one  aperture.  What  enters  at  the 
mouth,  finds  its  way  to  the  fingers'  ends.  A  more 
diflicult  mechanical  problem  could  hardly  I  think 
be  proposed,  than  to  discover  a  method  of  con- 
stantly repairing  the  waste,  and  of  supplying  an 
accession  of  substance  to  every  part  of  a  compli- 
cated machine,  at  the  same  time. 

This  system  presents  itself  imder  two  views : 
first,  the  disposition  of  the  blood-vessels,  i.  e.  the 
laying  of  the  pipes;  and,  secondly,  the  construc- 
tion of  the  engine  at  the  centre,  viz.  the  heart, 
for  driving  the  blood  through  them. 

I.  The  disposition  of  the  blood-vessels,  as  far  as 
regards  the  supply  of  the  body,  is  like  that  of  the 
water-pipes  in  a  city,  riz.  large  and  main  trunks 
branching  off  by  smaller  pipes  (and  these  agair 
by  still  narrower  tubes)  in  every  direction,  and 
towards  every  part  in  which  the  fluid,  which  they 
convey,  can  be  wanted.  So  far  the  water-pipes 
which  serve  a  town  may  represent  the  vessels 
which  carry  the  blood  from  the  heart.  But  there 
is  another  thing  necessary  to  the  blood,  which  is 
not  wanted  for  the  water;  and  that  is,  the  carry- 
ing of  it  back  again  to  its  source.  Fortius  office, 
a  reversed  system  of  vessels  is  prepared,  which, 
uniting  at  their  extremities  with  the  extremities 
of  the  first  system,  collects  the  divided  and  subdi- 
vided streamlets,  first  by  capillary  ramifications 
into  larger  branches,  secondly,  by  these  branches 


•  Steno,  in  Bias.  Anat.  Animal,  p.  2.  c.  4. 


NATURAL   THEOLOGY. 


415 


into  trunks ;  and  thus  returns  the  blood  (almost 
exactly  inverting  the  order  in  which  it  went  out) 
to  the  fountain  whence  its  motion  proceeded.  All 
which  is  evident  mechanism. 

The  body,  therefore,  contains  two  systems  of 
blood-vessels,  arteries,  and  veins.  Between  the 
constitution  of  the  systems  there  are  also  two  dif- 
ferences, suited  to  the  functions  which  the  sys- 
tems have  to  execute.  The  blood,  in  going  out, 
passing  always  from  wider  into  narrower  tubes ; 
and,  in  coming  back,  from  narrower  into  wider; 
it  is  evident,  that  the  impulse  and  pressure  upon 
the  sides  of  the  blood-vessel,  will  be  much  greater 
in  one  case  than  the  other.  Accordingly  the  ar- 
teries which  carry  out  the  blood,  are  formed  of 
much  tougher  and  stronger  coats,  than  the  veins 
which  bring  it  back.  That  is  one  difference :  the 
other  is  still  more  artificial,  or,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
indicates,  still  more  clearly,  the  care  and  anxiety 
of  the  artificer.  Forasmuch  as  in  the  arteries,  by 
reason  of  the  greater  force  with  which  the  blood 
is  urged  along  them,  a  wound  or  rupture  would 
be  more  dangerous  than  in  the  veins,  these  vessels 
are  defended  from  injury,  not  only  by  their  tex- 
ture, but  by  their  situation  ;  and  by  every  advan- 
tage of  situation  which  can  be  given  to  them. 
They  are  buried  in  sinuses,  or  they  creep  along 
grooves,  made  for  them  in  the  bones :  for  instance, 
the  under  edge  of  the  ribs  is  sloped  and  furrowed 
solelv  for  the  passage  of  these  vessels.  Sometimes 
they  proceed  in  channels,  protected  by  stout  para- 
pets on  each  side;  which  last  description  is  re- 
markable in  the  bones  of  the  fingers,  these  being 
hollowed  out  on  the  under-side,  like  a  scoop,  and 
with  such  a  concavity,  that  the  finger  may  be  cut 
across  to  the  bone,  without  hurting  the  artery 
which  runs  along  it.  At  other  times,  the  arteries 
pass  in  canals  wrought  in  the  substance,  and  in 
the  very  middle  of  the  substance,  of  the  bone : 
this  takes  place  in  the  lower  jaw ;  and  is  found 
where  there  would  otherwise  he  danger  of  com- 
pression by  sudden  curvature.  All  this  care  is 
wonderful,  yet  not  more  than  what  the  import- 
ance of  the  case  required.  To  those  who  venture 
their  lives  in  a  ship,  it  has  been  often  said,  that 
there  is  only  an  inch-board  between  them  and 
death ;  but  in  the  body  itself,  especially  in  the  ar- 
terial system,  there  is,  in  many  parts,  only  a 
membrane,  a  skin,  a  thread.  For  which  reason, 
this  system  lies  deep  under  the  integuments  ; 
whereas  the  veins,  in  which  the  mischief  that  en- 
sues from  injuring  the  coats  is  much  less,  lie  in 
general  above  the  arteries ;  come  nearer  to  the 
surface ;  are  more  exposed. 

It  may  be  farther  observed  concerning  the  two 
systems  taken  together,  that  though  the  arterial, 
with  its  trunk  ami  branches  and  small  twigs,  may 
be  imagined  to  issue  or  proceed,  in  other  words, 
to  gruw  from,  the  heart;  like  a  plant  from  its 
root,  or  the  fibres  of  a  leaf  from  its  foot-stalk, 
(which;  however,  were  it  so,  would  be  only  to  re- 
solve one  mechanism  into  another,)  yet  the  venal, 
the  returning  system,  can  never  be  formed  in  this 
manner.  The  arteries  might  go  on  shooting  out 
from  their  extremities,  i.  e.  lengthening  and  sub- 
dividii.g  indefinitely  ;  but  an  inverted  system,  con- 
tinually uniting  its  streams,  instead  of  dividing, 
and  thus  carrying  back  what  the  other  system 
carried  out,  could  not  be  referred  to  the  same  pro- 
cess. 

II.  The  next  thing  to  be  considered  is  the  en- 
gine which  works  this  machinery,  viz.  the  heart. 


For  our  purpose  it  is  unnecessary  to  ascertain  the 
princi})!e  upon  which  the  heart  acts.  Whether  it 
be  irritation  excited  by  the  contact  of  the  blood, 
by  the  influx  of  the  nervous  fluid,  or  whatever 
else  be  the  cause  of  its  motion,  it  is  something 
which  is  capable  of  producing,  in  a  living  muscu- 
lar fibre,  reciprocal  contraction  and  relaxation. 
This  is  the  power  we  have  to  work  with  :  and  the 
inquiry  is,  how  this  power  is  applied  in  the  in- 
stance before  usl  There  is  provided,  in  the  cen- 
tral part  of  the  body,  a  hollow  muscle,  invested 
with  spiral  fibres,  running  in  both  directions,  t  he 
layers  intersecting  one  another;  in  some  animals, 
however,  appearing  to  be  semi-circular  rather  than 
spiral.  By  the  contraction  of  these  fibres,  the 
sides  of  the  muscular  cavities  are  necessarily 
squeezed  together,  so  as  to  force  out  from  them 
any  fluid  which  they  may  at  that  time  contain  : 
by  the  relaxation  of  the  same  fibres,  the  cavities 
are  in  their  turn  dilated,  and,  of  course,  prepared 
to  admit  every  fluid  which  may  be  poured  into 
them.  Into  these  cavities  are  inserted  the  great 
trunks,  both  of  the  arteries  which  carry  out  the 
blood,  and  of  the  veins  which  bring  it  back  This 
is  a  general  account  of  the  apparatus;  and  the 
simplest  idea  of  its  action  is,  that,  by  each  con- 
traction, a  portion  of  blood  is  forced  by  a  syringe 
into  the  arteries;  and,  at  each  dilatation,  an  equal 
portion  is  received  from  the  veins.  This  produces, 
at  each  pulse,  a  motion,  and  change  in  the  mass 
of  blood,  to  the  amount  of  what  the  cavity  con- 
tains, which,  in  a  full-grown  human  heart,  I  un- 
derstand is  about  an  ounce,  or  two  table-spoons 
full.  How  quickly  these  changes  succeed  one 
another,  and  by  this  succession  how  sufficient 
they  are  to  support  a  stream  or  circulation  through- 
out the  system,  may  be  understood  by  the  follow- 
ing computation,  abridged  from  Keills  Anatomy, 
p.ll7.  ed.  3;  "  Each  ventricle  will  at  least  con- 
tain one  ounce  of  blood.  The  heart  contracts  four 
thousand  times  in  one  hour ;  from  which  it  fol- 
lows, that  there  pass  through  the  heart,  every 
hour,  four  thousand  ounces,  or  three  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  of  blood.  Now  the  whole  mass  of 
blood  is  said  to  be  about  twenty-five  pounds ;  so 
that  a  quantity  of  blood,  equal  to  the  whole  mass 
of  blood,  passes  through  the  heart  fourteen  times 
in  one  hour ;  which  is  about  once  every  four  mi- 
ntites."  Consider  what  an  afliiir  this  is,  when  we 
come  to  very  large  animals.  The  aorta  of  a  whale 
is  larger  in  the  bore  than  the  main  piyie  of  the 
water-works  at  London  Bridge;  and  the  water 
roaring  in  its  passage  through  that  pipe  is  inferior, 
in  impetus  and  velocity,  to  the  blood  gushing  from 
the  whale's  heart.  Hear  Dr.  Hunter's  account 
of  the  dissection  of  a  whale  : — "  The  aorta  mea- 
sured a  foot  diameter.  Ten  or  fifteen  gallons  of 
blood  are  thrown  out  of  the  heart  at  a  stroke,  with 
an  immense  velocity,  through  a  tube  of  a  foot 
diameter.  The  whole  idea  fills  the  mind  with 
wonder."* 

The  account  which  we  have  here  stated,  of  the 
injection  of  blood  into  the  arteries  by  the  con- 
traction, and  of  the  corresponding  reception  of  it 
from  the  veins  by  the  dilatation,  of  the  cavities  of 
the  heart,  and,  "of  the  circulation  being  thereby 
maintained  through  the  blood-vessels  of  the  body, 
is  true,  but  imjjerfect.  The  heart  performs  this 
office,  but  it  is  in  conjunction  with  another  of 


*Dr  Hunter's  Account  of  tfie  Dissection  of  a  Whale 
-Phil.  Trans. 


416 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


equal  curiosity  and  importance.  It  was  necessary 
that  the  blood  should  be  successively  brought  into 
contact,  or  contiguity,  or  proximity,  with  the  air. 
I  do  not  know  that  the  chemical  reason,  upon 
which  this  necessity  is  founded,  has  been  yet  suf- 
ficiently explored.  It  seems  to  be  made  appear, 
that  the  atmosphere  which  we  breathe  is  a  mix- 
ture of  two  kinds  of  air ;  one  pure  and  vital,  the 
other,  for  the  purposes  of  life,  effete,  foul,  and 
noxious  :  that  when  we  have  drawn  in  our  breath, 
the  blood  in  the  lungs  imbibes  from  the  air,  thus 
brought  into  contiguity  with  it,  a  portion  of  its 
pure  ingredient,  and,  at  the  same  time,  gives  out 
the  effete  or  corrupt  air  which  it  contained,  and 
which  is  carried  away,  along  with  the  lialitus, 
every  time  we  expire.  At  least;  by  comparing 
the  air  which  is  breathed  from  the  lungs,  with 
the  air  which  enters  the  lungs,  it  is  found  to  have 
lost  some  of  its  pure  part,  and  to  have  brought 
away  with  it  an  addition  of  its  impure  part. 
Whether  these  experiments  satisfy  the  question, 
as  to  the  need  which  the  blood  stands  in  of  being 
visited  by  continual  accesses  of  air,  is  not  for  us 
to  inquire  into,  nor  material  to  our  argument:  it 
is  sufficient  to  know,  that,  in  the  constitution  of 
most  animals,  such  a  necessity  exists,  and  that 
the  air,  by  some  means,  or  other,  onust  be  intro- 
duced into  a  near  communication  with  the  blood. 
The  lungs  of  animals  are  constructed  for  this  pur- 
pose. They  consist  of  blood-vessels,  and  air-ves- 
sels, lying  close  to  each  other;  and  wherever  there 
is  a  branch  of  the  trachea  or  windpipe,  there  is  a 
branch  accompanying  it,  of  the  vein  and  artery, 
and  the  air-vessel  is  always  in  the  middle  between 
the  blood-vessels  *  The  internal  surface  of  these 
vessels,  upon  which  the  application  of  the  air  to 
the  blood  depends,  would,  if  collected  and  expand- 
ed, be,  in  a  jnan,  equal  to  superficies  of  fifteen 
feet  square.  Now,  in  order  to  give  the  blood  in 
its  course  the  benefit  of  this  organization,  (and 
this  is  the  part  of  the  subject  with  which  we  are 
chiefly  concerned,)  the  following  operation  takes 
place.  As  soon  as  the  blood  is  received  by  the 
heart  from  the  veins  of  the  body,  and  before  that 
is  sent  out  again  into  its  arteries,  it  is  carried,  by 
the  force  of  the  contraction  of  the  heart,  and  by 
means  of  a  separate  and  supplementary  artery,  to 
the  lungs;  and  made  to  enter  the  vessels  of  the 
lungs;  from  which,  after  it  has  undergone  the  ac- 
tion, whatever  it  be,  of  that  viscus,  it  is  brought 
back  by  a  large  vein  once  more  to  the  heart,  in 
order,  when  thus  concocted  and  prepared,  to  be 
thence  distributed  anew  into  the  system.  This 
assigns  to  the  heart  a  double  office.  The  pulmo- 
nary circulation  is  a  system  within  a  system; 
and  one  action  of  the  heart  is  the  origin  of  both. 

For  this  complicated  function,  four  cavities  be- 
come necessary ;  and  four  are  accordingly  pro- 
vided :  two,  called  ventricles,  which  send  out  the 
blood,  viz.  one  into  the  lungs,  in  the  first  instance ; 
the  other  into  the  mass,  after  it  has  returned  from 
the  lungs  :  two  others  also,  called  auricles,  which 
receive  the  blood  from  the  veins;  viz.  one,  as  it 
comes  immediately  from  the  body;  the  other  as 
the  same  blood  coines  a  second  time  after  its  circu- 
lation through  the  lungs.  So  that  there  are  two 
receiving  cavities,  and  two  forcing  cavities.  The 
structure  of  the  heart  has  reference  to  the  lungs  ; 
for  without  the  lungs,  one  of  each  would  have 
been  sufficient.     The  translation  of  the  blood  in 


>  Keill's  Anatomy,  p.  121. 


the  heart  itself  is  after  this  manner.  The  receiv- 
ing cavities  respectively  communicate  with  the 
forcing  cavities,  and,  by  their  contraction,  unload 
the  received  blood  into  them.  The  forcing  cavi- 
ties, when  it  is  their  turn  to  contract,  ciimptl  the 
same  blood  into  the  mouths  of  the  arteries. 

The  account  here  given  will  not  convey  to  a 
reader,  ignorant  of  anatomy,  any  thing  like  an 
accurate  notion  of  the  form,  action,  or  use,  of  the 
parts,  (nor  can  any  short  and  popular  account  do 
this ;)  but  it  is  abundantly  sufficient  to  testify  con- 
trivance; and  although  imperfect,  being  true  as 
far  as  it  goes,  may  be  relied  upon  for  the  only  pur- 
pose for  which  we  offer  it,  the  purpose  of  this  con- 
clusion. 

"  The  wisdom  of  the  Creator,"  saith  Hamburgh- 
er,  "  is  in  nothing  seen  more  gloriously  than  in  the 
heart,"  And  how  well  doth  it  execute  its  office  1 
An  anatomist,  who  understood  the  structure  of 
the  heart,  might  say  beforehand  that  it  would 
play  ;  but  he  would  expect,  I  think,  from  the  com- 
plexity of  its  mechanism,  and  the  delicacy  of  many 
of  its  parts,  that  it  should  always  be  liable  to  de- 
rangement, or  that  it  would  soon  work  itself  out. 
\et  shall  this  wonderful  machine  go,  night  and 
day,  for  eiglity  years  together,  at  the  rale  of  a 
hundred  thousand  strokes  every  twenty-four  hours, 
having,  at  every  stroke,  a  great  resistance  to  over- 
come ;  and  shall  continue  this  action  for  this  length 
of  time,  without  disorder  and  without  weariness! 

But  farther:  From  the  account  which  has  been 
given  of  the  mechanism  of  the  heart,  it  is  evident 
that  it  must  require  the  interposition  of  valves; 
that  the  success  indeed  of  its  action  must  dej)end 
upon  these;  for  when  any  one  of  its  cavities  con- 
tracts, the  necessary  tendency  of  the  force  will  he 
to  drive  the  enclosed  blood,  not  ordy  into  the  mouth 
of  the  artery  where  it  ouglit  to  go,  but  also  back 
again  into  the  mouth  of  the  vein  from  which  it 
flowed.  In  like  manner,  when  by  the  relaxation 
of  the  fibres  the  same  cavity  is  dilated,  the  blood 
would  not  only  run  into  it  from  the  vein,  which 
was  the  course  intended,  but  back  from  the  arte- 
ry, through  which  it  ought  to  be  moving  forward. 
The  way  of  preventing  a  reflux  of  the  fluid,  in 
both  these  cases,  is  to  fix  valves,  which,  like  flood- 
gates, may  ojjen  a  way  to  the  stream  in  one  direc- 
tion, and  shut  up  the  passage  against  it  in  another. 
The  heart,  constituted  as  it  is,  can  no  more  work 
without  valves,  than  a  pump  can.  When  the  pis- 
ton descends  in  a  pump,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
stoppage  by  the  valve  beneath,  the  motion  would 
only  thrust  down  the  water  which  it  had  before 
drawn  up.  A  similar  consequence  would  frus- 
trate the  action  of  the  heart.  Valves,  thenifore, 
properly  disposed,  i.  e.  properly  with  respect  to  the 
course  of  the  blood  which  it  is  necessary  to  pro- 
mote, are  essential  to  the  contrivance.  And  valves 
so  disposed^  are  accordingly  proinded.  A  valve 
is  placed  in  the  communication  between  each  au- 
ricle and  its  ventricle,  lest,  when  the  ventricle  con- 
tracts, part  of  the  blood  should  get  back  again  in 
to  the  aurii'le,  instead  of  the  whole  entering,  as  it 
ought  to  do,  the  mouth  of  the  artery.  A  valve  is 
also  fixed  at  the  mouth  of  each  of  the  great  arte- 
ries which  take  the  blood  from  the  heart ;  leavinp 
the  passage  free,  so  long  as  the  l)loo(.i  holds  its  pro- 
per course  forward  ;  closing  it,  whenever  the  blood, 
in  consequence  of  the  relaxation  of  the  ventricle, 
would  attempt  to  flow  back.  There  is  some  varie- 
ty in  the  construction  of  these  valves,  thougii  ail 
the  valves  of  the  body  act  nearly  upon  the  same 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


417 


principle,  and  are  destined  to  the  same  use.  In 
general  they  consist  of  a  thin  membrane,  l3'ing 
close  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  consequently 
allowing  an  open  passage  whilst  the  stream  runs 
one  way,  but  thrust  out  from  the  side  by  the  fluid 
getting  behind  it,  and  opposing  the  passage  of  the 
Mood,  when  it  would  flow  the  other  way.  "Where 
more  than  one  membrane  is  employed,  the  differ- 
ent membranes  only  compose  one  valve.  Their 
joint  action  fulfils  the  office  of  a  valve :  for  in- 
stance ;  over  the  entrance  of  the  right  auricle  of 
the  heart  into  the  right  ventricle,  three  of  these 
skins  or  membranes  are  fixed,  of  atriangular  figure, 
the  bases  of  the  triangles  fastened  to  the  flesh ; 
the  sides  and  summits  loose ;  but,  though  loose, 
connected  by  threads  of  a  determinate  length,  with 
certain  small  fleshy  prominences  adjoining.  The 
effect  of  this  construction  is,  that  when  the  ven- 
tricle contracts,  the  blood  endeavouring  to  escape 
in  all  directions,  and  amongst  other  directions, 
pressing  upwards,  gets  between  these  membranes 
and  the  sides  of  the  passage ;  and  thereby  forces 
them  up  into  such  a  position,  as  that,  together,  they 
constitute,  when  raised,  a  hollow  cone,  (the  strings, 
before  spoken  of,  hindering  them  from  proceeduig 
or  separating  farther;)  which  cone,  entirely  occu- 
pying the  passage,  prevents  the  return  of  the 
blood  into  the  auricle.  A  shorter  account  of  the 
matter  may  be  this  :  so  long  as  the  blood  proceeds 
in  its  proper  course,  the  membranes  which  com- 
pose the  valve  are  pressed  close  to  the  side  of  the 
vessel,  and  occasion  no  impediment  to  the  circula- 
tion :  when  the  blood  would  regurgitate,  they  are 
raised  from  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and,  meeting  in 
the  middle  of  its  cavity,  shut  up  the  channel. 
Can  any  one  doubt  of  contrivance  here  :  or  is  it 
possible  to  shut  our  eyes  against  the  proof  of  it  1 

This  valve,  also,  is  not  more  curious  in  its  struc- 
ture, than  it  is  important  in  its  office.  Upon  the 
play  of  the  valve,  even  upon  the  proportioned 
length  of  the  strings  or  fibres  which  check  the  as- 
cent of  the  membranes,  depends,  as  it  should 
seem,  nothing  less  than  the  life  itself  of  the  ani- 
mal. We  may  here  likewise  repeat,  what  we  be- 
fore observed  concerning  some  of  the  ligaments  of 
the  body,  that  they  could  not  be  formed  by  any 
action  of  the  parts  themselves.  There  are  cases 
in  which,  although  good  uses  appear  to  arise  from 
the  shape  or  configuration  of  a  part,  yet  that  shape 
or  configuration  itself  may  seem  to  be  produced 
by  the  action  of  the  part,  or  by  the  action  or  pres- 
sure of  adjoining  parts.  Thus  the  bend  and  the 
internal  smooth  concavity  of  the  ribs,  may  be  at- 
tributed to  the  equal  pressure  of  the  soft  bowels ; 
the  particular  shape  of  some  bones  and  joints,  to 
the  traction  of  the  annexed  muscles,  or  to  the  po- 
sition of  contiguous  muscles.  But  valves  could 
not  be  so  formed.  Action  and  pressure  are  all 
against  them.  The  blood,  in  its  proper  course, 
has  no  tendency  to  produce  such  things ;  and  in  its 
improper  or  reflected  current,  has  a  tendency  to 
prevent  their  production.  Whilst  we  see,  there- 
fore, the  use  and  necessity  of  this  machinery,  we 
can  look  to  no  other  account  of  its  origin  or  forma- 
tion than  the  intending  mind  of  a  Creator.  Nor 
can  we  without  admiration  reflect,  that  such  thin 
membranes,  such  weak  and  tender  instruments 
as  these  valves  are,  should  be  able  to  hold  out  for 
seventy  or  eighty  years. 

Here  also  we  cannot  consider  but  with  grati- 
tude, how  happ}'  it  is  that  our  vital  motions  are 
involuntary.     We  should  have  enough  to  do,  if 


we  had  to  keep  our  hearts  beating,  and  our  sto- 
machs at  work.  Did  these  things  depend,  we  will 
not  say  upon  our  effort,  but  upon  our  bidding,  our 
care,  or  our  attention,  they  would  leave  us  leisure 
for  nothing  else.  We  must  have  been  continually 
upon  the  watch,  and  continually  in  fear;  nor  would 
tills  constitution  have  allowed  of  sleep. 

It  might  perhaps  be  expected,  that  an  organ  so 
precious,  of  such  central  and  primary  unportance 
as  the  heart  is,  should  be  defended  by  a  case.  The 
fact  is,  that  a  membranous  purse  or  bag,  made  of 
strong,  tough  materials,  is  provided  for  it ;  holding 
the  heart  within  its  cavity ;  sitting  loosely  and 
easily  about  it ;  guarding  its  substance,  without 
confining  its  motion;  and  containing  likewise  a 
spoonful  or  two  of  water,  just  sufficient  to  keep 
the  surfice  of  the  heart  in  a  state  of  suppleness 
and  moisture.  How  should  such  a  loose  covering 
be  generated  by  the  action  of  the  heart  1  Does 
not  the  enclosing  of  it  in  a  sack,  answering  no 
other  purpose  but  that  enclosure,  show  the  care 
that  has  been  taken  of  its  preservation  '! 

One  use  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  probably 
(amongst  other  uses)  is,  to  distribute  nourishment 
to  the  different  parts  of  the  body.  How  minute 
and  multiplied  the  ramifications  of  the  blood-ves- 
sels, for  that  purpose,  are ;  and  how  thickly  spread, 
over  at  least  the  superficies  of  the  body,  is  proved 
by  the  single  observation,  that  we  cannot  prick 
the  point  of  a  pin  into  the  flesh,  without  drawing 
blood,  i.  e.  without  finding  a  blood-vessel.  Nor, 
internally,  is  their  diffiision  less  universal.  Blood- 
vessels run  along  the  surface  of  membranes,  per- 
vade the  substance  of  muscles,  penetrate  the  bones. 
Even  into  every  tooth,  we  trace,  through  a  small 
hole  in  the  root,  an  artery  to  feed  the  bone,  as 
well  as  a  vein  to  bring  back  the  spare  blood  from 
it ;  both  which,  with  the  addition  of  an  accompany- 
ing nerve,  form  a  thread  only  a  little  thicker  than 
a  horse-hair. 

Wherefore,  when  the  nourishment  taken  in  at 
the  mouth  has  once  reached,  and  mixed  itself  vi'ith 
the  blood,  every  part  of  the  body  is  in  the  way  of 
being  supplied  with  it.  And  this  introduces  an- 
other grand  topic,  namely,  the  manner  in  which 
the  aliment  gets  into  the  blood  ;  which  is  a  subject 
distinct  from  the  preceding,  and  brings  us  to  the 
consideration  of  another  entire  system  of  vessels. 

II.  For  this  necessarj'  part  of  the  animal  econo- 
my, an  apparatus  is  provided,  in  a  great  measure 
capable  of  being  what  anatomists  call  demonstrated, 
that  is,  shown  in  the  dead  body; — and  a  Une  or 
course  of  conveyance,  which  we  can  pursue  by 
our  examinations. 

First,  the  food  descends  by  a  wide  passage  into 
the  intestines,  undergoing  two  great  preparauons 
on  its  way:  one,  in  the  mouth  by  mastication  and 
moisture — (can  it  be  doubted  with  what  design 
the  teeth  were  placed  in  the  road  to  the  stomach, 
or  that  there  was  choice  in  fixing  them  in  this 
situation?)  the  other,  by  digestion  in  the  stomach 
itself  Of  this  last  surprising  dissolution  I  say 
nothing  ;  because  it  is  chymistry,  and  I  am  endea- 
vouring to  display  mechanism.  The  figure  and 
position  of  the  stomach  (I  speak  all  along  with  a 
reference  to  the  human  organ)  are  calculated  for 
detaining  the  food  long  enough  for  the  action  of 
its  digestive  juice.  It  has  the  shape  of  the  pouch 
of  a  bagpipe ;  hes  across  the  body ;  and  the  pylorus, 
or  passage  by  which  the  food  leaves  it,  is  some- 
what higher  in  the  body  than  the  cardia,  or  orifice 
by  which  it  enters   so  that  it  is  by  the  contraction 


418 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


of  (he  muscular  coat  of  the  stomach,  that  the  con- 
tents, after  ha\ing  undergone  the  apphcation  of 
the  gastric  menstruum,  are  gradually  pressed  out. 
In  dogs  and  cats,  this  action  of  the  coats  of  tlie 
stomach  has  been  displayed  to  the  eye.  It  is  a 
slow  and  gentle  undulation,  propagated  from  one 
orilice  of  the  stomac'h  to  the  other.  For  the  same 
reason  that  I  omitted,  for  the  present,  offering  any 
observation  upon  the  digestive  tluid,  I  shall  say 
notiiing  concerning  the  bile  or  the  pancreatic  juice, 
farther  than  to  observe  upon  the  mechanism,  viz. 
that  from  the  glands  in  which  these  secretions  are 
elaborated,  pipes  are  laid  into  the  tirst  of  the  intes- 
tines, through  which  pipes  the  product  of  each 
gland  flows  into  that  bowel,  and  is  there  mixed 
with  the  aliment,  as  soon  almost  as  it  passes  the 
stomach  ;  adding  also  as  a  remark,  how  grievously 
this  same  bile  offends  the  stomach  itself,  yet 
cherishes  the  vessel  that  lies  next  to  it. 

Secondly,  We  have  now  the  aliment  in  the  in- 
testines, converted  into  pulp ;  and,  though  lately 
consisting  often  different  viands,  reduced  to  nearly 
a  uniform  substance,  and  to  a  state  fitted  for  yield- 
ing its  essence,  which  is  called  chyle,  but  which 
is  milk,  or  more  nearly  resembling  milk  than  any 
other  liquor  with  which  it  can  be  compared.  For 
the  straining  of  this  fluid  from  the  digested  aliment 
in  the  course  of  its  long  progress  through  the 
body,  myriads  of  capillary  tubes,  i.  e.  pipes  as 
small  as  hairs,  open  their  orifices  into  the  cavity 
of  every  part  of  the  intestines.  These  tubes, 
which  are  so  fine  and  slender  as  not  to  be  visible 
unless  when  distended  with  chyle,  soon  unite  into 
larger  branches.  The  pipes,  formed  by  this  union, 
terminate  in  glands,  from  which  other  pipes  of  a 
still  larger  diameter  arising,  carry  the  chyle  from 
all  parts,  'nto  a  common  reservoir  or  receptacle. 
This  receptacle  is  a  bag  of  size  enough  to  hold 
about  two  table-spoons  full ;  and  from  this  vessel 
a  duct  or  main  pipe  proceeds,  climbing  up  the 
back  part  of  the  chest,  and  afterward  creeping 
along  the  gullet  till  it  reach  the  neck.  Here  it 
meets  the  river:  here  it  discharges  itself  into  a 
large  vein,  which  soon  conveys  the  chyle,  now 
'  flowing  along  with  the  old  bjood,  to  the  heart. 
This  whole  route  can  be  exhibited  to  the  eye  ;  no- 
thing is  left  to  be  supplied  by  imagination  or  con- 
jecture. Now,  beside  the  subserviency  of  this 
structure,  collectively  considered,  to  a  manifest 
and  necessary  purpose,  we  may  remark  two  or 
three  separate  particulars  in  it,  which  show,  not 
only  the  contrivance,  but  the  perfection  of  it.  We 
may  remark,  first,  the  length  of  the  intestines, 
which,  in  the  human  subject,  is  six  times  that  of 
the  body.  Simply  for  a  passage,  these  voluminous 
bowels,  this  prolixity  of  gut,  seems  in  no  wise  ne- 
cessary ;  but  in  order  to  allow  time  and  space  for 
the  successive  extraction  of  the  chyle  from  the 
digested  aliment,  namely,  that  the  chyle  which 
escapes  the  lacteals  of  one  part  of  the  guts  may  be 
taken  up  by  those  of  some  other  part,  the  length 
of  the  canal  is  of  evident  use  and  conduciveness. 
Secondly,  we  must  also  remark  their  peristaltic 
motion ;  which  is  made  up  of  contractions,  follow- 
ing one  another  like  waves  u[)on  the  surfiice  of  a 
fluid,  and  not  unlike  what  we  observe  in  the  body 
of  an  earth-worin  crawling  along  the  ground  ;  and 
which  is  effected  by  the  joint  action  of  longitudinal 
and  of  spiral,  or  rather  perhaps  of  a  great  number 
of  separate  semicircular  fibres.  This  curious  ac- 
tion pushes  forward  the  grosser  part  of  the  ali- 
ment, at  the  same  time  that  the  more  subtile  parts, 


which  we  call  chyle,  are,  by  a  series  of  gentle 
compressions,  squeezed  into  the  narrow  orifices 
of  the  lacteal  veins.  Thirdly,  it  was  necessary 
that  these  tubes,  which  we  denommate  lacteals, 
or  their  mouths  at  least,  should  be  made  as  nar- 
row as  possible,  in  order  to  deny  admission  into 
the  blood  to  any  particle  which  is  of  size  enough 
to  make  a  lodgment  afterward  in  the  small  arteries, 
and  thereby  to  obstruct  the  circulation:  and  it  was 
also  necessary  that  this  extreme  tenuity  should  be 
compensated  by  multitude ;  for  a  large  quantity  of 
chyle  (in  ordinary  constitutions,  not  less,  it  has 
been  computed,  than  two  or  three  quarts  in  a  day) 
is,  by  some  means  or  other,  to  be  passed  through 
them.  Accordingly,  we  find  the  number  of  the 
lacteals  exceeding  all  powers  of  computation ;  and 
their  pipes  so  fine  and  slender,  as  not  to  be  visible, 
unless  filled,  to  the  naked  eye;  and  their  orifices, 
which  open  into  the  intestines,  so  small,  as  not 
to  be  discernible  even  by  the  best  microscope. 
Fourthly,  the  main  pipe  which  carries  the  chyle 
from  the  reservoir  to  the  blood,  viz.  the  thoracic 
duct,  being  fixed  in  an  almost  upright  position, 
and  wanting  that  advantage  of  propulsion  which 
the  arteries  possess,  is  furnished  with  a  succes.sion 
of  valves  to  check  the  ascending  fluid,  when  once 
it  has  passed  them,  from  falling  back.  These 
valves  look  upward,  so  as  to  leave  the  ascent  free, 
but  to  prevent  the  return  of  the  chyle,  if,  for  want 
of  sufficient  force  to  push  it  on,  its  weight  should 
at  any  time  cause  it  to  descend.  Fifthly,  the 
chyle  enters  the  blood  in  an  odd  place,  but  perhaps 
the  most  commodious  place  possible,  viz.  at  a  large 
vein  in  the  neck,  so  situated  with  respect  to  the 
circulation,  as  speedily  to  bring  the  mixture  to  the 
heart.  And  this  seems  to  be  a  circumstance  of 
great  moment ;  for  had  the  chyle  entered  the  blood 
at  an  artery,  or  at  a  distant  vein,  the  fluid,  com- 
posed of  the  old  and  the  new  materials,  must  have 
performed  a  considerable  part  of  the  circulation, 
before  it  received  that  churning  in  the  lungs, 
which  is,  probably,  necessary  for  the  intimate  and 
perfect  union  of  the  old  blood  with  the  recent 
chyle.  Who  could  have  dreamt  of  a  communica- 
tion between  the  cavity  of  the  intestines  and  the 
left  great  vein  of  the  neck?  Who  could  have 
suspected  that  this  communication  should  be  the 
medium  through  which  all  nourishment  is  derived 
to  the  body ;  or  this  the  place,  where,  by  a  side-inlet, 
the  im[)ortant  junction  is  formed  between  the 
blood  and  the  material  which  feeds  it  1 

We  postponed  the  consideration  of  digestion, 
lest  it  should  interrupt  us  in  tracing  the  course  of 
the  food  to  the  blood ;  but  in  treating  of  the  ali- 
mentary system,  so  principal  a  part  of  the  process 
cannot  be  omitted. 

Of  the  gastric  juice,  the  immediate  agent  by 
which  that  change  which  food  undergoes  in  our 
stomachs  is  effected,  we  shall  take  our  account 
from  the  numerous,  careful,  and  varied  experi- 
ments of  the  Abbe  Spallanzani. 

1.  It  is  not  a  simple  dduent,  but  a  real  solvent. 
A  quarter  of  an  ounce  of  beef  had  scarcely  touch- 
ed the  stomach  of  a  crow,  when  the  solution  be- 
gun. 

2.  It  has  not  the  nature  of  saliva ;  it  has  not 
the  nature  of  the  bile ;  but  is  distinct  from  both. 
By  experiments  out  of  the  body  it  apjiears,  that 
neither  of  these  secretions  acts  upon  alimentary 
substances,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  gastric 
juice  acts. 

3.  Digestion  is  not  pu^?-^/^^^?!;  for  the  digest- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


iVJ 


mg  fluid  resists  putrefaction  most  pertinaciously; 
nay,  not  only  checks  its  farther  progress,  but  re- 
stores putrid  substances. 

4.  It  is  not  a  ^ermer)ia/ire  process:  for  the  so- 
lution begins  at  the  surface,  and  proceeds  towards 
the  centre,  contrary  to  the  order  in  which  ferment- 
ation acts  and  spreads. 

5.  It  is  not  tlie  digestion  of  heat :  for  the  cold 
maw  of  a  cod  or  sturgeon  will  dissolve  the  shells 
of  crabs  or  lobsters,  harder  than  the  sides  of  the 
stomach  which  contains  them. 

In  a  word,  animal  digestion  carries  about  it  the 
marks  of  being  a  power  and  a  process  completely 
sui  generis;  distinct  from  every  other;  at  least 
from  every  chymical  process  with  which  we  are 
acquainted.  And  the  most  wonderful  thing  about 
it  is  its  appropriation  ;  its  subserviency  to  the  par- 
ticular economy  of  each  animal.  The  gastric 
juice  of  an  owl,  falcon,  or  kite,  will  not  touch  grain ; 
no,  not  even  to  finish  the  macerated  and  half-di- 
gested pulse  which  is  left  in  the  crops  of  the  spar- 
rows that  the  bird  devours.  In  poultry,  the  tritu- 
ration of  the  gizzard,  and  the  gastric  juice,  con- 
spire in  the  work  of  digestion.  The  gastric  juice 
will  not  dissolve  the  grain  whilst  it  is  whole.  En- 
tire grains  of  barley,  enclosed  in  tubes  or  sphe- 
rules, are  not  alTected  by  it.  But  if  the  same 
grain  be  by  any  means  broken  or  ground,  the  gas- 
tric juice  immediately  lays  hold  of  it.  Here  then 
is  wanted,  and  here  we  find,  a  combination  of 
mechanism  and  chymistry.  For  the  preparatory 
grinding,  the  gizzard  lends  its  mill.  And  as  all 
mill-works  should  be  strong,  its  structure  is  so,  be- 
yond that  of  any  other  muscle  belonging  to  the 
animal.  The  internal  coat  also,  or  lining  of  the 
gizzard,  is,  for  the  same  purpose,  hard  and  carti- 
laginous. But,  forasmuch  as  this  is  not  the  sort 
of  animal  substance,  suited  lor  the  reception  of 
glands  or  for  secretion,  the  gastric  juice,  in  this 
family,  is  not  supplied,  as  in  membranous  sto- 
machs, by  the  stomach  itself,  but  by  the  gullet,  in 
which  the  feeding  glands  are  placed,  and  from 
which  it  trickles  down  into  the  stomach. 

In  sheep,  the  gastric  fluid  has  no  effect  in  di- 
gesting plants  unless  they  have  been  previously 
masticated.  It  only  produces  a  slight  maceration, 
nearly  such  as  common  water  would  produce,  in 
a  degree  of  heat  somewhat  exceeding  the  medium 
temperature  of  the  atmosphere.  But  provided 
that  the  plant  has  been  reduced  to  pieces  by  chew- 
ing, the  gastric  juice  then  proceeds  with  it,  first 
by  softening  its  substance  ;  next  by  destroying  its 
natural  consistf  ncy ;  and  lastly,  by  dissolving  it 
so  completely,  as  not  even  to  spare  the  toughest 
and  most  stringy  parts,  such  as  the  nerves  of  the 
leaves. 

So  far  our  accurate  and  indefatigable  Abbe. — 
Dr.  Stevens,  of  Edinburgh,  in  1777,  found,  by  ex- 
periments tried  with  perforated  balls,  that  the  gas- 
tric juice  of  the  sheep  and  the  ox  speedily  dissolved 
vegetables,  but  made  no  impression  upon  beef, 
mutton,  and  other  animal  bodies.  Dr.  Hunter 
discovered  a  property  of  this  fluid,  of  a  most  cu- 
rious kind;  viz.  that  in  the  stomachs  of  animals 
which  feed  upon  flesh,  irresistibly  as  this  fluid  acts 
upon  animal  substances,  it  is  only  upon  the  dead 
substance  that  it  operates  at  all.  The  living  fibre 
suffers  no  injury  from  Mng  in  contact  with  it. 
Worms  and  insects  are  found  alive  in  the  sto- 
machs of  such  animals.  The  coats  of  the  human 
stomach,  in  a  healthy  state,  are  insensible  to  its 
presence ;  yet  in  cases  of  sudden  death,  (wherein 


the  gastric  juice,  not  having  been  weakened  by 
disease,  retains  its  activity,)  it  has  been  known  to 
eat  a  hole  through  the  bowel  which  contains  it.* 
How  nice  is  this  discrimination  of  action,  yet  how 
necessary ! 

But  to  return  to  our  hydraulics. 
III.  The  gall-bladder  is  a  very  remarkable  con- 
trivance. It  is  the  reservoir  of  a  canal.  It  docs 
not  form  the  channel  itself,  i.  e.  the  direct  com- 
munication between  the  liver  and  the  intestine, 
which  is  by  another  passage,  viz.  the  ductus  hepa- 
ticus,  continued  under  the  name  of  the  ductus  com- 
}  munis  ;  but  it  lies  adjacent  to  this  channel,  join- 
i  ing  it  by  a  duct  of  its  own,  the  ductus  cysticus : 
by  which  structure  it  is  enabled,  as  occasion  may 
require,  to  add  its  contents  to,  and  increase  the 
flow  of  bile  into  the  duodenum.  And  the  posi- 
tion of  the  gall-bladder  is  such  as  to  ajiply  this 
structure  to  the  best  advantage.  In  its  natural 
situation,  it  touches  the  exterior  surface  of  the 
stomach,  and  consequently  is  compressed  by  the 
distention  of  that  vessel :  the  effect  of  which  com- 
pression is  to  force  out  from  the  bag,  and  send  in- 
to the  duodenum,  an  extraordinary  quantity  of 
bile,  to  meet  the  extraordinary  demand  which  the 
repletion  of  the  stomach  by  food  is  about  to  occa- 
sion.t  Cheseldpn  describes^  the  gall-bladder  as 
seated  against  the  duodenum,  and  thereby  liable 
to  have  its  fluid  pressed  out,  by  the  passage  of  the 
aliment  through  that  cavity  ;  which  likewise  will 
have  the  elfect  of  causing  it  to  be  received  into  the 
intestine,  at  a  right  time,  and  in  a  due  proportion. 
There  may  be  other  purjioses  answered  by  this 
contrivance ;  and  it  is  probable  that  there  are. 
The  contents  of  the  gall-bladder  are  not  exactly 
of  the  same  kind  as  what  passes  from  the  liver 
through  a  direct  passage. §  It  is  possible  that  the 
gall  may  be  changed,  and  for  some  purposes  me- 
liorated, by  keeping. 

The  entrance  of  the  gall  duct  into  the  duode- 
num furnishes  another  observation.  Whenever 
either  smaller  tubes  are  inserted  into  larger  tubes, 
or  tubes  into  vessels  and  cavities,  such  receiving 
tubes,  vessels,  or  cavities,  being  subject  to  muscu- 
lar constriction,  we  always  find  a  contrivance  to 
prevent  regurgitation.  In  some  cases,  valves  are 
used  ;  in  other  cases,  among.st  which  is  that  now 
before  us,  a  diili^rent  expedient  is  resorted  to,  which 
may  be  thus  described :  The  gall-duct  enters  the 
duodenum  obliquely:  after  it  has  pierced  the  first 
coat,  it  runs  near  two  fingers'  breadth  between  the 
coats,  before  it  opens  into  the  cavity  of  the  intes- 
tine.II  The  same  contrivance  is  used  in  another 
part,  where  there  is  exactly  the  same  occasion  for 
it,  viz.  in  the  insertion  of  the  ureters  in  the  blad- 
der. These  enter  the  bladder  near  its  neck,  run- 
ning obliquely  for  the  space  of  an  inch  between 
its  coats. TT  It  is,  in  both  c&crs,  sutiiciently  evi- 
dent, that  this  structure  has  a  necessary  mecha- 
nical tendency  to  resist  regurgitation :  for  whatever 
force  acts  in  such  a  direction  as  to  urge  the  fluid 
back  into  the  orifices  of  the  tubes,  must,  at  tlie 
same  time,  stretch  the  coats  of  the  vessels,  and 
thereby  compress  that  part  of  the  tube  which  is 
included  between  them. 

IV.  Amongst  the  vessels  of  the  human  body 
the  pipe  which  conveys  the  saliva  from  the  place 
where  it  is  made,  to  the  place  where  it  is  wanted, 


*  Phil.  Trans,  vol.  Ixii.  p.  447.      f  Keill's  Anat.  p.  M 
I  Anat.  p.  Ki4.  §  Keill,  (from  Malpigliiiis,)  p.  (13 

I  Keill's  Anat.  p.  02.  TT  Clieselden's  Anat.  p.  200 


420 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


deserves  to  be  reckoned  amongst  the  most  intelli- 
gible pieces  of  mechanism  witli  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted. The  saliva,  we  all  know,  is  used  in 
the  mouth  :  but  much  of  it  is  produced  on  the 
outside  of  the  cheek,  by  the  parotid  gland,  which 
lies  between  the  ear  and  the  angle  of  the  lower 
jaw.  In  order  to  carry  the  secreted  juice  to  its 
destination,  there  is  laid  from  the  gland,  on  the 
outside,  a  pipe,  about  the  thickness  of  a  wheat 
straw,  and  about  three  fingers'  breadth  in  length ; 
which,  after  riding  over  the  masseter  muscle,  bores 
for  itself  a  hole  through  the  very  middle  of  the 
cheek ;  enters  by  that  hole,  which  is  a  complete 
perforation  of  the  buccinator  muscle,  into  the 
mouth;  and  there  discliarges  its  fluid  very  co- 
piously. 

V.  Another  exquisite  structure,  differing  in- 
deed from  the  four  preceding  instances,  in  that  it 
does  not  relate  to  the  conveyance  of  fluids,  but 
still  belonging,  like  these,  to  the  class  of  pipes  or 
conduits  of  the  body,  is  seen  in  the  larnyx.  We 
all  know  that  there  go  down  the  throat  two  pipes, 
one  leading  to  the  stomach,  the  other  to  the  lungs; 
the  one  being  the  passage  for  the  food,  the  other 
for  the  breath  and  voice :  we  know  also  that  both 
these  passages  open  into  the  bottom  of  the  mouth; 
the  gullet,  necessarily,  for  the  conveyance  of  food  ; 
and  the  wind-pipe,  for  speech  and  the  modulation 
of  sound,  not  much  less  so :  therefore  the  difficulty 
was,  the  passages  being  so  contiguous,  to  prevent 
the  food,  especially  the  liquids,  which  we  swal- 
low into  the  stomach,  from  entering  the  wind- 
pipe, i.  e.  the  road  to  the  lungs;  the  conse- 
quence of  which  error,  when  it  does  happen,  is 
perceived  by  the  convulsive  throes  that  are  instant- 
ly produced.  This  business,  which  is  very  nice,  is 
managed  in  this  manner.  The  gullet  (the  pas- 
sage for  food)  opens  into  the  mouth  like  the  cone 
or  upper  part  of  a  funnel,  the  capacity  of  which 
forms  indeed  the  bottom  of  the  mouth.  Into  the 
side  of  this  funnel,  at  the  part  which  lies  the 
lowest,  enters  the  wind-pipe,  by  a  chink  or  slit, 
with  a  lid  or  flap,  like  a  little  tongue,  accurately 
fitted  to  the  orifice.  The  solids  or  liquids  which 
we  swallow,  pass  over  tliis  lid  or  flap,  as  tliey  de- 
scend by  the  funnel  into  the  gullet.  Both  the 
weight  of  the  food,  and  the  action  of  the  muscles 
concerned  in  swallowing,  contribute  to  keep  the 
lid  close  down  upon  the  aperture,  whilst  any  thing 
is  passing ;  whereas,  by  means  of  its  natural  carti- 
laginous spring,  it  raises  itself  a  little,  as  soon  as 
the  food  is  passed,  thereby  allowing  a  free  inlet 
and  outlet  for  the  respiration  of  air  by  the  lungs. 
Such  is  its  structure:  and  we  may  here  remark 
the  almost  complete  success  of  the  expedient,  viz. 
how  seldom  it  fails  of  its  purpose,  compared  with 
the  number  of  instances  in  which  it  fulfils  it. 
Reflect  how  frequently  we  swallow,  how  con- 
stantly we  breathe.  In  a  city  feast,  for  example, 
what  deglutition,  what  anhclation  !  yet  does  this 
little  cartilage,  the  epiglottis,  so  effectually  inter- 
pose its  office,  so  securely  guard  the  entrance  of 
the  wind  pipe,  that  whilst  morsel  after  morsel, 
draught  after  draught,  are  coursing  one  another 
pver  it,  an  accident  of  a  crumb  or  a  drop  slipping 
into  this  passage  (which  nevertheless  must  be 
opened  for  the  breath  every  second  of  time,) 
excites  in  the  whole  company,  not  only  alarm  by 
its  danger,  but  surprise  by  its  novelty.  Not  two 
guests  are  choked  in  a  century. 

There  is  no  room  for  pretending  that  the  action 
of  the  parts  may  have  gradually  formed  the  epi- 


glottis :  I  do  not  mean  in  the  same  individual,  but 
in  a  succession  of  generations.  Not  only  the  ac- 
tion of  the  parts  has  no  such  tendency,  but  the 
animal  could  not  live,  nor  consequently  the  parts 
act,  either  without  it,  or  with  it  in  a  half-formed 
state.  The  species  was  not  to  wait  for  the 
gradual  formation  or  expansion  of  a  part  which 
was,  from  the  first,  necessary  to  the  life  of  the  in- 
dividual. 

Not  only  is  the  larynx  curious,  but  the  whole 
wind-pipe  possesses  a  structure  adapted  to  its  pe- 
culiar office.  It  is  made  up  (as  any  one  may  per- 
ceive by  putting  his  fingers  to  his  throat)  of  stout 
cartilaginous  ringlets,  placed  at  small  and  equal 
distances  from  one  another.  Now  this  is  not  the 
case  with  any  other  of  the  numerous  conduits  of 
the  body.  The  use  of  these  cartilages  is  to  keep 
the  passage  for  the  air  constantly  open;  which 
they  do  mechanically.  A  pipe  with  soft  mem- 
branous coats,  liable  to  collapse  and  close  when 
empty,  would  not  have  answered  here  ;  although 
this  be  the  general  vascular  structure,  and  a  struc- 
ture which  serves  very  well  for  those  tubes  which 
are  kept  in  a  state  of  perpetual  distension  by  the 
fluid  they  enclose,  or  which  afford  a  passage  to 
solid  and  protruding  substances. 

Nevertheless  (which  is  another  particularity 
well  worthy  of  notice,)  these  rings  are  not  com- 
plete, that  is,  are  not  cartilaginous  and  stiff  all 
round ;  but  their  hinder  part,  which  is  contiguous 
to  the  gullet,  is  membranous  and  soft,  easily  yield- 
ing to  the  distensions  of  that  organ  occasioned  by 
the  descent  of  solid  food.  The  same  rings  are  also 
bevelled  off  at  the  upper  and  lower  edges,  the  better 
to  close  upon  one  another,  when  the  trachea  is 
compressed  or  shortened. 

The  constitution  of  the  trachea  may  suggest 
likewise  another  reflection.  The  membrane 
which  lines  its  inside,  is,  perhaps,  the  most  sensi- 
ble, irritable  membrane  of  the  body.  It  rejects 
the  touch  of  a  crumb  of  bread,  or  a  drop  of  water, 
with  a  spasm  which  convulses  the  whole  frame  ; 
yet,  left  to  itself,  and  its  proper  office,  the  intro- 
mission of  air  alone,  nothing  can  be  so  quiet.  It 
does  not  even  make  itself  felt ;  a  man  does  not 
know  that  he  has  a  trachea.  This  capacity  of 
perceiving  with  such  acuteness,  this  impatience  of 
offence,  yet  perfect  rest  and  ease  when  let  alone, 
are  properties,  one  would  have  thought,  not  likely 
to  reside  in  the  same  subject.  It  is  to  the  junc- 
tion, however,  of  these  almost  inconsistent  quali- 
ties, in  this,  as  well  as  in  some  other  delicate  parts 
of  the  body,  that  we  owe  our  safety  and  our  com- 
fort ; — our  safety  to  their  sensibility,  our  comfort 
to  their  repose. 

The  larynx,  or  rather  the  whole  wind-pipe 
taken  together,  (for  the  larynx  is  only  the  upper 
part  of  the  wind-pipe,)  besides  its  other  uses,  is 
also  a  musical  instrument,  that  is  to  say,  it  is 
nnechanism  expressly  adapted  to  the  modulation 
of  sound  ;  for  it  has  been  found  upon  trial,  that, 
by  relaxing  or  tightening  the  tendinous  bands  at 
the  extremity  of  the  wind-pipe,  and  blowing  in  at 
the  other  end,  all  the  cries  and  notes  might  be 
produced  of  which  the  living  animal  was  capable. 
It  can  be  sounded,  just  as  a  pipe  or  flute  is 
sounded. 

Birds,  says  Bonnet,  have,  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  wind-pipe,  a  conformatioij  like  the  reed  of  a 
hautboy,  for  the  modulation  of  their  notes.  A 
tuneful  bird  is  a  ventriloquist.  The  seat  of  the 
song  is  in  the  brea.st. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


421 


The  use  of  the  lungs  in  the  system  has  been 
said  to  be  obscure ;  one  use  however  is  plain, 
though  in  some  sense  external  to  the  system,  and 
that  is,  the  formation,  in  conjunction  with  the 
larynx,  of  voice  and  speech.  They  are,  to  animal 
utterance,  what  the  bellows  are  to  the  organ. 


For  the  sake  of  method,  we  have  considered 
animal  Ixxiies  under  three  divisions;  their  bones, 
their  muscles,  and  their  vessels:  and  we  have 
stated  our  observations  upon  these  parts  separately. 
But  this  is  to  diminish  the  strength  of  the  argu- 
ment. The  wisdom  of  the  Creator  is  seen,  not  in 
their  separate  but  their  collective  action  ;  in  their 
mutual  subserviency  and  dependance  ;  in  their  con- 
tributing tog-ether  to  one  effect,  and  one  use.  It 
has  been  said,  that  a  man  cannot  lift  his  hand  to 
his  head,  without  finding  enough  to  convince  him 
L)f  the  existence  of  a  God.  And  it  is  well  said  ; 
for  he  has  only  to  reflect,  familiar  as  this  action  is, 
and  simple  as  it  seems  to  be,  how  many  things 
are  requisite  for  the  performing  of  it :  how  many 
things  which  we  understand,  to  say  nothing  of 
many  more,  probably,  which  we  do  not;  viz.  first, 
a  long,  hard,  strong  cylinder,  in  order  to  give  to 
the  arm  its  firmness  and  tension ;  but  which, 
being  rigid,  and,  in  its  substance,  inflexible,  can 
only  turn  upon  joints:  secondly,  therefore,  joints 
for  this  purpose ;  one  at  the  shoulder  to  raise  the 
arm,  another  at  the  elbow  to  bend  it;  these  joints 
continually  fed  with  a  soft  mucilage  to  make  the 
parts  slip  easily  upon  one  another,  and  holden 
together  by  strong  braces,  to  keep  them  in  their 
position  :  then,  thirdly,  strings  and  wires,  i.  e. 
muscles  and  tendons,  artificially  inserted  for  the 
purpose  of  drawing  the  bones  in  the  directions  in 
which  the  joints  allow  them  to  move.  Hitherto  we 
seena  to  understand  the  mechanism  pretty  well ; 
and,  understanding  this,  we  possess  enough  for 
our  conclusion:  nevertheless,  we  have  hitherto 
only  a  machine  standing  still ;  a  dead  organization, 
— an  apparatus.  To  put  the  system  in  a  state  of 
activity  ;  to  set  it  at  work  ;  a  farther  provision  is 
necessary,  viz.  a  communication  with  the  brain 
by  means  of  nerves.  We  know  the  existence  of 
this  comnmnicatioii,  because  we  can  see  the  com- 
municating threads,  and  can  trace  them  to  the 
br.iin :  its  necessity  we  also  know,  because  if  the 
thread  be  cut,  if  the  comnmnication  be  intercepted, 
the  muscle  becomes  paralytic :  but  beyond  this  we 
know  little ;  the  organization  being  too  minute  and 
subtile  for  our  inspection. 

To  what  has  been  enumerated,  as  officiating  in 
the  singly  act  of  a  man  s  raising  his  hand  to  his 
head,  must  be  added  likewise,  all  that  is  necessary, 
and  all  tliat  contributes  to  the  growth,  nourishment, 
and  sustentation,  of  the  limb,  the  repair  of  its 
waste,  the  preservation  of  its  health :  such  as  the 
circulation  of  the  blood  through  every  part  of  it  ; 
its  lymphatics,  exhalants,  absorbents;  its  excre- 
tions and  integuments.  All  these  share  in  the 
result;  join  in  the  eiiect:  and  how  all  these,  or 
any  of  thern,  coaie  together  without  a  designing, 
disposing  intelligence,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Of  the  Animal  Strucixvre  regarded  as  a  3'lass. 

CONTKMPI.ATING  an  animal  body  in  its  collect- 
ive capacity,  we  cannot  forget  to  notice  what  a 
number  of  instruments  are  brought  together,  and 


often  within  how  small  a  compass.  It  is  a  cluster 
of  contrivances.  In  a  canary-bird,  for  instance, 
and  in  the  single  ounce  of  matter  which  composes 
his  body,  (but  which  seems  to  be  all  employed,) 
we  have  instruments  for  eating,  for  digesting,  for 
nourishment,  for  breathing,  lor  generation,  for 
running,  for  flying,  for  seeing,  for  hearing,  for 
smelling ;  each  appropriate, — each  entirely  differ- 
ent from  all  the  rest. 

The  human,  or  indeed  the  animal  frame,  con- 
sidered as  a  mass  or  assemblage,  exhibits  in  its 
composition  three  properties,  which  have  long 
struck  my  mind  as  indubitable  evidences,  not  only 
of  design,  but  of  a  great  deal  of  attention  and  ac- 
curacy  in  prosecutnig  the  design. 

I.  The  first  is,  the  exact  correspondency  of  the 
two  sides  of  the  same  animal :  the  right  hand  an- 
swering to  the  left,  leg  to  leg,  eye  to  eye,  one  side 
of  the  countenance  to  the  other;  and  with  a  pre- 
cision, to  imitate  which  in  any  tolerable  degree 
forms  one  of  the  difficulties  of  statuary ,  and  requires 
on  the  part  of  the  artist,  a  constant  attention  to 
this  property  of  his  work,  distinct  from  every  other. 

It  is  the  most  difficult  thing  that  can  be  to  get 
a  wig  made  even ;  yet  how  seldom  is  the  face 
awry !  And  what  care  is  taken  that  it  should  not 
be  so,  the  anatomy  of  its  bones  demonstrates.  The 
upper  part  of  the  face  is  composed  of  thirteen 
bones,  six  on  each  side,  answering  each  to  each, 
and  the  thirteenth,  without  a  fellow,  in  the  mid- 
dle ;  the  lower  part  of  the  face  is  in  like  manner 
composed  of  six  bones,  three  on  each  side  respect- 
ively corresponding,  and  the  lower  jaw  in  the 
centre.  In  building  an  arch,  could  more  be  done  in 
order  to  make  the  curve  true,  i.  e.  the  parts  equi-dis- 
tant  from  the  middle,  alike  in  figure  and  position  1 

The  exact  resemblance  of  the  eyes,  considering 
how  compounded  this  organ  is  in  its  structure, 
how  various  and  how  delicate  are  the  shades  of 
colour  with  which  its  iris  is  tinged ;  how  differ- 
ently, as  to  effect  upon  appearance,  the  eye  may 
be  mounted  in  its  socket,  and  how  differently  in 
different  heads  eyes  actually  are  set, — is  a  proper- 
ty of  animal  bodies  much  to  be  admired.  Of  ten 
thousand  eyes,  I  do  not  know  that  it  would  be 
possible  to  match  one,  except  with  its  own  fellow ;  or 
to  distribute  them  into  suitable  pairs  by  any  other 
selection  than  that  which  obtains. 

This  regularity  of  the  animal  structure  is  ren- 
dered more  remarkable  by  the  three  following  con- 
siderations. First,  the  limbs,  separately  taken, 
have  not  this  correlation  of  parts,  but  the  contrary 
of  it.  A  knife  drawn  down  the  chine,  cuts  the 
human  body  into  two  parts,  externally  equal  and 
alike;  you  cannot  draw  a  straight  line  which 
will  divide  a  hand,  a  foot,  the  leg,  the  thigh,  the 
cheek,  the  eye,  th.e  ear,  into  two  parts  equal  and 
alike.  Those  parts  which  are  placed  upon  the 
middle  or  partition  line  of  the  bod}',  or  which 
traverse  that  Une,  as  the  nose,  the  tongue,  the  Ups, 
may  be  so  divided,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  are 
double  organs:  but  other  parts  cannot.  This 
shows  that  the  correspondency  wliich  we  have 
been  describing,  does  ncit  arise  by  any  necessity 
in  the  nature  of  the  subject :  for,  if  necessary,  it 
«'ould  be  universal ;  whereas  it  is  observed  only 
in  the  system  or  assemblage:  it  is  not  true  of  the 
separate  parts ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  found  where  it 
conduces  to  beauty  or  utility  ;  it  is  not  found, 
where  it  would  subsist  at  the  expense  of  both. 
The  two  wings  of  a  bird  always  correspond  :  the 
two  sides  of  a  feather  frequently  do  not.  In  centi- 
36 


42-3 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


pe  Jes,  millepedes,  and  the  whole  tribe  of  insects,  no 
two  legs  on  the  same  side  arealike:  yet  there  is 
the  most  exact  parity  between  the  legs  opposite  to 
one  another. 

2.  The  next  circumstance  to  be  remarked  is, 
tiiat,  whilst  the  cavities  of  the  body  are  so  confi- 
gurated, as  externally  to  exhibit  the  most  exact 
correspondency  of  the  opposite  sides,  the  contents 
of  these  cavities  have  no  such  correspondency.  A 
line  drawn  down  the  middle  of  the  breast,  divides 
the  thorax  into  two   sides  exactly  similar;    yet 
these  two  sides  enclose  very  dill'erent  contents. 
The  heart  lies  on  the  left  side  ;  a  lobe  of  the  lungs 
on  the  right;  balancing   each   other,  neither  in 
size  nor  shape.     The  same  thing  holds  of  the  ab- 
domen.    The  liver  lies  on  the  right  side,  without 
any  similar  viscus  opposed  to  it  on  the  left.     The 
spleen  indeed  is  situated  over  against  the  liver ; 
but  agreeing  with  the  liver  neither  in  bulk  nor 
form.     There  is  no  equipollency  between  these. 
The  stomach   is  a  vessel,   both   irregular  in  its 
shape,  and  oblique  in  its  position.     The  foldings 
and  doublings  of  the  intestines  do  not  present  a 
parity  of  sides.  Yet  that  symmetry  which  depends 
upon  the  correlation  of  the  sides,  is  externally  pre- 
served throughout  the  whole  trunk ;  and  is  the 
inore  remarkable  in  the  lower  parts  of  it,  as  the 
integuments  are  soft ;  and  the  shape,  consequent- 
ly, is  not,  as  the  thorax  is  by  its  ribs,  reduced  by 
natural  stays.     It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the 
external  proportion  does  not  arise  from  any  equali- 
ty in  the  shape  or  pressure  of  the  internal  contents. 
What  is  it  indeed  but  a  correction  of  inequalities  1 
aa  adjustment,  by  mutual  compensation,  of  ano- 
malous forms  into  a  regular  congeries  "X  the  effect, 
in  a  word,  of  artful,  and,  if  we  might  be  permitted 
so  to  speak,  of  studied  collocation  1 

3.  Similar  also  to  this,  is  the  third  observation  ; 
that  an  internal  inequality  in  the*  feeding  vessels 
is  so  managed,  as  to  produce  no  inequality  in  parts 
which  were  intended  to  corresi)ond.  The  right 
arm  answers  accurately  to  the  left,  both  in  size 
and  shape ;  but  the  arterial  branches,  which  sup- 
ply the  two  arms,  do  not  go  off  from  their  trunk, 
in  a  pair,  in  the  same  manner,  at  the  same  place, 
or  at  the  same  angle.  Under  which  want  of  si- 
militude, it  is  very  difficult  to  conceive  how  the 
same  quantity  of  blood  should  be  pushed  through 
each  artery:  yet  the  result  is  right ;  the  two  hmb.s, 
which  are  nourished  by  them,  perceive  no  diifer- 
ence  of  supply,  rio  effects  of  excess  or  deficiency. 

Concerning  the  dilference  of  manner,  in  which 
the  subclavian  and  carotid  arteries,  upon  the  dif- 
ferent sides  of  the  body,  separate  themselves  from 
the  aorta,  Cheselden  seems  to  have  thought,  that 
the  advantage  which  the  left  gain  by  going  off  at 
an  angle  much  more  acute  than  the  right,  is  made 
up  to  the  riglit,  by  their  going  olf  together  in  one 
branch.*  It  is  very  possible  that  this  may  be  the 
coinpen.sating  contrivance ;  and  if  it  be  so,  how  cu- 
rious, how  hydrostatical ! 

II.  Another  perfection  of  the  animal  mass  is 
the  package.  I  know  nothing  which  is  so  sur- 
prising. Examine  the  contents  of  the  trunk  of 
any  large  animal.  Take  notice  how  soft,  how 
tender,  how  intricate  they  are ;  how  constantly  in 
action,  how  necessary  to  life  !  Reflect  upon  the 
danger  of  any  injury  to  their  substance,  any  de- 
rangement of  their  position,  any  obstruction  to 
their  office.     Observe  the  heart  pumping  at  tlie 

*Ches.  Anat.  p.  181.  ed.  7. 


centre  at  tiie  rate  of  eighty  strokes  in  a  minute ; 
one  set  of  pipes  carrying  the  stream  away  from  it, 
another  set  bringing,  in  its  course,  the  fluid  back 
to  it  again  ;  the  lungs  performing  their  elaborate 
office,  viz.  distending  and  contracting  their  many 
thousand  vesicles,  by  a  reciprocation  which  cannot 
cease  for  a  minute;  the  stomach  exercising  its 
powerful  chymistry  ;  the  bowels  silently  propdling 
the  changed  aliment;  collecting  from  it  as  it  pro- 
ceeds, and  transmitting  to  the  blood,  an  incessant 
supply  of  prepared  and  assimilated  nourishment ; 
that  blood  pursuing  its  course  ;  the  liver,  the  kid-  ' 
neys,  the  pancreas,  the  parotid,  with  many  other 
known  and  distinguishable  glands,  drawing  off 
from  it,  all  the  while,  their  proper  secretions. 
These  several  operations,  together  with  others 
more  subtile  but  less  capable  of  being  investigated, 
are  going  on  within  us,  at  one  and  the  same  time. 
Think  of  this ;  and  then  oi)scrve  how  the  body 
itself,  the  case  which  holds  this  machinery,  is  rolled, 
and  jolted,  and  tossed  about,  the  mechanism  re- 
maining unhurt,  and  with  very  little  molestation 
even  of  its  nicest  motions.  Observe  a  ropedancer, 
a  tumbler,  or  a  monkey ;  the  sudden  inversions 
and  contortions  which  the  internal  parts  sustain 
by  the  postures  into  which  their  bodies  are  thrown  ; 
or  rather  observe  the  shocks  which  these  parts, 
even  in  ordinary  subjects,  sometimes  receive  from 
falls  and  bruises,  or  by  alirupt  jerks  and  twists, 
without  sensible,  or  with  soon-recovered,  damage. 
Observe  this,  and  then  reflect  how  firmly  every 
part  must  be  secured,  how  carefully  surrounded, 
how  well  tied  down  and  packed  together. 

This  property  of  animal  bodies  has  never,  I 
think,  been  considered  under  a  distinct  head,  or 
so  fully  as  it  deserves.  I  may  be  allowed  there- 
fore, in  order  to  verify  my  observation  concerning 
it,  to  set  forth  a  short  anatomical  detail,  though 
it  oblige  me  to  use  more  technical  language  than 
I  should  wish  to  introduce  into  a  work  of  this  kind. 

1.  The  heart  (such  care  is  taken  of  the  centre 
of  life)  is  placed  between  two  soft  lobes  of  the 
lungs ;  is  tied  to  the  mediastinum  and  to  the 
pericardium;  which  pericardium  is  not  only  itself 
an  exceedingly  strong  membrane,  but  adheres 
firmly  to  the  duplicature  of  the  mediastinum,  and, 
by  its  point,  to  the  middle  tendon  of  the  diaphragm. 
The  heart  is  also  sustained  in  its  place  by  the 
great  blood-vessels  which  issue  from  it.* 

2.  The  lungs  are  tied  to  the  sternum  by  the 
mediastinum,  before  ;  to  the  vertebrce  by  the 
pleura,  behind.  It  seems  indeed  to  be  the  very 
use  of  the  mciliastinum  (which  is  a  membrane 
that  goes  straight  through  the  middle  of  the  tho- 
rax, from  the  breast  to  the  back)  to  keep  the  con- 
tents of  the  thorax  in  their  places ;  in  particular 
to  hinder  one  lobe  of  the  lungs  from  incommoding 
another,  or  the  parts  of  the  lungs  from  pressing 
upon  each  other  when  we  lie  on  one  side.t 

3.  The  liver  is  fastened  in  the  body  by  two 
ligaments :  the  first,  which  is  large  and  strong, 
comes  from  the  covering  of  the  diaphragm,  and 
penetrates  the  substance  of  the  liver ;  the  second 
is  the  umbilical  vein,  which,  after  birth,  degene- 
rates into  a  ligament.  The  first,  which  is  the 
principal,  fixes  the  liver  in  its  situation,  whilst 
the  body  holds  an  erect  posture ;  the  second  pre- 
vents it  from  pressing  upon  the  diaphragm  when 
we  lie  down :  and  both  together  sling  or  suspend 
the  liver  when  we  lie  upon  our  backs,  so  that  it 

*  Keill's  Anat.  p.  107.  ed.  3.         f  ^^'^^-  P- 119-  ed.  3. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


423 


may  not  compress  or  obstruct  the  ascending  vena 
cava,*  to  which  belongs  the  important  office  of 
returning  the  blood  from  the  body  to  the  heart. 

4.  The  bladder  is  tied  to  the  naval  by  the 
urachus,  transformed  into  a  ligament :  thiis,  what 
was  a  passage  for  urine  to  the  foetus,  becomes, 
after  birth,  a  support  or  stay  to  the  bladder.  The 
peritonsum  also  keeps  the  viscera  from  confound- 
ing themselves  with,  or  pressing  irregularly  upon, 
the  bladder;  for  the  kidneys  and  bladder  are  con- 
tained in  a  distinct  duplicature  of  that  membrane, 
being  thereby  partitioned  off  from  the  other  con- 
tents of  the  aixlomen. 

5.  The  kidneys  are  lodged  in  a  bed  of  fat. 

6.  The  pancreas,  or  sweetbread,  is  strongly 
tied  to  tlie  periton;eum,  which  is  the  great  wrap- 
ping-sheet, that  encloses  all  the  bowels  contained 
in  the  lower  belly .t 

7.  The  spleen  also  is  confined  to  its  place  by  an 
adhesion  to  the  periton;eum  and  diaphragm,  and 
by  a  connexion  with  the  omentum. t  It  is  possi- 
ble, in  my  opinion,  that  the  spleen  may  be  merely 
a  stuffing,  a  soft  cushion  to  fill  up  a  vacaircy  or 
hollow,  which,  unless  occupied,  would  leave  the 
package  loose  and  unsteady:  for  supposing  that 
it  answers  no  other  purpose  than  this,  it  must  be 
vascular,  and  admit  of  a  circulation  through  it, 
in  order  to  be  kept  alive,  or  be  a  part  of  a  living 
body. 

8.  The  omentum,  epiploon,  or  cawl,  is  an 
apron  tucked  up,  or  doubling  upon  itself,  at  its 
lowest  part.  The  upper  edge  is  tied  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  stomach,  to  the  spleen,  as  hath  already 
been  observed,  and  to  part  of  the  duodenum.  The 
reflected  edge  also,  after  forming  the  doubling, 
comes  up  behind  the  front  flap,  and  is  tied  to  the 
colon  and  adjoining  viscera. § 

9.  The  septa  of  the  brain  probably  prevent  one 
part  of  that  organ  from  pressing  with  too  great  a 
weight  upon  another  part.  The  processes  of  the 
dura  mater  divide  the  cavity  of  the  skull,  like  so 
many  inner  partition  walls,  and  thereby  confine 
each  hemisphere  and  lobe  of  the  brain  to  the 
chamber  which  is  assigned  to  it,  without  its  being 
liable  to  rest  upon,  or  intermix  with,  the  neigh- 
bouring parts.  The  great  art  and  caution  of 
packing,  is  to  prevent  one  thing  hurting  another. 
This,  in  the  head,  the  chest,  and  the  abdomen,  of 
an  animal  body,  is,  amongst  other  methods,  pro- 
vided for  by  membranous  partitions  and  wrap- 
pings, which  keep  the  parts  separate. 

The  above  may  serve  as  a  short  account  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  principal  viscera  are  sus- 
tained in  their  places.  But  of  the  provisions  for 
this  purpose,  by  far,  in  my  opinion,  the  most 
curious,  and  where  also  such  a  provision  was 
most  wanted,  is  in  the  guts.  It  is  pretty  evident, 
that  a  long  narrow  tube  (in  man,  about  five  times 
the  length  of  the  body)  laid  from  side  to  side  in 
folds  upon  one  another,  winding  in  obhque  and 
circuitous  directions,  composed  also  of  a  soft  and 
yielding  substance,  must,  without  some  extraor- 
dinary precaution  for  its  safety,  be  continually 
displaced  by  the  various,  sudden,  and  abrupt  mo- 
tions of  the  body  which  contains  it.  I  should 
expect  that,  if  not  bruised  or  wounded  by  every 
fall,  or  leap,  or  twist,  it  would  be  entangled,  or  be 
involved  with  itself;  or.  at  the  least,  slipped  and 
shaken  out  of  the  order  in  which  it  is  disposed, 


*  dies.  Anat.  p.  1G2. 
J  Cliss.  Auat.  p.  167. 


t  ICsill's  Anat.  p.  57. 
§  Ibid. 


and  which  order  is  necessary  to  be  preserved,  for 
the  carrying  on  of  the  important  functions  which 
it  has  to  execute  in  the  animal  economy.  Let  us 
see,  therefore,  how  a  danger  so  serious,  and  yet 
so  natural  to  the  length,  narrowness,  and  tubular 
fonn,  of  the  part,  is  provided  against.  The  ex- 
pedient is  admirable  :  and  it  is  this.  The  intesti- 
nal canal,  throughout  its  whole  process,  is  knit  to 
the  edge  of  a  broad  fat  membrane  called  the 
mesentery.  It  forms  the  margin  of  this  mesentery, 
being  stitched  and  fastened  to  it  like  the  edging  of 
a  ruffle  :  being  four  times  as  long  as  the  mesen- 
tery itself,  it  is  what  a  sempstress  would  call, 
"  puckered  or  gathered  on"  to  it.  This  is  the 
nature  of  the  connexion  of  the  gut  with  the  me- 
sentery ;  and  being  thus  joined  to,  or  rather  made 
a  part  of,  the  mesentery,  it  is  folded  and  wrapped 
up  together  with  it.  Now  the  mesentery  having 
a  considerable  dimension  in  breadth,  being  in  its 
substance,  withal,  both  thick  and  suety,  is  capa- 
ble of  a  close  and  safe  folding,  in  comparison  of 
what  the  intestinal  tube  would  admit  of,  if  it  had 
remained  loose.  The  mesentery  likewise  not 
only  keeps  the  intestinal  canal  in  its  proper  place 
and  position  under  all  the  turns  and  windings  of 
its  course,  but  sustains  the  numberless  small  ves- 
sels, the  arteries,  the  veins,  the  lympheducts,  and 
above  all,  the  lacteals,  which  lead  from  or  to  al- 
most every  point  of  its  coats  and  cavity.  This 
membrane,  which  appears  to  be  the  great  support 
and  security  of  the  alimentary  apparatus,  is  itself 
strongly  tied  to  the  first  three  vertebrae  of  the 
loins.* 

III.  A  third  general  property  of  animal  forms 
is  bea  ufy.  I  do  not  mean  relative  beauty,  or  that  of 
one  individual  above  another  of  the  same  species, 
or  of  one  species  compared  with  another  species  ; 
but  I  mean,  generally,  the  provision  which  is 
made  in  the  body  of  almost  every  animal,  to  adapt 
its  appearance  to  the  perception  of  the  animals 
with  which  it  conver.ses.  In  our  own  species,  for 
example,  only  consider  what  the  parts  and  mate- 
rials are,  of  which  the  fairest  body  is  composed  ; 
and  no  farther  observation  will  be  necessary  to 
show  how  well  these  things  are  wrapped  up,  so 
as  to  form  a  mass  which  shall  be  capable  of  sym- 
metry in  its  proportion,  and  of  beauty  in  its 
aspect ;  how  the  bones  are  covered,  the  bowels 
concealed,  the  roughnesses  of  the  muscle  smoothed 
and  softened  ;  and  how  over  the  whole  is  drawn 
an  integument,  which  converts  the  disgusting 
materials  of  a  dissecting-room  into  an  object  of 
attraction  to  the  sight,  or  one  upon  which  it  rests, 
at  least,  with  ease  and  satisfaction.  Much  of  this 
effect  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  intervention  of  the  cel- 
lular or  adipose  membrane,  which  lies  immediately 
under  the  skin ;  is  a  kind  of  lining  to  it ;  is  moist, 
soft,  shppery,  and  compressible;  every  where 
filling  up  the  interstices  of  the  muscles,  and 
forming  thereby  their  roundness  and  flowing  line, 
as  welfas  the  evenness  and  polish  of  the  whole 
surface. 

All  which  seems  to  be  a  strong  indication  of 
design,  and  of  a  design  studiously  directed  to  this 
purpose.  And  it  being  once  allowed,  that  such  a 
purpose  existed  with  respect  to  any  of  the  produc- 
tions of  nature,  we  may  refer,  with  a  considerable 
degree  of  probability,  other  particulars  to  the  same 
intention;  such  as  the  teints  of  flowers,  the 
plumage  of  birds,  the  furs  of  beasts,  the  bright 

*  Keill's  Anat.  p.  45. 


424 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


scales  of  fishes,  the  painted  wings  of  butterflies 
and  beetles,  the  rich  colours  and  spotted  lustre  of 
many  tribes  of  insects. 

There  are  parts  also  of  animals  ornamental, 
and  the  properties  by  which  they  are  so,  not  sub- 
servient, that  we  know  of,  to  any  other  purpose. 
The  irides  of  most  animals  are  very  beautiful, 
without  conducing  at  all,  by  their  beauty,  to  the 
perfection  of  vision ;  and  nature  could  in  no  part 
have  employed  her  pencil  to  so  much  advantage, 
because  no  part  presents  itself  so  conspicuously 
to  the  observer,  or  communicates  so  great  an  effect 
to  the  whole  aspect. 

In  plants,  especially  in  the  flowers  of  plants,  the 
principle  of  beauty  holds  a  still  more  considerable 
place  in  their  composition ;  is  still  more  confessed 
than  in  animals.  Why,  for  one  instance  out  of  a 
thousand,  does  the  corolla  of  the  tuhp,  when  ad- 
vanced to  its  size  and  maturity,  change  its  colour  1 
The  purposes,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  of  vegetable 
nutrition,  might  have  been  carried  on  as  well  by 
its  continuing  green.  Or,  if  this  could  not  be  con- 
sistently with  the  progress  of  vegetable  life,  why 
break  into  such  a  variety  of  colours'!  This  is  no 
proper  etiect  of  age,  or  of  declension  in  the  ascent 
of  the  sap;  lor  that,  like  the  autumnal  teints, 
would  have  produced  one  colour  on  one  leaf,  with 
marks  of  Hiding  and  withering.  It  seems  a  lame 
account  to  call  it,  as  it  has  been  called,  a  disease 
of  the  plant.  Is  it  not  more  prol)able,  that  this 
property,  which  is  independent,  as  it  should  seem, 
of  the  wants  and  utilities  of  the  plant,  was  calcu- 
lated for  beauty,  intended  for  display. 

A  ground,  I  know,  of  objection,  has  been  taken 
against  the  whole  topic  of  argument,  namely,  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  beauty  at  all ;  in  other 
words,  that  whatever  is  useful  and  familiar,  comes 
of  course  to  be  thought  beautiful ;  and  that  things 
appear  to  be  so,  only  by  their  alliance  with  these 
qualities.  Our  idea  of  beauty  is  capable  of  being 
in  so  great  a  degree  modified  by  habit,  by  fashion, 
by  the  experience  of  advantage  or  pleasure,  and 
by  associations  arising  out  of  that  experience,  that 
a  question  has  been  made,  whether  it  be  not  alto- 
gether generated  by  these  causes,  or  would  have 
any  proper  existence  without  them.  It  seems, 
however,  a  carrying  of  the  conclusion  too  for,  to 
deny  the  existence  of  the  principle,  viz.  a  native 
capacity  of  perceiving  beauty,  on  account  of  an 
influence,  or  of  varieties  proceeding  from  that  in- 
fluence, to  which  it  is  subject,  seeing  that  princi- 
ples the  most  acknowledged  are  liable  to  be  affect- 
ed in  the  same  manner.  I  should  rather  argue 
thus:  The  question  respects  objects  of  sight. 
Now  every  other  sense  hath  its  distinction  of 
agreeable  and  disagreeable.  Some  tastes  oflTend 
the  palate,  others  gratify  it.  In  brutes  and  insects, 
this  distinction  is  stronger  and  more  regular  than 
in  man.  Every  horse,  ox,  sheep,  swine,  when  at 
liberty  to  choose,  and  when  in  a  natural  state, 
that  is,  when  not  vitiated  by  habits  forced  upon  it, 
eats  and  rejects  the  same  plants.  Many  insects 
which  feed  upon  particular  plants,  will  rather  die 
than  change  their  appropriated  leaf.  All  this  looks 
like  a  determination  in  the  sense  itself  to  particu- 
lar tastes.  In  like  manner,  smells  affect  the  nose 
with  sensations  pleasurable  or  disgusting.     Some 


agreeable  and  disagreeable,  no  foundation  in  tho 
sense  itself?  What  is  true  of  the  other  senses,  is 
most  probably  true  of  the  e3'e,  (the  analogy  is  ir- 
resistible,) vis.  that  there  belongs  to  it  an  original 
constitution,  fitted  to  receive  pleasure  from  some 
impressions,  and  pain  from  others. 

1  do  not  however  know,  that  the  argument 
which  alleges  beauty  as  a  final  cause,  rests  upon 
this  concession.  We  possess  a  sense  of  beauty, 
however  we  come  by  it.  It  in  fact  exists.  Things 
are  not  indifferent  to  this  sense ;  all  objects  do  not 
suit  it ;  many  which  we  see,  are  agreeable  to  it ; 
many  others  disagreeable.  It  is  certainly  not  the 
effect  of  habit  upon  the  particular  object,  because 
the  most  agreeable  objects  are  often  the  most  rare; 
many,  which  are  very  common,  continue  to  be  of- 
fensive. If  they  be  made  supportable  by  habit,  it 
is  all  which  habit  can  do;  they  never  become 
agreeable.  If  this  sense,  therefore,  be  acquired,  it 
is  a  result ;  the  produce  of  numerous  and  compli- 
cated actions  of  external  objects  upon  the  senses, 
and  of  the  mind  upon  its  sensations.  With  this 
result,  there  must  be  a  certain  congruity  to  ena- 
ble any  particular  object  to  please :  and  that  con- 
gruity, we  contend,  is  consulted  in  the  aspect 
which  is  given  to  animal  and  vegetable  bodies. 

IV.  The  skin  and  covering  of  animals  is  that 
U])on  which  their  appearance  chiefly  depends ; 
and  it  is  that  part  which,  perhaps,  in  all  animals 
is  most  decorated,  and  most  free  from  impurities. 
But  were  beauty,  or  agreeableness  of  aspect,  en- 
tirely out  of  the  question,  there  is  another  purpose 
answered  by  this  integument,  and  by  the  colloca- 
tion of  the  parts  of  the  body  beneath  it,  which  is 
of  still  greater  importance ;  and  that  purpose  is 
concealment.  Were  it  possible  to  view  through 
the  skin  the  mechanism  of  our  bodies,  the  sight 
would  frighten  us  out  of  our  wits.  "  Durst  we 
make  a  single  movement,''  asks  a  lively  French 
writer,  "  or  stir  a  step  from  the  place  we  were  in, 
if  we  saw  our  blood  circulating,  the  tendons  pull- 
ing, the  lungs  blowing,  the  humours  filtrating, 
and  all  the  incomprehensible  assemblage  of  fibres, 
tubes,  pumps,  valves,  currents,  pivots,  which  sus- 
tain an  existence  at  once  so  fraiJ,  and  so  presump- 
tuous?" 

V.  Of  animal  bodies,  considered  as  masses, 
there  is  another  property,  more  curious  than  it  is 
generally  thought  to  be ;  which  is  the  faculty  of 
standing :  and  it  is  more  remarkable  in  two-leg- 
ged animals  than  in  quadrupeds,  and,  most  of  all, 
as  being  the  tallest,  and  resting  upon  the  smallest 
base,  in  man.  There  is  more,  i  think,  in  the  mat- 
ter than  we  are  aware  of  The  statue  of  a  man, 
placed  loosely  upon  its  pedestal,  would  not  be  se- 
cure of  standing  half  an  hour.  You  are  obliged 
to  fix  its  feet  to  the  block  by  bolts  and  solder;  or 
the  first  shake,  the  first  gust  of  wind,  is  sure  to 
throw  it  down.  Yet  this  statue  shall  express  all 
the  mechanical  proportions  of  a  living  model.  It 
is  not,  therefore,  tiie  mere  figure,  or  merely  placing 
the  centre  of  gravity  within  the  base,  that  is  suffi- 
cient. Either  the  law  of  gravitation  is  suspended 
in  favour  of  living  substances,  or  something  more 
is  done  for  them,  in  order  to  enable  them  to  up- 
hold their  posture.  There  is  no  reason  whatever 
to  doubt,  but  that  their  parts  descend  by  gravita- 


sounds,  or  compositions  of  sound,  delight  the  ear;  tion  in  the  same  manner  as  those  of  dead  matter. 
others  torture  it.  Habit  can  do  much  in  all  these  The  gift,  therefore,  appears  to  me  to  consist  in  a 
cases,  (and  it  is  well  for  us  that  it  can ;  for  it  is  ]  faculty  of  perpetually  shifting  the  centre  of  gra- 
this  power  which  reconciles  us  to  many  necessi-  |  vity,  by  a  set  of  obscure,  indeed,  but  of  quick 
ties:)  but  has  the  distinction,  in  the  mean  time,  of  j  balancing  actions,  so  as  to  keep  the  line  of  di- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


4-35 


rectioii,  which  is  a  line  drawn  from  that  centre  to 
the  ground,  within  its  prescribed  Hmits.  Of  these 
actions  it  may  be  observed,  first,  that  they  in  [)art 
constitute  what  we  call  strength.  The  dead  body 
drops  down.  The  mere  adjustment,  therefore,  of 
weight  and  pressure,  which  may  be  the  same  the 
moment  after  death  as  the  moment  before,  does 
not  support  the  column.  In  cases  also  of  extreme 
weakness,  the  patient  cannot  stand  upright.  Se- 
condly, that  these  actions  are  only  in  a  small  de- 
gree voluntary.  A  man  is  seldom  conscious  of 
his  voluntary  powers  in  keeping  himself  upon  his 
legs.  A  child  learning  to  walk  is  the  greatest 
posture-maker  in  the  world  :  but  art,  if  it  may  be 
so  called,  sinks  into  habit;  and  he  is  soon  able  to 
poise  himself  in  a  great  variety  of  attitudes,  with- 
out being  sensible  either  of  caution  or  eflbrt.  But 
still  there  must  be  an  aptitude  of  parts,  upon 
which  habit  can  thus  attach ;  a  previous  capacity 
of  motions  which  the  animal  is  thus  taught  to  ex- 
ercise :  and  the  focility  with  which  this  exercise 
is  acquired,  forms  one  object  of  our  admiration. 
What  parts  are  principally  employed,  or  in  what 
manner  each  contributes  its  office,  is,  as  hath  al- 
ready been  confessed,  difficult  to  explain.  Per- 
haps the  obscure  motion  of  the  bones  of  the  feet 
may  have  their  share  in  this  effect.  They  are  put 
in  action  by  every  slip  or  vacillation  of  the  body, 
and  seem  to  assist  in  restoring  its  balance.  Cer- 
tain it  is,  that  tliis  circumstance  in  the  structure 
of  the  foot,  viz.  its  being  composed  of  many  small 
bones,  applied  to  and  articulating  with  one  ano- 
ther, by  diversely  shaped  surfaces,  instead  of  being 
made  of  one  piece,  like  the  last  of  a  shoe,  is  very 
remarkable.  I  suppose  also  that  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  stand  firmly  upon  stilts  or  wooden  legs, 
though  their  base  exactly  imitated  the  figure  and 
dimensions  of  the  sole  of  the  foot.  The  alteration 
of  the  joints,  the  knee-joint  bending  backward, 
the  hip  joint  forward ;  the  flexibility,  in  every  di- 
rection, of  the  spine,  especially  in  the  loins  and 
neck,  appear  to  be  of  great  moment  in  preserving 
the  equilibrium  of  the  body.  With  respect  to  this 
last  circumstance,  it  is  observable,  that  the  verte- 
bra are  so  confined  by  ligaments  as  to  allow  no 
more  slipping  upon  their  bases,  than  what  is  just 
sufficient  to  break  the  shock  which  any  violent 
motion  may  occasion  to  the  body.  A  certain  de- 
gree also  of  tension  of  the  sinews  appears  to  be 
essential  to  an  erect  posture  ;  for  it  is  by  the  loss 
of  this,  that  the  dead  or  paralytic  body  drops  down. 
The  whole  is  a  wonderful  result  of  combined 
powers,  and  of  very  complicated  operations.  In- 
deed, that  standing  IS  not  so  simple  a  business  as 
we  imagine  it  to  be,  is  evident  from  the  strange 
gesticulations  of  a  drunken  man,  who  has  lost  the 
government  of  the  centre  of  gravity. 

We  have  said  that  this  property  is  the  most  wor- 
thy of  observation  in  the  human  body  :  but  a  bird, 
resting  upon  its  perch,  or  hopping  upon  a  spray, 
affords  no  mean  specimen  of  the  same  faculty.  A 
chicken  runs  off  as  soon  as  it  is  hatched  from  the 
egg;  yet  a  chicken,  considered  geometrically,  and 
with  relation  to  its  centre  of  gravity,  its  hne  of  di- 
rection, and  its  equilibrium,  is  a  very  irregular  so- 
lid. Is  this,  gift,  therefore,  or  instruction?  May 
it  not  be  said  to  be  with  great  attention,  that  na- 
ture hath  balanced  the  body  upon  its  pivots  1 

I  observe  also  in  the  same  bird  a  piece  of  use- 
ful mechanism  of  this  kind.  In  the  trussing  of  a 
fowl,  upon  bending  the  legs  and  thighs  up  towards 
the  body,  the  cook  finds  that  the  claws  close  of 
3H 


their  own  accord.  Now  let  it  be  remembered, 
that  this  is  the  position  of  the  limbs,  in  which  the 
bird  rests  upon  its  perch.  And  in  this  position  it 
sleeps  in  safety  ;  for  the  claws  do  their  office  in 
keeping  hold  of  the  sujipurt,  not  by  any  exertion 
of  voluntary  power,  which  sleep  might  suspend, 
but  by  the  traction  of  the  tendons  in  consequence 
of  the  attitude  which  the  legs  and  thighs  take  by 
the  bird  sitting  down,  and  to  which  the  mere 
weight  of  the  body  gives  the  force  that  is  neces- 
sary. 

VI.  Regarding  the  human  body  as  a  mass  ;  re- 
garding the  general  conformations  which  obtain 
in  it;  regarding  also  particular  parts  in  resjiect 
to  those  conformations;  we  shall  be  led  to  ob- 
serve what  I  call  "  interrupted  analogies."  The 
following  are  examples  of  what  I  mean  by  these 
terms ;  and  I  do  not  know  how  such  critical  de- 
viations can,  by  any  possible  hypothesis,  be  ac- 
counted for  without  design. 

1.  All  the  bones  of  the  body  are  covered  with  a 
periosteum,  except  the  teeth ;  where  it  ceases,  and 
an  enamel  of  ivory  which  saws  and  files  will  hard- 
ly touch,  comes  into  its  place.  No  one  can  doubt 
of  the  use  and  propriety  of  this  difference ;  of  the 
"  analogy"  being  thus  "  interrupted  ;"  of  the  rule, 
which  belongs  to  the  conformation  of  the  bones, 
stopping  where  it  does  stop :  for  had  so  exquisitely 
sensible  a  membrane  as  the  periosteum  invested 
the  teeth,  as  it  invests  every  other  boiij  of  the  body, 
their  action,  necessary  exposure,  and  irritation, 
would  have  subjected  the  animal  to  continual  pain. 
General  as  it  is,  it  was  not  the  sort  of  integument 
which  suited  the  teeth;  what  they  stood  in  need 
of,  was  a  strong,  hard,  insensible,  defensi\e  coat : 
and  exactly  such  a  covering  is  given  to  them,  in 
the  ivory  enamel  which  adheres  to  their  surface. 

2.  The  scarf-skin,  which  clothes  all  the  rest  of 
the  body,  gives  way,  at  the  extremities  of  the  toes 
and  fingers,  to  nails.  A  man  has  only  to  look  at 
his  hand  to  observe  with  what  nicety  and  preci- 
sion that  covering,  which  extends  over  every  other 
part,  is  here  superseded  by  a  different  substance, 
and  a  different  texture.  Now,  if  either  the  rule 
had  been  necessary,  or  the  deviation  from  it  acci- 
dental, this  effect  would  not  be  seen.  When  I 
speak  of  the  rule  being  necessary,  I  mean  the 
formation  of  the  skin  upon  the  surface  being  pro- 
duced by  a  set  of  causes  constituted  without  de- 
sign and  acting,  as  all  ignorant  causes  must  act, 
by  a  general  operation.  Were  this  the  case,  no 
account  could  be  given  of  the  operation  being  sus- 
pended at  the  fingers'  ends,  or  on  the  back  part  of 
the  fingers,  and  not  on  the  fore  part.  On  the 
other  hand  :  if  the  deviation  were  accidental,  an 
error,  an  anomalism ;  were  it  any  thing  else  than 
settled  by  intention ;  we  should  meet  with  nails 
upon  other  parts  of  the  body.  They  would  be  scat- 
tered over  the  surface,  like  warts  or  pimples. 

3.  All  the  great  cavities  of  the  body  are  enclosed 
by  membranes,  except  the  skxdl.  Why  should 
not  the  brain  be  content  with  the  same  covering 
as  that  which  serves  for  the  other  principal  organs 
of  the  body  ■?  The  heart,  the  lungs,  the  liver,  the 
stomach,  the  bowels,  have  all  soft  hiteguments, 
and  nothing  else.  The  muscular  coats  are  all  soft 
and  membranous.  I  can  see  a  reason  for  this  dis- 
tinction in  the  final  cause,  but  in  no  other.  The 
importance  of  the  brain  to  life,  (which  experience 
proves  to  be  immediate.)  and  the  extreme  tender- 
ness of  its  substance,  make  a  solid  case  more  ne- 
cessary for  it,  than  for  anv  other  part:  and  such  a 

36* 


426 


NATURAL  THEC»LOGY. 


case  the  hardness  of  the  skull  supplies.  When 
the  smallest  portion  of  this  natural  casket  is  lost, 
how  carefully,  yet  how  imperfectly,  is  it  replaced 
by  a  plate  of  metal !  If  an  anatomist  should  say, 
that  thiif  bony  protection  is  not  confined  to  the 
brain,  but  is  extended  along  the  course  of  the 
spine.  I  answer  that  he  adds  strength  to  the  argu- 
ment. It'  he  remark,  that  the  chest  also  is  forti- 
fied by  bones ;  I  reply,  that  I  should  have  alleged 
this  instance  myself,  if  the  ribs  had  not  appeared 
subservient  to  the  purpose  of  motion,  as  well  as 
of  defence.  What  distinguishes  the  skull  from 
every  other  cavity  is,  that  the  bony  covering  com- 
pletely surrounds  its  contents,  and  is  calculated, 
not  for  motion,  but  solely  for  defence.  Those  hol- 
lows, likewise,  and  inequalities,  which  we  observe 
in  the  in.^ide  of  the  skull,  and  which  exactly  fit 
the  folds  of  tiie  brain,  answer  the  important  de- 
sign of  kee])ing  the  sul)stance  of  the  brain  steady, 
and  of  guarding  it  against  concussions. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Comparative  Aiiatomy. 

Whenever  we  find  a  general  plan  pursued, 
yet  with  such  variations  in  it  as  are,  in  each  case, 
required  by  the  particular  exigency  of  the  subject 
to  which  it  is  applied,  we  possess,  in  such  plan 
and  such  adaptation,  the  strongest  evidence  that 
can  be  afforded  of  intelligence  and  design;  an  evi- 
dence which  most  completely  excludes  every 
other  hypothesis.  If  the  general  plan  proceeded 
from  any  fixed  necessity  in  the  nature  of  things, 
how  could  it  accommodate  itself  to  the  various 
wants  and  uses  which  it  had  to  serve  under  difTer- 
ent  circumstances,  and  on»diflerent  occasions'? 
Arkwrighl's  mill  was  invented  for  the  spiiniing 
of  cotton.  We  see  it  employed  for  the  spinning 
of  wool,  flax,  and  hemp,  with  such  modifications 
of  the  orisinal  principle,  such  variety  in  the  same 
plan,  as  tlie  texture  of  those  different  materials 
rendered  necessary.  Of  the  machine's  being  put 
together  with  design,  if  it  were  possible  to  doubt, 
whilst  we  saw  it  only  under  one  mode,  and  in  one 
form;  when  we  came  to  oliserve  it  in  its  different 
applications,  with  such  changes  of  structure,  such 
additions  and  supplements,  as  the  special  and  par- 
ticular use  in  each  case  demanded,  we  could  not 
refuse  any  longer  our  assent  to  the  proposition, 
"  that  intelligence,  properly  and  strictly  so  called, 
(including  under  that  name,  foresight,  considera- 
tion, reference  to  utility,)  had  been  employed,  as 
well  in  the  pri;uitive  plan,  as  in  the  several  changes 
and  acconnnodations  which  it  is  made  to  undergo." 

Very  much  of  this  reasoning  is  applicable  to 
what  has  been  called  Comparative  Anatomy.  In 
their  general  economy,  in  the  outlines  of  the  plan, 
in  the  construction  as  well  as  offices  of  their  prin- 
cipal parts,  there  exists  between  all  largo  terres- 
trial animals  a  close  resemblance.  In  all,  life  is 
sustainod,  and  the  body  no\)rished,  by  nearly  the 
same  apparatus.  The  heart,  the  lungs,  the  sto- 
mach, the  liver,  the  kidneys,  are  much  alike  in  all. 
The  same  fluid  (for  no  distinction  of  blood  has 
been  o'jserved)  circulates  through  their  vessels, 
and  nearly  in  the  same  order.  The  same  cause 
therefore,  whatever  that  cause  was,  has  been  con- 
cerned in  the  origin,  has  governed  the  production, 
of  these  different  animal  forms. 


When  we  pass  on  to  smaller  animals,  or  to  tno 
inhabitants  of  a  different  element,  the  resemblance 
becomes  more  distant  and  more  obscure  ;  but  stili 
the  plan  accompanies  us. 

And,  what  we  can  never  enough  commend,  and 
which  it  is  our  business  at  present  to  exemplify, 
the  plan  is  attended,  through  all  its  varieties  aiid 
deflections,  by  subserviences  to  special  occasions 
and  utilities. 

I.  The  covering  of  different  animals  (though 
whether  I  am  correct  in  classing  this  under  their 
anatomy,  I  do  not  know,)  is  the  first  thing  which 
presents  itself  to  our  observation  ;  and  is,  in  truth, 
both  for  its  variety  and  its  suitableness  to  their 
several  natures,  as  much  to  be  admired  as  any 
part  of  their  structure.  We  have  bristles,  hair, 
wool,  furs,  feathers,  quills,  prickles,  scales  ;  yet  in 
this  diversity  both  of  material  and  form,  we  can- 
not change  one  animal's  coat  for  another,  without 
evidently  changing  it  for  the  worse:  taking  care 
however  to  remark,  that  these  coverings  are,  in 
many  cases,  armour  as  well  as  clothing;  intended 
for  protection  as  well  as  warmth. 

The  human  animal  is  the  only  one  which  is 
naked,  and  the  only  one  which  can  clothe  itself 
This  is  one  of  the  properties  which  renders  him 
an  animal  of  all  climates,  and  of  all  seasons.  He 
can  adapt  the  warmth  or  lightness  of  his  covering 
to  the  temperature  of  his  habitation.  Had  he 
been  born  with  a  fleece  upon  his  back,  although 
he  might  have  been  comforted  by  its  warmth  in 
high  latitudes,  it  would  have  ojipressed  him  by  its 
weight  and  heat,  as  the  species  spread  towards 
the  equator. 

What  art,  however,  does  for  men,  nature  has, 
in  many  instances,  done  for  those  animals  which 
are  incapable  of  art.  Their  clothing,  of  its  own 
accord,  changes  with  their  necessities.  This  is 
particularly  the  case  with  that  large  tribe  of  qua- 
drupeds which  are  covered  with  furs.  Every 
dealer  in  hare-skins,  and  rabbit-skins,  knows  how 
nnich  the  fur  is  thickened  by  the  approach  of 
winter.  It  seems  to  be  a  part  of  the  same  consti- 
tution and  the  same  design,  that  wool,  in  hot 
countries,  degenerates,  as  it  is  called,  but  in  truth 
(most  happily  for  the  animal's  ease)  passes  into 
hair;  whilst,  on  the  contrary,  that  hair,  in  the 
dogs  of  the  polar  regions,  is  turned  into  wool,  or 
something  very  like  it.  To  v/hich  ma}'  be  refer- 
red, what  naturalists  have  remarked,  that  bears, 
wolves,  foxes,  hares,  which  do  not  take  the  water, 
have  the  fur  much  thicker  on  the  back  than  the 
belly :  whereas  in  the  beaver  it  is  the  thickest 
upon  the  belly  ;  as  are  the  feathers  in  water  fowl. 
We  know  the  final  cause  of  all  this;  and  we 
know  no  other. 

The  covering  of  birds  cannot  escape  the  most 
vulgar  observation.  Its  lightness,  its  smooth- 
ness, its  warmth  ; — the  dis;)osition  of  the  feathers 
all  inclined  backward,  the  down  about  their  stem, 
the  overlapping  of  their  tips,  their  difiercnt  con- 
figuration in  difl['erent  parts,  not  to  mention  the 
variety  of  their  colours,  constitute  a  vestment  foi 
the  body,  so  beautiful,  and  so  appropriate  to  the 
life  which  the  animal  is  to  lead,  as  that,  I  think, 
we  should  have  had  no  conception  of  any  thing 
equally  perfect,  if  we  had  never  seen  it,  or  can 
now  imagine  any  thing  more  so.  Let  us  suppose 
(what  is  possil)le  only  in  supposition)  a  person 
who  liad  never  seen  a  bird,  to  be  presented  with 
a  plucked  pheasant,  and  bid  to  set  his  wits  to 
work,  how  to  contrive  for  it  a  covering  which 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


427 


shall  unite  the  qualities  of  warmth,  levity,  and 
least  resistance  to  the  air,  and  the  highest  degree 
of  each  ;  giving  it  also  as  much  of  beauty  and  or- 
nament as  he  could  afiord.  He  is  the  person  to 
behold  the  work  of  the  Deity,  in  this  part  of  his 
creation,  with  the  sentiments  which  are  due 
to  it. 

The  commendation,  which  the  genera]  aspect 
of  the  feathered  world  seldom  fails  of  exciting, 
will  be  increased  by  farther  examination.  It  is 
one  of  those  cases  in  which  the  philosopher  has 
more  to  admire,  than  the  common  observer.  Every 
feather  is  a  mechanical  wonder.  If  we  look  at 
"the  quill  we  lind  properties  not  easily  brought 
together — strength  and  lightness.  I  know  few 
thTngs  more  remarkable  than  the  strength  and 
lightness  of  the  very  pen  with  which  I  am  writing. 
It°we  cast  our  eye  to  the  upper  part  of  the  stem, 
we  see  a  material  made  for  the  purpose,  used  in 
no  other  class  of  animals,  and  in  no  other  part  of 
birds ;  tough,  light,  pliant,  elastic.  The  pith,  also, 
which  feeds  the  feathers,  is,  amongst  animal  sub- 
stances, sid  generis ;  neither  bone,  flesh,  mem- 
brane, nor  tendon.* 

But  the  artificial  part  of  the  feather  is  the  heard, 
or,  as  it  is  sometimes,  I  believe,  called,  the  vane. 
By  the  beards  are  meant,  what  are  fastened  on 
each  side  of  the  stem,  and  what  constitute  the 
breadth  of  the  feather ;  what  we  usually  strip  oft' 
from  one  side  or  both,  when  we  make  a  pen.  The 
separate  pieces  or  laminae,  of  which  the  beard  is 
composed,  are  called  threads,  sometimes  filaments, 
or  ravs.  Now  the  first  thing  which  an  attentive 
observer  will  remark  is,  how  much  stronger 
the  beard  of  the  feather  shows  itself  to  be,  when 
pressed  in  a  direction  perpendicular  to  its  plane, 
than  when  rubbed,  either  up  or  down,  in  the 
line  of  the  stem ;  and  he  will  soon  discover  the 
structure  which  occasions  this  difference,  viz.  that 
the  laminae  whereof  these  beards  are  composed, 
are  fiat,  and  placed  with  their  flat  side  towards 
each  otlier  ;  by  which  means,  whilst  they  easily 
bend  for  the  approaching  of  each  other,  as  any  one 
may  perceive  by  drawing  his  finger  ever  so  lightly 
upwards,  they  are  mucii  harder  to  bend  out  of 
their  plane,  which  is  the  direction  in  which  they 
have  to  encounter  the  impulse  and  pressure  of  the 
air,  and  in  which  their  strength  is  wanted,  and 
put  to  the  trial. 

This  is  one  particularity  in  the  structure  of  a 
feather;  a  second  is  still  more  extraordinary. 
Whoe\er  examines  a  feather,  cannot  help  taking 
notice,  that  the  threads  or  laminm  of  which  we 
have  been  speaking,  in  their  natural  state,  unite  ; 
that  their  union  is  something  more  than  the  mere 
apposition  of  loose  surfaces;  that  they  are  not 
parted  asunder  without  some  degree  of  force; 
that  nevertheless  there  is  no  glutinous  cohesion 
between  them  ;  that  therefore,  by  some  mechani- 
cal means  or  other,  they  catch  or  clasp  among 
themselves,  thereby  giving  to  the  beard  or  vane 
its  closeness  and  compactness  of  texture.  Nor  is 
this  all:  when  two  laminfe,  which  have  been  sepa- 
rated by  accident  or  force,  are  brought  together 
again,  they  immediately  reclasp :  the  connexion, 
whatever  it  was,  is  perfectly  recovered,  and  the 
beard  of  the  feather  becomes  as  smooth  and  firm 

*  The  quill  part  of  a  feather  is  composed  of  circular 
and  longitudinal  fibres.  In  making  a  pen  you  must 
scrape  oti' the  coat  of  circular  fibres,  or  the  quill  will 
split  in  a  ragged,  jagged  manner,  making  what  boys  call 
cat's  teeth. 


as  if  nothing  had  happened  to  it.  Draw  your 
finger  down  the  feather,  which  is  against  the 
grain,  and  you  break,  probably,  the  junction  of 
some  of  the  contiguous  threads;  draw  your 
finger  up  the  feather,  and  you  restore  all  things 
to  their  former  state.  This  is  no  common  con- 
trivance :  and  now  for^  the  mechanism  by  which  it 
is  effected.  The  threads  or  lamina;  above-men- 
tioned are  interlaced  with  one  another :  and  the 
interlacing  is  performed  by  means  of  a  vast  number 
of  fibres,  or  teeth,  which  the  laminae  shoot  forth  on 
each  side,  and  which  hook  and  grapple  together. 
A  friend  of  mine  counted  fifty  of  these  fibres  in 
one  twentieth  of  an  inch.  These  fibres  are 
crooked  ;  but  curved  after  a  diflt-rent  manner :  for 
those  which  proceed  from  the  thread  on  the  side 
towards  the  extremity  of  the  feather,  are  longer, 
more  flexible,  and  bent  downward  ;  whereas  those 
which  proceed  from  the  side  towards  the  begin- 
ning, or  quill-end  of  the  leather,  are  shorter,  firmer, 
and  t  urn  upwards.  The  process  then  which  takes 
place,  is  as  follows:  when  two  laminae  are  press- 
ed together,  so  that  these  long  fibres  are  forced 
far  enough  over  the  short  ones,  their  crooked 
parts  falfinto  the  cavity  made  by  the  crooked 
parts  of  the  others ;  just  as  the  latch  that  is  fasten- 
ed to  a  door,  enters  into  the  cavity  of  the  catch 
fixed  to  the  door-post,  and  there  hooking  itself, 
fastens  the  door  ;  for  it  is  properly  in  this  manner, 
that  one  thread  of  a  feather  is  fastened  to  the 
other. 

This  admirable  structure  of  the  feather,  which 
it  is  easy  to  see  with  the  microscope,  succeeds  per- 
fectly for  the  use  to  which  nature  has  designed  it; 
which  use  was  not  only  that  the  lamina  might  be 
united,  but  that  when  "one  thread  or  lamina  has 
been  separated  from  another  by  some  external 
violence,  it  might  be  reclasped  with  sufficient  faci- 
lity and  expedition.* 

'In  the  ostrich,  this  apparatus  of  crochets  and 
fibres,  of  hooks  and  teeth,  is  wanting :  and  we  see 
the  consequence  of  the  want.  I'he  filaments 
hang  loose  and  separate  from  one  another,  forming 
only'a  kind  of  down ;  which  constitution  of  the 
feathers,  however  it  may  fit  them  ibr  the  flowing 
honours  of  a  lady's  head-dress,  may  be  reckoned 
an  imperfection  in  the  bird,  inasmuch  as  wings, 
composed  of  these  feathers,  although  they  may 
greatly  assist  it  in  running,  do  not  serve  for 
fiiglit. 

But  under  the  present  division  of  our  subject, 
our  business  with  feathers  is,  as  they  are  the  co- 
vering of  the  bird.  And  herein  a  singular  circum- 
stance occurs.  In  the  small  order  of  birds  wliich 
winter  with  us,  from  a  snipe  downwards,  let  the 
external  colour  of  the  feathers  be  what  it  will, 
their  Creator  has  universally  given  them  a  bed  of 
black  down  next  their  bodies.  Black,  we  know, 
is  the  warmest  colour :  and  the  purpose  here  is,  to 
keep  in  the  heat,  arising  from  the  heart  and  circu- 
lation of  the  blood.  It  is  farther  likewise  remark- 
able, that  this  is  not  found  in  larger  birds ;  for 
which  there  is  also  a  reason :— small  birds  are 
much  more  exposed  to  the  cold  than  large  ones; 
forasmuch  as  they  present,  m  proportion  to  their 
bulk,  a  much  larger  surface  to  the  air.  If  a  turkey 
were  divided  into  a  number  of  wrens  (supposmg 
the  shape  of  the  turkey  and  the  wren  to  be  simi- 


*  Tlie  above  account  is  taken  from  IMemoirs  for  a 
Natural  History  of  Animals,  by  the  Royal  Academy  of 
1  avis,  published  in  170I,  p:  '213. 


-r 


428 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


lar,)  the  surface  of  all  the  wrens  would  exceed 
the  surface  of  the  turkey,  in  the  proportion  of  the 
length,  breadth  (or,  of  any  homologous  lirie,)  of  a 
turkey  to  that  of  a  wren ;  which  would  be,  perhaps, 
a  proportion  of  ten  to  one.  It  was  necessary 
therefore  that  small  birds  should  be  more  warmly 
clad  than  large  ones:  and  this  seems  to  be  the 
expedient  by  which  that  exigency  is  provided 
for. 

II.  In  comparing  diffident  animals,  I  know  no  part 
of  their  structure  which  exhibits  greater  variety, 
or  in  that  variety,  a  nicer  accommodation  to  their 
respective  conveniency,  than  that  which  is  seen 
in  the  different  formations  of  their  mouths.  Whe- 
ther the  purpose  be  the  reception  of  aliment  mere- 
ly, or  the  catching  of  prey,  the  picking  up  of  seeds, 
the  cropping  of  herbage,  the  extraction  of  juices, 
the  suction  of  li(iuids,  the  breaking  and  grinding 
of  food,  the  taste  of  that  food,  together  with  the 
respiration  of  air,  and,  in  conj  unction  with  it,  the 
utterance  of  sound;  these  various  offices  areas- 
signed  to  this  one  part,  and  in  different  s[)ecies, 
provided  for,  as  they  are  wanted,  by  its  different 
constitution.  In  the  human  species,  forasmuch 
as  there  are  hands  to  convey  the  food  to  the  mouth, 
the  mouth  is  ilat,  and  by  reason  of  its  flatness, 
fitted  only  for  reception ;  whereas  the  projecting 
jaws,  the  wide  rictus,  the  pointed  teeth  of  the  dog 
and  liis  affinities,  enable  them  to  apply  their 
mouths  to  snatch  and  seize  the  objects  of  their 
pursuit.  The  full  lips,  the  rough  tongue,  the 
corrugated  cartilaginous  palate,  the  broad  cutting 
teeth  of  the  ox,  the  deer,  the  horse,  and  the  sheep, 
qualify  this  tribe  for  broiosing  upon  their  pasture ; 
either  gathering  large  mouthfuls  at  once,  where 
the  grass  is  long,  which  is  the  case  with  the  ox 
in  particular;  or  biting  close,  where  it  is  short, 
which  the  horse  and  the  sheep  are  able  to  do,  in  a 
degree  that  one  could  hardly  expect.  The  retired 
under-jaw  of  a  swine  wurks  in  the  gromid,  after 
the  protruding  snout,  like  a  prong  or  plough-share, 
has  made  its  way  to  the  roots  upon  which  it  feeds. 
A  conformation  so  happy,  was  not  the  gift  of 
chance. 

In  birds,  this  organ  assumes  a  new  character; 
new  both  in  substance  and  in  form :  but  in  both, 
wonderfully  adapted  to  the  wants  and  uses  of  a 
distinct  mode  of  existence.  We  have  no  longer 
the  fleshy  lips,  the  teeth  of  enamelled  bone ;  but 
we  have,  in  the  place  of  these  two  parts,  and  to 
perform  the  office  of  both,  a  hard  substance  (of  the 
same  nature  with  that  which  composes  the  nails, 
claws,  and  hoofs,  of  quadrupeds,)  cut  out  into 
proper  shapes,  and  mechanically  suited  to  the  ac- 
tions which  are  wanted.  The  sharp  edge  and 
tempered  point  of  the  sparrow's  bill  picks  almost 
every  kind  of  seed  from  its  concealment  in  the 
plant ;  and  not  only  so,  but  hulls  the  grain,  breaks 
and  shatters  the  coats  of  the  seed,  in  order  to  get 
at  the  kernel.  The  hooked  beak  of  the  hawk 
tribe  separates  the  flesh  from  the  bones  of  the  ani- 
mals which  it  feeds  upon,  almost  with  the  clean- 
ness and  precision  of  a  dissector's  knife.  The 
butcher-bird  transfixes  its  prey  upon  the  spike  of 
a  thorn,  whilst  it  picks  its  bones.  In  some  birds 
of  this  class,  we  h;ive  the  cross-bill,  i,  e.  both  the 
upper  and  lower  bill  hooked,  and  their  tips  ci'oss- 
mg.  The  spoon-h\\\  enables  the  goose  to  graze, 
M  collect  its  food  from  the  bottom  of  pools,  or  to 
seek  it  amidst  the  soft  or  liquid  substances  with 
which  it  is  mixed.  The  long  tapering  bill  of  the 
snipe  and  woodcock,  penetrates  still  deeper  into 


moist  earth,  which  is  the  bed  in  which  the  food  of 
that  species  is  lodged.  This  is  exactly  the  instru- 
ment which  the  animal  wanted.  It  did  not  want 
strength  in  its  bill,  which  was  inconsistent  with 
the  slender  form  of  the  animal's  neck,  as  well  as 
unnecessary  for  the  kind  of  aliment  upon  which 
it  subsists  ;  but  it  wanted  length  to  reach  its  ob- 
ject. 

But  the  species  of  bill  which  belongs  to  the  birds 
that  live  by  suction,  deserves  to  be  described  in  its 
relation  to  that  office.  They  are  what  naturalists 
call  serrated  or  dentated  bills ;  the  inside  of  them 
towards  the  edge,  being  thickly  set  with  parallel 
or  concentric  rows  of  short,  strong,  sharp-pointed 
prickles.  These,  though  they  should  be  called 
teeth,  are  not  for  the  purpose  of  mastication,  like 
the  teeth  of  quadrupeds ;  nor  yet,  as  in  fish,  for 
the  seizing  and  retaining  of  their  prey ;  but  for  a 
quite  diflerent  use.  They  form  a  filter.  Tlie 
duck  by  means  of  them  discusses  the  mud ;  exa- 
mining with  great  accuracy  the  puddle,  the  brake, 
every  mixture  which  is  likely  to  contain  her  food. 
The  operation  is  thus  carried  on : — The  liquid  or 
semi-liquid  substances,  in  which  the  animal  has 
plunged  her  bill,  she  draws,  by  the  action  of  her 
lungs,  through  the  narrow  interstices  which  lie 
between  these  teeth  ;  catching,  as  the  stream  passes 
across  her  beak,  whatever  it  may  happen  to  bring 
along  with  it,  that  proves  agreeable  to  her  choice, 
and  easily  dismissing  all  the  rest.  Now,  suppose 
the  purpose  to  have  been  out  of  a  mass  of  confused 
and  heterogeneous  substances,  to  separate  for  the 
use  of  the  animal,  or  rather  to  enable  the  animal 
to  separate  for  its  own,  those  few  particles  which 
suited  its  taste  and  digestion ;  what  more  artificial, 
or  more  commodious,  instrument  of  selection, 
could  have  been  given  to  it,  than  this  natural 
filter  ?  It  has  been  observed  also  (what  must  en- 
able the  bird  to  choose  and  distinguish  with  greater 
acuteness,  as  well,  probably,  as  what  greatly  in- 
creases its  luxury,)  that  the  bills  of  this  species 
are  furnished  with  large  nerves, — that  they  are 
covered  with  a  skin, — and  that  the  nerves  run 
down  to  the  very  extremity.  In  the  curlew,  wood- 
cock, and  snipe,  there  are  three  pairs  of  nerves, 
equal  almost  to  the  optic  nerve  in  thickness,  which 
pass  first  along  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  and  then 
along  the  upper  chap  down  to  the  point  of  the 
bill,  long  as  the  bill  is. 

But  to  return  to  the  train  of  our  observations. — 
The  similitude  between  the  bills  of  birds  and  the 
mouths  of  quadrupeds,  is  exactly  such,  as,  for  the 
sake  of  the  argument,  might  be  wished  for.  It  is 
near  enough  to  show  the  continuation  of  the  same 
plan ;  it  is  remote  enough  to  exclude  the  supposi- 
tion of  the  difference  being  produced  by  action  or 
use.  A  more  prominent  contour,  or  a  wider  gap, 
might  be  resolved  into  the  effect  of  continued 
efforts,  on  the  part  of  the  species,  to  thrust  out  the 
mouth,  or  open  it  to  the  stretch.  But  b}'^  what 
course  of  action,  or  exercise,  or  endeavour,  shall 
we  get  rid  of  the  lips,  the  gums,  the  teeth ;  and 
acquire,  in  the  place  of  them,  pincers  of  horn  1  By 
what  habit  shall  we  so  completely  change,  not 
only  the  shape  of  the  part,  but  the  substance  of 
which  it  is  composed  1  The  truth  is,  if  we  had 
seen  no  other  than  the  mouths  of  quadrupeds,  we 
should  have  thought  no  other  could  have  been 
formed :  little  could  we  have  supposed,  that  all  the 
purposes  of  a  mouth,  furnished  with  hps,  and 
armed  with  teeth,  could  be  answered  by  an  instru- 
ment which  had  none  of  these;  could  be  supplied, 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


129 


and  that  with  many  additional  advantages,  by  the 
hardness,  and  shar[)iicss,  and  figure,  of  the  bills 
of  birds.  Every  thing  about  the  animal's  mouth 
is  mechanical.  The  teeth  offish  have  their  points 
turned  backward,  like  the  teeth  of  a  wool  or  cotton 
card.  The  teeth  of  lobsters  work  one  against  an- 
other, like  the  sides  of  a  pair  of  shears.  In  many 
insects,  the  mouth  is  converted  into  a  pump  or 
sucker,  fitted  at  the  end  sometimes  with  a  wimble, 
sometimes  with  a  forceps;  by  which  double  pro- 
visions, riz.  of  the  tube  and  the  penetrating  form 
of  the  point,  the  insect  first  bores  through  the  in- 
teguments of  its  prey,  and  then  extracts  the  juices. 
And,  what  is  most  extraordinary  of  all,  one  sort 
of  mouth  as  the  occasion  requires,  shall  be  changed 
into  another  sort.  The  caterpillar  could  not  live 
without  teeth  ;  in  several  species,  the  butterfly 
formed  from  it.  could  not  use  them.  The  old 
teeth  therefore  are  cast  off  with  the  exuviae  of  the 
grub ;  a  new  and  totally  different  apparatus  as- 
sumes their  place  in  the  fly.  Amid  these  novelties 
of  form,  we  sometimes  forget  that  it  is,  all  the 
while,  the  animal's  mouth  ;  that  whether  it  be  lips, 
or  teeth,  or  bill,  or  beak,  or  shears,  or  pump,  it  is 
the  same  part  diversified  :  and  it  is  also  remarkable, 
that,  under  all  the  varieties  of  configuration  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,  and  which  are  very  great, 
the  organs  of  taste  and  smelling  are  situated  near 
each  other. 

III.  To  the  mouth  adjoins  the  gullet :  in  this 
part  also,  comparative  anatomy  discovers  a  differ- 
ence of  structure,  adapted  to  the  different  necessi- 
ties of  the  animal.  In  brutes,  because  the  posture 
of  their  neck  conduces  little  to  the  pas.«age  of  the 
aliment,  the  fibres  of  the  gullet,  which  act  in  this 
business,  run  in  two  close  spiral  lines,  crossing 
each  other:  in  men,  these  fibres  run  only  a  little 
obliquely  from  the  upper  end  of  the  oesophagus  to 
the  stomach,  into  which,  by  a  gentle  contraction, 
they  easii}'  transmit  the  descending  morsels  ;  that 
is  to  say,  for  the  more  laborious  deglutition  of  ani- 
mals, which  thrust  their  food  up  instead  of  dorm, 
and  also  through  a  longer  passage,  a  proportionably 
more  powerful  apparatus  of  muscles  is  provided ; 
more  powerful,  not  merely  by  the  strength  of  the 
fibres,  which  might  be  attributed  to  the  greater 
exercise  of  their  force,  hut  in  tlieir  collocation, 
which  is  a  determinate  circumstance,  and  must 
have  been  original. 

IV.  The  gullet  leads  to  the  intestines :  here, 
likewise,  as  before,  comparing  quadrupeds  with 
man,  under  a  general  similitude  we  meet  with 
appropriate  differences.  The  ralvulce  conniventes, 
or,  as  they  are  by  some  called,  the  semilunar  valves, 
found  in  the  human  intestine,  are  wanting  in  that 
of  brutes.  These  are  wrinkles  or  plates  of  the 
innermost  coat  of  the  guts,  the  effect  of  which  is 
to  retard  the  progress  of  the  food  through  the  ali- 
mentary canal.  It  is  easy  to  understand  how 
much  more  necessary  such  a  provision  may  be  to 
the  body  of  an  animal  of  an  erect  posture,  and  in 
which,  consequently,  the  weight  of  the  food  is 
added  to  the  action  of  the  intestine,  than  in  that 
of  a  quadruped,  in  which  the  course  of  the  food, 
from  its  entrance  to  its  exit,  is  nearly  horizontal : 
but  it  is  impossible  to  assign  any  cause,  except  the 
final  cause,  for  this  distinction  actually  taking 
place.  So  far  as  depends  upon  the  action  of  the 
part,  this  structure  was  more  to  be  expected  in  a 
quadruped  than  in  a  man.  In  truth,  it  must  in 
both  have  been  formed,  not  by  action,  but  in  direct 
opposition  to  action  and  to  pressure  ;  but  the  op- 


position which  would  arise  from  pressure,  is  greater 
in  the  upright  trunk  than  in  any  other.  That 
theory  therefore  is  pointedly  contracted  by  the 
example  before  us.  The  structure  is  found  where 
its  generation,  according  to  the  method  by  which 
the  theorist  would  have  it  generated,  is  the  nwst 
difficult ;  but  {observe)  it  is  found  where  its  effect 
is  most  useful. 

The  different  length  of  the  intestines  in  carni- 
vorous and  herbivorous  animals,  has  been  noticed 
on  a  former  occasion.  The  shortest,  I  believe,  is 
that  of  some  birds  of  prey,  in  which  the  intestinal 
canal  is  little  more  than  a  straight  passage  from 
the  mouth  to  the  vent.  The  longest  is  in  the 
deer  kind.  The  intestines  of  a  Canadian  stag, 
four  feet  high,  measured  ninety-six  feet.*  The 
intestine  of  a  sheep,  unravelled,  measured  thirty 
times  the  length  of  the  body.  The  intestine  of  a 
wild  cat  is  only  three  times  the  length  of  the 
body.  Universally,  where  the  substance  upon 
which  the  animal  feeds  is  of  slow  concoction,  or 
yields  its  chyle  with  more  difficulty,  there  the 
pa.ssage  is  circuitous  and  dilatory,  that  time  and 
space  may  be  allowed  for  the  change  and  the  ab- 
sorption which  are  necessary.  Where  the  food 
is  soon  dissolved,  or  already  half  assimilated,  an 
unnecessary  or,  perhaps,  hurtful  detention  is 
avoided,  by  giving  to  it  a  shorter  and  a  readier 
route. 

V.  In  comparing  the  6o?!es  of  different  animals, 
we  are  struck,  in  the  bones  of  birds,  with  a  pro- 
priety, which  could  only  proceed  from  the  wisdom 
of  an  intelligent  and  designing  Creator.  In  the 
bones  of  an  animal  which  is  to  fiy,  the  two  quali- 
ties required  are  strength  and  lightness.  Wherein 
therefore,  do  the  bones  of  birds  (I  speak  of  tlm 
cylindrical  bones)  differ,  in  these  respects,  from 
the  bones  of  quadrupeds  1  In  these  properties: 
first,  their  cavities  are  nmch  larger  in  proportion 
to  the  weight  of  the  bone,  than  in  those  of  qua 
drupeds  ;  secondly,  these  cavities  are  empty ; 
thirdly,  the  shell  is  of  a  firmer  texture,  than  is 
the  substance  of  other  bones.  It  is  easy  to  ob- 
serve these  particulars,  even  in  picking  the  wing 
or  leg  of  a  chicken.  Now,  the  weight  being  the 
same,  the  diameter,  it  is  evident,  will  be  greater 
in  a  hollow  bone  than  in  a  solid  one,  and  with  the 
diameter,  as  every  mathematician  can  prove,  is 
increased,  cccteiis  paribus,  the  strength  of  the 
cylinder,  or  its  resistance  to  breaking.  In  a  word, 
a  bone  of  the  same  xceight  would  not  have  bet  n 
so  strong  in  any  other  form  ;  and  to  have  made  it 
heavier,  would  have  incommoded  the  animal's 
flight.  Yet  this  form  could  not  be  acquired  by 
use,  or  the  bone  become  hollow  and  tubular  by 
exercise.  What  appetency  could  excavate  a  bone  1 

VI.  The  lungs  also  of  birds,  as  compared  with 
the  lungs  of  quadrupeds,  contain  in  them  a  provi- 
sion, distinguishingly  calculated  for  this  same  pur- 
pose of  levitation  ;  namel}',  a  communication  (not 
found  in  other  kinds  of  animals)  betvi'ecn  the  air- 
vessels  of  the  lungs  and  the  cavities  of  the  body  : 
so  that  by  the  intromission  of  air  from  one  to 
the  other  (at  the  will,  as  it  should  seem,  of  the 
animal,)  its  body  can  be  occasionally  puffed  out, 
and  its  tendency  to  descend  in  the  air,  or  its 
specific  gravity,  made  less.  The  bodies  of  birds 
are  blown  up  from  their  lungs,  (which  no  other 
animal  bodies  are,)  and  thus  rendered  buoyant. 

VII.  All  birds  are  oviparous.     This  likewise 


430 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


carries  on  the  work  of  gestation  with  as  little  in- 
crease as  possible  of  the  weight  of  the  body.  A 
gravid  uterus  would  have  been  a  troublesome  bur- 
den to  a  bird  in  its  flight.  The  advantage,  in 
this  resjiect,  of  an  oviparous  procreation,  is,  that, 
whilst  the  whole  brood  are  hatched  together,  the 
eggs  are  excluded  singly,  and  at  considerable 
intervals.  Ten,  fifteen,  or  twenty  young  birds 
may  be  produced  in  one  cletch  or  covey,  yet  tiie 
parent  bird  have  never  been  encumbered  by  the 
load  of  more  than  one  full-grown  egg  at  one  time. 

VIII.  A  principal  topic  of  comparison  between 
animals,  is  their  instruments  of  motion.  These 
come  before  us  under  three  divisions ;  feet,  wings, 
and  iins.  I  desire  any  man  to  say,  which  of  the 
three  is  best  fitted  for  its  use ;  or  whether  the 
same  consummate  art  be  not  conspicuous  in  them 
all.  The  constitution  of  the  elements,  in  which  the 
motion  is  to  be  performed  is  very  different.  The 
animal  action  must  necessarily  follow  that  consti- 
tution. The  Creator,  therefore,  if  we  might  so 
speak,  had  to  prepare  for  different  situations,  for 
different  difliculties :  yet  the  purpose  is  accom- 
plished not  less  successfully  in  one  case  than  in 
the  other.  And,  as  between  icings  and  the  cor- 
responding limbs  of  quadrupeds,  it  is  accomplished 
without  deserting  the  general  idea.  The  idea  is 
modilied,  not  deserted.  Strip  a  wing  of  its  feathers, 
and  it  bears  an  obscure  resemblance  to  the  fore- 
leg of  a  quadruped.  The  articulations  at  the 
shoulder,  and  the  cubitus  are  much  alike ;  and, 
what  is  a  closer  circumstance,  in  both  cases  the 
upper  part  of  the  limb  consists  of  a  single  bone, 
the  lower  part  of  two. 

But,  fitted  up  with  its  furniture  of  feathers  and 
quills,  it  becomes  a  wonderful  instrument,  more 
artificial  than  its  first  appearance  indicates,  though 
that  l>e  very  striking  :  at  least,  the  use  which 
the  bird  makes  of  its  wings  in  flying,  is  more 
complicated,  and  more  curious,  than  is  generally 
known.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  if  the  flapping 
of  the  wings  in  flight  were  no  more  than  the  re- 
ciprocal motion  of  the  same  surface  in  opposite 
directions,  either  upwards  and  downwards,  or 
estimated  in  any  oblique  line,  the  bird  would  lose 
as  much  by  one  motion  as  she  gained  by  another. 
The  skylark  could  never  ascend  by  such  an  ac- 
tion as  this  ;  for,  though  the  stroke  upon  the  air 
by  the  under  side  of  her  wing  would  carry  her 
up,  the  stroke  from  the  upper  side,  when  she 
raised  her  wing  again,  would  bring  her  down.  In 
order,  therefore,  to  account  for  the  advantage 
which  the  bird  derives  from  her  wing,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  suppose,  that  the  surfoce  of  the  wing, 
measured  u()on  the  same  plane,  is  contracted, 
whilst  the  wing  is  drawn  up ;  and  let  out  to  its 
full  c-ifpansion,  when  it  descends  upon  the  air  for 
the  purpose  of  moving  the  body  by  the  reaction 
of  that  element.  Now,  the  form  and  structure  of 
the  wing,  its  external  convexity,  the  disposition, 
and  particularly  the  overlapping,  of  its  larger  fea- 
thers, the  action  of  the  muscles,  and  joints  of  the 
pinions,  are  all  adapted  to  this  alternate  adjust- 
ment of  its  shape  and  dimensions.  Such  a  twist, 
for  instance,  or  semirotatory  motion,  is  given  to 
the  great  feathers  of  the  wing,  that  they  strike  the 
air  with  their  flat  side,  but  rise  from  the  stroke 
slantwise.  The  turning  of  the  oar  in  rowing, 
whilst  the  rower  advances  his  hand  for  a  new 
stroke,  is  a  similar  operation  to  that  of  the  feather, 
and  takes  its  name  from  the  resemblance.  I  be- 
lieve that  this  faculty  is  not  found  in  the  great  | 


feathers  of  the  tail.  This  is  the  place  also  fo. 
observing,  that  the  pinions  are  so  set  upon  the 
body,  as  to  bring  down  the  wings  not  vertically, 
but  in  a  direction  obliquely  tending  towards  the 
tail;  which  motion,  by  virtue  of  the  common 
resolution  of  forces,  does  two  things  at  the  same 
time ;  supports  the  body  in  the  air,  and  carries  it 
forward.  The  steerage  of  a  bird  in  its  flight  is 
effected  partly  by  the  wings,  but  in  a  principal 
degree  by  the  tail.  And  herein  we  meet  with  a 
circumstance  not  a  little  remarkable.  Birds  with 
long  legs  have  short  tails ;  and  in  their  flight, 
place  their  legs  close  to  their  bodies,  at  the  same 
time  stretching  them  out  backwards  as  far  as  they 
can.  In  this  position,  the  legs  extend  beyond  the 
rump,  and  become  the  rudder  :  supplying  that 
steerage  which  the  tail  could  not. 

From  the  wings  of  birds,  the  transition  is  easy 
to  the  Jins  of  fish.  They  are  both,  to  their  re- 
spective tribes,  the  instruments  of  their  motion ; 
but,  in  the  work  which  they  have  to  do,  there  is 
a  considerable  difference,  Ibunded  in  this  circum- 
stance. Fish,  unlike  birds,  have  very  nearly  the 
same  specific  gravity  with  the  element  in  which 
they  move.  In  the  case  of  fish,  therefore,  there 
is  little  or  no  weight  to  bear  up  ;  what  is  wanted, 
is  only  an  impulse  sufficient  to  carry  the  body 
through  a  resisting  medium,  or  to  maintain  the 
posture,  or  to  support  or  restore  the  balance  of  the 
body,  which  is  always  the  most  unsteady  where 
there  is  no  weight  to  sink  it.  For  these  offices, 
the  fins  are  as  large  as  necessary,  though  much 
smaller  than  wings,  their  action  mechanical,  their 
position,  and  the  muscles  by  which  they  are 
moved,  in  the  highest  degree  convenient.  The 
following  short  account  of  some  experiments  upon 
fish,  made  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the 
use  of  their  fins,  will  be  the  best  confirmation  of 
what  we  assert.  In  most  fish,  beside  the  great 
fin  the  tail,  we  find  two  pairs  of  fins  upon  the 
sides,  two  single  fins  upon  the  back,  and  one  upon 
the  belly,  or  rather  between  the  belly  and  the  tail. 
The  balancing  use  of  these  organs  is  proved  in 
this  manner.  Of  the  large-headed  fish,  if  you 
cut  off  the  pectoral  fins,  i.  e.  the  pair  which  lies 
close  behind  the  gills,  the  head  falls  prone  to  the 
bottom :  if  the  right  pectoral  fin  only  be  cut  off, 
the  fish  leans  to  that  side ;  if  the  ventral  fin  on 
the  same  side  be  cut  away,  then  it  loses  its  equili- 
brium entirely ;  if  the  dorsal  and  ventral  fins  be 
cut  off,  the  fish  reels  to  the  right  and  leit.  When 
the  fish  dies,  that  is,  when  the  fins  cease  to  play, 
the  belly  turns  upwards.  The  use  of  the  same 
parts  for  motion  is  seen  in  the  following  observa- 
tion upon  them  when  put  in  action.  The  pecto- 
ral, and  more  particularly  the  ventral  fins,  serve 
to  raise  and  depress  the  fish :  when  the  fish 
desires  to  have  a  retrograde  motion,  a  stroke 
forward  with  the  pectoral  fin  effectually  produces 
it;  if  the  fish  desire  to  turn  either  way,  a  single 
blow  with  the  tail  the  opposite  way,  sends  it  round 
at  once :  if  the  tail  strike  both  ways,  the  motion 
produced  by  the  double  lash  is  progressive,  and 
enables  the  fish  to  dart  forwards  with  an  astonish- 
ing velocity.*  The  result  is,  not  only  in  some 
cases,  the  most  rapid,  but  in  all  cases,  the  most 
gentle,  pliant,  easy,  animal  motion,  with  which 
we  are  acquainted.  However,  when  the  tail  is 
cut  off,  the  fish  loses  all  motion,  and  gives  itself 
up  to  where  the  water  impels  it.     The  rest  of  the 


*  Goldsmith,  Hist,  of  An.  Nat.  vol.  vi.  p.  154. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


431 


fins,  therefore,  so  far  as  respects  motion,  seem  to 
be  merely  subsidiary  to  this.  In  their  mechani- 
cal use,  the  anal  fin  may  be  reckoned  the  keel ; 
the  ventral  fins,  out-riggers ;  the  pectoral  mus- 
cles, tlie  oars  ;  and  if  there  be  any  similitude  be- 
tween these  parts  of  a  boat  and  a  fish,  observe, 
that  it  is  not  the  resemblance  of  imitation,  but 
the  likericss  which  arises  from  applying  similar 
mechanical  means  to  the  same  purpose. 

We  have  seen  that  the  tail  in  the  fish  is  the 
great  instrument  of  motion.  Now,  in  cetaceous 
or  warm-blooded  fish,  which  are  obliged  to  rise 
every  two  or  three  minutes  to  the  surface  to  take 
breath,  the  tail,  unlike  what  it  is  in  other  fish,  is 
horizontal ;  its  stroke  consequently,  j)erpendicular 
to  the  horizon,  which  is  the  right  direction  for 
sending  the  fish  to  the  top,  or  carrying  it  down  to 
the  bottom. 

Regarding  animals  in  their  instruments  of  mo- 
tion, we  have  only  follovFcd  the  comparison  through 
the  first  great  division  of  animals  into  beasts,  birds, 
and  fish.  If  it  were  our  intention  to  pursue  the 
consideration  farther,  I  should  take  in  that  generic 
distinction  amongst  birds,  the  iccbfoot  of  water- 
fowl. It  is  an  instance  which  may  be  pointed  out 
to  a  child.  The  utility  of  the  web  to  water-fowl, 
the  inutility  to  land-fowl,  are  so  obvious,  that  it 
seems  impossible  to  notice  the  dilference  without 
acknowledging  the  design.  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
know,  how  those  who  deny  the  agency  of  an  in- 
telligent Creator,  dispose  of  this  example.  There 
is  notiiing  in  the  action  of  swimming,  as  carried 
on  by  a  bird  upon  the  surface  of  the  water,  that 
should  generate  a  membrane  between  the  toes. 
As  to  that  membrane,  it  is  an  exercise  of  constant 
resistance.  The  only  supposition  I  can  think  of 
is,  that  all  birds  have  been  originally  water-fowl, 
and  web-footed;  that  sparrows,  hawks,  linnets, 
&c.  which  frequent  the  land,  have  in  process  of 
time,  and  in  the  course  of  many  generations,  had 
this  part  worn  away  by  treading  upon  hard 
ground.  To  such  evasive  assumptions  must  athe- 
ism always  have  recourse!  and,  after  all,  it  con- 
fesses that  the  structure  of  the  feet  of  birds,  in 
their  (original  form,  was  critically  adapted  to  their 
origiuiil  destination!  The  web-feet  of  amphibious 
quadrupeds,  seals,  otters,  &c.  fall  under  the  same 
observation. 

IX.  The  five  senses  are  common  to  most  large 
animals :  nor  have  we  much  difference  to  remark 
in  their  constitution;  or  much,  however,  which  is 
referable  to  mechanism. 

The  superior  sagacity  of  animals  which  hunt 
their  prey,  and  which,  consequently,  depend  for 
their  livelihood  upon  their  nose,  is  well  known,  in 
its  use ;  but  not  at  all  known  in  the  organization 
which  produces  it. 

The  external  ears  of  beasts  of  prey,  of  lions, 
tigers,  wolves,  have  their  trumpet-part,  or  conca- 
vity, standing  forwards,  to  seize  the  sounds  which 
are  before  them,  viz.  the  sounds  of  the  animals 
which  tiiey  pursue  or  watch.  The  ears  of  ani- 
mals of  flight  are  turned  backward,  to  give  notice 
of  the  approach  of  their  eneniy  from  behind, 
whence  he  may  steal  upon  them  unseen.  This  is 
a  critical  distinction  ;  and  is  mechanical :  but  it 
may  be  suggested,  and,  I  think,  not  without  pro- 
bability, that  it  is  the  effect  of  continual  habit. 

The  et/cs  of  animals  which  follow  their  prey  by 
night,  as  cats,  owls,  &c.  possess  a  faculty  not 
given  to  those  of  other  species,  namely,  of  closing 
the   pupil  entirely.     The  final  cause  of  which 


1  seems  to  be  this : — Tt  was  necessary  for  such  ani- 
j  mals  to  be  able  to  descry  objects  with  very  small 
j  degrees  of  liglit.  This  capacity  depended  upon 
the  superior  sensibility  of  the  retina;  that  is,  upon 
its  being  affected  by  the  most  feeble  iu][iulses. 
But  that  tenderness  of  structure,  which  rendered 
the  membrane  thus  exquisitely  sensible,  rendered 
it  also  liable  to  be  oflended  by  the  access  of  strong- 
er degrees  of  light.  The  contractile  range  there- 
fore of  the  pupil  is  increased  in  these  animals,  so 
as  to  enable  them  to  close  the  aperture  entirely : 
which  includes  the  power  of  diminishing  it  in 
every  degree  ;  whereby  at  all  times  such  portions, 
and  only  such  portions,  of  light  are  admitted,  as 
may  be  received  without  injury  to  the  sense. 

There  appears  to  be  also  in  the  figure,  and  in 
some  properties  of  the  pupil  of  the  eye,  an  appro- 
priate relation  to  the  wants  of  different  animals. 
In  horses,  oxen,  goats,  sheep,  the  pupil  of  the  ej-e 
is  elliptical ;  the  transverse  axis  being  horizontal ; 
by  which  structure,  although  the  eye  be  placed  on 
the  side  of  the  head,  the  anterior  elongation  of  the 
pupil  catches  the  forward  rays,  or  those  wliich 
come  from  objects  immediately  in  front  of  the  ani- 
mal's face. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Peculiar  Organizations. 

I  BELIEVE  that  all  the  instances  which  I  shall 
collect  under  this  title,  might,  consistently  enough 
with  technical  language,  have  been  placed  under 
the  head  of  Comparative  Anatomy.  But  there 
appears  to  me  an  impropriety  in  the  use  which 
that  term  hath  obtained;  it  being,  in  some  sort, 
absurd  to  call  that  a  case  of  comparative  anatomy, 
in  which  there  is  nothing  to  "  compare  ;"  in  which 
a  conformation  is  found  in  one  animal,  which  hath 
nothing  properly  answering  to  it  in  another.  Of 
this  kind  are  the  examples  which  I  have  to  pro- 
pose in  the  present  chapter ;  and  the  reader  will 
see  that,  though  some  of  them  be  the  strongest, 
perhaps,  he  will  meet  with  under  any  division  of 
our  subject,  they  must  necessarily  be  of  an  uncon- 
nected and  miscellaneous  nature.  To  dispose 
them,  however,  into  some  sort  of  order,  we  will  no- 
tice, first,  particularities  of  structure  which  belong 
to  quadrupeds,  birds,  and  fish,  as  such,  or  to  many 
of  the  kinds  included  in  these  classes  of  animals  ; 
and  then,  such  particularities  as  are  confined  to 
one  or  two  species. 

I.  Along  each  side  of  the  neck  of  large  qua- 
drupeds, runs  a  stiff,  robust  cartilage,  which  butch- 
ers call  the  paxwax.  No  person  can  carve  the 
upper  end  of  a  crop  of  beef  without  driving  his 
knife  against  it.  It  is  a  tough,  strong,  tendinous 
substance,  braced  from  the  head  to  the  middle  of 
the  back :  its  office  is  to  assist  in  supporting  the 
weight  of  the  head.  It  is  a  mechanical  provision, 
of  which  this  is  the  undisputed  use  ;  and  it  is  suf- 
ficient, and  not  more  than  sufficient,  for  the  pur- 
pose which  it  has  to  execute.  The  head  of  an  ox 
or  a  horse  is  a  heavy  weight,  acting  at  the  end  of 
a  long  lever  (consequently  with  a  great  purchase) 
and  in  a  direction  nearly  perpendicular  to  the 
joints  of  the  supporting  neck.  From  such  a  force, 
so  advantageously  applied,  the  bones  of  the  neck 
would  be  in  constant  danger  of  dislocation,  if  they 
were  not  fortified  by  this  strong  tape.     No  such 


432 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY'. 


organ  is  found  in  the  human  subject,  because, 
from  the  erect  position  of  the  head  (the  pressure 
of  it  acting  neaWy  in  the  direction  of  the  spine,) 
the  junction  of  the  vertebrte  appears  to  be  suffi- 
ciently secure  without  it.  This  cautionary  expe- 
dient, therefore,  is  hmited  to  quadrupeds:  the  care 
of  liie  Creator  is  seen  where  it  is  wanted. 

II.  The  oil  with  which  birds  prune  their  fea- 
thers, and  the  organ  which  supplies  it,  is  a  specific 
provision  for  the  winged  creation.  On  each  side 
of  the  rump  of  birds  is  observed  a  small  nipple, 
yielding  upon  pressure  a  butter-like  substance, 
which  the  bird  extracts  by  pinching  the  pap  with 
its  bill.  With  this  oil,  or  ointment,  thus  procured, 
the  bird  dresses  its  coat ;  and  repeats  the  action 
as  often  as  its  own  sensations  teach  it  that  it  is  in 
any  part  wanted,  or  as  the  excretion  may  be  suffi- 
cient for  the  expense.  The  gland,  the  pap,  the 
nature  and  quality  of  the  excreted  substance,  the 
manner  of  obtaining  it  from  its  lodgment  in  the 
body,  the  application  of  it  when  obtained,  form, 
collectively,  an  evidence  of  intention  which  it  is 
not  easy  to  withstand.  Nothing  similar  to  it  is 
found  in  unfeathered  animals.  What  blind  cona- 
tus  of  nature  should  produce  it  in  birds ;  should 
not  produce  it  in  beasts  1 

III.  The  air-bladder  also  of  a.  Jiah  affi)rds  a 
plain  and  direct  instance,  not  only  of  contri- 
vance, but  strictly  of  that  species  of  contrivance 
which  v/e  denominate  mechanical.  It  is  a  philo- 
so[)hical  apparatus  in  the  body  of  an  animal.  The 
principle  of  the  contrivance  is  clear :  the  applica- 
tion of  the  principle  is  also  clear.  The  use  of  the 
organ  to  sustain,  and,  at  will,  also  to  elevate,  the 
body  of  the  fish  in  the  water,  is  proved  by  observ- 
ing, what  has  been  tried,  that,  when  the  bladder 
is  burst,  the  fish  grovels  at  the  bottom ;  and  also, 
that  fiounders,  soles,  skates,  which  are  without  the 
air  bladder,  seldom  rise  in  the  water,  and  that  with 
effort.  The  manner  in  which  the  purpose  is  at- 
tained, and  the  suitableness  of  the  means  to  the 
end,  are  not  difficult  to  be  apprehended.  The 
rising  and  sinking  of  a  fish  in  water,  so  far  as  it 
is  independent  of  the  stroke  of  the  fins  and  tail, 
can  only  be  regulated  by  the  specific  gravity  of 
the  body.  When  the  bladder,  contained  in  the 
body  of  the  fish,  is  contracted,  which  the  fish  pro- 
bably possesses  a  muscular  power  of  doing,  the 
bulk  of  the  fish  is  contracted  along  with  it ;  where- 
by, since  the  absolute  weight  remains  the  same, 
the  specific  gravity,  which  is  the  sinking  (brce,  is 
increased,  and  the  fish  descends :  on  the  contrary, 
when,  in  consequence  of  the  relaxation  of  the 
muscles,  the  elasticity  of  the  enclosed  and  now 
compressed  air  restores  the  dimensions  of  the 
bladder,  the  tendency  downwards  becomes  pro- 
portionably  less  than  it  was  before,  or  is  turned 
into  a  contrary  tendency.  These  are  known  pro- 
perties of  bodies  immersed  in  a  fluid.  The  en- 
amelled figures,  or  little  glass  bubbles,  in  a  jar  of 
water,  are  made  to  rise  and  fall  by  the  same  arti- 
fice. A  diving-machine  might  be  made  to  ascend 
and  descend,  upon  the  like  principle;  namely,  by 
introducing  into  the  inside  of  it  an  air-vessel, 
which,  by  its  contraction,  would  diminish,  and  by 
its  distension  enlarge,  the  bulk  of  the  machine  it- 
self, and  thus  render  it  specifically  heavier,  or 
specifically  lighter,  than  the  water  which  sur- 
rounds it.  Suppose  this  to  be  done,  and  the  ar- 
tist to  sohcit  a  patent  for  his  invention.  The 
inspectors  of  the  model,  whatever  they  might  think 
of  the  use  or  value  of  the  contrivance,  could,  by 


no  possibility,  entertain  a  question  in  their  mindts, 
whether  it  were  a  contrivance  or  not.  No  reason 
has  ever  been  assigned — no  reason  can  be  assign- 
ed, why  the  conclusion  is  not  as  certain  in  the 
fish,  as  it  is  in  the  machine ;  why  the  argument 
is  not  as  firm  in  one  case  as  the  other. 

It  would  be  very  worthy  of  inquiry,  if  it  were 
possible  to  discover  by  what  method  an  animal 
which  lives  constantly  in  water,  is  able  to  supply 
a  repository  of  air.  The  expedient,  whatever  it 
be,  forms  part,  and  perhaps  the  most  curious  part, 
of  the  provision.  Nothing  similar  to  the  air-blad- 
der is  found  in  land-animals ;  and  a  life  in  the 
water  has  no  natural  tendency  to  produce  a  bag 
of  air.  Nothing  can  be  farther  from  an  acquired 
organization  than  this  is. 

I'hese  examples  mark  the  attention  of  the  Cre- 
ator to  the  three  great  kingdoms  of  his  animal 
creation,  and  to  their  constitution  as  such. — The 
example  which  stands  next  in  point  of  generality, 
belonging  to  a  large  tribe  of  aninrals,  or  rather  to 
various  species  of  that  tribe,  is  the  poisonous  tooth 
of  serpents. 

I.  The  Jang  of  a  viper  is  a  clear  and  curious 
examj)le  of  mechanical  contrivance.  It  is  a  per- 
forated tooth,  loose  at  the  root;  in  its  quiet  state, 
lying  down  flat  upon  the  jaw,  but  furnished  with 
a  nmscle,  which,  with  a  jerk,  and  by  the  pluck,  as 
it  were,  of  a  string,  suddenly  erects  it.  Under 
the  tooth,  close  to  its  root,  and  communicating 
with  the  perforation,  lies  a  small  bag  contaiiiing 
the  venom.  When  the  fang  is  raised,  the  closing 
of  the  jaw  presses  its  root  against  the  bag  under- 
neath ;  and  the  force  of  this  compression  sends 
out  the  fluid  with  a  considerable  impetus  through 
the  tube  in  the  middle  of  the  tooth.  What  more 
unequivocal  or  effectual  apparatus  could  he  de- 
vised, for  the  double  pur(iose  of  at  once  inflicting 
the  wound  and  injecting  the  poison  1  Yet,  though 
lodged  in  the  mouth,  it  is  so  constituted,  as,  in  its 
inoflensive  and  quiescent  state,  not  to  interfere 
with  the  animal's  ordinary  office  of  receiving  its 
food.  It  has  been  observed  also,  that  none  ol'the 
harndess  serpents,  the  black  snake,  the  blind 
worm,  ike.  have  these  fangs,  but  teeth  of  an  equal 
size;  not  moveable,  as  this  is,  but  fixed  into  the 
jaw. 

II.  In  being  the  property  of  several  difl^erent 
species,  the  preceding  example  is  resembled  by 
that  which  I  shall  next  mention,  which  is  the  bag 
of  the  opossum.  This  is  a  mechanical  contri- 
vance, most  properly  so  called.  The  simplicity 
of  the  expedient  renders  the  contrivance  more  ob- 
vious than  many  others,  and  by  no  means  less 
certain.  A  false  skin  under  the  belly  of  the  ani- 
mal, forms  a  pouch,  into  which  the  young  litter 
are  received  at  their  birth ;  where  they  have  an 
easy  and  constant  access  to  the  teats ;  in  which 
they  are  transported  by  the  dam  from  place  to 
place ;  where  they  are  at  liberty  to  run  in  and 
out ;  and  where  they  find  a  refuge  from  surprise 
and  danger.  It  is  their  cradle,  their  asylum,  and 
the  machine  for  their  conveyance.  Can  the  use 
of  this  structure  be  doubted  of]  Nor  is  it  a  mere 
doubling  of  the  skin  ;  but  it  is  a  new  organ,  fur- 
nished with  bones  and  muscles  of  its  own.  Two 
bones  are  placed  before  the  os  pubis,  and  joined  to 
that  bone  as  their  base.  These  support,  and  give 
a  fixture  to,  the  muscles  which  serve  to  open  the 
bag.  To  these  muscles  there  are  antagonists, 
which  serve  in  the  same  manner  to  shut  it ;  and 
this  office  they  perform  so  exactly,  that,  in  the 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


433 


living  animal,  the  opening  can  scarcely  be  discern- 
ed, except  wlien  the  sides  are  forcibly  drawn 
asunder.*  Is  there  any  action  in  this  part  of  the 
animal,  any  process  arising  from  that  action,  by 
which  these  members  could  be  formed  1  any  ac- 
count to  be  given  of  the  formation,  except  design. 

III.  As  a  particularity,  yet  appertaining  to 
more  species  than  one ;  and  also  as  strictly  me- 
chanical ;  we  may  notice  a  circumstance  in  the 
structure  of  the  claics  of  certain  birds.  The  mid- 
dle claw  of  the  heron  and  cormorant  is  toothed 
and  notched  like  a  saw.  These  birds  are  great 
fishers,  and  tliese  notches  assist  them  in  holding 
their  slippery  prey.  The  use  is  evident ;  but  the 
structure  such  as  cannot  at  all  be  accounted  for 
by  the  effort  of  the  animal,  or  the  exercise  of  the 
part.  Some  other  fishing  birds  have  these  notches 
in  their  bills;  and  for  the  same  purpose.  The 
gannet,  or  soland  goose,  has  the  side  of  its  bill  ir- 
regularly jagged,  that  it  may  hold  its  prey  the 
faster.  Nor  can  the  structure  in  this,  more  than 
in  the  former  case,  arise  from  the  manner  of  em- 
ploying the  part.  The  smooth  surfaces  and  soft 
flesh  of  fish,  were  less  likely  to  notch  the  bills  of 
birds,  than  the  hard  bodies  upon  wliich  many 
other  species  feed. 

We  now  come  to  particularities  strictly  so  call- 
ed, as  being  limited  to  a  single  species  of  animal. 
Of  these,  1  shall  take  one  from  a  quadruped,  and 
one  from  a  bird. 

I.  The  stomach  of  the  camel  is  well  known  to 
retain  large  quantities  of  water,  and  to  retain  it 
unchanged  for  a  considerable  length  of  time. 
This  property  qualifies  it  for  living  in  the  desert. 
Let  us  see,  therefore,  what  is  the  internal  organi- 
zation, upon  which  a  faculty  so  rare,  and  so  bene- 
ficial, depends.  A  number  of  distinct  sacks  or 
bags  (in  a  dromedary  thirty  of  these  have  been 
counted)  are  observed  to  lie  between  the  mem- 
branes of  the  second  stomach,  and  to  open  into 
the  stomach  near  the  top  by  small  square  aper- 
tures. Through  these  orifices,  after  the  stomach 
is  full,  the  annexed  bags  are  filled  from  it:  and 
the  water  so  deposited  is,  in  the  first  place,  not 
liable  to  pass  into  the  intestines ;  in  the  second 
place,  is  kept  separate  from  the  solid  aliment ;  and, 
in  the  third  place,  is  out  of  the  reach  of  the  diges- 
tive action  of  the  stomach,  or  of  mixture  with  the 
gastric  juice.  It  appears  probable,  or  rather  cer- 
tain, that  the  animal,  by  the  conformation  of  its 
muscles,  possesses  the  power  of  squeezing  back 
this  water  from  the  adjacent  bags  into  the  sto- 
mach, whenever  thirst  excites  it  to  put  this  power 
in  action. 

II.  The  tongue  of  the  woodpecker  is  one  of 
those  singularites  which  nature  presents  us  with, 
when  a  singular  purpose  is  to  be  answered.  It  is 
a  particular  instrument  for  a  particular  use :  and 
what,  except  design,  ever  produces  such  1  The 
woodpecker  lives  chiefly  upon  insects,  lodged  in 
the  bodies  of  decayed  or  decaying  trees.  For  the 
purpose  of  boring  into  the  wood,  it  is  furnished 
with  a  bill,  straight,  hard,  angular,  and  sharp. 
When,  by  means  of  this  piercer,  it  has  reached 
the  cells  of  the  insects,  then  comes  the  office  of 
its  tongue :  which  tongue  is,  first,  of  such  a  length 
that  the  bird  can  dart  it  out  three  or  four  inches 
from  the  bill — in  this  respect  differing  greatly 
from  every  other  species  of  bird ;  in  the  second 
place,  it  is  tipped  with  a  stiff,  sharp,  bony  thorn ; 


*  Goldsmith's  Nat.  His.  vol.  iv.  p.  244. 
31 


and,  in  the  third  place,  (which  appears  to  me  the 
most  remarkable  property  of  all,)  this  tip  is  den- 
tated  on  both  sides,  like  the  beard  of  an  arrow  or 
the  barb  of  a  hook.  The  description  of  the  part 
declares  its  uses.  The  bird,  ha\ing  exposed  the 
retreats  of  the  insects  by  the  assistance  of  its  bill, 
with  a  motion  inconceivably  quick,  launches  out 
at  them  this  long  tongue ;  transfixes  them  upon 
the  barbed  needle  at  the  end  of  it ;  and  thus  draws 
its  prey  within  its  mouth.  If  this  be  not  mecha- 
nism, what  is  1  Should  it  be  said,  that,  by  con- 
tinual endeavours  to  shoot  out  the  tongue  to  the 
stretch,  the  woodpecker  species  may  by  degrees 
have  lengthened  the  organ  itself,  beyond  that  of 
other  birds,  what  account  can  be  given  of  its  form, 
of  its  tips  1  how,  in  particular,  did  it  get  its  barb, 
its  dentation  1  These  barbs,  in  my  opinion, 
wherever  they  occur,  are  decisive  proofs  of  me- 
chanical contrivance. 

III.  I  shall  add  one  more  example,  for  the  sake 
of  its  novelty.  It  is  always  an  agreeable  disco- 
very, when,  having  remarked  in  an  animal  an  ex- 
traordinary structure,  we  come  at  length  to  find 
out  an  unexpected  use  for  it.  The  following  nar- 
rative furnishes  an  instance  of  this  kind.  The 
babyrouessa,  or  Indian  hog,  a  species  of  wild  boar, 
found  in  the  East  Indies,  has  two  bent  teeth,  more 
than  half  a  yard  long,  growing  upwards,  and 
(which  is  the  singularity)  from  the  upper  jaw. 
These  instruments  are  not  wanted  for  oflence: 
that  service  being  provided  for  by  two  tusks  issu- 
ing from  the  upper  jaw,  and  resembhng  those  of 
the  common  boar :  nor  does  the  animal  use  them 
for  defence.  They  might  seem  therefore  to  be 
both  a  superfluity'  and  an  encumbrance.  But  ob- 
serve the  event : — the  animal  sleeps  standing ;  and, 
in  order  to  support  its  head,  hooks  its  upper  tusks 
upon  the  branches  of  trees. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
Projective  Contrivances. 

I  CAN  hardly  imagine  to  myself  a  more  distin- 
guishing mark,  and,  consequently,  a  more  certain 
proof  of  design,  than  preparation,  i.  e.  the  pro- 
viding of  things  before-hand,  which  are  not  to  be 
used  until  a  considerable  time  afterward  :  for  this 
implies  a  contemplation  of  the  future,  which  be- 
longs only  to  intelligence. 

Of  these  prospective  contrivances,  the  bodies  of 
animals  furnish  various  examples. 

I.  The  human  teeth  afford  an  instance,  not 
only  of  prospective  contrivance,  but  of  the  com- 
pletion of  the  contrivance  being  designedly  sus- 
pended. They  are  formed  within  the  gums,  and 
there  the}'  stop :  the  fact  being,  that  their  farther 
advance  to  maturity  would  not  only  be  useless  to 
the  new-born  animal,  but  extremely  in  its  way  ; 
as  it  is  evident  that  the  act  of  sucking,  by  which 
it  is  for  some  time  to  l)e  nourished,  will  be  per- 
formed with  more  ease  both  to  the  nurse  and  to 
the  infant,  whilst  the  inside  of  the  mouth,  and 
edges  of  the  gums,  are  smooth  and  soft,  than  if 
set  with  hard  pointed  bones.  By  the  time  they 
are  wanted,  the  teeth  are  ready.  They  havelieen 
lodged  within  the  gums  for  some  months  past,  but 
detained,  as  it  were,  in  their  sockets,  so  long  as 
their  farther  protrusion  would  interfere  with  the 
office  to  which  the  mouth  is  destined.  Nature, 
37 


434 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


namely,  that  intelligence  which  was  employed  in 
creation,  looked  bcvond  the  first  year  of  the  in- 
I'ant's  life;  yet,  whilst  she  was  providing  for  func- 
tions which  were  after  that  term  to  become  neces- 
sary, was  careful  not  to  incommode  those  which 
preceded  them.  What  renders  it  more  probable 
that  this  is  the  ellect  of  design,  is,  that  the  teeth 
are  imperfect,  whilst  all  other  parts  of  the  mouth 
are  perfect.  The  lips  are  perfect,  the  tongue  is 
perfect;  the  cheeks,  the  jaws,  the  palate,  the 
pharynx,  the  laiynx,  are  all  perfect :  the  teeth 
alone  are  not  so.  This  is  the  tact  with  respect  to 
the  human  mouth :  the  fact  also  is,  that  the  parts 
above  enumerated  are  called  into  use  from  the  be- 
ginning ;  whereas  the  teeth  would  be  only  so 
many  obstacles  and  annoyances,  if  they  were 
there.  When  a  contrary  order  is  necessary,  a 
contrary  order  prevails.  In  the  worm  of  the  beetle, 
as  hatched  from  the  egg,  the  teeth  are  the  first 
things  which  arrive  at  perfection.  The  insect  be- 
gins to  gnaw  as  soon  as  it  escapes  from  the  shell, 
though  its  other  parts  be  only  gradually  advancing 
to  their  maturity. 

What  has  been  observed  of  the  teeth,  is  true 
of  the  horns  of  animals  ;  and  for  the  same  reason. 
The  horn  of  a  calf  or  a  lamb  does  not  bud,  or  at 
least  does  not  sprout  to  any  considerable  length, 
until  the  animal  be  capable  of  browsing  upon  its 

Easture  ;  because  such  a  substance  upon  the  fore- 
ead  of  the  young  animal  would  very  much  in- 
commode the  teat  of  the  dam  in  the  oifice  of  giv- 
ing suck. 

But  in  the  case  of  the  teeth, — of  the  human 
teeth  at  least,  the  prospective  contrivance  looks 
still  farther.  A  succession  of  crops  is  provided, 
and  provided  from  the  beginning ;  a  second  tier 
being  originally  formed  beneath  the  first,  which 
do  not  come  into  use  till  several  years  afterward. 
And  this  double  or  suppletory  provision  meets  a 
difficulty  in  the  mechanisni  of  the  mouth,  which 
would  have  appeared  almost  insurmountable. 
The  expansion  of  the  jaw,  (the  consequence  of 
the  proportionable  growth  of  the  animal,  and  of 
its  skull,)  necessarily  separates  the  teeth  of  the 
first  set,  however  compactly  disposed,  to  a  dis- 
tance from  one  another,  which  would  be  very 
inconvenient.  In  due  time,  therefore,  i.  e.  when 
the  jaw  has  attained  a  great  part  of  its  dimen- 
sions, a  new  set  of  teeth  springs  up,  (loosen- 
ing and  pushing  out  the  old  ones  before  them,) 
more  exactly  fitted  to  the  space  which  they  are  to 
occupy,  and  rising  also  in  such  close  ranks,  as  to 
allow  for  any  extension  of  hne,  which  the  sub- 
sequent enlargement  of  the  head  may  occasion. 
II.  It  is  not  very  easy  to  conceive  a  more  evi- 
dently prospective  contrivance,  than  that  which, 
in  all  viviparous  animals,  is  found  in  the  milk  of 
the  female  parent.  At  the  moment  the  young 
animal  enters  the  world,  there  is  its  maintenance 
ready  for  it.  The  particulars  to  be  remarked  in 
this  economy,  are  neither  few  nor  slight.  We 
have,  first,  the  nutritious  quality  of  the  fluid,  un- 
like, in  this  respect,  every  other  excretion  of  the 
body ;  and  in  which  nature  hitherto  remains  un- 
imitated,  neither  cookery  nor  chymistry  having 
been  able  to  make  milk  out  of  grass :  we  have, 
secondly,  the  organ  for  its  reception  and  reten- 
sion :  we  have,  thirdly,  the  excretory  duct,  an- 
nexed to  the  organ  :  and  we  have,  lastly,  the  de- 
termination of  the  milk  to  the  breast,  at  the  parti- 
cular juncture  when  it  is  about  to  be  wanted. 
We  have  all  these  properties  in  the  subject  before 


us  :  and  they  are  a.l  indications  of  design.  The 
last  circumstance  is  the  strongest  of  any.  If  I 
had  been  to  guess  beforehand,  I  should  have  con- 
jectured, that  at  the  time  when  there  was  an  ex- 
traordinary demand  for  nourishment  in  one  part 
of  the  system,  there  would  be  the  least  likelihood 
of  a  redundancy  to  supply  another  part.  The 
advanced  pregnancy  of  the  female  has  no  intelli- 
gible tendency  to  fill  the  breast  with  milk.  The 
lacteal  system  is  a  constant  wonder  :  and  it  adds 
to  other  causes  of  our  admiration,  that  the  num- 
ber of  the  teats  or  paps  in  each  species  is  found 
to  bear  a  proportion  to  the  number  of  the  young. 
In  the  sow,  the  bitch,  the  rabbit,  the  cat,  the  rat, 
which  have  numerous  litters,  the  paps  are  numer- 
ous, and  are  disposed  along  the  whole  length  of 
the  belly;  in  the  cow  and  mare,  they  are  few. 
The  most  simple  account  of  this  is  to  refer  it  to 
a  designing  Creator. 

But,  in  the  argument  before  us,  we  are  entitled 
to  consider  not  only  animal  bodies  when  framed, 
but  the  circumstances  under  which  they  are 
framed :  and  in  this  view  of  the  subject,  the  con- 
stitution of  many  of  their  parts  is  most  strictly 
prospective. 

III.  The  eye  is  of  no  use,  at  the  time  when  it 
is  formed.  It  is  an  optical  instrument  made  in  a 
dungeon ;  constructed  for  the  refraction  of  light 
to  a  focus,  and  perfect  for  its  purpose,  before  a  ray 
of  light  has  had  access  to  it ;  geometrically  adapt- 
ed to  the  properties  and  action  of  an  element, 
with  which  it  has  no  communication.  It  is  about 
indeed  to  enter  into  that  communication:  and  this 
is  precisely  the  thing  which  evidences  intention. 
It  is  providing  for  the  future,  in  the  clo.sest  sense 
which  can  be  given  to  these  terms :  for  it  is  pro- 
viding for  a  future  change ;  not  for  the  then  sub- 
sisting condition  of  the  animal ;  not  for  any  gra- 
dual progress  or  advance  in  that  same  condition ; 
but  for  a  new  state,  the  consequence  of  a  great 
and  sudden  alteration,  which  the  animal  is  to  un- 
dergo at  its  birth.  Is  it  to  be  believed  that  the 
eye  was  formed,  or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  that 
the  series  of  causes  was  fixed  by  which  the  eye 
is  formed,  without  a  view  to  this  change ;  without 
a  prospect  of  that  condition,  in  which  its  faliric, 
of  no  use  at  present,  is  about  to  be  of  the  greatest ; 
without  a  consideration  of  the  qualities  of  that 
element,  hitherto  entirely  excluded,  but  with  which 
it  was  hereafter  to  hold  so  intimate  a  relation? 
A  young  man  makes  a  pair  of  spectacles  for  him- 
self against  he  grows  old  ;  for  which  spectacles 
he  has  no  want  or  use  whatever  at  the  time  he 
makes  them.  Could  this  be  done  without  know- 
ing and  considering  the  defect  of  vision  to  which 
advanced  age  is  subject  1  Would  not  the  precise 
suitableness  of  the  instrument  to  its  purpose,  of 
the  remedy  to  the  defect,  of  the  convex  lens  to  the 
flattened  eye,  establish  the  certainty  of  the  conclu- 
sion, that  the  case,  afterward  to  arise,  had  been  con- 
sidered beforehand,  speculated  upon,  provided  for? 
All  which  are  exclusively  the  acts  of  a  reasoning 
mind.  The  eye  formed  in  one  state,  for  use  only 
in  another  state,  and  in  a  different  state,  affords  a 
proof  no  less  clear  of  destination  to  a  future  pur- 
pose ;  and  a  proof  proportionably  stronger,  as  the 
machinery  is  more  complicated,  and  the  adapta- 
tion more  exact. 

IV.  What  has  been  said  of  the  eye,  holds 
equally  true  of  the  lungs.  Composed  of  air-vessels, 
where  there  is  no  air ;  elaborately  constructed  for 
the  alternate  admission  and  expulsion  of  an  elastic 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


435 


fluid,  where  no  such  fluid  exists;  this  great  organ, 
with  the  whole  ajiparatus  belonging  to  it,  lies  col- 
lapsed in  the  fcetal  thorax ;  yet  in  order,  and  in 
readiness  for  action,  the  first  moment  that  the  oc- 
casion requires  its  service.  This  is  having  a  ma- 
chine locked  up  in  store  for  future  use ;  which  in- 
contestably  proves,  that  the  case  was  expected  to 
occur,  in  which  this  use  might  be  experienced  : 
but  expectation  is  the  proper  act  of  intelligence. 
Considering  the  state  in  which  an  animal  exists 
before  its  birth,  I  should  look  for  nothing  less  in 
its  body  than  a  system  of  lungs.  It  is  like  find- 
ing a  pair  of  bellows  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea ;  of 
no  sort  of  use  in  the  situation  in  which  they  are 
found ;  formed  for  an  action  which  was  impossible 
to  be  exerted ;  holding  no  relation  or  fitness  to  the 
element  which  surrounds  them,  but  both  to 
another  element  in  another  place. 

As  part  and  parcel  of  the  same  plan  ought 
to  he  mentioned,  in  speaking  of  the  lungs,  the 
provisionary  contrivances  of  the  foramen  ovale 
and  ductus  arteriosus.  In  the  foetus,  pipes  are 
laid  for  the  passage  of  the  blood  through  the 
lungs:  but  until  the  lungs  be  inflated  by  the  in- 
spiration of  air,  that  passage  is  impervious,  or  in 
a  great  degree  obstructed.  What  then  is  to  be 
done'?  What  would  an  artist,  what  would  a 
master,  do  upon  the  occasion  7  He  would  en- 
deavour, most  probably,  to  provide  a  temporary 
passage,  which  might  carry  on  the  communication 
required,  until  the  other  was  open.  Now  this  is 
the  thing  which  is  actually  done  in  the  heart: — 
Instead  of  the  circuitous  route  through  the  lungs, 
which  the  blood  afterward  takes,  before  it  get  from 
one  auricle  of  the  heart  to  the  other :  a  portion  of 
the  blood  passes  immediately  from  the  right  auricle 
to  the  left,  through  a  hole  placed  in  the  partition, 
which  separates  these  cavities.  This  hole,  anato- 
mists call  the  foramen  ovale.  There  is  likewise 
another  cross  cut,  answering  the  same  purpose, 
by  what  is  called  the  ductus  arteriosus,  lying 
between  the  pulmonary  artery  and  the  aorta.  But 
both  expedients  are  so  strictly  temporary,  that, 
afler  birth,  the  one  passage  is  closed,  and  the  tube 
which  forms  the  other  shrivelled  up  into  a  liga- 
ment.    If  this  be  not  contrivance,  what  is  1 

But,  forasmuch  as  the  actipn  of  the  air  upon 
the  blood  in  the  lungs,  appears  to  be  necessary  to 
the  perfect  concoction  of  that  fluid,  i.  e.  to  the  life 
and  health  of  the  animal,  (otherwise  the  shortest 
route  might  still  be  the  best,)  how  comes  it  to  pass 
that  the  fcetvs  lives,  and  grows,  and  thrives, 
without  itl  The  answer  is,  that  the  blood  of  the 
fcEtus  is  the  mother's;  that  it  has  undergone  that 
action  in  her  habit ;  that  one  pair  of  lungs  serves 
for  both.  When  the  animals  are  separated,  a 
new  necessity  arises ;  and  to  meet  this  necessity  as 
soon  as  it  occurs,  an  organization  is  prepared.  It 
is  ready  for  its  purpose ;  it  only  waits  for  the  at- 
mosphere ;  it  begins  to  play,  the  moment  the  air 
is  admitted  to  it. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Relations. 

When  several  diflferent  parts  contribute  to  one 
effect ;  or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  when  an  ef- 
fect is  produced  by  the  joint  action  of  different  in- 
struments ;  the  fitness  of  such  parts  or  instruments 


to  one  another,  for  the  purpose  of  producing,  by 
their  united  action,  the  effect,  is  what  I  call  rela- 
tion ;  and  wherever  this  is  observed  in  the  works 
of  nature  or  of  man,  it  appears  to  me  to  carr}' 
along  with  it  decisive  evidence  of  understanding, 
intention,  art.  In  examining,  for  instance,  the 
several  parts  of  a  watch,  the  spring,  the  barrel, 
the  chain,  the  fusee,  the  balance,  the  wheels  of 
various  sizes,  forms,  and  positions,  what  is  it 
which  would  take  an  observer's  attention,  as  most 
plainly  evincing  a  construction,  directed  by 
thought,  deliberation,  and  contrivance  1  It  is  the 
suitableness  of  these  parts  to  one  another ;  first,  in 
the  succession  and  order  in  which  they  act ;  and 
secondly,  with  a  view  to  the  effect  finally  pro- 
duced. Thus  referring  the  spring  to  the  wheels, 
our  observer  sees  in  it,  that  which  originates  and 
upholds  their  motion;  in  the  chain  that  which 
transmits  the  motion  to  the  fusee ;  in  the  fu.see, 
that  which  communicates  it  to  the  wheels;  in  the 
conical  figure  of  the  fusee,  if  he  refer  to  the  spring, 
he  sees  that  which  corrects  the  incqualitv  of  its 
force.  Referring  the  wheels  to  one  another,  he 
notices,  first,  their  teeth,  which  would  have  been 
without  use  or  meaning,  if  there  had  been  only 
one  wheel,  or  if  the  wheels  had  had  no  connexion 
between  themselves,  or  common  bearing  upon 
some  joint  effect ;  secondly,  the  correspondency  of 
their  position,  so  that  the  teeth  of  one  wheel  catch 
into  the  teeth  of  another;  thirdly,  the  proportion 
observed  in  the  number  of  teeth  of  each  wheel, 
wliich  determines  the  rate  of  going.  Referring 
the  balance  to  the  rest  of  the  works,  he  saw,  when 
he  came  to  understand  its  action,  that  which  ren- 
dered their  motions  equable.  Lastly,  in  looking 
upon  the  index  and  face  of  the  watch,  he  saw  the 
use  and  conclusion  of  the  mechanism,  viz.  mark- 
ing the  succession  of  minutes  and  hours;  but  all 
depending  upon  the  motions  within,  all  upon  the 
system  of  intermediate  actions  between  the  spring 
and  the  pointer.  What  thus  struck  his  attention 
in  the  several  parts  of  the  watch,  he  might  proba- 
bly designate  by  one  general  name  of  "relation;'' 
and  observing  with  respect  to  all  cases  whatever, 
in  which  the  origin  and  formation  of  a  thing 
could  be  ascertained  by  evidence,  that  these  rela- 
tions were  found  in  things  produced  by  art  and 
design,  and  in  no  other  things,  he  would  rightly 
deem  of  them  as  characteristic  of  such  productions. 
— To  apply  the  reasoning  here  described  to  the 
works  of  nature. 

The  animal  economy  is  full,  is  made  up,  of 
these  relations: — 

I.  There  are,  first,  what,  in  one  form  or  other 
belong  to  all  animals,  the  parts  and  powers  which 
successively  act  upon  their  food.  Compare  this 
action  with  the  process  of  a  manufactory.  In 
men  and  quadrupeds,  the  aliment  is,  first,  broken 
and  bruised  by  mechanical  instruments  of  masti- 
cation, viz.  sharp  spikes  or  hard  knobs,  pressing 
against  or  rubbing  upon  one  another ;  thus  ground 
and  comminuted,  it  is  carried  by  a  pipe  into  the 
stomach,  where  it  waits  to  undergo  a  great  chy- 
niical  action,  which  we  call  digestion:  when  diges- 
ted, it  is  delivered  through  an  orifice,  which  opens 
and  shuts  as  there  is  occasion,  into  the  first  intest- 
ine: there,  after  being  mixed  with  certain  other 
ingredients,  poured  through  a  hole  in  the  side  of 
the  vessel,  it  is  farther  dissolved  :  in  this  state,  the 
milk,  chyle,  or  part  which  is  wanted,  and  which  is 
suited  for  animal  nourishment,  is  strained  off"  by 
the  mouths  of  very  small  tubes,  opening  into  the 


436 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


cavity  of  the  intestines :  thus  freed  from  its  grosser 
parts,  the  percolated  fluid  is  carried  by  a  long, 
winding,  but  traceable  course,  into  the  main  stream 
of  the  old  circulation;  which  conveys  it  in  its 
progress,  to  every  part  of  the  body.  Now  I  say 
again,  compare  this  with  the  process  of  a  manu- 
factory ;  with  the  making  of  cider,  for  example  ; 
with  the  bruising  of  the  apples  in  the  mill,  the 
squeezing  of  them  when  so  bruised  in  the  press, 
the  fermentation  in  the  vat,  the  bestowing  of  the 
liquor  thus  fermented  in  the  hogsheads,  the  draw- 
ing off  into  bottles,  the  pouring  out  for  use  into 
the  glass.  Let  any  one  show  me  any  diflerence 
between  thece  two  cases,  as  to  the  point  of  contri- 
vance. That  which  is  at  present  under  our  con- 
sideration, the  "  relation"  of  the  parts  successively 
employed,  is  not  more  clear  in  the  last  case  than 
in  the  first.  The  aptness  of  the  jaws  and  teeth 
to  prepare  the  food  for  the  stomach,  is,  at  least,  as 
manifest  as  that  of  the  cider-mill  to  crush  the 
apples  for  the  press.  The  concoction  of  the  food 
in  the  stomach  is  as  necessary  for  its  future  use, 
as  the  fermentation  of  the  stum  in  the  vat  is  to  the 
perfection  of  the  liquor.  The  disposal  of  the  ali- 
ment afterward  ;  the  action  and  change  which  it 
undergoes ;  the  route  which  it  is  made  to  take,  in 
order  that,  and  until  that,  it  arrive  at  its  destina- 
tion, is  more  complex  indeed  and  intricate,  but  in 
the  midst  of  complication  and  intricacy,  as  evident 
and  certain,  as  is  the  apparatus  of  cocks,  pipes, 
tunnels,  for  transferring  the  cider  from  one  vessel 
to  another;  of  barrels  and  bottles  for  preserving  it 
till  fit  for  use ;  or  of  cups  and  glasses  for  bringing 
it,  when  wanted,  to  the  lip  of  the  consumer.  The 
character  of  the  machinery  is  in  both  cases  this  ; 
that  one  part  answers  to  another  part,  and  every 
part  to  the  final  result. 

This  parallel  between  the  alimentary  operation 
and  some  of  the  processes  of  art,  might  be  carried 
farther  into  detail.  Spallanzani  has  remarked*  a 
circumstantial  resemblance  between  the  stomachs 
of  galHnaceous  fowls  and  the  structure  of  corn- 
mills.  Whilst  the  two  sides  of  the  gizzard  per- 
form the  office  of  the  mill-stones,  the  craw  or  crop 
supplies  the  place  of  the  hopper. 

W  hen  our  fowls  are  abundantly  supplied  with 
meat,  they  soon  fill  their  craw :  but  it  docs  not 
immediately  pass  thence  into  the  gizzard ;  it  al- 
ways enters  in  very  small  quantities,  in  proportion 
to  the  progress  of  trituration  ;  in  like  manner  as, 
in  a  mill,  a  receiver  is  fixed  above  the  two  large 
stones  which  serve  for  grinding  the  corn  ;  which 
receiver,  although  the  corn  be  put  into  it  liy  bush- 
els, allows  the  grain  to  dribble  only  in  small  quan- 
tities, into  the  central  hole  in  the  upper  mill- 
stone. 

But  we  have  not  done  with  the  alimentary  his- 
tory. There  subsists  a  general  relation  between 
the  external  organs  of  an  animal  by  which  it  pro- 
cures its  food,  and  the  internal  powers  by  which 
it  digests  it.  Birds  of  prey,  by  their  talons  and 
beaks,  are  qualified  to  seize  and  devour  many  spe- 
cies, both  of  other  birds,  and  of  quadrupeds.  The 
constitution  of  the  stomach  agrees  exactly  with 
the  form  of  the  members.  The  gastric  juice  of  a 
bird  of  prey,  of  an  owl,  a  falcon,  or  a  kite,  acts 
upon  the  animal  fibre  alone;  it  will  not  act  upon 
seeds  or  grasses  at  all.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  conformation  of  the  mouth  of  the  sheep 
or  the  ox  is  suited  for  browsing  upon  heritage. 


•  Dis.  I.  sect.  Uv. 


Nothing  about  these  animals  is  fitted  for  the 
pursuit  of  living  prey.  Accordingly  it  has  been 
found  by  experiments,  tried  not  many  years  ago, 
with  perforated  balls,  that  the  gastric  juice  of 
ruminating  animals,  such  as  the  sheep  and  the 
ox,  speedily  dissolves  vegetables,  but  makes  no 
impression  upon  animal  bodies.  This  accordancy 
is  still  more  particular.  The  gastric  juice,  eveil 
of  granivorous  birds,  will  not  act  upon  the  grain, 
whilst  whole  and  entire.  In  performing  the  ex- 
periment of  digestion  with  the  gastric  juice  in 
vessels,  the  grain  must  be  crushed  and  bruised, 
before  it  be  submitted  to  the  menstruum,  that  is 
to  say,  must  undergo  by  art  without  the  body,  the 
preparatory  action  which  the  gizzard  exerts  upon 
it  within  the  body ;  or  no  digestion  will  take  place. 
So  strict,  in  this  case,  is  the  relation  between  the 
offices  assigned  to  the  digestive  organ,  between 
the  mechanical  operation  and  the  chymical  pro- 
cess. 

II.  The  relation  of  the  kidneys  to  the  bladder, 
and  of  the  ureters  to  l)oth,  i  e.  of  the  secreting 
organ  to  the  vessel  receiving  the  secreted  liquor, 
and  the  pipe  laid  from  one  to  the  other  for  the 
purpose  of  conveying  it  from  one  to  the  other,  is 
as  manifest  as  it  is  amongst  the  different  vessels 
employed  in  a  distillery,  or  in  the  communications 
between  them.  The  animal  structure,  in  this 
case,  being  simple,  and  the  parts  easily  separated, 
it  forms  an  instance  of  correlation  which  may  be 
presented  by  dissection  to  every  eye,  or  which,  in- 
deed, without  dissection,  is  capable  of  being  appre- 
hended by  every  understanding.  This  correlation 
of  instruments  to  one  another  fixes  intention 
somewhere. 

Especially  when  every  other  solution  is  nega- 
tived by  the  conformation.  If  the  bladder  had 
been  merely  an  expansion  of  the  ureter,  produced 
by  retention  of  the  fluid,  there  ought  to  have  been 
a  bladder  for  each  ureter.  One  receptacle,  fed  by 
two  pipes,  issuing  from  dLfi'erent  sides  of  the  body, 
3'et  from  both  conveying  the  same  fluid,  is  not  to 
be  accounted  for  by  any  such  supposition  as  this. 

III.  Relation  of  parts  to  one  another  accompa- 
nies us  throughout  the  whole  animal  economy. 
Can  any  relation  be  more  simple,  yet  more  con- 
vincing than  this,  that  the  e^'cs  are  so  placed  as 
to  look  in  the  direction  in  which  the  legs  move 
and  the  hands  work  1  It  might  have  liappcned 
very  differently  if  it  had  been  left  to  chance. 
There  were,  at  least,  three  quarters  of  the  com- 
pass out  of  four  to  have  erred  in.  Any  consider- 
able alteration  in  tjie  position  of  the  eye,  or  the 
figure  of  the  joints,  would  have  disturbed  the  line, 
and  destroyed  the  alliance  between  the  sense  and 
the  limbs. 

IV.  But  relation  perhaps  is  never  so  striking 
as  when  it  subsists,  not  between  different  parts  of 
the  same  thing,  but  between  diflcrent  things. 
The  relation  between  a  lock  and  a  key  is  more 
obvious,  than  it  is  between  diflerent  parts  of  the 
lock.  A  bow  was  designed  for  an  arrow,  and  an 
arrow  for  a  bow :  and  the  design  is  more  evident 
for  their  being  separate  implements. 

Nor  do  the  works  of  the  Deity  want  this  clear- 
est species  of  relation.  The  sexes  are  manifestly 
made  for  each  other.  They  form  the  grand  rela- 
tion of  animated  nature ;  universal,  organic,  me- 
chanical :  subsisting  like  the  clearest  relations  of 
art,  in  different  individuals;  unequivocal,  inexpli- 
cable without  design. 

So  much  so,  that,  were  every  other  proof  of 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


437 


contrivance  in  nature  dubious  or  obscure,  this 
alone  would  be  sutficient.  Tlie  example  is  com- 
plete. Nothing  is  wanting  to  the  argument.  I 
see  no  way  whatever  of  getting  over  it. 

V.  The  teats  of  animals  which  give  suck,  bear  a 
relation  to  the  mouth  of  the  suckling  progeny ; 
particularly  to  the  lips  and  tongue.  Here  also,  as 
before,  is  a  correspondency  of  parts ;  which  parts 
subsist  in  ditierent  individuals. 


These  are  general  relations,  or  the  relations  of 
parts  which  are  found,  either  in  all  animals,  or  in 
large  classes  and  descriptions  of  animals.  Parti- 
cular relations,  or  the  relations  which  subsist  be- 
tween the  particular  configuration  of  one  or  more 
parts  of  certain  species  of  animals,  and  the  parti- 
cular configuration  of  one  or  more  other  parts  of 
the  same  animal,  (which  is  the  sort  of  relation 
that  is,  perhaps,  most  striking,)  are  such  as  the 
following : — 

I.  In  the  swan ;  the  web-foot,  the  spoon-bill, 
the  long  neck,  the  thick  down,  the  graminivorous 
stomach,  bear  all  a  relation  to  one  another,  inas- 
much as  they  all  concur  Ln  one  design,  that  of 
supplying  the  occasions  of  an  aquatic  fowl,  float- 
ing upon  the  surface  of  shallow  pools  of  water, 
and  seeking  its  food  at  the  bottom.  Begin  with 
any  one  of  these  particularities  of  structure,  and  ob- 
serve how  the  rest  follow  it.  The  web-foot  quali- 
fies the  bird  for  swimming;  the  spoon-bill  enables 
it  to  graze.  But  how  is  an  animal,  floating  upon 
the  surface  of  pools  of  water,  to  graze  at  the  bot- 
tom, except  by  the  mediation  of  a  long  neckl  A 
long  neck  accordingly  is  given  to  it.  Again,  a 
warm-blooded  animal,  which  was  to  pass  its  life 
upon  water,  required  a  defence  against  the  cold- 
ness of  that  element.  Such  a  defence  is  furnished 
to  the  swan,  in  the  muff  in  which  its  body  is 
wap|)ed.  But  all  this  outward  apparatus  would 
have  been  in  vain,  if  the  intestinal  system  had  not 
been  suited  to  the  digestion  of  vegetable  sub- 
stances. I  say,  suited  to  the  digestion  of  vegeta- 
ble substances :  for  it  is  well  known,  tliat  there 
are  two  intestinal  systems  found  in  birds:  one 
with  a  membranous  stomach  and  a  gastric  juice, 
capable  of  dissolving  animal  substances  alone:  the 
other  with  a  crop  and  gizzard,  calculated  for  the 
moistening,  bruising,  and  afterward  digesting,  of 
vegetable  aliment. 

Or  set  off  with  any  other  di.stinctive  part  in  the 
body  of  the  swan ;  for  instance,  with  a  long  neck. 
The  long  neck,  without  the  web-foot,  would  have 
been  an  incumbrance  to  the  bird ;  yet  there  is  no 
necessary  connexion  between  a  long  neck  and  a 
weh-foot.  In  fact,  they  do  not  usually  go  toge- 
ther. How  happens  it,  therefore,  that  they  meet, 
onlv  wlien  a  particular  design  demands  the  aid 
of  both. 

II.  This  natural  relation,  arising  from  a  sub- 
serviency to  a  common  purpose,  is  very  observable 
also  in  the  parts  of  a  mole.  The  strong  short  legs 
of  that  animal,  the  palmated  feet  armed  with  sharp 
nails,  the  pig-like  nose,  the  teeth,  the  velvet  coat, 
the  small  external  ear,  the  sagacious  smell,  the 
sunk,  protected  eye,  all  conduce  to  the  utilities  or 
to  the  safety  of  its  under-ground  life.  It  is  a  spe- 
cial purpose,  especially  consulted  throughout.  The 
form  of  the  feet  fixes  the  character  of  the  animal. 
They  are  so  many  shovels ;  they  determine  its  ac- 
'  ion  to  that  of  rooting  in  the  ground ;  and  every 


thing  about  its  body  agrees  with  its  destination. 
The  cylindrical  figure  of  the  mole,  as  well  as  tne 
compactness  of  its  lorm,  arising  from  the  terseness 
of  its  limbs,  proportionably  lessens  its  labour  ;  be- 
cause, according  to  its  bulk,  it  thereby  requires 
the  least  possible  quantity  of  earth  to  be  removed 
for  its  progress.  It  has  nearly  the  same  structure 
of  the  face  and  jaws  as  a  swine,  and  the  same  of- 
fice for  them.  Tlie  nose  is  sharp,  slender,  tendi- 
nous, strong;  with  a  pair  of  nerves  going  down 
to  the  end  of  it.  The  plush  covering,  which,  by 
the  smoothness,  closeness,  and  polish,  of  the  short 
piles  that  compose  it,  rejects  the  adhesion  of  almost 
every  species  of  earth,  defends  the  animal  from 
cold  and  wet,  and  from  the  impediment  which  it 
would  experience  by  the  mould  sticking  to  its 
body.  From  soils  of  all  kinds  the  little  pioneer 
comes  forth  bright  and  clean.  Inhabiting  dirt,  it 
is,  of  all  animals,  the  neatest. 

But  what  I  have  always  most  admired  in  the 
mole  is  its  eyes.  This  animal  occasionally  visiting 
the  surface,  and  wanting,  for  its  safety  and  direc- 
tion, to  be  informed  when  it  does  so,  or  when  it 
approaches  it,  a  perception  of  light  was  necessary. 
I  do  not  know  that  the  clearness  of  sight  depends 
at  all  upon  the  size  of  the  organ.  What  is  gained 
by  the  largeness  or  prominence  of  the  globe  of  the 
eye,  is  width  in  the  field  of  vision.  Such  a  capa- 
city would  be  of  no  use  to  an  animal  which  was 
to  "seek  its  food  in  the  dark.  The  mole  did  not 
want  to  look  about  it ;  nor  would  a  large  ad- 
vanced eye  have  been  easily  defended  from  the 
annoyance  to  which  the  life  of  the  animal  must 
constantly  expose  it.  How  indeed  was  the  mole, 
working  its  way  under  ground,  to  guard  its  eyes 
at  all  1  In  order  to  meet  this  difficulty,  the  eyes 
are  made  scarcely  larger  than  the  head  of  a  cork- 
ing pin ;  and  these  minute  globules  are  sunk  so 
deeply  in  the  skull,  and  lie  so  sheltered  within 
the  velvet  of  its  covering,  as  that  any  contraction 
of  what  may  be  called  the  eye-brows,  not  on.y 
closes  up  the  apertures  which  lead  to  the  eyes,  but 
presents  a  cushion,  as  it  were,  to  any  sharp  or 
protruding  substance  which  might  push  against 
them.  This  aperture,  even  in  its  ordinary  state, 
is  like  a  pin-hole  in  a  piece  of  velvet,  scarcely  per- 
vious to  loose  particles  of  earth. 

Observe  then,  in  this  structure,  that  which  we 
call  relation.  There  is  no  natural  connexion  be- 
tween a  small  sunk  eye  and  a  shovel  palmated 
foot.  Palmated  feet  niight  have  been  joined  with 
goggle  eyes ;  or  small  eyes  might  have  been  joined 
with  feet  of  any  other  form.  What  was  it  there- 
fore which  brought  them  towther  in  the  mole  1 
That  which  brought  together  the  barrel,  the 
chain,  and  the  fusee,  in  a  watch ;  design :  and 
design,  in  both  cases,  inferred,  from  the  relation 
which  the  parts  bear  to  one  another  in  the  prose- 
cution of  a  common  purpose.  As  hath  already 
been  observed,  there  are  different  ways  of  stating 
the  relation,  according  as  we  set  out  from  a  dif- 
ferent part.  In  the  instance  before  us,  we  may 
either  consider  the  shape  of  the  feet,  as  qualifying 
the  animal  fon  that  mode  of  life  and  inhabitation 
to  which  the  structure  of  its  eyes  confines  it ;  or 
we  may  consider  the  structure  of  the  eye,  as  the 
only  one  which  would  have  suited  with  the  action 
to  which  the  feet  are  adapted.  The  relation  is 
manifest,  whichever  of  the  parts  related  we  place 
first  in  the  order  of  our  consideration.  In  a  word  ; 
the  feet  of  the  mole  are  made  for  digging ;  the 
neck,  nose,  eyes,  ears,  anil  skin,  are  peculiarly 
37* 


438 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


ijidapted  to  an  under-ground  life ;  and  this  is  what 
I  call  relation. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Compensation. 

Compensation  is  a  species  of  relation.  It  is 
relation  when  the  defects  of  one  part,  or  of  one 
organ  are  supplied  by  the  structure  of  another 
part  or  of  another  organ.     Thus, 

1.  The  short  unbending  neck  of  the  elephant, 
is  compensated  by  the  length  and  flexibility  of  his 
proboscis.  He  could  not  have  reached  the  ground 
without  it;  or,  if  it  be  supposed  that  he  might 
have  fed  upon  the  fruit,  leaves,  or  branches  of 
trees,  how  was  he  to  drink  ]  Should  it  be  asked, 
W}  V  is  the  elephant's  neck  so  short  1  it  may  be 
answered,  that  the  weight  of  a  head  so  heavy 
could  noi,  have  been  supported  at  the  end  of  a 
longer  lever.  To  a  form,  therefore,  in  some  re- 
spects necessary,  but  in  some  respects  also  inade- 
quate to  the  occasion  of  the  animal,  a  supplement 
is  added,  which  exactly  makes  up  the  deliciency 
under  which  he  laboured. 

If  it  be  suggested  that  this  proboscis  may  have 
been  produced,  in  a  long  course  of  generations, 
by  the  constant  endeavour  of  the  elephant  to 
thrust  out  his  nose,  (which  is  the  general  hypo- 
thesis by  which  it  has  lately  been  attempted  to 
account  for  the  forms  of  animated  nature,)  1 
would  ask,  How  was  the  animal  to  subsist  in  the 
mean  time;  during  the  process;  until  this  pro- 
longation of  snout  were  completed  1  What  was 
to  become  of  the  individual,  whilst  the  species  was 
perfecting  1 

Our  business  at  present  is  simply  to  pomt  out 
the  relation  which  this  organ  bears  to  the  peculiar 
figure  of  the  animal  to  which  it  belongs.  And 
herein  all  things  correspond.  The  necessity  of 
the  elephant's  proboscis  arises  from  the  shortness 
of  his  neck  ;  the  shortness  of  the  neck  is  rendered 
necessary  by  the  weigiit  of  the  head.  Were  we 
to  enter  into  an  examination  of  the  structure  and 
anatomy  of  the  proboscis  itself,  we  should  see 
in  it  one  of  the  most  curious  of  all'  examples  of 
animal  mechanism.  The  disposition  of  the  ring- 
lets and  fibres,  for  the  purpose,  first,  of  forming  a 
long  cartilaginous  pipe  :  secondly,  of  contracting 
and  lengthening  that  pipe :  thirdly,  of  turning  it 
in  every  direction  at  the  will  of  the  animal :  with 
the  superaddition  at  the  end,  of  a  fleshy  produc- 
tion, of  about  the  length  and  thickness  of  a  finger, 
and  performing  the  office  of  a  finger,  so  as  to  pick 
up  a  straw  from  the  ground  :  these  properties  of 
the  same  or^an,  taken  together,  exhibit  a  speci- 
men, not  only  of  de.sign  (which  is  attested  by  the 
advantage)  but  of  consummate  art,  and,  as  I  may 
say,  of  elaborate  pre])aration,  in  accomplishing 
that  design. 

II.  The  hook  in  the  wing  of  a  bat  is  strictly  a 
mechanical,  and  also  a  compe?7sa<m^  contrivance. 
At  the  angle  of  its  wing  there  is  a  bent  claw, 
exactly  in  the  form  of  a  hook,  by  which  the  bat 
attaches  itself  to  the  sides  of  rocks,  caves,  and 
buildings,  laying  hold  of  crevices,  joinings,  chinks, 
and  roughnesses.  It  hooks  itself  by  this  claw  ; 
remains  suspended  by  this  hold  :  takes  its  flight 
from  this  position  :  wJiich  operations  compensate 
for  the  decrepitude  of  its  legs  and  feet.     Without 


her  hook,  the  bat  would  be  the  most  helpless  ot 
all  animals.  She  can  neitiier  run  upon  her  feet, 
nor  raise  herself  from  the  ground.  These  inabili- 
ties are  made  up  to  her  by  the  contri\ance  in  her 
wing :  and  in  placing  a  claw  on  that  part,  the 
Creator  has  deviated  from  the  analogy  observed 
in  winged  animals. — A  singular  defect  required  a 
singular  substitute. 

lil.  The  crane  kind  are  to  live  and  seek  their 
food  amongst  the  waters;  yet,  having  no  web- 
fcet,  are  incapable  of  swimming.  To  make  up 
for  this  deflciency,  they  are  furnished  with  long 
legs  for  wading,  or  long  bills  for  groping ;  or 
usually  with  both.  Tliis  is  cumpcnsation.  But 
1  think  the  true  reflection  upon  the  present  in- 
stance is,  how  every  part  of  nature  is  tenanted 
by  appropriate  inhabitants.  Not  only  is  the  sur- 
face of  deep  waters  peopled  by  numerous  triljes 
of  birds  that  swim,  but  niarshes  and  shallow 
pools  are  furnished  with  hardly  less  jiumerous 
tribes  of  birds  that  wade. 

IV.  The  common  parrot  has,  in  the  structure 
of  its  beak,  both  an  inconvcniency,  and  a  compen- 
sation for  it.  When  I  speak  of  an  inconvcniency, 
I  have  a  view  to  a  dilemma  which  frequently 
occurs  in  the  works  of  nature,  viz.  that  the  pecu- 
liarity of  structure  by  which  an  organ  is  made  to 
answer  one  purpose,  necessarily  unfits  it  for  some 
other  purpose.  This  is  the  case  before  us.  The 
upper  bill  of  the  parrot  is  so  much  hooked,  and  so 
much  overlaps  the  lower,  that  if,  as  in  other  birds, 
the  lower  chap  alone  had  motion,  the  bird  could 
scarcely  gape  wide  enough  to  receive  its  food : 
yet  this  hook  and  overlapping  of  the  bill  could 
not  be  spared,  for  it  forms  tlic  very  instrument  by 
which  the  bird  climbs ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  use 
which  it  makes  of  it  in  breaking  nuts  and  the 
hard  substances  upon  which  it  feeds.  How, 
therefore,  has  nature  provided  for  the  opening  of 
this  occluded  mouth  1  by  making  the  upper  chap 
moveable,  as  well  as  the  lower.  In  most  birds, 
the  upper  chap  is  connected,  and  makes  but  one 
piece,  with  the  skull ;  but  in  the  parrot,  the  upper 
chap  is  joined  to  the  bone  of  the  head  by  a  strong 
membrane  placed  on  each  side  of  it,  which  lifts 
and  depresses  it  at  pleasure.* 

V.  The  spider's  web  is  a  compensating  con- 
trivance. The  spider  lives  upon  flies,  without 
wings  to  pursue  them ;  a  case,  one  would  have 
thought  of  great  difficulty,  yet  provided  for,  and 
provided  for  by  a  resource  which  no  stratagem, 
no  ellort  of  the  animal  could  have  produced,  had 
not  both  its  external  and  internal  structure  been 
specifically  adapted  to  the  operation. 

VI.  In  many  species  of  insects,  the  eye  is  fixed ; 
and  consequently  without  the  power  of  turning  ■ 
the  pupil  to  the  object.  This  great  defect  is, 
however,  perfectly  compensated;  and  by  a  me- 
chanism which  we  should  not  suspect.  The  eye 
is  a  multiplying-glass,  with  a  lens  looking  in 
every  direction  and  catching  every  object.  By 
which  means,  although  the  orb  of  the  eye  be  sta- 
tionary, the  field  of  vision  is  as  ample  as  that  of 
other  animals,  and  is  commanded  on  every  side. 
When  this  latticework  was  first  observed,  the 
multiplicity  and  minuteness  of  the  surflices  must 
have  added  to  the  surprise  of  the  discovery. 
Adams  tells  us,  that  fourteen  hundred  of  these 
reticulations  have  been  counted  in  the  two  ejes  of 

a  drone-bee. 


Goldsmith's  Natural  Histoiy,  vol.  v.  p.  274. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


439 


In  other  cases  the  compensation  is  effected  by 
the  number  and  position  of  the  eye*  themselves. 
The  spider  has  eight  eyes,  mounted  upon  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  head ;  two  in  front,  two  in  the 
top  of  the  head  ;  two  on  each  side.  Theee  eyes 
are  without  motion;  but  by  their  situation,  suited 
to  comprehend  every  view  which  the  wants  or 
safety  of  the  animal  rendered  it  necessary  for  it  to 
take. 

"VII.  The  Memoirs  for  the  Natural  History 
of  Animals,  pubUshed  by  the  French  i\.cademy, 
A.  D.  1G37,  furnish  us  with  some  curious  par- 
ticulars in  the  eye  cf  a  chameleon.  Instead  of  two 
eyelids,  it  is  covered  bv'  an  eyelid  with  a  hole  in 
it.  This  singular  structure  appears  to  be  com- 
pensatory, and  to  answer  to  some  other  singulari- 
ties in  the  shape  of  the  animal.  The  neck  of  the 
chameleon  is  inflexible.  To  make  up  for  this, 
the  eye  is  so  prominent,  as  that  more  than  half  of 
the  ball  stands  out  of  the  head  ;  by  means  of  which 
extraordinary  projection,  the  pupil  of  the  eye  can 
be  carried  by  the  muscles  in  every  direction,  and 
is  capable  of  being  pointed  towards  every  object. 
But  then,  so  unusual  an  exposure  of  the  globe 
of  the  eye  requires,  for  its  lubricity  and  de- 
fence, a  more  than  ordinary  protection  of  eye- 
lid, as  well  as  a  more  than  ordinary  supply  of 
moisture;  yet  the  motion  of  an  eyelid,  formed  ac- 
cording to  the  common  construction,  would  be  im- 
peded, as  it  should  seem,  by  the  convexity  of  the 
organ.  The  aperture  in  the  Ud  meets  this  diffi- 
culty, [t  enables  the  animal  to  keep  the  principal 
part  of  the  surface  of  the  eye  under  cover,  and  to 
preserve  it  in  a  due  state  of  humidity  without 
shutting  out  the  light  :  or  without  jjerforming 
every  moment  a  nictitation,  which,  it  is  probable, 
would  be  more  laborious  to  this  animal  than  to 
others. 

VIII.  In  another  animal,  and  in  another  part 
of  the  animal  economy,  the  same  Memoirs  describe 
a  most  remarkable  suhstitu.tion.  The  reader  will 
remember  what  we  have  already  observed  con- 
cerning the  intestinal  canal;  that  its  Icntrth,  so 
many  times  exceeding  that  of  the  body,  promotes 
the  extraction  of  the  chyle  from  the  aliment,  by 
giving  room  for  the  lacteal  vessels  to  act  upon  it 
through  a  greater  space.  This  long  intestine, 
wherever  it  occurs,  is,  in  other  animals,  disposed 
in  the  abdomen  from  side  to  side  in  returning 
folds.  But,  in  the  animal  now  under  our  notice, 
the  matter  is  managed  otherwise.  The  same  in- 
tention is  mechanically  effectuated;  but  by  a  me- 
chanism of  a  different  kind.  The  animal  of  which 
I  speak,  is  an  amphibious  quadruped,  which  our 
authors  call  the  alopecias,  or  sea-fox.  The  intes- 
tine is  straight  from  one  end  to  the  other:  but  in 
this  straight,  and  consequently  short  intestine,  is 
a  winding,  corkscrew,  spiral  passage,  through 
which  the  food,  not  without  several  circumvolu- 
tions, and  in  fact  by  a  long  route,  is  conducted  to 
its  exit.  Here  the  shcrtness  of  the  gut  is  compen- 
sated by  the  obliquitj  of  the  perforation. 

IX.  But  the  works  of  the  Deity  are  known  by 
expedients.  Where  we  should  look  for  absolute 
destitution;  where  we  can  reckon  but  wants; 
some  contrivance  always  comes  in,  to  supply  the 
privation.  A  snail,  without  wings,  feet,  or  thread, 
chmbs  up  the  stalks  of  plants,  by  the  sole  aid  of  a 
viscid  humour  discharged  from  her  skin.  She 
adheres  to  the  stems,  leaves,  and  fruits,  of  plants, 
by  means  of  a  sticking  plaster.  A  muscle,  which 
might  seem,  b}-  its  helplessness  to  lie  at  the  mer- 


cy of  every  wave  that  went  over  it,  has  the  singu- 
lar power  of  spinning  strong,  tendinous  threads, 
by  which  she  moors  her  shell  to  rocks  and  timbers. 
A  cockle,  on  the  contrary,  by  means  of  its  stitf 
tongue,  works  for  itself  a  shelter  in  the  sand. 
The  provisions  of  nature  extend  to  cases  the  most 
desperate. 

A  lobster  has  in  its  constitution  a  difficulty  so 
great,  that  one  could  hardly  conjecture  beforehand 
how  nature  would  dispose  of  it.  In  most  animals, 
the  skin  grows  with  their  growth.  If,  instead  of 
a  soft  skin,  there  be  a  shell,  still  it  admits  of  a 
gradual  enlargement.  If  the  shell,  as  in  the  tor- 
toise, consist  of  several  pieces,  the  accession  of 
substance  is  made  at  the  sutures.  Bivalve  shells 
grow  bigger  by  receiving  an  accretion  at  their  edge ; 
it  is  the  same  with  spiral  shells  at  their  mouth. 
The  simplicity  of  their  form  admits  of  this.  But 
the  lobster's  shell  bemg  applied  to  the  limbs  of  the 
body,  as  well  as  to  the  body  itself,  allows  not  of 
either  of  the  modes  of  growth  which  are  observed 
to  take  place  in  other  shells.  Its  hardness  resists 
expansion  :  and  its  complexity  renders  it  incapa- 
ble of  increasincr  its  size  by  addition  of  substance 
to  its  edge.  How  then  was  the  growth  of  the 
lobster  to  be  provided  for  1  Was  room  to  be  made 
for  it  in  the  old  shell,  or  was  it  to  be  successively 
fitted  with  new  ones  1  If  a  change  of  shell  be- 
came necessary,  how  was  the  lobster  to  extricate 
himself  from  his  present  confinement  1  how  was 
he  to  uncase  his  buckler,  or  draw  his  legs  out  of 
his  boots  1  The  process  which  fishermen  have 
observed  to  take  place  is  as  foilo'Ws  :■  —At  certain 
seasons,  the  shell  of  the  lobster  g^^t^s  soft;  the 
animal  swells  its  body  ;  the  seams  ojien,  and  the 
claws  burst  at  the  joints.  When  the  shell  has 
thus  become  loose  upon  the  body,  the  animal 
makes  a  second  effort,  and  by  a  tremulous,  spas- 
modic motion,  casts  it  off.  In  this  state,  the  liber- 
ated but  defenceless  fish  retires  into  holes  in  the 
rock.  The  released  body  now  suddenly  pushes 
its  growth.  In  about  cight-and-forty  hours,  a 
fresh  concretion  of  humour,  upon  the  surface,  i.  e. 
a  new  shell,  is  formed,  ada})ted  in  ever\'  part  to 
the  increased  dimensions  of  the  animal.  This 
wonderful  mutation  is  rejieated  every  year. 

If  there  be  imputed  defects  without  compensa- 
tion, I  should  suspect  that  they  were  defects  only 
in  appearance.  Thus,  the  body  of  the  sloth  has 
often  been  reproached  for  the  slowness  of  its  mo- 
tions, which  has  been  attributed  to  an  imperfec- 
tion in  the  formation  of  its  limbs.  But  it  ought 
to  be  observed,  that  it  is  this  slowness  which  alone 
suspends  the  voracity  of  the  animal.  He  fasts 
during  his  migration  from  one  tree  to  another: 
and  this  fast  may  be  necessary  for  the  relief  of  his 
overcharged  vessels,  as  w^ell  as  to  allow  time  for 
the  concoction  of  the  mass  of  coarse  and  hard 
food  which  he  has  taken  into  his  stomach.  The 
tardiness  of  his  pace  seems  to  have  reference  to 
the  capacity  of  his  organs,  and  to  his  propensities 
with  respect  to  food ;  i.  e.  is  calculated  to  counter- 
act the  effects  of  repletion. 

Or  there  may  be  cases,  in  which  a  defect  is  arti- 
ficial, and  compensated  by  the  very  cause  which 
produces  it.  Thus  the  sheep,  in  the  domesticated 
state  in  which  we  see  it,  is  destitute  of  the  ordinary 
means  of  defence  or  escape  ;  is  incapable  either  of 
resistance  or  flight.  But  this  is  not  so  with  the 
wild  animal.  The  natural  sheep  is  swift  and  ac- 
tive ;  and,  if  it  lose  these  qualities  when  it  comes 
under  the  subjection  of  man,  the  loss  is  compen- 


MO 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


sated  by  hi?  protection.  Perhaps  there  is  no  spe- 
cies of  quatlru[)e(l  whatever,  which  suffers  so  htfle 
as  this  does,  from  the  depredation  of  animals  of 
prey. 

For  the  sake  of  mailing  our  meaning  better  un- 
derstood, we  have  considered  this  business  of  com- 
pejisation  under  certain  particularities  of  constitu- 
tion, in  which  it  appears  to  be  most  conspicuous. 
This  view  of  the  subject  necessarily  limits  the 
instances  to  single  species  of  animals.  But  there 
are  compensations,  perhaps  not  less  certain,  which 
extend  over  large  classes,  and  to  large  portions  of 
living  nature. 

I.  In  quadrupeds,  the  deficiency  of  teeth  is  usu- 
ally compensated  b}'  the  faculty  of  rumination. 
The  sheep,  deer,  and  ox  trijie,  are  without  fore- 
teeth in  the  upper  jaw.  These  ruminate.  The 
horse  and  ass  are  furnished  with  teeth  in  the 
upper  jaw,  and  do  not  ruminate.  In  the  former 
class,  the  grass  and  hay  descend  into  the  stomacii, 
nearly  in  the  state  in  which  they  are  croppetl 
from  the  pasture,  or  gathered  fromthe  bundle.  In 
the  stomach,  they  are  softened  by  the  gastric  juice, 
which  in  these  animals  is  unusually  copious. 
Thus  softened  and  rendered  tender,  they  are  re- 
turned a  second  time  to  the  action  of  the  mouth, 
where  the  grinding  teeth  complete  at  their  leisure 
the  trituration  which  is  necessary,  but  which  was 
before  left  imperfect.  I  say,  the  trituration  which 
is  necessary  ;  for  it  appears  from  experiments,  that 
the  gastric  fluid  of  sheep,  for  example,  has  no 
effect  in  digesting  plants,  unless  they  have  been 
previously  masticated;  that  it  only  produces  a 
slight  maceration  ;  nearly  as  common  water  would 
do  in  a  like  degree  of  heat ;  but  that  when  once 
vegetables  are  reduced  to  pieces  by  mastication, 
the  fluid  then  exerts  upon  them  its  specific  opera- 
tion. Its  first  effect  is  to  soften  them,  and  to  de- 
stroy their  natural  consistency ;  it  then  goes  on  to 
dissolve  them ;  not  sparing  even  the  toughest  parts, 
such  as  the  nerves  of  the  leaves.* 

I  think  it  very  probable,  that  the  gratification 
also  of  the  animal  is  renewed  and  prolonged  by 
this  faculty.  Sheep,  deer,  and  oxen,  appear  to  be 
in  a  state  of  enjoyment  whilst  they  are  chewing 
the  cud.  It  is  then,  perhaps,  that  they  best  relish 
their  food. 

II.  In  birds,  the  compensation  is  still  more 
striking.  They  have  no  teeth  at  all.  What  have 
they  then  to  make  up  for  this  severe  want  1  I 
speak  of  granivorous  and  herbivorous  birds;  such 
as  common  fowls,  turkeys,  ducks,  geese,  pigeons, 
&c.;  for  it  is  concerning  these  alone  that  the 
question  need  be  asked.  All  these  are  furnished 
with  a  peculiar  and  most  powerful  muscle,  called 
the  gizzard;  the  inner  coat  of  which  is  fitted  up 
with  rough  plaits,  which,  by  a  strong  friction 
against  one  another,  break  and  grind  the  hard 
aliment  as  efl'ectuolly,  and  by  the  same  mechani- 
cal action,  as  a  coffee-mill  would  do.  It  has  been 
proved  by  the  most  correct  experiments,  that  the 
gastric  juice  of  these  birds  will  not  operate  upon 
the  entire  grain;  not  even  when  softened  by 
water  or  macerated  in  the  crop.  Therefore 
without  a  grinding  machine  within  its  body, 
without  the  trituration  of  the  gizzard,  a  chicken 
would  have  starved  upon  a  heap  of  corn.  Yet 
why  should  a  bill  and  a  gizzard  go  together? 
Why  shjould  a  gizzard  never  be  found  where  there 
ire  teeth. 

*  Spall.  Dis.  iii.  sect.  cxl. 


Nor  does  the  gizzard  belong  to  birds  as  suc^- 
A  gizzard  is  not  found  in  birds  of  prey.     Their 
food  requires  not  to  be  ground  down  in  a  mill. 
The  compensatory  contrivance  goes  no  farther 
than   the   necessity.     In    both   classes   of  birds, 
however,   the   digestive    organ  within  the  body 
bears  a  strict  and  mechanical  relation  to  the  exter- 
nal  instruments  for    procuring  food.     The  soft 
membranous    stomach    accompanies    a   hooked, 
notched  beak;  short,  muscular  legs;  strong,  sharp, 
crooked  talons :  the  cartilaginous  stomach  attends 
I  that  conformation  of  bill  and  toes,  which  restrains 
j  the  bird  to  the  picking  of  seeds,  or  the  cropping  of 
I  plants. 

III.  But  to  proceed  with  our  compensations. — 
A  very  numerous  and  comprehensive  tribe  of  ter- 
restrial animals  are  entirely  without  feet ;  yet  lo- 
comotive ;  and  in  a  very  considerable  degree  swift 
in  their  motion.  How  is  the  icant  of  feet  com- 
pensated 1  It  is  done  by  the  disposition  of  the 
muscles  and  fibres  of  the  trunk.  In  consequence 
of  the  just  collocation,  and  by  means  of  the  joint 
action  of  longitudinal  and  annular  fibres,  that  is 
to  say,  of  strings  and  rings,  the  body  and  train  of 
reptiles  are  capable  of  being  reciprocally  shortened 
and  lengthened,  drawn  up  and  stretched  out. 
The  result  of  this  action  is  a  progressive,  and,  in 
some  cases,  a  rapid  movement  of  the  whole  body, 
in  any  direction  to  which  the  will  of  the  animal 
determines  it.  The  meanest  creature  is  a  collec- 
tion of  wonders.  The  play  of  the  rings  in  an 
earth-worm,  as  it  crawls  ;  the  undulatory  motion 
propagated  along  the  body ;  the  beards  or  prickles 
with  which  the  annuli  are  armed,  and  which  the 
animal  can  either  shut  up  close  to  its  body,  or  let 
out  to  lay  hold  of  the  roughness  of  the  surface 
upon  which  it  creeps ;  and  the  power  arising  from 
all  these,  of  changing  its  place  and  position,  afford, 
when  compared  with  the  provisions  for  motion  in 
other  animals,  proofs  of  new  and  appropriate 
mechanism.  Suppose  that  we  had  never  seen  an 
animal  move  upon  the  ground  without  feet,  and 
that  the  problem  was, — muscular  action,  i.  e.  re- 
ciprocal contraction  and  relaxation  being  given, 
to  describe  how  such  an  animal  might  be  con- 
structed, capable  of  voluntarily  changing  place. 
Something,  perhaps,  like  the  organization  of  rep- 
tiles might  have  been  hit  upon  by  the  ingenuity 
of  an  artist;  or  might  have  been  exhibited  in  an 
automaton,  by  the  combination  of  springs,  spiral 
wires,  and  ringlets :  but  to  the  solution  of  the 
problem  would  not  be  denied,  surely,  the  praise  of 
invention  and  of  successful  thought:  least  of  all 
could  it  ever  be  questioned,  whether  intelligence 
had  been  employed  about  it,  or  not. 


CHAPTER  XVIT. 

The  Relation  of  avimated  Bodies  to  inanimate 
Nature. 

Wk  have  already  considered  relation,  and  un- 
der different  views ;  but  it  was  the  relation  of 
parts  to  parts,  of  the  parts  of  an  animal  to  other 
parts  of  the  same  animal,  or  of  another  individual 
of  the  same  sjiecies. 

But  the  bodies  of  animals  hold,  in  their  consti- 
tution and  properties,  a  close  and  important  nia- 
tion  to  natures  altogether  external  to  their  own ; 
to  inanimate  substances,  and  to  the  specific  quali- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


441 


ties  of  these;  e.  g.  they  hold  a  strict  relation  to 
the  ELEMENTS  by  which  they  are  surrounded. 

I.  Can  it  be  doubted,  whether  the  icings  of 
birds  bear  a  relation  to  air,  and  the^ns  ofjish  to 
water  1  They  are  instruments  of  motion,  seve- 
rally suited  to  the  properties  of  the  medium  in 
which  the  motion  is  to  be  performed  :  which  pro- 
perties are  different.  Was  not  this  difference  con- 
templated, when  the  instruments  were  differently 
constituted  ] 

II.  The  structure  of  the  animal  ear  depends 
for  its  use,  not  simply  upon  being  surrounded  by 
a  Huid,  but  upon  the  specific  nature  of  that  fluid. 
E^ery  fluid  would  not  serve :  its  particles  must  re- 
pel one  another ;  it  must  form  an  elastic  medium : 
for  it  is  by  the  successive  pulses  of  such  a  medium, 
that  the  undulations  excited  by  the  surrounding 
body  are  carried  to  the  organ  ;  that  a  communica- 
tion is  formed  between  the  object  and  the  sense ; 
which  must  be  done,  before  the  internal  machi- 
nery of  the  ear,  subtile  as  it  is,  can  act  at  all. 

III.  The  organs  of  voice,  and  respiration,  are 
no  less  than  the  ear,  indebted,  for  the  success  of 
their  operation,  to  the  peculiar  qualities  of  the 
fluid  in  which  the  animal  is  immersed.  They, 
therefore,  as  well  as  the  ear,  are  constituted  upon 
the  supposition  of  such  a  fluid,  i.  e.  of  a  fluid  with 
such  particular  properties,  being  always  present. 
Change  the  properties  of  the  fluid,  and  the  organ 
cannot  act;  change  the  organ  and  the  pro])erties 
of  the  fluid  would  be  lost.  The  structure  there- 
fore of  our  organs,  and  the  properties  of  our  atmos- 
phere, are  made  for  one  another.  Nor  does  it  alter 
the  relatioi  whether  you  allege  the  organ  to  be 
made  for  the  element  (which  seems  the  most 
natural  way  of  considering  it,)  or  tlie  element  as 
prepared  for  the  organ. 

IV.  But  there  is  another  fluid  with  which  we 
have  to  do ;  with  properties  of  its  own  ;  with  laws 
of  acting,  and  of  being  acted  upon,  totally  different 
from  those  of  air  and  water :  and  that  is  light. 
To  this  new,  this  singular  element ;  to  qualities 
perfectly  peculiar,  perfectly  distinct  and  remote 
from  the  qualities  of  any  other  substance  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,  an  organ  is  adapted,  an 
instrument  is  correctly  adjusted,  not  less  peculiar 
amongst  the  parts  of  the  body,  not  less  singular 
in  its  form,  and  in  the  substance  of  which  it  is 
composed,  not  less  remote  from  the  materials,  the 
model,  and  the  analogy,  of  any  other  part  of  the 
animal  frame,  than  the  element  to  which  it  re- 
lates, is  specific  amidst  the  substances  with  which 
we  converse.  If  this  does  not  prove  appropriation, 
I  desire  to  know  what  would  prove  it. 

Yet  the  element  of  light  and  the  organ  of  vision, 
however  related  in  their  office  and  use,  have  no 
connexion  whatever  in  their  original.  The 
action  of  rays  of  light  upon  the  surfaces  of  animals, 
has  no  temlency  to  breed  eyes  in  their  heads.  The 
sun  might  shine  for  ever  upon  living  bodies,  with- 
out the  smallest  approach  towards  producing  the 
sense  of  sight.  On  the  other  hand  also,  the 
animal  eye  does  not  generate  or  emit  light. 

V.  Throughout  the  universe  there  is  a  wonder- 
ful proportioning  of  one  thing  to  another.  The 
size  of  animals,  of  the  human  animal  especially, 
when  considered  with  respect  to  other  animals,  or 
to  the  plants  which  grow  around  him,  is  such  as 
a  regard  to  his  conveniency  would  have  pointed 
out.  A  giant  or  a  pigmy  could  not  have  milked 
goats,  reaped  corn,  or  mowed  grass ;  we  may  add, 
could  not  have  rode  a  horse,  trained  a  vine,  shorn 

3K 


a  sheep,  with  the  same  bodily  ease  as  we  do,  if  al 
all.  A  pigniy  would  have  been  lost  amongst 
rushes,  or  carried  off  by  birds  of  prey. 

It  may  be  mentioned  likewise,  that  the  model 
and  the  materials  of  the  human  body  being  what 
they  are,  a  much  greater  bulk  would  have  broken 
down  by  its  own  weight.  The  persons  of  men 
who  much  exceed  the  ordinary  stature,  betray 
this  tendency. 

VI.  Again,  (and  which  includes  a  vast  variety 
of  particulars,  and  those  of  the  greatest  import- 
ance ;)  how  close  is  the  suitableness  of  the  eartli 
and  sea  to  their  several  inhabitants  ;  and  of  these  in- 
habitants, to  the  places  of  their  appointed  residence ' 

Take  the  earth  as  it  is ;  and  consider  the  cor- 
res[)ondency  of  the  powers  of  its  inhabitants  with 
the  properties  and  condition  of  the  soil  "'hich  they 
tread.  Take  the  inhabitants  as  they  are;  and 
consider  the  substances  which  the  earth  yields  for 
their  use.  The)^  can  scratch  its  surface ;  and  its 
surface  supplies  all  which  they  want.  This  is 
the  length  of  their  faculties:  and  such  is  the  con- 
stitution of  the  globe,  and  their  own,  that  this  i.'s 
sufficient  for  all  their  occasions. 

When  we  ])ass  from  the  earth  to  the  sea,  from 
land  to  water,  we  pass  through  a  great  change; 
but  an  adequate  change  accompanies  us,  of  ani- 
mal forms  and  functions,  of  animal  capacities  and 
wants ;  so  that  correspondency  remains.  The 
earth  in  its  nature  is  very  different  from  the  sea, 
and  the  sea  from  the  earth :  hut  one  accords  with 
its  inhabitants  as  exactly  as  the  other. 

VII.  The  last  relation  of  this  kind  which  I 
shall  mention,  is  that  of  sleep  to  night ;  and  it  ap- 
pears to  me  to  be  a  relation  which  was  expressly 
intended.  Two  points  are  manifest :  first,  that 
the  animal  frame  requires  sleep;  secondly,  that 
night  brings  with  it  a  silence,  and  a  cessation  of 
activity,  which  allows  of  sleep  being  taken  with- 
out interruption,  and  without  loss.  Animal  ex- 
istence is  made  up  of  action  and  slumber;  nature 
has  provided  a  season  for  each.  An  animal  which 
stood  not  in  need  of  rest,  would  always  li\e  in 
day-hght.  An  animal,  which,  though  made  for 
action,  and  delighting  in  action,  must  have  its 
strength  repaired  by  sleep,  meets,  by  its  constitu- 
tion, the  returns  of  day  and  night.  In  the  human 
species,  for  instance,  were  the  bustle,  the  labour, 
the  motion  of  life,  upheld  by  the  constant  presence 
of  light,  sleep  could  not  be  enjoyed  without  being 
disturbed  by  noise,  and  without  expense  of  that 
time  which  the  eagerness  of  private  interest  would 
not  contentedly  resign.  It  is  happy  therefore  for 
this  part  of  the  creation,  I  mean  that  it  is  con- 
formable to  the  frame  and  wants  of  their  constitu- 
tion, that  nature,  by  the  very  disposition  of  her 
elements,  has  commanded,  as  it  were,  and  im- 
posed upon  them,  at  moderate  intervals,  a  general 
intermission  of  their  toils,  their  occupations,  and 
pursuits. 

But  it  is  not  for  man,  either  solely  or  principal- 
ly, that  night  is  made.  Inferior,  but  less  perverted 
natures,  taste  its  solace,  and  expect  its  return, 
with  greater  exactness  and  advantage  than  he 
does.  I  have  often  observed,  and  never  observed 
but  to  admire,  the  satisfaction,  no  less  than  the 
regularity,  with  which  the  greatest  part  of  the  ir- 
rational world  yield  to  this  soft  necessity,  this 
grateful  vicissitude;  how  comfortably  the  birds 
of  the  air  for  example  address  themselves  to  the 
repose  of  the  evening ;  with  what  alertness  thev 
resume  the  activity  of  the  day  1 


442 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


Nor  does  it  disturb  our  argument  to  confess, 
that  cf.rtain  species  of  animals  are  in  motion 
during  the  night,  and  at  rest  in  the  day.  With 
respect  even  to  them,  it  is  still  true,  that  there  is  a 
change  of  condition  in  the  animal,  and  an  exter- 
nal change  corresponding  with  it.  There  is  still 
the  relation,  though  inverted.  The  fact  is,  that 
the  repose  of  other  animals  sets  these  at  liberty, 
and  invites  them  to  their  food  or  their  sport. 

If  the  relation  of  sleep  to  night,  and  in  some 
instances,  its  converse,  be  real,  we  cannot  reflect 
without  amazement  upon  the  extent  to  which  it 
carries  us.  Day  and  night  are  things  close  to  us ; 
the  change  applies  immediately  to  our  sensations ; 
of  all  the  phenomena  of  nature,  it  is  the  most  ob- 
vious and  the  most  familiar  to  our  experience:  but, 
in  its  cause,  it  belongs  to  the  great  motions  which 
are  passing  in  the  heavens.  Whilst  the  earth 
glides  round  her  axle,  she  ministers  to  the  alter- 
nate necessities  of  the  animals  dwelling  upon  her 
surface,  at  the  same  time  that  she  obeys  the  influ- 
ence of  those  attractions  which  regulate  the  order 
of  many  thousand  worlds.  The  relation,  there- 
fore, of  sleep  to  night,  is  the  relation  of  the  inha- 
bitants of  the  earth  to  the  rotation  of  their  globe ; 
probably  it  is  more ;  it  is  a  relation  to  the  system, 
of  which  that  globe  is  a  part ;  and,  still  farther,  to 
the  congregation  of  systems,  of  which  theirs  is 
only  one.  If  this  account  be  true,  it  connects  the 
meanest  individual  with  the  universe  itself;  a 
chicken  roosting  upon  its  perch,  with  the  spheres 
revolving  in  the  firmament. 

VIII.  But  if  any  one  object  to  our  representa- 
tion, that  the  succession  of  day  and  night,  or  the 
rotation  of  the  earth  upon  which  it  depends,  is 
not  resolvable  into  central  attraction,  we  will  refer 
him  to  that  which  certainly  is,  to  the  change  of 
the  seasons.  Now  the  constitution  of  animals 
susceptible  of  torpor,  bears  a  relation  to  winter, 
similar  to  that  which  sleep  bears  to  night.  Against 
not  only  the  cold,  but  the  want  of  ibod,  which  the 
approach  of  winter  induces,  the  Pre.server  of  the 
world  has  provided  in  many  animals  by  migration, 
in  many  others  by  torpor.  As  one  example  out 
of  a  thousand;  the  bat,  if  it  did  not  sleep  through 
the  winter,  must  have  starved,  as  the  moths  and 
flying  insects  upon  which  it  feeds  disappear.  But 
the  transition  from  summer  to  winter  carries  us 
into  the  very  midst  of  physical  astronomy ;  that  is 
to  say,  into  the  midst  of  those  laws  which  govern 
the  solar  system  at  least,  and  probably  all  the 
heavenly  bodies. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 


Instincts. 


The  order  may  not  be  very  obvious,  by  which 
1  place  instincts  next  to  relation.  But  I  consider 
them  as  a  species  of  relations.  They  contribute, 
along  with  the  animal  organization,  to  a  joint  ef- 
fect, in  which  view  they  are  related  to  that  organ- 
ization. In  many  cases,  they  refer  from  <jne  ani- 
mal to  another  animal ;  and,  when  this  is  the  case, 
become  strictly  relations  in  a  second  point  of  view. 

An  INSTINCT  is  a  propensity  prior  to  experi- 
ence, and  independent  of  instruction.  We  con- 
tend, that  it  is  by  instinct  that  the  sexes  of  ani- 
mals seek  each  other  ;  that  animals  cherish  their 
offspring ;  that  the  young  quadruped  is  direi;ted 


to  the  teat  of  its  dam ;  that  birds  build  their  nestii, 
and  brood  with  so  much  patience  upon  their  eggs ; 
that  insects  which  do  not  sit  upon  their  eggs,  de- 
posit them  in  those  particular  situations,  in  which 
the  young,  when  hatched,  find  their  aj)propriate 
food ;  that  it  is  instinct  which  carries  the  salmon, 
and  some  other  fish,  out  of  the  sea  into  rivers,  for 
the  purpose  of  shedding  their  spawn  in  fresh 
water. 

We  may  select  out  of  this  catalogue  the  incu- 
bation of  eggs.  I  entertain  no  doubt,  but  that  a 
couple  of  sparrows  hatched  in  an  oven,  and  kept 
separate  from  the  rest  of  their  species,  would  pro- 
ceed as  other  sparrows  do,  in  every  office  which 
related  to  the  production  and  preservation  of  their 
brood.  Assuming  this  fact,  the  thing  is  inexpli- 
cable upon  any  other  hypothesis  than  that  of  an 
instinct,  impressed  upon  the  constitution  of  the 
animal.  For,  first,  what  should  induce  the  female 
bird  to  prepare  a  nest  before  she  lays  her  eggs  1 
It  is  in  vain  to  suppose  her  to  be  possessed  of  the 
faculty  of  reasoning :  for,  no  reasoning  will  reach 
the  case.  The  fulness  or  distension  which  she 
might  feel  in  a  particular  part  of  her  body,  from 
the  growth  and  solidity  of  the  egg  within  her, 
could  not  possibly  inform  her,  that  she  was  about 
to  produce  something,  which,  when  produced,  was 
to  be  preserved  and  taken  care  of  Prior  to  expe- 
rience, there  was  nothing  to  lead  to  this  infer- 
ence, or  to  this  suspicion.  The  analogy  was  all 
against  it :  for  in  every  other  instance,  what  issued 
from  the  body  was  cast  out  and  rejected. 

But,  secondly,  let  us  suppose  the  egg  to  be  pro- 
duced into  day;  how  should  birds  know  that  their 
eggs  contain  their  young  1  There  is  nothing, 
either  in  the  aspect  or  in  the  internal  composition 
of  an  egg,  which  could  lead  even  the  most  daring 
imagination  to  conjecture,  that  it  was  hereafter  to 
turn  out  from  under  its  shell,  a  living,  perfect 
bird.  The  form  of  the  egg  bears  not  the  rudiments 
of  a  resemblance  to  that  of  the  bird.  Inspecting 
its  contents,  we  find  still  less  reason,  if  possible, 
to  look  for  the  result  which  actually  takes  place. 
If  we  should  go  so  far,  as,  from  the  appearance  of 
order  and  distinction  in  the  disposition  of  the  liquid 
substances  which  we  noticed  in  the  egg,  to  giu'ss 
that  it  might  be  designed  for  the  abode  and  nutri- 
ment of  an  animal,  (which  would  be  a  very  bold 
hypothesis,)  we  should  expect  a  tadpole  dabl>!iiig 
ill  the  slime,  much  rather  than  a  dry,  winged, 
feathered  creature;  a  compound  of  parts  and  pro- 
perties impossible  to  be  used  in  a  state  of  confine- 
ment in  the  egg,  and  bearing  no  conceivable  rela- 
tion, either  in  quality  or  material,  to  any  thing 
observed  in  it.  From  the  white  of  an  egg,  would 
any  one  look  for  the  feather  of  a  goldfinch  1  or 
expect  from  a  simple  uniform  mucilage,  the  most 
complicated  of  all  machines;  the  most  diversified 
of  all  collections  of  substances  1  Nor  would  the 
process  of  incubation,  for  some  time  at  least,  lead 
us  to  suspect  the  event.  Who  that  saw  red  streaks, 
shooting  in  the  fine  membrane  which  divides  the 
white  ffom  the  yolk,  would  suppose  that  these 
were  about  to  become  bones  and  limbs  1  Who, 
that  espied  two  discoloured  points  first  making 
their  appearance  in  the  cicatrix,  would  have  had 
the  courage  to  predict,  that  these  points  were  to 
grow  into  the  heart  and  head  of  a  bird  1  It  is  dif- 
ficult to  strip  the  mind  of  its  experience.  It  is 
ditficult  to  resuscitate  surprise,  when  familiarity 
has  once  laid  the  sentiment  asleep.  But  cou!<l 
we  forget  al'   we  know,  and  which  our  .sparrows.- 


JN'ATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


443 


never  knew,  about  0%'iparous  generation;  could 
we  divest  ourselves  of  every  information,  but  what 
we  derived  from  reasoning  upon  the  appearances 
or  qualitv  discovered  in  the  objects  presented  to 
us;  I  am  convinced  thatHarlequin  coming  out  of 
an  egg  upon  the  stage,  is  not  more  astonishing  to 
a  child,  than  the  hatching  of  a  chicken  both  would 
be,  and  ought  to  be,  to  a  philosopher. 

But  admit  the  sparrow  by  some  means  to  know, 
that  within  that  egg  was  concealed  the  principle  of 
a  future  bird:  from  what  chymist  was  she  to  learn, 
that  uarmth  was  necessary  to  bring  it  to  maturity, 
or  that  the  degree  of  warmth,  imparted  by  the 
temperature  of  her  own  body,  was  the  degree  re- 
quired 1 

To  suppose,  therefore,  that  the  female  bird  acts 
in  this  process  from  a  sagacity  and  reason  of  her 
own,  is  to  suppose  her  to  arrive  at  conclusions 
which  there  are  no  premises  to  justify.  If  our 
sparrow,  sitting  upon  her  eggs,  expect  young 
sparrows  to  come  out  of  them,  she  forms,  I  will 
venture  to  sa}',  a  wild  and  extravagant  expecta- 
tion, in  opposition  to  present  appearances,  and  to 
probability.  She  must  have  penetrated  into  the 
order  of  nature,  farther  than  any  faculties  of  ours 
will  carry  us:  and  it  hath  been  well  observed,  that 
this  deep  sagacity,  if  it  be  sagacity,  subsists  in 
conjunction  with  great  stupidity,  even  in  relation 
to  the  same  subject.  "  A  chymical  operation," 
says  Addison,  "could  not  be  followed  with  greater 
art  or  diligence,  than  is  seen  in  hatching  a  chicken : 
yet  is  the  process  carried  on  without  the  least  glim- 
mering of  thought  or  common  sense.  The  hen 
will  mistake  a  piece  of  chalk  for  an  egg ;  is  insen- 
sible of  the  increase  or  diminution  of  their  number  ; 
does  not  distinguish  between  her  own  and  those 
of  another  species;  is  frightened  when  her  sup- 
posititious breed  of  ducklings  take  the  water." 

But  it  will  be  said,  that  what  reason  could  not 
do  for  the  bird,  observation,  or  instruction,  or  tra- 
dition, might.  Now  if  it  be  true,  that  a  couple  of 
sparrows,  brought  up  from  the  first  in  a  state  of 
separation  from  all  other  birds,  would  build  their 
nest,  and  brood  upon  their  eggs,  then  there  is  an 
end  to  this  solution.  What  can  be  the  tradition- 
ary knowledge  of  a  chicken  hatched  in  an 
oven  1 

Of  young  birds  taken  in  their  nests,  a  few  spe- 
cies breed,  when  kept  in  cages  ;  and  they  which 
do  so,  build  their  nests  nearly  in  the  same  manner 
as  in  the  wild  state,  and  sit  upon  their  eggs.  This 
is  sufficient  to  prove  an  instinct,  without  having 
recourse  to  experiments  upon  birds  hatched  by 
artificial  heat,  and  deprived,  from  their  birth,  of 
all  communication  with  their  species :  for  we  can 
haidly  bring  ourselves  to  believe,  that  the  parent 
b'rd  informed  her  unfiedged  pupil  of  the  history 
of  her  gestation,  her  timely  preparation  of  a  nest, 
her  exclusion  of  the  eggs,  her  long  incubation,  and 
of  the  joyful  eruption  at  last  of  her  expected  ofl- 
bpring  ;  all  which  the  bird  in  the  cage  must  have 
learnt  in  her  infancy,  if  we  resolve  her  conduct 
into  institution. 

Unless  we  will  rather  suppose,  that  she  remem- 
bers her  own  escape  from  the  egg ;  had  attentively 
( bserved  the  conformation  of  the  nest  in  which 
she  was  nurtured ;  and  had  treasured  up  her  re- 
marks for  future  imitation:  which  is  not  only  ex- 
tremely improbable,  (for  who,  that  sees  a  brood  of 
callow  birds  in  their  nest,  can  believe  that  they  are 
taking  a  plan  of  their  habitation  V)  but  leaves  un- 
acccunteii  for,  one  principal  part  of  the  difficulty, 


"  the  preparation  of  the  nest  before  the  laying  of 
the  egg."  This  she  could  not  gain  from  observa- 
tion in  her  infancy. 

It  is  remarkable  also,  that  the  hen  sits  upon 
eggs  which  she  has  laid  without  any  communica- 
tion with  the  male ;  and  which  are  therefore  ne 
ccssarily  unfruitful.  That  secret  she  is  not  let 
into.  Yet  if  incubation  had  been  a  subject  of 
instruction  or  of  tradition,  it  should  seem  that  this 
distinction  would  have  formed  part  of  the  lesson  : 
whereas  the  instinct  of  nature  is  calculated  for  a 
state  of  nature :  the  exception  here  alluded  to, 
taking  place  chiefly,  if  not  solely,  amongst  domes- 
ticated fowls,  in  wliich  nature  is  forced  out  of  her 
course. 

There  is  another  case  of  oviparous  econorny, 
which  is  still  less  likely  to  be  the  etlect  of  educa- 
tion than  it  is  even  in  birds,  namely  that  of  moths 
and  butterflies,  which  deposit  their  eggs  in  the 
precise  substance,  that  of  a  cabbage  for  example, 
from  which,  not  the  butterfly  hersell',  but  the  cater- 
pillar wliich  is  to  issue  from  her  egg,  draws  its 
appropriate  food.  The  butterfly  cannot  taste  the 
cabbage.  Cabbage  is  no  food  for  her :  yet  in  the 
cabbage,  not  by  chance,  but  studiously  and  elec- 
tively,  she  lays  her  eggs.  There  are,  amongst 
many  other  kinds,  the  willow-caterpillar  and  the 
cabbage-caterpillar :  but  we  never  find  upon  a  wil- 
low the  caterpillar  which  eats  the  cabbage ;  nor 
the  converse.  This  choice,  as  appears  to  me, 
cannot  in  the  butterfly  proceed  from  instruction. 
She  had  no  teacher  in  her  caterpillar  state.  She 
never  knew  her  parent.  I  do  not  see,  therefore, 
how  knowledge  acquired  by  experience,  if  it  ever 
were  such,  could  be  transmitted  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another.  There  is  no  opportunity  either 
for  instruction  or  imitation.  The  parent  race  is 
gone,  before  the  new  brood  is  hatched.  And  if  it 
be  original  reasoning  in  the  butterfly,  it  is  pro- 
found reasoning  indeed.  She  must  remember  her 
caterpillar  state,  its  tastes  and  habits :  of  which 
memory  she  shows  no  signs  whatever.  She  must 
conclude  from  analogy  (for  here  her  recollection 
cannot  serve  her,)  that  the  little  round  body  which 
drops  from  her  abdomen,  will  at  a  future  period 
produce  a  living  creature,  not  like  herself,  but  like 
the  caterpillar  which  she  remembers  herself  once 
to  have  been.  Under  the  influence  of  these  re- 
flections, she  goes  about  to  make  provision  for  an 
order  of  things,  wliich  she  concludes  will,  some 
time  or  other,  take  place.  And  it  is  to  be  observed, 
that  not  a  few  out  of  many,  but  that  all  butter- 
flies argue  thus;  all  draw  this  conclusion;  all  act 
upon  it. 

But  suppose  the  address,  and  the  selection,  and 
the  plan,  which  we  perceive  in  the  preparations 
which  many  irrational  animals  make  for  their 
young,  to  be  traced  to  some  probable  origin ;  still 
there  is  left  to  be  accounted  for,  that  which  is  the 
source  and  foundation  of  these  phenomena,  that 
which  sets  the  whole  at  work,  the  o-rof >>!,  the  pa- 
rental affection,  which  I  contend  to  be  inexplica- 
ble upon  any  other  hypothesis  than  that  of  in- 
stinct. 

For  we  shall  hardly,  I  imagine,  in  brutes,  refei 
their  conduct  towards  their  ofispring  to  a  sense  of 
duty,  or  of  decency,  a  care  of  reputation,  a  com- 
pliance with  public  manners,  with  public  laws,  or 
with  rules  of  life  built  upon  a  long  experience  of 
their  utility.  And  all  attempts  to  account  for  the 
parental  affection  from  association,  I  think,  fail. 
With  what  is  it  associated  1     Most  immediately 


444 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


witli  the  throes  of  parturition,  that  is,  with  pain 
and  terror  and  disease.  The  more  remote,  but 
not  less  strong  association,  that  which  depends 
ujion  analogy,  is  all  against  it.  Every  thing  else 
which  proceeds  from  tlie  body,  is  cast  away,  and 
rejected.  In  birds,  is  it  the  egg  which  the  hen 
loves  1  oris  it  the  expectation  which  she  cherishes 
of  a  future  progeny,  that  keeps  her  upon  her  nest  1 
What  cause  has  she  to  expect  delight  from  her 
progeny  1  Can  any  rational  answer  be  given  to 
the  question,  why,  prior  to  experience,  the  brood- 
ing hen  should  look  for  pleasure  from  her  chick- 
ens? It  does  not,  I  think,  appear,  that  the  cuckoo 
ever  knows  her  young:  yet,  in  her  way,  she  is 
as  careful  in  making  provision  for  them",  as  any 
other  bird.  She  does  not  leave  her  egg  in  every 
hole. 

The  salmon  suffers  no  surmountable  obstacle  to 
oppose  her  progress  up  the  stream  of  fresh  rivers. 
And  what  does  she  do  there  1  She  sheds  a  spawn, 
which  she  immediately  quits,  in  order  to  return 
to  the  sea;  and  this  issue  of  her  body,  she  never 
afterward  recognises  in  any  shape  whatever. 
Where  shall  we,  find  a  motive  for  her  efforts  and 
her  perseverance  1  Shall  we  seek  it  in  argument- 
ation, or  in  instinct  ]  The  violet  crab  of  Jamaica 
performs  a  fatiguing  march  of  some  months'  con- 
tinuance, from  the  mountains  to  the  sea  side. 
When  she  reaches  the  coast,  she  casts  her  spawn 
into  the  open  sea;  and  sets  out  upon  her  return 
home. 

Moths  and  butterflies,  as  hath  already  been  ob- 
served, seek  out  for  their  eggs  those  precise  situa- 
tions and  substances  in  which  the  offspring  cater- 
pillar will  find  its  appropriate  food.  That  dear 
cater[)illar,  the  parent  butterfly  must  never  sec. 
There  are  no  experiments  to  prove  that  she  would 
retain  any  knowledge  of  it,  if  she  did.  How  shall 
we  account  for  her  conduct?  I  do  not  mean  for 
her  art  and  judgment  in  selecting  and  securing  a 
maintenance  for  her  young,  but"  for  the  impulse 
upon  which  she  acts.  What  should  induce  her 
to  exert  any  art,  or  judgment,  or  choice,  about 
the  matter  ?  The  undisclosed  grub,  the  animal 
which  she  is  destined  not  to  know,  can  hardly  be 
the  object  of  a  particular  affection,  if  we  deny  the 
influence  of  instinct.  There  is  nothing,  therefore, 
left  to  her,  but  that  of  which  her  nature  seems  in- 
capable, an  abstract  anxiety  forthe  general  preserv- 
ation of  the  species ;  a  kind  of  patriotism ;  a  solici- 
tude lest  the  butterfly  race  should  cease  from  the 
creation. 

Lastly;  the  principle  of  association  will  not  ex- 
plain the  discontinuance  of  the  affection  when  the 
young  animal  is  grown  up.  Association,  ope- 
rating in  its  usual  way,  would  rather  produce  a 
contrary  effect.  The  oliject  would  become  more 
necessary,  by  habits  of  society :  whereas  birds 
and  beasts,  after  a  certain  time,  banish  their  ofl- 
spring;  disown  their  acquaintance;  seem  to  have 
even  no  knowledge  of  the  objects  which  so  lately 
engrossed  the  attention  of  tlieir  minds,  and  occu- 
pied the  industry  and  labour  of  their  bodies.  This 
change,  in  different  animals,  takes  place  at  differ- 
ent distances  of  time  from  the  birth :  but  the  time 
always  corresponds  with  the  ability  of  the  young 
animal  to  maintain  itself;  never  anticipates  it.  In 
the  sparrow  tribe,  when  it  is  perceived  that  the 
young  brood  can  fly,  and  shift  for  themselves,  then 
the  parents  forsake  them  for  ever ;  and,  though 
they  continue  to  live  together,  j)ay  them  no  more 
attention  than  they  do  to  other  birds  in  the  same  i 


flock.*     1  believe  the  same  thing  is  true  of  all  gre- 
garious quadrupeds. 

In  this  part  of  the  case,  the  variety  of  resources, 
expedients,  and  materials,  which  animals  of  the 
same  species  are  said  to  have  recourse  to,  under 
dirterent  circumstances,  and  when  differently  sup- 
plied, makes  nothing  against  the  doctrine  of  in- 
stincts. The  thing  which  we  want  to  account 
for,  is  the  propensity.  The  propensity  being  there, 
it  is  probable  enough  that  it  may  put  the  animal 
upon  different  actions,  according  to  difl'erent  exi- 
gencies. And  this  adaptation  of  resources  may 
look  like  the  effect  of  art  and  consideration,  rather 
than  of  instinct :  but  still  the  propensity  is  in- 
stinctive. For  instance,  suppose  what  is  related 
of  the  woodpecker  to  be  true,  that  in  Europe  she 
deposits  her  eggs  in  cavities,  which  she  scoops  out 
in  the  trunks  of  soft  or  decayed  trees,  and  in  which 
cavities  the  eggs  lie  concealed  from  the  eye,  and 
in  some  sort  safe  from  the  hand  of  man :  but  that 
in  the  forests  of  Guinea  and  the  Brazils,  which 
man  seldom  frequents,  the  same  bird  hangs  her 
nest  to  the  twigs  of  tall  trees ;  thereby  placing 
them  out  of  the  reach  of  monkeys  and  S7iakes ; 
i.  e.  that  in  each  situation  she  prepares  against 
the  danger  wliich  she  has  most  occasion  to  ap- 
prehend :  suppose,  I  say,  this  to  be  true,  and  to 
be  alleged,  on  the  part  of  the  bird  that  builds  these 
nests,  as  evidence  of  a  reasoning  and  distinguish- 
ing precaution ;  still  the  question  returns,  whence 
the  propensity  to  build  at  all  ? 

Nor  does  parental  afllction  accompany  genera- 
tion by  any  universal  law  of  animal  organiza- 
tion, if  such  a  thing  were  intel!igi!(le.  Some  ani- 
mals cherish  their  progeny  with  the  most  ardent 
fondness,  and  the  most  assiduous  attention  ;  others 
entirely  neglect  them :  and  this  distinction  always 
meets  the  constitution  of  the  young  animal,  with 
respect  to  its  wants  and  cajjacities.  In  many,  the 
parental  care  extends  to  the  young  animal ;  in 
others,  as  in  all  oviparous  fish,  it  is  confined  to 
the  egg,  and  even,  as  to  that,  to  the  disposal  of  it 
in  its  proper  element.  Also,  as  there  is  genera- 
tion without  parental  affection,  so  is  there  parental 
instinct,  or  what  exactly  resembles  it,  without 
generation.  In  the  bee  tribe,  the  gruli  is  nurtured 
neither  by  the  father  nor  the  mother,  but  by  the 
neutral  bee.  Probably  the  case  is  the  same  with 
ants. 

I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  theory  which  resolves 
instinct  into  sensation  ;  which  asserts,  that  what 
appears  to  liave  a  view  and  relation  to  the  future, 
is  the  result  only  of  the  present  disposition  of  the 
animal's  body,  and  of  jjleasure  or  pain  experienced 
at  the  time.  Thus  the  incubation  of  eggs  is  ac- 
counted for  by  the  pleasure  which  the  bird  is  sup 
posed  to  receive  from  the  pressure  of  the  smooth 
convex  surface  of  the  shells  against  the  abdomen, 
or  by  the  relief  which  the  mild  temperature  of 
the  egg  may  afford  to  the  heat  of  the  lower  pari 
of  the  body,  which  is  observed  at  this  time  to  be 
increased  beyond  its  usual  state.  This  present 
gratification  is  the  only  motive  with  the  hen  foi 
sitting  upon  her  nest;  the  hatching  of  the  chick- 
ens is,  with  respect  to  her,  an  accidental  conse 
quence.  The  affection  of  viviparous  animals  foi 
their  young  is,  in  like  manner,  solved  by  the  re 
lief,  and  perhaps  the  pleasure,  which  they  receive 
from  giving  suck.  The  young  animal's  seeking, 
in  so  many  instances,  the  teat  of  its  dam,  is  ex- 

*  Goldsmith's  Nat.  His.  vol.  iv.  p.  214. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


445 


plained  from  its  sense  of  smell,  which  is  attracted 
by  the  odour  of  milk.  The  salmon's  urging  its 
way  up  the  stream  of  fresh  water  rivers,  is  attri- 
buteil  to  some  gratification  or  refreshment,  which, 
in  this  particular  state  of  tlie  fish's  body,  she  re- 
( eives  from  the  change  of  element.  Now  of  this 
t  heory,  it  may  be  said. 

First,  that  of  the  cases  which  require  solution, 
there  are  few  to  which  it  can  be  applied  with  to- 
lerable probability  ;  that  there  are  none  to  which 
it  can  be  applied  without  strong  objections,  fur- 
nished by  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  The 
attention  of  the  cow  to  its  calf,  and  of  the  ewe  to 
its  lamb,  appear  to  be  prior  to  their  sucking.  The 
attraction  of  the  calf  or  lamb  to  the  teat  of  the 
dam,  is  not  explained  by  simply  referring  it  to  the 
sense  of  smell.  What  made  the  scent  of  milk  so 
agreeable  to  the  lamb,  that  it  should  follow  it  up 
with  its  nose,  or  seek  with  its  mouth  the  place 
from  which  it  proceeded  *?  No  observation,  no  ex- 
perience, no  argument,  could  teach  the  new  drop- 
ped animal,  that  the  substance  from  which  the 
scent  issued  was  the  material  of  its  food.  It  had 
never  tasted  milk  before  its  birth.  None  of  the 
animals  which  are  not  designed  for  that  nourish- 
ment, ever  offer  to  suck,  or  to  seek  out  any  such 
food.  What  is  the  conclusion,  but  that  the  su- 
gescent  parts  of  animals  are  fitted  for  their  use, 
and  the  knowledge  of  that  use  put  into  them  1 

We  assert,  secondly,  that,  even  as  to  the  cases 
in  which  the  hypothesis  has  the  fairest  claim  to 
consideration,  it  does  not  at  all  lessen  the  force  of 
the  argument  for  intention  and  design.  The  doc- 
trine of  instinct  is  that  of  appetencies,  superadded 
to  the  constitution  of  an  animal,  for  the  etfectu- 
ating  of  a  purpose  beneficial  to  the  species.  The 
above  stated  solution  would  derive  these  appeten- 
cies from  organization ;  but  then  this  organization 
is  not  less  specifically,  not  less  precisely,  and, 
therefore,  not  less  evidently,  adapted  to  the  same 
e'lds,  than  the  appetencies  themselves  would  be 
ujon  the  old  hypothesis.  In  this  wa}'^  of  consi- 
dermg  *he  subject,  sensation  supplies  the  place  of 
foresight :  but  this  is  the  effect  of  contrivance  on 
the  part  of  the  Creator.  Let  it  be  allowed,  for 
example,  that  the  hen  is  induced  to  brood  upon 
her  eggs  by  the  enjoyment  or  relief,  which,  in  the 
heated  state  of  her  abdomen,  she  experiences  from 
the  pressure  of  round  smooth  surfaces,  or  from 
the  application  of  a  temperate  warmth :  How 
comes  this  extraordinary  heat  or  itching,  or  call  it 
what  you  wtII,  which  you  suppose  to  be  the  cause 
of  the  bird's  inclination,  to  be  felt,  just  at  the  time 
when  the  inclination  itself  is  wanted ;  when  it 
tallies  so  exactly  with  the  internal  constitution  of 
the  egg,  and  with  the  help  which  that  constitution 
requires  in  order  to  bring  it  to  maturity  1  In  my 
opinion,  this  solution,  if  it  be  accepted  as  to  the 
fact,  ought  to  increase,  rather  than  otherwise,  our 
admiration  of  the  contrivance.  A  gardener  light- 
ing up  his  stoves,  just  when  he  wants  to  force  his 
fruit,  and  when  his  trees  require  the  heat,  gives 
not  a  more  certain  evidence  of  design.  So  again  ; 
when  a  male  and  female  sparrow  come  together, 
they  do  not  meet  to  confer  upon  the  expediency 
of  perpetuating  their  species.  As  an  abstract 
proposition,  they  care  not  the  value  of  a  barley- 
corn, whether  the  species  be  perpetuated,  or  not : 
they  follow  their  sensations ;  and  all  those  conse- 
quences ensue,  which  the  wisest  counsels  could 
have  dictated,  which  the  most  solicitous  care  of 
futurity,  which  the  most  anxious  concern  for  the 


sparrow  world,  ;ould  iiave  produced.  But  how 
do  these  consequences  ensue  ?  The  sensations,  and 
the  constitution  upon  which  they  depend,  are  as 
manifestly  directed  to  the  purpose  which  we  see 
fulfilled  by  them ;  and  the  train  of  intermediate 
effects,  as  manifestly  laid  and  planned  with  a  view  ' 
to  that  purpose :  that  is  to  say,  design  is  as  com- 
pletely evinced  by  the  phenomena,  as  it  would  be, 
even  if  we  supjjose  the  operations  to  begin,  or  to 
be  carried  on,  from  what  some  will  allow  to  be 
alone  properly  called  instincts,  that  is,  from  de- 
sires directed  to  a  future  enil,  and  having  no  ac- 
complishment or  gratification  distinct  from  the  at- 
tainment of  that  end. 

In  a  word  ;  I  should  say  to  the  patrons  of  this 
opinion.  Be  it  so :  be  it,  that  those  actions  of  ani- 
mals which  we  refer  to  instinct,  are  not  gone 
about  with  any  view  to  their  consequences,  but 
that  they  are  attended  in  the  animal  with  a  pre- 
sent gratification,  and  are  pursued  for  the  sake  of 
that  gratification  alone ;  what  does  all  this  prove, 
but  that  the  ]>rospection,  which  must  be  some- 
where, is  not  in  the  animal,  but  in  the  Creator  1 

In  treating  of  the  parental  affection  in  brutes, 
our  business  lies  rather  with  the  origin  of  the 
princi])le,  than  with  the  effects  and  expressions  of 
it.  Writers  recount  these  with  pleasure  and  ad- 
miration. The  conduct  of  many  kinds  of  animals 
towards  their  young,  has  escaped  no  observer,  no 
historian  of  nature.  "  How  will  they  caress 
them,"  says  Derham,  "with  their  affectionate 
notes  ;  lull  and  quiet  them  with  their  tender  pa- 
rental voice  ;  put  food  into  their  mouths  ;  cherish 
and  keep  them  warm  ;  teach  them  to  pick,  and  eat, 
and  gather  food  for  themselves  ;  and,  in  a  word, 
perform  the  part  of  so  many  nurses,  deputed  by 
the  Sovereign  Lord  and  Preserver  of  the  world, 
to  help  such  young  and  shiftless  creatures !" 
Neither  ought  it,  under  this  head,  to  be  forgotten, 
how  much  the  instinct  costs  the  animal  which 
feels  it ;  how  much  a  bird,  for  example,  gives  up, 
by  sitting  upon  her  nest ;  how  repugnant  it  is  to 
her  organization,  her  habits,  and  her  pleasures. 
An  animal,  formed  for  liberty,  submits  to  confine- 
ment, in  the  very  season  when  esery  thing  invites 
her  abroad :  what  is  more ;  an  animal  delighting 
in  motion,  made  for  motion,  all  whose  motions  are 
so  easy  and  so  free,  hardly  a  moment,  at  other 
times,  at  rest,  is,  for  many  hours  of  many  days 
together,  fixed  to  her  nest,  as  close  as  if  her  limbs 
were  tied  down  by  pins  and  wires.  For  my  part, 
I  never  see  a  bird  in  that  situation,  but  I  recog- 
nise an  invisible  hand,  detaining  the  contented 
prisoner  from  her  fields  and  groves,  for  the  pur- 
pose, as  the  event  proves,  the  most  worthy  of  the 
sacrifice,  the  most  important,  the  most  beneficial. 

But  the  loss  of  liberty  is  not  the  whole  of  what 
the  procreant  bird  suffers.  Harvey  tells  us,  that 
he  has  often  found  the  female  wasted  to  skin  and 
bone  by  sitting  upon  her  eggs. 

One  observation  more,  and  I  will  dismiss  the 
subject.  The  pairing  of  birds,  and  the  non- 
pairing  of  beasts,  forms  a  distinction  between  the 
two  classes,  which  shows,  that  the  conjugal  in- 
stinct is  modified  with  a  reference  to  utility 
founded  on  the  condition  of  the  offspring.  In 
quadrupeds,  the  young  animal  draws  its  nutri- 
ment from  the  body  of  the  dam.  The  male 
parent  neither  does  nor  can  contribute  any  part 
to  its  sustentation.  In  the  winged  race,  the  young 
bird  is  supplied  by  an  importation  of  food,  to  pro- 
cure and  bring  home  which  in  a  sufficient  quan- 
38 


446 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


tity  for  the  demand  of  a  numerous  brood,  requires 
the  industry  of  both  parents.  In  this  differenee,  we 
see  a  reason  for  the  vagrant  instinct  of  the  quadru- 
ued,  aad  for  the  faithful  love  of  the  feathered  mate. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Of  Insects. 

Wk  are  not  writing  a  system  of  natural  histo- 
ry ;  therefore  we  have  not  attended  to  the  classes, 
info  which  the  subjects  of  that  science  are  distri- 
buted. What  we  had  to  observe  concerning  dif- 
ferent species  of  animals,  fell  easily,  for  the  most 
part,  within  the  divisions  which  the  course  of  our 
argument  led  us  to  adopt.  There  remain,  how- 
ever, some  remarks  upon  the  insect  tribe,  which 
could  not  properly  be  introduced  under  any  of 
these  heads ;  and  which  therefore  we  have  col- 
lected into  a  chapter  by  themselves. 

The  structure,  and  the  use  of  the  parts,  of 
insects,  arc  less  understood  than  that  of  quadru- 
peds and  birds,  not  only  by  reason  of  their  mi- 
nuteness, or  the  minuteness  of  their  parts  (for 
that  minuteness  we  can,  in  some  measure,  follow 
with  glasses,)  but  also  by  reason  of  the  remote- 
ness of  their  manners  and  modes  of  life  I'roin 
those  of  larger  animals.  For  instance:  insects, 
under  all  their  varieties  of  form,  are  endowed  with 
antenna;,  which  is  the  name  given  to  those  lontf 
feelers  that  rise  from  each  side  of  the  head ;  Init 
to  what  common  use  or  want  of  the  insect 
kind,  a  provision  so  universal  is  subservient,  has 
not  yet  been  ascertained,  and  it  has  not  been 
ascertained,  because  it  admits  not  of  a  clear, 
or  very  probable,  comparison,  with  any  organs 
which  we  possess  ourselves,  or  with  the  organs 
of  animals  which  resemble  ourselves  in  their 
functions  and  faculties,  or  with  which  we  are 
better  acquainted,  than  we  are  with  insects.  We 
want  a  ground  of  analogy.  This  difficulty  stands 
in  our  way  as  to  some  particulars  in  the  insect 
constitution,  which  we  might  wish  to  be  acquaint- 
ed with.  Nevertheless,  there  are  many  contri- 
vances in  the  bodies  of  insects,  neither  dubious  in 
their  use,  nor  obscure  in  their  structure,  and  most 
pro{)('rly  mechanical.  These  form  parts  of  our 
argument. 

J.  The  elytra,  or  scaly  wings  of  the  genus  of 
scarabffius  or  beetle,  furnish  an  example  of  this 
kind.  The  true  wing  of  the  animal  is  a  light, 
transparent  membrane,  finer  than  the  finest 
gauze,  and  not  unlike  it.  It  is  also,  when  ex- 
panded, in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  animal, 
very  large.  In  order  to  protect  this  delicate  struc- 
ture, and,  perhaps,  also  to  preserve  it  in  a  due 
state  of  suppleness  and  humidity,  a  strong,  hard 
case  is  given  to  it,  in  the  shape  of  the  horny  wing 
which  we  call  the  elytron.  When  the  animal  is 
at  rest,  the  gauze  wings  lie  folded  up  under  this 
impenetrable  shield.  When  the  beetle  prepares 
for  flying,  he  raises  the  integument,  and  spreads 
out  his  thin  membrane  to  the  air.  And  it  cannot 
be  oljserved  without  admiration  what  a  tissue  of 
cordage,  i.  e.  of  muscular  tendons,  must  run  in 
various  and  complicated,  but  determinate  direc- 
tions, along  this  fine  surface,  in  order  to  enable 
the  animal,  either  to  gather  it  up  into  a  certain 
precise  form,  whenever  it  desires  to  place  its  wings 
mder  the  shelter  which  nature  hath  given  to 


them ;  or  to  expand  again  their  folds,  when  wanted 
for  action. 

In  some  insects,  the  elytra  cover  the  whole  body: 
in  others,  half;  in  others,  only  a  small  part  of  it ; 
but  in  all,  they  completely  hide  and  cover  the  true 
wings.     Also, 

Many  or  most  of  the  beetle  species  lodge  in 
holes  in  the  earth,  environed  by  hard,  rough  sub- 
stances, and  have  frequently  to  squeeze  their  way 
through  narrow  passages ;  in  which  situation, 
wings  so  tender,  and  so  large,  could  scarcely  have 
escajted  injury,  without  both  a  firm  covering  to 
defend  them,  and  the  capacity  of  collecting  them 
selves  up  under  its  protection. 

II.  Another  contrivance,  equally  mechanical, 
and  equally  clear,  is  the  awl,  or  borer,  fixed  at  the 
tails  of  various  species  of  flies  ;  and  with  which 
they  pierce,  in  some  cases,  plants  ;  in  others, 
wood  ;  in  others,  the  skin  and  flesh  of  animals ; 
in  others,  the  coat  of  the  chrysalis  of  insects  of  a 
diflerent  species  from  their  own  ;  and  in  others, 
even  hme,  mortar,  and  stone.  I  need  not  add, 
that  having  pierced  the  substance,  they  deposit 
their  eggs  in  the  hole.  The  descriptions  which 
naturalists  give  of  this  organ,  are  such  as  the  fol- 
lowing :  It  is  a  sharp-pointed  instrument,  which, 
in  its  inactive  state,  lies  concealed  in  the  extremi- 
ty of  the  abdomen,  and  which  the  animal  draws 
out  at  pleasure,  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  jjunc- 
ture  in  the  leaves,  stem,  or  bark,  of  the  particular 
plant  which  is  suited  to  the  nourishment  of  its 
young.  In  a  sheath,  which  divides  and  opens 
whenever  the  organ  is  used,  there  is  enclosed  a 
compact,  solid,  dendated  stem,  along  which  runs 
a  gutter  or  groove,  by  which  groove,  after  the 
]jenetration  is  eflected,  the  egg,  assisted,  in  some 
cases  by  a  peristaltic  motion,  passes  to  its  destined 
lodgement.  In  the  oestrum  or  gad-fly,  the  wimble 
draws  out  like  the  pieces  of  a  spy-glass  ;  the  last 
piece  is  armed  with  three  hooks,  and  is  able  to 
bore  through  the  hide  of  an  ox.  Can  any  thing 
more  be  necessary  to  display  the  mechanism,  than 
to  relate  the  fact  1 

III.  The  stings  of  insects,  though  for  a  diffe- 
rent purpose,  are,  in  their  structure,  not  unhke 
the  piercer.  The  sharpness  to  which  the  point  in 
all  of  them  is  wrought;  the  temper  and  firmness 
of  the  substance  of  which  it  is  composed ;  the 
strength  of  the  muscles  by  which  it  is  darted  out, 
compared  with  the  smallness  and  weakness  of 
the  insect,  and  with  the  soft  and  friable  texture  of 
the  rest  of  the  body,  are  properties  of  the  sting  to 
be  noticed,  and  not  a  little  to  be  admired.  The 
.sting  of  a  bee  will  pierce  through  a  goat-skin  glove. 
It  penetrates  the  human  flesh  more  readily  than 
the  finest  point  of  a  needle.  The  action  of  the 
sting  affords  an  example  of  the  union  ofchymistry 
and  mechanism,  such  as,  if  it  be  not  a  proof  of 
contrivance,  nothing  is.  First,  as  to  the  chy- 
mistry;  how  highly  concentrated  must  be  the 
venom,  which,  in  so  small  a  quantity,  can  produce 
such  powerful  effects  !  And  in  the  bee  we  may 
observe,  that  this  venom  is  made  from  honey,  the 
only  food  of  the  insect,  but  the  last  material  from 
which  I  should  have  expected  that  an  exalted 
poison  could,  by  any  process  or  digestion  whatso- 
ever, have  been  prepared.  In  the  next  place, 
with  respect  to  the  mechanism,  the  sting  is  not  a 
simple,  but  a  comiround  instrument.  The  visible 
sting,  though  drawn  to  a  point  exquisitely  sharp, 
is  in  strictness  only  a  sheath ;  for,  near  to  the 
extremity,  may  be  perceived  by  the  microscope 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


447 


two  minute  orifices,  from  which  orifices,  in  the 
act  of  stinging,  and,  as  it  should  seem,  after  the 
point  of  tlie  main  sting  has  buried  itself  in  the 
flesli,  are  launched  out  two  subtile  rays,  which 
may  he  called  the  true  or  proper  stings,  as  being 
those  through  which  the  poison  is  infused  into 
the  puncture  already  made  by  the  exterior  sting. 
I  have  said  that  chymistry  and  mechanism  are 
here  united :  by  which  observation  I  meant,  that 
all  this  machinery  would  have  been  useless,  tehtm 
imbelle,  if  a  supply  of  poison,  intense  in  quality, 
in  proportion  to  the  smallness  of  the  drop,  had 
not  been  furnished  to  it  by  the  chymical  elaboration 
which  was  carried  on  in  the  insect's  body ;  and 
that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  poison,  the  result  of 
this  process,  could  not  have  attained  its  effect,  or 
reached  its  enem}'^,  if,  when  it  was  collected  at  the 
extremity  of  the  abdomen,  it  had  not  found  there 
a  machinery,  fitted  to  conduct  it  to  the  external 
situations  in  which  it  was  to  operate,  viz.  an  awl 
to  bore  a  hole,  and  a  syringe  to  inject  the  fluid. 
Yet  these  attributes,  though  combined  in  their 
action,  are  independent  in  their  origin.  The 
venom  does  not  breed  the  sting ;  nor  does  the 
stmg  concoct  the  venom. 

IV.  The  proboscis,  with  which  many  insects  are 
endowed,  comes  next  in  order  to  be  considered.  It 
is  a  tube  attached  to  the  head  of  the  animal.  In 
the  bee,  it  is  composed  of  two  pieces,  connected 
by  a  joint;  for,  if  it  were  constantly  extended,  it 
would  be  too  much  exposed  to  accidental  injuries ; 
therefore,  in  its  indolent  state,  it  is  doubled  up  by 
means  of  the  joint,  and  in  that  position  lies  se- 
cure under  a  scaly  penthouse.  In  many  species 
of  the  butterfly,  the  proboscis,  when  not  in  use,  is 
coiled  up  like  a  watch-spring.  In  the  same  bee, 
the  proboscis  serves  the  oflice  of  the  mouth,  the 
insect  having  no  other:  and  how  much  better 
adapted  it  is,  than  a  mouth  would  be,  for  the  col- 
lecting of  the  proper  nourishment  of  the  animal, 
is  sufficiently  evident.  The  food  of  the  bee  is  the 
nectar  of  flowers;  a  drop  of  syrup,  lodged  deep  in 
the  bottom  of  the  corolla,  in  the  recesses  of  the 

fetals,  or  down  the  neck  of  a  monopctalous  glove, 
nto  these  ceils  the  bee  thrusts  its  long  narrow 
pump,  through  the  cavity  of  which  it  sucks  up 
this  precious  fluid,  inaccessible  to  every  other  ap- 
proach. It  is  observable  also,  that  the  plant  is  not 
the  worse  for  what  the  bee  does  to  it.  The  harm- 
less plunderer  rifles  the  sweets,  but  leaves  the 
flower  uninjured.  The  ringlets  of  which  the 
proboscis  of  the  bee  is  composed,  the  muscles  by 
which  it  is  extended  and  contracted,  form  so  many 
microscopical  wonders.  The  agility  also  with 
which  it  is  moved,  can  hardly  fail  to  excite  admi- 
ration. But  it  is  enough  for  our  purpose  to  observe, 
in  general,  the  suitableness  of  the  structure  to  the 
use,  of  the  means  to  the  end,  and  especially  the 
wisdom  by  which  nature  has  departed  from  its 
most  general  analogy  (for,  animals  being  furnish- 
ed with  mouths  are  such,)  when  the  purpose 
could  be  better  answered  by  the  deviation. 

In  some  insects,  the  proboscis,  or  tongue,  or 
trunk,  is  shut  up  in  a  sharp-pointed  sheath  :  which 
sheath,  being  of  a  much  firmer  texture  than  tiie 
proboscis  itself,  as  well  as  sharpened  at  the  point, 
pierces  the  substance  which  contains  the  food, 
and  then  opens  within  the  wound,  to  allow  the 
enclosed  tube,  through  which  the  juice  is  extract- 
ed, to  perform  its  office.  Can  any  mechanism  be 
\lainer  than  this  is  ;  or  surpass  this  1 

V.  The  metamorphosis  of  insects  from  grubs 


into  moths  and  flies,  is  an  astonishing  process.  A 
hairy  caterpillar  is  transformed  into  a  butterfly. 
Observe  the  change.  We  have  four  beautiful 
wings,  where  there  were  none  before ;  a  tubular 
proboscis,  in  the  place  of  a  mouth  with  jaws  and 
teeth ;  six  long  legs,  instead  of  fourteen  feet.  In 
another  case,  we  see  a  white,  smooth,  soft  worm, 
turned  into  a  black,  hard,  crustaceous  beetle,  with 
gauze  wings.  These,  as  I  said,  are  astonishing 
procesises,  and  must  require,  as  it  should  seem,  a 
proportionably  artificial  apparatus.  The  hypo- 
thesis which  appears  to  me  most  probable  is,  that, 
in  the  grub,  there  exist  at  the  same  time  three 
animals,  one  within  another,  all  nourished  by  the 
same  digestion,  and  by  a  communicating  circula- 
tion ;  but  in  different  stages  of  maturity.  The 
latest  discoveries  made  by  naturalists,  seem  to  fa- 
vour this  supposition.  The  insect  already  equip- 
ped with  wings,  is  described  under  the  mem- 
branes both  of  the  worm  and  nymph.  In  some 
species,  the  proboscis,  the  antenna;,  the  limbs, 
and  wings,  of  the  fly,  have  been  observed  to  be 
folded  up  within  the  body  of  the  caterpillar  ;  and 
with  such  nicety  as  to  occupy  a  small  space  only 
under  the  two  first  wings.  This  being  so,  the 
outermost  animal,  which,  besides  its  own  jiroper 
character,  serves  as  an  integument  to  the  other 
two,  being  the  farthest  advanced,  dies,  as  we  sup- 
pose, and  drops  off  first.  The  second,  the  pupa, 
or  chrysalis,  then  offers  itself  to  observation.  This 
also,  in  its  turn,  dies;  its  dead  and  brittle  husk 
falls  to  pieces,  and  makes  way  for  the  appearance 
of  the  fly  or  moth.  Now,  if  this  be  the  case,  or 
indeed  whatever  explication  be  adopted,  we  have 
a  prospective  contrivance  of  the  most  curious  kind : 
we  have  orcrnnizations  three  deep ;  yet  a  vascular 
system,  whfch  supplies  nutrition,  growth,  and  life, 
to  all  of  them  together. 

VI.  Almost  all  insects  are  oviparous.  Nature 
keeps  her  butterflies,  moths,  and  caterpillars,  lock- 
ed up  during  the  winter  in  their  egg  state  ;  and 
we  have  to  admire  the  various  devices  to  which,  if 
we  may  so  speak,  the  same  nature  hath  resorted, 
for  the  security  of  the  egg.  Many  insects  enclose 
their  eggs  in  a  silken  web;  others  cover  their 
with  a  coat  of  hair,  torn  from  their  ov/n  bodies ; 
some  glue  them  together;  and  others,  like  the 
moth  of  the  silkworm,  glue  them  to  the  leaves 
upon  which  they  are  deposited,  that  they  may  not 
be  shaken  oft'  by  the  wind,  or  washed  away  by 
rain :  some  again  make  incisions  into  leaves,  and 
hide  an  egg  in  each  incision ;  whilst  some  envelop 
their  eggs  with  a  soft  substance,  which  fonns  the 
first  aliment  of  the  young  animal :  and  some  again 
make  a  hole  in  the  earth,  and,  having  stored  it 
with  a  quantity  of  proper  food,  deposit  their  eggs 
in  it.  In  all  which  we  are  to  observe,  that  the  ex- 
pedient depends,  not  so  much  upon  the  address  of 
the  animal,  as  upon  the  physical  resources  of  his 
constitution. 

The  art  also  with  which  the  young  insect  is 
coiled  up  in  the  egg,  presents,  where  it  can  he 
examined,  a  subject  of  great  curiosity.  The  in- 
sect, furnished  with  all  the  members  which  it 
ought  to  have,  is  rolled  up  into  a  form  which 
seems  to  contract  it  into  the  least  possible  space ; 
by  which  contraction,  notwithstanding  the  small- 
ness of  the  egg,  it  has  room  enough  in  its  apart- 
ment, and  to  spare.  This  folding  of  the  hmbs 
appears  to  me  to  indicate  a  special  directit  i ;  for, 
if  it  were  merely  the  effect  of  compression,  the 
collocation  of  the  parts  would  be  more  various 


448 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


than  it  is.     In  the  same  species,  I  believe,  it  is 
always  the  same. 

These  observations  belong  to  the  whole  insect 
tribe,  or  to  a  great  part  of  them.  Other  observ- 
ations are  limited  to  a  fewer  species ;  but  not,  per- 
haps, less  important  or  satisfactory. 

1.  The  organization  in  the  abdomen  of  the  silk- 
worm, or  spider,  whereby  these  insects  form 
their  thread,  is  as  incontestably  mechanical  as  a 
wire-drawer's  mill.  In  the  body  of  the  silkworm 
are  two  bags,  remarkable  for  their  form,  position, 
and  use.  They  wind  round  the  intestine;  when 
drawn  out,  they  are  ten  inches  in  length,  though 
the  animal  itself  be  only  two.  Within  these  bags, 
is  collected  a  glue ;  and  communicating  with  the 
bags,  are  two  paps  or  outlets,  perforated,  like  a 
grater,  by  a  number  of  small  holes.  The  glue  or 
gum,  being  passed  through  these  minute  apertures, 
tbrms  hairs  of  almost  imperceptible  fineness  ;  and 
these  hairs,  when  joined,  compose  the  silk  which 
we  wind  off  from  the  cone,  in  which  the  silkworm 
has  wrapped  itself  up  :  in  the  spider,  the  web  is 
formed  from  this  thread.  In  both  cases,  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  thread,  by  means  of  its  adhesive 
quality,  is  first  attached  by  the  animal  to  some 
external  hold ;  and  the  end  being  now  fastened  to 
a  point,  the  insect,  by  turning  round  its  body,  or 
by  receding  from  that  point,  draws  out  the  thread 
through  the  holes  above  described,  by  an  opera- 
tion, as  hath  been  observed,  exactly  similar  to  the 
drawing  of  a  wire.  The  thread,  like  the  wire,  is 
formed  by  the  hole  through  which  it  passes.  In 
one  respect  there  is  a  diflerence.  The  wire  is  the 
metal  unaltered,  except  in  figure.  In  the  annual 
process,  the  nature  of  the  substance  is  somewhat 
changed,  as  well  as  the  form ;  for,  as  it  exists 
within  the  insect,  it  is  a  soft,  clammy  gum,  or 
glue.  The  thread  acquires,  it  is  probable,  its 
firmness  and  tenacity  from  the  action  of  the  air 
upon  its  surface,  in  the  moment  of  exposure ;  and 
a  thread  so  fine  is  almost  all  surface.  This 
property,  however,  of  the  paste,  is  part  of  the  con- 
trivance. 

The  mechanism  itself  consists  of  the  bags,  or 
reservoirs,  into  which  the  glue  is  collected,  and  of 
the  external  holes  communicating  with  these  bags : 
and  the  action  of  the  machine  is  seen,  in  the  form- 
ing of  a  thread,  as  wire  is  formed,  by  forcing  the 
material  already  prepared  through  holes  of  proper 
dimensions.  The  secretion  is  an  act  too  subtile 
for  our  discernment,  except  as  we  perceive  it  by 
the  produce.  But  one  thing  answers  to  another; 
the  secretory  glands  to  the  quality  and  consistence 
required  in  the  secreted  substance ;  the  bag  to  its 
reception:  the  outlets  arid  orifices  are  constructed, 
not  merely  for  relieving  the  reservoirs  of  their 
burden,  but  for  manufacturing  the  contents  into 
a  form  and  texture,  of  great  external  use,  or  rather 
indeed  of  future  necessity,  to  the  life  and  func- 
tions of  the  in.sect. 

II.  Bees,  under  one  character  or  other,  have 
furnished  every  naturalist  with  a  set  of  observa- 
tions. I  shall,  in  this  place,  confine  myself  to  one ; 
and  that  is  the  relation  which  obtains  between 
the  wax  and  the  honey.  No  person,  who  has  in- 
spected a  bee-hive,  can  forbear  remarking  how 
commodiously  the  honey  is  bestowed  in  the  comb ; 
and,  amongst  other  advantages,  how  effectually 
the  fermentation  of  the  honey  is  prevented  by  dis- 
tributing it  into  small  cells.  The  fact  is,  that  when 
the  honey  is  separated  from  the  comb,  and  put 
'nto  jars,  it  runs  into  fermentation,  with  a  much 


less  degree  of  heat  than  what  takes  p.ace  in  a 
hive.  This  may  be  reckoned  a  nicety :  but  inde- 
pendently of  any  nicety  in  the  matter,  I  would 
ask,  what  could  the  bee  do  with  the  honey,  if  it 
had  not  the  wax  1  how,  at  least,  could  it  store  it 
up  for  winter  1  The  wax,  therefore,  answers  a 
purpose  with  respect  to  the  honey ;  and  the  honey 
constitutes  that  purpose  with  respect  to  the  wax. 
This  is  the  relation  between  them.  But  the  two 
substances,  though,  together,  of  the  greatest  use, 
and,  without  each  other,  of  little,  come  from  a  dif- 
ferent origin.  The  bee  finds  the  honey,  but  makes 
the  wax.  The  honey  is  lodged  in  the  nectaria  of 
flowers,  and  probably  undergoes  little  alteration ; 
is  merely  collected  :  whereas  the  wax  is  a  ductile, 
tenacious  paste,  made  out  of  a  dry  powder,  not 
simply  by  kneading  it  with  a  liquid,  but  by  a  di- 
gestive process  in  the  body  of  the  bee.  What  ac- 
count can  be  rendered  of  facts  so  circumstanced, 
but  that  the  animal,  being  intended  to  feed  upon 
honey,  was,  by  a  peculiar  external  configuration, 
enabled  to  procure  it  1  That,  moreover,  wanting 
the  honey  when  it  could  not  be  procured  at  all,  it 
was  farther  endued  with  the  no  less  necessary  fa- 
culty of  constructing  repositories  for  its  preserva 
tion "?  Y7hich  faculty,  it  is  evident,  must  depend, 
primarily,  upon  the  capacity  of  providing  suitable 
materials.  Two  distinct  functions  go  to  make  up 
the  ability.  First,  the  power  in  the  bee,  with  re- 
spect to  wax,  of  loading  the  farina  of  flowers  upon 
its  thighs.  Microscopic  observers  speak  of  the 
spoon-shaped  appendages  with  which  the  thighs 
of  bees  are  beset  for  this  very  purpose  ;  but,  in  as 
much  as  the  art  and  will  of  the  bee  may  be  sup- 
posed to  be  concerned  in  this  operation,  there  is, 
secondly,  that  which  doth  not  rest  in  art  or  will, 
— a  digestive  faculty  which  converts  the  loose 
powder  into  a  stiff  substance.  This  is  a  just  ac- 
count of  the  honey,  and  the  honey-comb ;  and 
this  account,  through  every  part,  carries  a  creative 
intelligence  along  with  it. 

The  sting  also  of  the  bee  has  this  relation  to 
the  honey,  that  it  is  necessary  for  the  })rotection 
of  a  treasure  which  invites  so  many  robbers. 

III.  Our  business  is  with  mechanism.  In  the 
panorpa  tribe  of  insects,  there  is  a  forceps  in  the 
tail  of  the  male  insect,  with  which  he  catches  and 
holds  the  female.  Are  a  pair  of  pincers  more  me- 
chanical than  this  provision  in  its  structure  1  or  is 
any  structure  more  clear  and  certain  in  its  design "? 

IV.  St.  Pierre  tells  us,*  that  in  a  fly  with  six 
feet,  (I  do  not  remember  that  he  describes  the  spe- 
cies,) the  pair  next  the  head  and  the  pair  next  the 
tail,  have  brushes  at  their  extremities,  with  which 
the  fly  dresses,  as  there  may  be  occasion,  the  an- 
terior or  the  posterior  part  of  its  body ;  but  that 
the  middle  pair  have  no  such  brushes,  the  situa- 
tion of  these  legs  not  admitting  of  the  brushes, 
if  they  were  there,  being  converted  to  the  same 
use.    This  is  a  very  exact  mechanical  distinction. 

V.  If  the  reader,  looking  to  our  distributions  of 
science,  wish  to  contemplate  the  chymistry,  as 
well  as  the  mechanism,  of  nature,  the  insect  cre- 
ation will  afford  him  an  example.  I  refer  to  the 
light  in  the  tail  of  a  gloxB-xcorm.  Two  points 
seem  to  be  agreed  upon  by  naturalists  concerning 
it;  first,  that  it  is  phosphoric;  secondly,  that  its 
use  is  to  attract  the  male  insect.  The  only  thing 
to  be  inquired  after,  is  the  singularity,  if  any  such 
there  be,  in  the  natural  history  of  this  animal, 


*  Vol.  i.  p.  342. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


449 


which  should  render  a  provision  of  this  kind  more 
necessary  for  it,  than  for  other  insects.  That  sin- 
gularity seems  to  be  the  (hflerence  which  subsists 
between  the  male  and  the  female;  which  dillbr- 
ence  is  greater  than  what  we  find  in  any  other 
species  of  animal  whatev  er.  The  glow-worm  is  a 
female  caterpillar ;  the  male  of  which  is  a.Jiy; 
lively,  comparatively  small,  dissimilar  to  the  fe- 
male in  appearance,  probably  also  as  distinguish- 
ed from  her  in  habits,  pursuits,  and  manners,  as 
he  is  unlike  in  fonn  and  external  constitution. 
Here  then  is  the  adversity  of  the  case.  The  cater- 
pillar cannot  meet  her  companion  in  the  air.  The 
winged  rover  disdains  the  ground.  They  might 
never,  therefore,  be  brought  together,  did  not  this 
radiant  torch  direct  the  volatile  mate  to  his  seden- 
tary female. 

In  this  example,  we  also  see  the  resources  of 
art  anticipated.  One  grand  operation  of  chyniis- 
try  is  the  making  of  phosphorus :  and  it  was 
thought  an  ingenious  device,  to  make  phosphoric 
matclics  supply  the  place  of  lighted  tapers.  Now 
this  very  thing  is  done  in  the  body  of  the  glow- 
worm. The  phosphorus  is  not  only  made,  but 
kindled;  and  caused  to  emit  a  steady  and  genial 
beam,  for  the  purpose  which  is  here  stated,  and 
which  I  believe  to  be  the  true  one. 

VI.  Nor  is  the  last  the  only  instance  that  en- 
tomology affords,  in  which  our  discoveries,  or  ra- 
ther our  projects,  turn  out  to  be  imitations  of  na- 
ture. Some  years  ago,  a  plan  was  suggested,  of 
producing  propulsion  by  reaction  in  this  way ;  by 
the  force  of  a  steam-engine,  a  stream  of  water  was 
to  be  shot  out  of  the  stern  of  a  boat ;  the  impulse 
of  which  stream  upon  the  water  in  the  river,  was 
to  push  the  boat  itself  forward ;  it  is,  in  truth,  the 
principle  by  which  sky-rockets  ascend  in  the  air. 
Of  the  use  or  practicabihty  of  the  plan,  I  am  not 
speaking ;  nor  is  it  my  concern  to  praise  its  inge- 
nuity :  but  it  is  certainly  a  contrivance.  Now,  if 
naturalists  are  to  be  believed,  it  is  exactly  the  de- 
vice which  nature  has  made  use  of,  for  the  motion 
of  some  species  of  aquatic  insects.  The  larva  of 
the  dragon-Jly,  according  to  Adams,  svyims  by 
ejecting  water  from  its  tail ;  is  driven  forward  by 
the  reaction  of  water  in  the  pool  upon  the  current 
issuing  in  a  direction  backward  from  its  body. 

VII.  Again :  Europe  has  lately  been  surprised 
by  the  elevation  of  bodies  in  the  air  by  means  of 
a  balloon.  The  discovery  consisted  in  finding  out 
a  manageable  substance,  which  was,  bulk  for  bulk, 
lighter  than  air;  and  the  application  of  the  disco- 
very was,  to  make  a  body  composed  of  this  sub- 
stance bear  up,  along  with  its  own  weight,  some 
heavier  body  which  was  attached  to  it.  This  ex- 
pedient, so  new  to  us,  proves  to  be  no  other  than 
what  the  Author  of  nature  has  employed  in  the 
gossamer  spider.  We  frequently  see  this  spider's 
thread  floating  in  the  air,  and  extended  from 
hedge  to  hedge  across  a  road  or  brook  of  four  or 
five  yards  width.  The  animal  which  forms  the 
thread,  has  no  v/ings  wherewith  to  fly  from  one 
extremity  to  the  other  of  this  line ;  nor  muscles  to 
enable  it  to  spring  or  dart  to  so  great  a  distance : 
yet  its  Creator  hath  laid  for  it  a  path  in  the  atmo- 
sphere ;  and  after  this  manner.  Though  the  ani- 
mal itself  be  heavier  than  air,  the  thread  which 
it  spins  from  its  bowels  is  specifically  lighter. 
This  is  its  balloon.  The  sjuder,  left  to  itself, 
would  drop  to  the  ground;  but  being  tied  to  its 
thread,  both  are  supported.  We  have  here  a  very 
peculiar  provision :  and  to  a  contemplative  eye  it 


is  a  gratifying  spectacle,  to  see  this  insect  wafted 
on  her  thread,  sustained  by  a  levity  not  her  own, 
and  traversing  regions,  which,  if  we  examined 
only  the  body  of  tlie  animal,  might  seem  to  have 
been  forbidden  to  its  nature. 


I  MUST  now  crave  the  reader's  permission  to 
introduce  into  this  place,  for  want  of  a  better,  an 
observation  or  two  upon  the  tribe  of  animals,  whe- 
ther belonging  to  land  or  water,  which  are  covered 
by  shells. 

I.  The  shells  of  snails  are  a  wonderful,  a  me- 
chanical, and,  if  one  might  so  speak  concerning 
the  works  of  nature,  an  original  contrivance. 
Other  animals  have  their  proper  retreats,  their 
hybernacula  also,  or  winter-quarters,  but  the  snail 
carries  these  about  with  him.  He  travels  with 
his  tent ;  and  this  tent,  though,  as  was  necessary, 
both  light  and  thin,  is  completely  impervious 
either  to  moisture  or  air.  The  young  snail  comes 
out  of  its  egg  with  the  shell  upon  its  back  ;  and 
the  gradual  enlargement  which  the  shell  receives, 
is  derived  from  the  slime  excreted  by  the  animal's 
skin.  Now  the  aptness  of  this  excretion  to  the 
purpose,  its  property  of  hardening  into  a  sliell, 
and  the  action,  whatever  it  be,  of  the  animal, 
whereby  it  avails  itself  of  its  gifts,  and  of  the  con- 
stitution of  its  glands,  (to  say  nothuig  of  the  work 
being  commenced  before  the  animal  is  born,)  are 
things  which  can,  with  no  probability,  be  referred 
to  any  other  cause  than  to  express  design ;  and 
that  not  on  the  part  of  the  animal  alone,  in  which 
design,  though  it  might  build  the  house,  could 
not  have  supplied  the  material.  The  will  of  the 
animal  could  not  determine  the  quahty  of  the  ex- 
cretion. Add  to  which,  that  the  shell  of  a  snail, 
with  its  pillar  and  convolution,  is  a  very  artificial 
fabric;  whilst  a  snail,  as  it  should  seem,  is  the 
most  numb  and  unprovided  of  all  artificers.  In  the 
midst  of  variet)^,  there  is  likewise  a  regularity, 
wiiich  w^ould  hardly  be  expected.  In  the  same 
species  of  snail,  the  number  of  turns  is  usually,  if 
not  always,  the  same.  The  sealing  up  of  the 
mouth  of  the  shell  by  the  snail,  is  also  well  calcu- 
lated for  its  warmth  and  security ;  but  the  cerate 
is  not  of  the  samejiubstance  with  the  shell. 

II.  Much  of  what  has  been  observed  of  snails, 
belongs  to  shell-Jish,  and  their  shells,  particularly 
to  those  of  the  univalve  kind ;  with  the  addition 
of  two  remarks :  one  of  which  is  upon  the  great 
strength  and  hardness  of  most  of  these  shells.  I  do 
not  know  whether,  the  weight  being  given,  art  can 
produce  so  strong  a  case  as  are  some  of  these 
shells.  Wliich  defensive  strength  suits  well  with 
the  life  of  an  animal,  that  has  often  to  sustain  the 
dangers  of  a  stormy  element,  and  a  rocky  bottom, 
as  well  as  the  attacks  of  voracious  fish.  The 
other  remark  is,  upon  the  property,  m  the  animal 
excretion,  not  only  of  congealing,  but  of  congeal- 
ing, or,  as  a  builder  would  call  it,  setiing  in  water, 
and  into  a  cretaceous  substance,  firm  and  hard. 
This  property  is  much  more  extraordinary,  and, 
chymically  speaking,  more  specific,  than  that  of 
hardening  in  tiie  air ,  which  may  be  reckoned  a 
kind  of  exsiccation,  hke  the  drying  of  clay  iiito 
bricks. 

III.  In  the  bivahe  order  of  shell-fish,  cockles 
muscles,  oysters,  &c.  what  contrivance  can  be  so 
simple  or  so  clear,  as  the  insertion,  at  the  back,  of 
a  tough  tendinous  substance,  that  becomes  at 
once  the  ligament  which  binds  the  two   sheik 

38* 


450 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


together,  and  the  hinge  upon  wliich  they  open 
and  shut  1 

IV.  The  shell  of  a  lobster's  tail,  in  its  articula- 
tions and  overlappings,  represents  the  jointed 
p.irt  of  a  coat  of  mail ;  or  rather,  which  I  believe 
to  be  the  truth,  a  coat  of  mail  is  an  imitation  of  a 
lobster's  shell.  The  same  end  is  to  be  answered 
by  both ;  the  same  properties,  therefore,  are  re- 
quired in  both,  namely,  hardness  and  flexibility, 
a  covering  which  may  guard  the  part  without 
obstructing  its  motion.  For  this  double  purpose, 
the  art  of  man,  expressly  exercised  upon  the  sub- 
ject, has  not  been  able  to  devise  any  thing  better 
than  what  nature  presents  to  his  observation.  Is 
not  tliis  therefore  mechanism,  which  the  mechanic, 
having  a  similar  purpose  in  view,  adopts.  Is 
the  structure  of  a  coat  of  mail  to  be  referred  to 
art  1  Is  the  same  structure  of  the  lobster,  con- 
ducing to  the  same  use,  to  be  referred  to  any  thing 
less  tiian  art  1 

Some,  who  may  acknowledge  the  imitation, 
and  assent  to  the  inference  which  we  draw  from 
it,  in  the  instance  before  us,  may  be  disposed, 
possibly,  to  ask,  why  such  imitations  are  not  more 
frequent  than  they  are,  if  it  be  true,  as  we  allege, 
that  the  same  principle  of  intelligence,  design, 
and  mechanical  contrivance  was  exerted  in  the 
formation  of  natural  bodies,  as  we  employ  in  the 
making  of  the  various  instruments  by  which  our 
purposes  are  served  1  The  answers  to  this  ques- 
tion are,  first,  that  it  seldom  happens,  that  pre- 
cisely the  same  purpose,  and  no  other,  is  pursued 
in  any  work  which  we  compare,  of  nature  and  of 
art;  secondly,  that  it  still  more  seldom  happens, 
that  we  can  imitate  nature,  if  we  would.  Our 
materials  and  our  workmanship  are  equally  defi- 
cient. Springs  and  wires,  and  cork  and  leather, 
produce  a  poor  substitute  for  an  arm  or  a  hand. 
In  the  example  which  we  have  selected,  I  mean 
a  lobster's  shell  compared  with  a  coat  of  mail, 
these  difficulties  stand  less  in  the  way,  than  in 
almost  any  other  that  can  be  assigned :  and  the 
consequence  is,  as  we  have  seen,  that  art  gladly 
borrows  from  nature  her  contrivance,  and  imitates 
it  closely. 


But  to  return  to  insects.  I  think  it  is  in  this 
class  of  animals  above  all  others,  especially  when 
we  take  in  the  multitude  of  species  which  the 
microscope  discovers,  that  we  are  struck  with 
what  Cicero  has  called  "  the  insatiable  variety  of 
nature."  There  are  said  to  be  six  thousand 
species  of  flies ;  seven  hundred  and  sixty  butter- 
flies ;  each  diflferent  from  all  the  rest.  (St.  Pierre.) 
The  same  writer  tells  us,  from  his  own  observa- 
tion, that  thirty-seven  species  of  winged  insects, 
with  distinctions  well  expressed,  visited  a  single 
strawberry-plant  in  the  course  of  three  weeks.* 
Ray  observed,  within  the  compass  of  a  mile  or 
two  of  his  own  house,  two  hundred  kinds  of  but- 
terflies, nocturnal  and  diurnal.  He  likewise, 
asserts,  but,  I  think,  without  any  grounds  of 
exact  computation,  that  the  number  of  species  of 
insects,  reckoning  all  sorts  of  them,  may  not  be 
short  of  ten  thousand.!  And  in  this  vast  variety 
of  animal  forms  (for  the  observation  is  not  con- 
fined to  insects,  though  more  applicable  perhaps 
to  them  than  to  any  other  class,)  we  are  some- 
times led  to  take  notice  of  the  different  methods, 


♦  Vol.  i.  p.  3. 


t  Wisd.ofGod,  p.  23. 


or  rather  of  the  studiously  diversified  methods,  by 
which  one  and  the  same  purpose  is  attained.  In 
the  article  of  breathing,  for  example,  which  was 
to  be  provided  for  in  some  way  or  other,  besides 
the  ordinary  varieties  of  lungs,  gills,  and  breath- 
ing holes  (for  insects  in  general  respire,  not  by 
the  mouth,  but  through  holes  in  the  sides,)  the 
nympha;  of  gnats  have  an  apparatus  to  raise  their 
backs  to  the  top  of  the  water,  and  so  take  breath. 
The  hydrocanthari  do  the  like  by  thrusting  their 
tails  out  of  the  water.*  The  maggot  of  the  eruca 
labra  has  a  long  tail,  one  part  sheathed  within 
another  (but  which  it  can  draw  out  at  pleasure,) 
with  a  starry-tuft  at  the  end,  by  which  tuft, 
when  expanded  upon  the  surface,  the  insect  both 
supports  itself  in  the  water  and  draws  in  the  air 
which  is  necessary.  In  the  article  of  natural 
clothing,  we  have  the  skins  of  animals  invested 
with  scales,  hair,  feathers,  mucus,  froth ;  or  it- 
self turned  into  a  shell  or  crust :  in  the  no  less 
necessary  article  of  oflence  and  defence,  we  have 
teeth,  talons,  beaks,  horns,  stings,  prickles,  with 
(the  most  singular  expedient  for  the  same  purpose) 
the  power  of  giving  the  electric  shock,  and,  as  is 
credibly  related  of  some  animals,  of  driving  away 
their  pursuers  by  an  intolerable  fetor,  or  of  black- 
ening the  water  through  which  they  are  pursued. 
The  consideration  of  these  appearances  might 
induce  us  to  believe,  that  variety  itself,  distinct 
from  every  other  reason,  was  a  motive  in  the 
mind  of  the  Creator,  or  with  the  agents  of  his 
will. 

To  this  great  variety  in  organized  life,  the 
Deity  has  given,  or  perhaps  there  arises  out  of  it, 
a  corresponding  variety  of  animal  appetites.  For 
the  final  cause  of  this,  we  have  not  far  to  seek. 
Did  all  animals  covet  the  same  element,  retreat, 
or  food,  it  is  evident  how  much  fewer  could  be 
supplied  and  accommodated,  than  what  at  pi/i- 
sent  live  conveniently  together,  and  find  a  plenti- 
ful subsistence.  What  one  nature  rejects,  another 
deliglits  in.  Food  which  is  nauseous  to  one  tribe 
of  animals,  becomes,  by  that  very  property  which 
makes  it  nauseous,  an  alluring  dainty  to  another 
tribe.  Carrion  is  a  treat  to  dogs,  ravens,  vul- 
tures, fish.  The  exhalations  of  corrupted  sub- 
stances, attract  flies  by  crowds.  Maggots  revel 
in  putrefaction. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Of  Plants. 

I  THINK  a  designed  and  studied  mechanism  to 
be,  in  general,  more  evident  in  animals  than  in 
plants:  and  it  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  a 
weaker  argument,  where  a  stronger  is  at  hand. 
There  are,  however,  a  few  observations  upon 
the  vegetable  kingdom,  which  lie  so  directly  in 
our  way,  that  it  would  be  improper  to  pass  by 
them  without  notice. 

The  one  great  intention  of  nature  in  the  struc- 
ture of  plants  seems  to  be  the  perfecting  of  the 
seed  ;  and,  what  is  part  of  the  same  intention, 
the  preserving  of  it  until  it  be  perfected.  This 
intention  shows  itself,  in  the  first  place,  by  the 
care  which  appears  to  be  taken,  to  protect  and 
ripen,  by  every  advantage  which  can  be  given  to 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


451 


them  of  situation  in  the  plant,  those  parts  which 
most  immediately  contribute  to  fructification,  viz. 
the  antherse,  the  stamina,  and  the  stigmata. 
These  parts  are  usually  lodged  in  the  centre,  the 
recesses,  or  the  labyrinths  of  the  flower ;  during 
their  tender  and  immature  state,  are  shut  up 
in  the  stalk,  or  sheltered  in  the  bud :  as  soon  as 
they  have  acquired  firmness  of  texture  sufKcient 
to  hear  exposure,  and  are  ready  to  perform  the 
important  office  which  is  assigned  to  them,  they 
are  disclosed  to  the  light  and  air,  by  the  bursting 
of  the  stem,  or  the  expansion  of  the  petals  ;  after 
which  they  have,  in  many  cases,  by  the  very  form 
of  the  flower  during  its  blow,  the  light  and  warmth 
reflected  upon  them  from  the  concave  side  of  the 
cup.  What  is  called  also  the  sleep  of  plants,  is 
the  leaves  or  petals  disposing  themselves  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  shelter  the  young  stems,  buds,  or 
fruit.  They  turn  up,  or  they  fall  down,  accord- 
ing as  this  purpose  renders  either  change  of  posi- 
tion requisite.  In  the  growth  of  corn,  whenever 
the  plant  begins  to  shoot,  the  two  upper  leaves  of 
the  stalk  join  together,  embrace  the  ear,  and  pro- 
tect it  till  the  pulp  has  acquired  a  certain  degree 
of  consistency.  In  some  water-plants,  the  flower- 
ing and  fecundation  are  carried  on  ■within  the 
stem,  which  afterward  opens  to  let  loose  the  im- 
pregnated seed.*  The  pea  or  papilionaceous 
tribe,  enclose  the  parts  of  fructification  within  a 
beautiful  folding  of  the  internal  blossom,  some- 
times called,  from  its  shape,  the  boat  or  keel ; 
itself  also  protected  under  a  penthouse  formed  by 
the  external  petals.  This  structure  is  very  arti- 
ficial; and,  what  adds  to  the  value  of  it,  though 
it  may  diminish  the  curiosity,  very  general.  It 
has  also  this  farther  advantage  (and  it  is  an  ad- 
vantage strictly  mechanical,)  that  all  the  blossoms 
turn  their  backs  to  the  wind,  whenever  the  gale 
blows  strong  enough  to  endanger  the  delicate 
parts  upon  which  the  seed  depends.  I  have 
observed  this  a  hundred  times  in  a  field  of  peas 
in  blossom.  It  is  an  aptitude  which  results  from 
tlie  figure  of  the  flower,  and,  as  we  have  said,  is 
strictly  mechanical ;  as  much  so,  as  the  turning 
of  a  weather-board  or  tin  cap  upon  the  top  of  a 
chimney.  Of  the  poppy,  and  of  many  similar 
species  of  flowers,  the  head,  while  it  is  growing, 
hangs  down,  a  rigid  curvature  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  stem  giving  to  it  that  position  ;  and  in  that 
position  it  is  impenetrable  by  rain  or  moisture. 
When  the  head  has  acquired  its  size,  and  is  ready 
to  open,  the  stalk  erects  itself,  for  the  purpose,  as 
it  should  seem,  of  presenting  the  flower,  and  with 
the  flower,  the  instruments  of  fructification,  to 
the  genial  influence  of  the  sun's  rays.  This 
always  struck  me  as  a  curious  property ;  and 
specifically,  as  well  as  originally,  provided  for  in 
the  constitution  of  the  plant :  for,  if  the  stem  be 
only  bent  by  the  weight  of  the  head,  how  comes 
it  to  straighten  itself  when  the  head  is  the  heavi- 
est 1  These  instances  show  the  attention  of 
nature  to  this  principal  object,  the  safety  and 
maturation  of  the  parts  upon  which  the  seed 
depends. 

In  trees,  especially  in  those  which  are  natives 
of  colder  climates,  this  point  is  taken  up  earlier. 
Mnny  of  these  trees  (observe  in  particular  the  ash 
and  the  horse-chcsnut)  producethe  embryos  of  the 
leaves  and  flowers  in  one  year,  and  bring  them  to 
perfection   the   following.     There    is    a    winter 

*  Philos.  Transact,  part  ii.  1796,  p.  502. 


therefore  to  be  gotten  over.  Now  what  we  are  to 
remark  is,  how  nature  has  prepared  for  the  trials 
and  severities  of  that  season.  These  tender  em- 
bryos are,  in  the  first  place,  wra])ped  u{)  with  a 
compactness,  which  no  art  can  imitate :  in  which 
state,  they  compose  what  we  call  the  bud.  This 
is  not  all.  The  bud  itself  is  enclosed  in  scales ; 
which  scales  are  formed  from  the  remains  of  past 
leaves,  and  the  rudiments  of  future  ones.  Nei- 
ther is  this  the  whole.  In  the  coldest  climates,  a 
third  preservative  is  added,  by  the  bud  having  a 
coat  of  gum  or  resin,  which,  being  congealed,  re- 
sists the  strongest  frosts.  On  the  approach  of 
warm  weather,  this  gum  is  softened,  and  ceases 
to  be  a  hindrance  to  the  expansion  of  the  leaves 
and  flowers.  All  this  care  is  part  of  that  system 
of  provisions  which  has  for  its  object  and  consum- 
mation, the  production  and  perfecting  of  the  seeds. 

The  SEED.?  themselves  are  packed  up  in  a  inp- 
swZe,  a  vessel  composed  of  coats,  which,  compared 
with  the  rest  of  the  flower,  are  strong  and  tough. 
From  this  vessel  projects  a  tube,  through  which 
tube  the  farina,  or  some  subtile  fecundating  efflu- 
vium that  issues  from  it,  is  admitted  to  the  seed. 
And  here  also  occurs  a  mechanical  variety,  ac- 
commodated to  the  diflbrent  circumstances  under 
which  the  same  purpose  is  to  be  accomplished. 
In  flowers  which  are  erect,  the  pistil  is  shorter 
than  the  stamina ;  and  the  pollen,  shed  from  the 
antherag  into  the  cup  of  the  flower,  is  caught,  in 
its  descent,  by  the  head  of  the  pistil,  called  the 
stigma.  But  how  is  this  managed  when  the 
flowers  hang  down  (as  does  the  crown-imperial, 
for  instance.)  and  in  which  position,  the  farina  in 
its  fall,  would  be  carried  from  the  stigma,  and  not 
towards  it  ?  The  relative  length  of  the  parts  is 
now  inverted.  The  pistil  in  these  flowers  is  usu- 
ally longer,  instead  of  shorter,  than  the  stamina, 
that  its  protruding  summit  may  receive  the  iwllen 
as  it  drops  to  the  ground.  In  some  cases,  (as  in 
the  nigella.)  where  the  shafts  of  the  pistils  or 
stiles  are  disproportionably  long,  they  bend  down 
their  extremities  upon  the  antherse,  that  the  ne- 
cessary approximation  may  be  efiected. 

But  (to  pursue  this  great  work  in  its  progress,) 
the  impregnation,  to  which  all  this  machinery  re- 
lates, being  completed,  the  other  parts  of  the  flower 
fade  and  drop  off  whilst  the  gravid  seed-ressel,  on 
the  contrary,  proceeds  to  increase  its  bulk,  alwa3^s 
to  a  great,  and  in  some  species  (in  the  gourd,  for 
example,  and  melon,)  to  a  surprising  comparative 
size ;  assuming  in  different  plants  an  incalculable 
variety  of  forms,  but  all  evidently  conducing  to 
the  security  of  the  seed.  By  virtue  of  this  process, 
so  necessary,  but  so  diversified,  we  have  the  seed, 
at  length,  in  stone-fruits  and  nuts,  incased  in  a 
strong  shell,  the  shell  it.self  enclosed  in  a  pulp  or 
husk,  by  which  the  seed  within  is,  or  hath  been, 
fed;  or,  more  generally,  (as  in  grapes,  oranges, 
and  the  immerous  kinds  of  berries.)  plunged  over- 
head in  a  glutinous  syrup,  contained  within  a 
skin  or  bladder :  at  other  times  (as  in  apples  and 
pears)  imbedded  in  the  heart  of  a  firm  fleshy  sub- 
stance ;  or  (as  in  strawberries)  pricked  into  th« 
surface  of  a  soft  pulp. 

These  and  many  more  varieties  exist  in  what 
we  call  fruits*    In  pulse,  and  grain,  and  grasses; 

*  From  the  conformation  of  fruits  alone,  one  migfit 
be  led,  even  without  experience,  to  suppose,  that  part 
of  this  provision  was  destined  for  the  utilities  of  ani- 
mals. As  limited  to  the  plant,  the  provision  itself 
seems  to  go  beyond  its  object.    The  flesh  of  an  ajjple, 


452 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


m  trees,  and  shrubs,  and  flowers ;  the  variety  of 
ihe  seed-vessels  is  incomputal)Ie.  We  have  the 
seeds  (as  in  the  pea  tribe)  regularly  disposed  in 
parchment  pods,  which,  though  soft  and  meni- 
oranous,  completely  exclude  the  wet  even  in  the 
heaviest  rains ;  the  pod  also,  not  seldom  (as  in  the 
bean,)  lined  with  a  fine  down;  at  other  times  (as 
in  the  scima)  distended  lilce  a  blown  bladder :  or 
we  have  the  seed  enveloped  in  wool,  (as  in  the 
cotton-plant,)  lodged  (as  in  pines)  between  the 
hard  and  compact  scales  of  a  cone,  or  barricadoed 
(as  in  the  artichoke  and  thistle)  with  spikes  and 
prickles ;  in  mushrooms,  placed  under  a  penthouse ; 
in  fearns,  within  slits  in  the  back  part  of  the  leaf; 
or  (which  is  the  most  general  organization  of  all) 
we  find  them  covered  by  strong,  close  tunicles, 
and  attached  to  the  stem  according  to  an  order 
appropriated  to  each  plant,  as  is  seen  in  the  several 
kinds  of  grains  and  of  grasses. 

In  which  enumeration,  what  we  have  first  to 
notice  is,  unity  of  purpose  under  variety  of  expe- 
dients. Nothing  can  be  more  single  than  the 
design ;  more  diversified  than  the  means.  Pel- 
licles, shells,  pulps,  pods,  husks,  skin,  scales 
armed  with  thorns,  are  all  employed  in  prosecut- 
ing the  same  intention.  Secondly;  we  may  ob- 
serve, that,  in  all  these  cases,  the  purpose  is  fulfilled 
witliin  a  just  and  limited  degree.  We  can  per- 
ceive, that  if  the  seeds  of  plants  were  more  strongly 
guarded  than  they  are,  their  greater  security 
would  interfere  with  other  uses.  Many  species 
of  animals  would  suffer,  and  many  perish,  if  they 
could  not  obtain  access  to  them.  The  plant  would 
overrun  the  soil ;  or  the  seed  be  wasted  for  want 
of  room  to  sow  itself  It  is,  sometimes,  as  neces- 
sary to  destroy  particular  species  of  plants,  as  it  is, 
at  other  times,  to  encourage  their  growth.  Here, 
as  in  many  cases,  a  balance  is  to  be  maintained 
between  opposite  uses.  The  provisions  for  the 
preservation  of  seeds  appear  to  be  directed,  chiefly 
against  the  inconstancy  of  the  elements,  or  the 
sweeping  destruction  of  inclement  seasons.  The 
depredation  of  animals,  and  the  injuries  of  acci- 
dental violence,  are  allowed  for  in  the  abundance 

the  pulp  of  an  orange,  the  meat  of  a  plum,  the  fatness 
of  the  olive,  appeal  to  be  more  than  sufficient  for  the 
nourishing  of  the  seed  or  kernel.  The  event  showt!, 
that  this  redundancy,  if  it  he  one,  ministers  to  the  sup- 
port and  gratification  of  animal  natures  ;  and  when  we 
observe  a  provision  to  be  more  than  sufficient  for  one 
purpose,  yet  wanted  for  another  purpose,  it  is  not  unfair 
to  conclude  that  both  purposes  were  contemplated  to- 
gether. It  favours  this  view  of  the  subject  to  remark, 
that  fruits  are  not  (which  they  might  have  been^  ready 
all  together,  but  that  they  ripen  in  succession  throughout 
a  great  part  of  the  year;  some  in  summer;  some  in 
autumn  ;  that  some  require  the  slow  maturation  of  the 
winter,  and  supply  the  spring  ;  also  that  the  coldest 
fruits  grow  in  the  hottest  places.  Cucumbers,pine  ap- 
ples, melons,  are  the  natural  produce  of  warm  climates, 
and  contribute  greatly,  by  their  coolness,  to  the  refresh- 
ment of  the  inhabitants  of  those  countries. 

I  will  add  to  this  note  the  following  observation 
communicated  to  me  by  Mr.  Brinkley  : 

"  The  eatable  part  of  the  cherry  or  peach  first  serves 
the  purposes  of  perfecting  the  seed  or  kernel,  by  means 
of  vessels  passing  through  the  stone,  and  which  are 
very  visible  in  a  peach-stone.  After  the  kernel  is  per- 
fected, the  stone  becomes  hard,  and  the  vessels  cease 
their  functions.  But  the  substance  surrounding  the 
stone  is  not  then  thrown  away  as  useless.  That  which 
was  hnfore  only  an  instrument  for  perfecting  the  ker- 
nel, now  receives  and  retains  to  itself  the  whole  of  the 
sun'B  influence,  and  thereby  becomes  a  grateful  food  to 
man.  Also  what  an  evident  mark  of  design  is  the  stone 
protecting  the  kdrnel!  The  intervention  of  the  stone 
prevents  the  second  use  from  interfering  with  the  first." 


of  the  increase.  The  result  is,  that  out  of  the 
many  thousand  different  plants  which  cover  the 
earth,  not  a  single  species,  perhaps,  has  been  lost 
since  the  creation. 

When  nature  has  perfected  her  seeds,  her  next 
care  is  to  disperse  them.  The  seed  cannot  an- 
swer its  purpose,  whilst  it  remains  confined  in  the 
capsule.  After  the  seeds  therefore  are  ripened, 
the  pericarpium  opens  to  let  them  out ;  and  the 
opeiring  is  not  like  an  accidental  bursting,  but,  for 
the  most  part,  is  according  to  a  certain  rule  in 
each  plant.  What  I  have  always  thought  very 
extraordinary;  nuts  and  shells,  which  we  can 
hardly  crack  with  our  teeth,  divide  and  make  way 
for  the  little  tender  sprout  which  proceeds  from 
the  kernel.  Handling  the  nut,  I  could  hardly 
conceive  how  the  plantule  was  ever  to  get  out  of 
it.  There  are  cases,  it  is  said,  in  which  the  seed- 
vessel  by  an  elastic  jerk,  at  the  moment  of  its  ex- 
plosion, casts  the  seeds  to  a  distance.  We  all 
however  know,  that  many  seeds  (those  of  most 
composite  flowers,  as  of  the  thistle,  dandelion,  &.c.) 
are  endowed  with  what  are  not  improperly  called 
wings ;  that  is,  downy  appendages,  by  which  they 
are  enabled  to  float  in  the  air,  and  are  carried  often- 
times by  the  wind  to  great  distances  from  the 
plant  which  produces  them.  It  is  the  swelling 
also  of  this  downy  tuft  within  the  seed-vessel,  that 
seems  to  overcome  the  resistance  of  its  coats,  and 
to  open  a  passage  for  the  seed  to  escape. 

But  the  constitution  of  seeds  is  still  more  admi- 
rable than  cither  their  preservation  or  their  disper- 
sion. In  the  body  of  the  seed  of  every  species  of 
plant,  or  nearly  of  every  one,  provision  is  made  for 
two  grand  purposes :  first,  for  the  safety  of  theg-cr??;; 
secondly,  for  the  temporary  support  of  the  future 
plant.  The  sprout,  as  folded  up  in  the  seed,  is 
delicate  and  brittle  beyond  any  other  substance. 
It  cannot  be  touched  without  being  broken.  Yet 
in  beans,  peas,  grass-seeds,  grain,  fruits,  it  is  so 
fenced  on  all  sides,  so  shut  up  and  protected,  that, 
whilst  the  seed  itself  is  rudely  handled,  tossed  into 
sacks,  shovelled  into  heaps,  the  sacred  particle, 
the  miniature  plant,  remains  unhurt.  It  is  wonder- 
ful also,  how  long  manj'  kinds  of  seeds,  by  the  help 
of  their  integuments,  and  perhaps  of  their  oils, 
stand  out  against  decay.  A  grain  of  mustard-seed 
has  been  known  to  lie  in  the  earth  for  a  hundred 
years  ;  and,  as  soon  as  it  had  acquired  a  favoura- 
lile  situation,  to  shoot  as  vigorously  as  if  just  ga- 
thered from  the  plant.  Then,  as  to  the  second 
point,  the  temporary  support  of  the  future  plarit, 
the  matter  stands  thus.  In  grain,  and  pulse,  and 
kernels,  and  pippins,  the  germ  composes  a  very 
small  part  of  the  seed.  The  rest  consists  of  a  nu- 
tritious substance,  from  which  the  sprout  draws 
its  aliment  for  some  considerable  time  after  it  is 
put  forth ;  viz.  until  the  fibres,  shot  out  from  the 
other  end  of  the  seed,  are  able  to  imbibe  juices 
from  the  earth,  in  a  sufficient  quantity  for  its  de- 
mand. It  is  owing  to  this  constitution,  that  we 
see  seeds  sprout,  and  the  sprouts  make  a  consider- 
able progress,  without  any  earth  at  all.  It  is  an 
economy  also,  in  which  we  remark  a  close  analo- 
gy between  the  seeds  of  plants,  and  the  eggs  of 
animals.  The  same  point  is  provided  for,  in  the 
same  manner  in  both.  In  the  egg,  the  residence 
of  the  living  principle,  the  cicatrix  forms  a  very 
minute  part  of  the  contents.  The  white  and  the 
white  only  is  expended  in  the  formation  of  the 
chicken.  The  yolk,  very  little  altered  or  diminish- 
ed, is  wrapped  up  in  the  abdomen  of  the  young 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


453 


liird,  when  it  quits  tlie  shell ;  and  serves  for  its 
nourishment,  till  it  liave  learnt  to  pick  its  own 
food.  This  perfectly  resembles  the  first  nutrition 
of  a  plant.  In.tlie  plant,  as  well  as  in  the  animal, 
the  structure  has  every  character  of  contrivance 
belonging  to  it :  in  both  it  breaks  the  transition 
from  prepared  to  unprepared  aliment ;  in  both,  it 
is  prospective  and  compensatory.  In  animals 
which  suck,  this  intermediate  nourishment  is  sup- 
plied by  a  diHerent  source. 

In  all  subjects,  the  most  common  observations 
are  the  best,  when  it  is  their  truth  and  strength 
which  have  made  them  common.  There  are,  of 
this  sort,  tico  concerning  plants,  which  it  falls 
within  our  plan  to  notice.  The  first  relates  to, 
what  has  already  been  touched  upon,  their  germi- 
nation. When  a  grain  of  com  is  cast  into  the 
ground,  this  is  the  change  which  takes  place. 
From  one  end  of  the  grain  issues  a  green  sprout; 
from  the  other  a  number  of  white  fibrous  threads. 
How  can  this  be  explained  1  Why  not  sprouts 
from  both  ends  1  why  not  iibrous  threads  from 
»  both  ends  %  To  what  is  the  difference  to  be  refer- 
red, but  to  design  ;  to  the  different  uses  which  the 
parts  are  thereafter  to  serve ;  uses  which  discover 
themselves  in  the  sequel  of  the  process  1  The 
sprout,  or  plumule,  struggles  into  the  air;  and  be- 
comes the  plant,  of  which,  from  the  first,  it  con- 
tained the  rudiments:  the  fibres  shoot  into  the 
earth;  and,  thereby,  both  fix  the  plant  to  the 
ground,  and  collect  nourishment  from  the  soil  for 
its  support.  Now,  what  is  not  a  little  remarkable, 
the  parts  issuing  from  the  seed  take  their  respect- 
ive directions,  into  whatever  position  the  seed 
itself  happens  to  be  cast.  If  the  seed  be  thrown 
into  the  wrongest  possible  position ;  that  is,  if  the 
ends  point  in  the  ground,  the  reverse  of  what  they 
ought  to  do,  every  thing,  nevertheless,  goes  on 
right.  The  sprout,  after  being  pushed  down  a 
little  way,  makes  a  bend,  and  turns  upwards ;  the 
fibres,  on  the  contrary,  after  shooting  at  first  up- 
wards, turn  down.  Of  this  extraordinary  vegeta- 
ble fact,  an  account  has  lately  been  attempted  to 
be  given.  "  The  plumule  (it  is  said)  is  stimulated 
by  the  air  into  action,  and  elongates  itself  when 
it  is  thus  most  excited  ;  the  radicle  is  stimulated 
by  vioisture,  and  elongates  itself  when  it  is  thus 
most  excited.  Whence  one  of  these  grovps  up- 
ward in  quest  of  its  adapted  object,  and  the  other 
downward."*  Were  this  account  better  verified 
by  experiment  than  it  is,  it  only  shifts  the  con- 
trivance. It  does  not  disprove  the  contrivance ; 
it  only  removes  it  a  little  farther  back.  Who,  to 
use  our  author's  own  language,  ''  adapted  the  ob- 
jects V  Who  gave  such  a  quality  to  these  connate 
parts,  as  to  be  susceptible  of  different  "  stimula- 
tion ;"  as  to  be  "  excited"  each  only  by  its  own  ele- 
ment, and  precisely  by  that  which  the  success  of 
the  vegetation  requires  1  I  say,  "  which  the  suc- 
cess of  the  vegetation  requires ;"'  for  the  toil  of  the 
husbandman  would  have  been  in  vaui;  his  labo- 
rious and  expensive  preparation  of  tlie  ground  in 
vain  ;  if  the  event  must,  after  all,  depend  upon  the 
position  in  which  the  scattered  seed  was  sown. 
Not  one  seed  out  of  a  hundred  would  fall  in  a 
right  direction. 

Our  second  observation  is  upon  a  general  pro- 
perty of  climbing  plants,  which  is  strictly  me- 
chanical. In  these  plants,  from  each  knot  or 
joint,  or,  as  botanists  call  it,  axilla,  of  the  plant, 


*  Darwin's  Fliytologia,  p.  144. 


issue,  close  to  each  other,  two  shoots:  one  bearing 
the  flower  and  fruit ;  the  other,  drawn  out  into  a 
wire,  a  long,  tapering,  spiral  tendril,  that  twists 
Itself  round  any  thing  wliich  lies  within  its  reach. 
Considering,  that  in  tliis  class  two  purposes  are  to 
be  j)rovided  for,  (and  together,)  fructification  and 
support,  the  fruitage  of  the  plant,  and  the  sustcn- 
tation  of  the  stalk,  what  means  could  be  used  more 
effectual,  or,  as  I  have  said,  more  mechanical,  than 
what  the  structure  presents  to  our  eyes  1  Why, 
or  how,  without  a  view  to  this  double  purpose,  do 
two  shoots,  of  such  different  and  appropriate 
forms,  spring  from  the  same  joint,  from  contigu- 
ous points  of  the  same  stalk  1  It  never  happens 
thus  in  robust  [)lants,  or  in  trees.  "We  see  not 
(says  Ray)  so  much  as  one  tree,  or  shrub,  or  herb, 
that  hath  a  firm  and  strong  stem,  and  that  is  able 
to  mount  up  and  stand  alone  without  assistance, 
furnislied  with  iliese  tendrils."  Make  only  so 
simple  a  comparison  as  that  between  a  pea  and  a 
bean.  Why  does  the  pea  put  forth  tendrils,  the 
bean  not ;  but  because  the  stalk  of  the  pea  cannot 
support  itself,  the  stalk  of  the  bean  can  1  We 
may  add,  also,  as  a  circumstance  not  to  be  over- 
looked, that  in  the  pea  tribe,  these  clasps  do  not 
make  their  appearance  till  they  .ire  wanted ;  till 
the  plant  has  grown  to  a  height  to  stand  in  need 
of  support. 

This  word  "  support"  suggests  to  us  a  reflection 
upon  a  property  of  grasses,  of  corn,  and  canes 
The  hollow  stems  of  these  classes  of  plants  are 
set,  at  certain  intervals,  with  johits.  These  joints  | 
are  not  found  in  the  trunks  of  trees,  or  in  the 
solid  stalks  of  plants.  There  may  be  other  uses 
of  these  joints ;  but  the  fact  is,  and  it  appears  to 
be,  at  least,  one  purpose  designed  by  them,  that 
they  corroborate  the  stem;  which,  by  its  length 
and  hollowness,  would  otherwise  be  too  liable  to 
break  or  bend. 

Grasses  are  Nature's  care.  With  these  she 
clothes  the  earth ;  with  these  she  sustains  its  in- 
habitants. Cattle  feed  upon  their  leaves ;  birds 
upon  their  smaller  seeds ;  men  upon  the  larger : 
for,  few  readers  need  be  told  that  the  plants,  which 
produce  our  bread-corn,  belong  to  this  class.  In 
those  tribes,  which  are  more  generally  considered 
as  grasses,  their  extraordinary  means  and  powers 
of  preservation  and  increase,  their  hardiness,  their 
almost  unconquerable  disposition  to  spread,  their 
faculties  of  reviviscence,  coincide  with  the  inten- 
tion of  nature  concerning  them.  They  thrive 
under  a  treatment  by  which  other  plants  are  de- 
stroyed. The  more  their  leaves  are  consumed, 
the  more  their  roots  increase.  The  more  they  are 
trampled  upon,  the  thicker  they  grow.  Many  of 
the  seemingly  dry  and  dead  leaves  of  grasses  re- 
vive, and  renew  their  verdure  in  the  spring.  In 
lofty  mountains,  where  the  summer  heats  are  not 
sufficient  to  ripen  the  seeds,  grasses  abound,  which 
are  viviparous,  and  consequently  able  to  propagate 
themselves  without  seed.  It  is  an  observation, 
likewise,  which  has  often  been  made,  that  herbi- 
vorous animals  attach  themselves  to  the  leaves  of 
grasses;  and,  if  at  liberty  in  their  pastures  to 
range  and  choose,  leave  untouched  the  straws 
which  support  the  flowers.* 

TheGKNER.iL  properties  of  vegetable  nature,  or 
properties  common  to  large  portions  of  that  king- 
dom, are  almost  all  which  the  compass  of  our  ar- 
gument allows  to  bring  forward.     It  is  impossible 


*  Withering,  Bot.  Arr.  vol.  i  p.  28  ed.  2d. 


454 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


fo  follow  plants  into  their  several  species.  We 
may  be  allowed,  however,  to  single  out  three  or 
four  of  these  species  as  worthy  of  a  particular  no- 
tice, either  by  some  singular  mechanism,  or  by 
some  peculiar  provision,  or  by  both. 

1.  In  Dr.  Darwin's  Botanic  Garden  (1.  395, 
note,)  is  the  following  account  of  the  raUis?ieria, 
as  it  has  been  observed  in  the  river  Rhone. — 
"  They  have  roots  at  the  bottom  of  the  Rhone. 
The  liowers  of  the  female  plant  float  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  water,  and  are  furnished  with  an  elas- 
tic, spiral  stalk,  which  extends  or  contracts  as  the 
water  rises  or  falls  ;  this  rise  or  fall,  from  tiie  tor- 
rents which  flow  into  the  river,  often  amountino- 
to  many  feet  in  a  few  hours.  The  flowers  of  the 
male  plant  are  produced  under  water;  and,  as 
soon  as  the  fecundating  farina  is  mature,  they  se- 
parate themselves  from  the  plant ;  rise  to  the  sur- 
face; and  are  wafted  by  the  air,  or  borne  by  the 
currents,  to  the  female  flowers."  Our  attention 
in  this  narrative  will  be  directed  to  two  particu- 
lars: first,  to  the  mechanism,  the  "elastic,  spiral 
stalk,"  which  lengthens  or  contracts  itself  accord- 
ing as  the  water  rises  or  falls ;  secondly,  to  the 
})rovision  which  is  made  for  bringing  the  male 
flower,  which  is  produced  under  water,  to  the  fe- 
male flower  which  floats  upon  the  surface. 

II.  My  second  example  I  take  from  Wither- 
ing's  Arrangement,  vol.  ii.  p.  209.  ed.  3.  "  The 
cuscuta  europcea  is  a  parasitical  plant.  The  seed 
opens,  and  puts  forth  a  little  spiral  body,  which 
does  NOT  seek  the  earth,  to  take  root;  but  climbs 
in  a  spiral  direction,  from  right  to  left,  up  other 
plants,  from  which,  by  means  of  vessels,  it  draws 
its  nourishment."  The  "  httle  spiral  body  "  pro- 
ceeding from  the  seed,  is  to  be  compared  with  the 
fibres  which  seeds  send  out  in  ordinar}'  cases  : 
and  the  comparison  ought  to  regard  both  the  form 
of  the  threads  and  the  direction.  The}'  are 
straight;  this  is  spiral.  They  shoot  downwards  ; 
this  points  upwards.  In  the  rule,  and  in  the  ex- 
ception, we  equally  perceive  design. 

III.  A  better  known  parasitical  plant  is  the  ever- 
green shrub,  called  the  mistletoe.  What  we  have 
to  remark  in  it,  is  a  singular  instance  of  compen- 
sation. No  art  hath  yet  made  these  plants  take 
root  in  the  earth.  Here  therefore  might  seem  to  be 
a  mortal  defect  in  their  constitution.  Let  us  ex- 
amine how  this  defect  is  made  up  to  them.  The 
seeds  are  endued  with  an  adhesive  quality,  so 
tenacious,  that  if  they  be  rubbed  upon  the  smooth 
^ark  of  almost  any  tree,  they  will  stick  to  it.  And 
then  what  follows  1  Roots,  springing  from  these 
seeds,  insinuate  their  fibres  into  the  woody  sub- 
stance of  the  tree ;  and  the  event  is,  that  a  mis- 
tletoe plant  is  produced  next  winter.*  Of  no  other 
plant  do  the  roots  refuse  to  shoot  in  the  ground ; 
of  no  other  plant  do  the  seeds  possess  this  adhe- 
sive, generative  quality,  when  applied  to  the  bark 
of  trees. 

IV.  Another  instance  of  the  compensatory  sys- 
tem is  in  the  autumnal  crocus,  or  meadow  saftron 
(colchicum  autrimnale.)  I  have  pitied  this  poor 
plant  a  thousand  times.  Its  blossom  rises  out  of 
the  ground  in  the  most  forlorn  condition  possi- 
ble; without  a  sheath,  a  fence,  a  calyx,  or  even 
a  leaf  to  protect  it:  and  that,  not  in  the  spring, 
not  to  be  visited  by  summer  suns,  but  under  all 
the  disadvantages  of  the  declining  year.  When 
we  come,  however,  to  look  more  closely  into  th^i 

*  Withering,  Bot.  Air.  vol.  i.  p.  203.  ed.  2d. 


structure  of  this  plant,  we  find  that  instead  of  us 
being  neglected.  Nature  has  gone  out  of  her  course 
to  provide  for  its  security,  and  to  make  up  to  it  for 
all  its  defects.  The  seed-vessel,  wliich  in  other 
plants  is  situated  within  the  cup  of  the  flower,  or 
just  beneath  it,  in  this  plant  lies  buried  ten  or 
twelve  inches  under  ground  within  the  bulbou." 
root.  The  tube  of  the  flower,  which  is  seldom 
more  than  a  few  tenths  of  an  inch  long,  in  this 
plant  extends  down  to  the  root.  The  stiles  in  all 
cases  reach  the  seed-vessel ;  but  it  is  in  this,  by  an 
elongation  unknown  to  any  other  plant.  All  these 
contribute  to  one  end.  "  As  this  plant  blossoms 
late  in  the  year,  and  probably,  would  not  have 
time  to  ripen  its  seeds  before  the  access  of  winter, 
which  would  destroy  them  :  Providence  has  con- 
trived its  structure  such,  that  this  important  office 
may  be  performed  at  a  depth  in  the  earth  out  of 
reach  of  the  usual  effects  of  frost."  *  That  is  to 
say,  in  the  autumn  nothing  is  done  above  ground 
but  the  business  of  im))regnation  ;  which  is  anaf- 
fiiir  between  the  antherae  and  stigmata,  and  is  pro- 
bably soon  over.  The  maturation  of  the  impreg- « 
noted  seed,  which  in  other  plants  proceeds  within 
a  capsule,  exposed  together  with  the  rest  of  tlw 
flower  to  the  open  air,  is  here  carried  on,  and  dur- 
ing the  whole  winter,  within  the  heart,  as  we  may 
say,  of  the  earth,  that  is,  "out  of  the  reach  of  the 
usual  efiects  of  frost."  But  then  a  new  difficulty 
presents  itself:  seeds,  though  perfected,  are  known 
not  to  vegetate  at  this  depth  in  the  earth.  Our 
seeds,  therefore,  though  so  safely  lodged,  wouW, 
after  all,  be  lost  to  the  purpose  for  which  all  seeds 
are  intended.  Lest  this  should  be  the  case,  "a 
second  admirable  provision  is  made  to  raise  thero 
above  the  surface  when  they  are  perfected,  and  to 
sow  them  at  a  proper  distance ;  viz.  the  germ 
grows  up  in  the  spring,  upon  a  fruit  stalk,  ac- 
companied with  leaves.  The  seeds  now,  in  com- 
mon with  those  of  other  plants,  have  the  benefit 
of  the  summer,  and  are  sown  upon  the  surface. 
The  order  of  vegetation  externally  is  this  : — The 
plant  produces  its  flowers  in  September ;  its  leaves 
and  fruits  in  the  spring  following. 

V.  I  give  the  account  of  the  dzoncea  muscipula, 
an  extraordinary  American  plant,  as  .some  late 
authors  have  related  it :  but  whether  we  be  3'et 
enough  acquainted  with  the  plant,  to  bring  every 
part  of  this  account  to  the  test  of  repeated  and 
familiar  observation,  I  am  unable  to  say.  "  Its 
leaves  are  jointed  and  furnished  with  two  rows  of 
strong  prickles;  their  smfaces  covered  with  a 
number  of  minute  glands,  which  secrete  a  sweet 
liquor  that  allures  the  approach  of  flies.  When 
these  parts  are  touched  by  the  legs  of  flies,  the 
two  lobes  of  the  leaf  instantly  spring  up,  the  rows 
of  prickles  lock  themselves  fast  together,  and 
squeeze  the  unwary  animal  to  death."  t  Here, 
under  a  new  model,  we  recognise  the  ancient  plan 
of  nature,  viz.  the  relation  of  parts  and  provisions 
to  one  another,  to  a  common  oflice,  and  to  the 
utility  of  the  organized  body  to  which  they  belong. 
The  attracting  syrup,  the  rows  of  strong  prickles, 
their  position  so  as  to  interlock  the  joints  of  the 
leaves  ;  and,  what  is  more  than  the  rest,  that  sin- 
gular irritability  of  their  surfiices.  by  which  they 
close  at  a  touch;  all  bear  a  contributory  part  in 
producing  an  effect,  connected  either  with  the 
defence  or  with  the  nutrition  of  the  plant. 


*  Witliering,  ulii  supra,  p.  :?f;0. 

t  Smellie's  Phil,  of  Nat.  Hist.  vol.  i.  p.  5. 


.  NAl'URAL  THEOLOGY. 


455 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
The  Elements. 

When  we  come  to  the  elements,  we  take  leave 
cf  our  mechanics ;  because  we  come  to  those 
tilings,  of  the  organization  of  which,  if  they  be 
organized,  we  are  confessedly  ignorant.  This  ig- 
norance is  implied  by  their  name.  To  say  the 
truth,  our  investigations  are  stoppjed  long  before 
we  arrive  at  this  point.  But  then  it  is  for  our 
comfort  to  find,  that  a  knowledge  of  the  constitu- 
tion of  the  elements  is  not  necessary  for  us.  For 
instance,  as  Addison  has  well  observed,  '•  we  know 
water  sufficiently,  when  we  know  how  to  boil, 
how  to  freeze,  how  to  evaporate,  how  to  make  it 
fresh,  how  to  make  it  run  or  spout  out,  in  what 
quantity  and  direction  we  please,  without  know- 
ing what  water  is."  The  observation  of  this  ex- 
cellent writer  has  more  propriety  in  it  now,  than  it 
had  at  the  time  it  was  made :  for  the  constitution, 
and  the  constituent  parts,  of  water,  appear  in 
some  measure  to  have  been  lately  discovered  ;  yet 
it  does  not,  I  think,  appear,  that  we  can  make  any 
better  or  greater  use  of  water  since  the  discovery, 
than  we  did  before  it. 

We  can  never  think  of  the  elements,  without 
reflecting  upon  the  number  of  distinct  uses  which 
are  consolidated  in  the  same  substance.  The  air 
supplies  the  lungs,  supports  fire,  conveys  sound, 
reflects  hght,  diffuses  smells,  gives  rain,  wafls  ships, 
bears  up  birds.  'E;  u Jxto,-  tk  ^txi/ti  :  uater.  be- 
sides maintaining  its  own  inhabitants,  is  the  uni- 
versal nourisher  of  plants,  and  through  them  of 
terrestrial  animals  ;  is  the  basis  of  their  juices  and 
fluids ;  dilutes  their  food :  quenches  their  thirst, 
floats  their  burdens.  Fire  warms,  dissolves,  en- 
lightens ;  is  the  great  promoter  of  vegetation  and 
life,  if  not  necessary  to  the  support  of  both. 

We  might  enlarge,  to  almost  any  length  we 
pleased,  upon  each  of  these  uses ;  but  it  appears 
to  me  almost  sufficient  to  state  them.  The  few 
remarks  which  I  judge  it  necessary  to  add,  are  as 
follow : 

I.  Air  is  essentially  different  from  earth. 
There  appears  to  be  no  necessity  for  an  atmos- 
phere's investing  our  globe  ;  yet  it  does  invest  it : 
and  we  see  how  many,  how  various,  and  how  im- 
portant, are  the  purposes  which  it  answers  to 
everv  order  of  animated,  not  to  sav  of  organized 
beings,  which  are  placed  upon  the  terrestrial  sur- 
face. I  think  that  every  one  of  these  uses  will  be 
understood  upon  the  first  mention  of  them,  except 
it  be  that  of  reflecting  light,  which  may  be  ex- 
plained thus : — If  I  had  the  power  of  seeing  only 
by  means  of  rays  coming  directly  from  the  sun, 
whenever  I  turned  my  back  upon  the  luminary,  I 
should  find  myself  in  darkness.  If  I  had  the 
power  of  seeing  by  reflected  light,  yet  by  means 
only  of  light  reflected  from  solid  "masses,  these 
masses  would  shine  indeed,  and  glisten,  but  it 
would  be  in  the  dark.  The  hemisphere,  the  sky, 
the  world,  could  only  be  illuminated,  as  it  is  illu- 
minated, hy  the  light  of  the  sun  being  from  all 
sides,  and  in  every  direction,  reflected  to  the  eye, 
by  particles,  as  numerous,  as  thickly  scattered, 
and  as  widely  diffused,  as  are  those  of  the  air. 

Another  general  quality  of  the  atmosphere  is 
the  power  of  evaporating  fluitls.  The  adjust- 
ment of  this  quality  to  our  use  is  seen  in  its  action 
upon  the  sea.  In  the  sea,  water  and  salt  are 
mixed  together  most  intimately :  yet  the  atmos- 


phere raises  the  water  and  leaves  the  salt.  Pure 
and  fresh  as  drops  of  rain  descend,  they  are  col- 
lected from  brine.  If  evaporation  be  solution 
(which  seems  to  be  probable,)  then  the  air  dis- 
solves the  water,  and  not  the  salt.  Upon  what- 
ever it  be  founded,  the  distinction  is  critical;  so 
much  so,  that  when  we  attempt  to  iinittte  the 
process  by  art,  we  must  regulate  our  distillation 
with  great  care  and  nicety,  or,  together  with  the 
water,  we  get  the  bitterness,  or  at  least,  the  distaste- 
fulness,  of  the  marine  substance:  and  after  all  it 
is  owing  to  this  original  elective  power  in  the  air, 
that  we  can  effect  the  separation  which  we  wish, 
by  any  art  or  means  whatever. 

By  evaporation,  water  is  carried  up  into  the 
air ;  by  the  converse  of  evaporation,  it  falls  down 
upon  the  earth.  And  how  does  it  fall  1  Not  by 
the  clouds  being  all  at  once  reconverted  into 
water,  and  descending  like  a  sheet;  not  in  rushing 
down  in  columns  from  a  spout ;  but  in  moderate 
drops,  as  from  a  colander.  Our  watering-pots  are 
made  to  imitate  showers  of  rain.  Yet,  a  priori,  I 
should  have  thought  either  of  the  two  former 
methods  more  Ukel}'  to  have  taken  place  than  the 
last. 

By  respiration,  flame,  putrefaction,  air  is  render- 
ed unfit  for  the  support  of  animal  life.  By  the 
constant  operation  of  these  corrupting  principles, 
the  whole  atmosphere,  if  there  were  no  restoring 
causes,  would  come  at  length  to  be  deprived  of  its 
necessary  degree  of  purity.  Some  of  these  causes 
seem  to  have  been  discovered ;  and  their  efficacy 
ascertained  by  experiment.  And  so  far  as  the 
discovery  has  proceeded,  it  opens  to  us  a  beautiful 
and  a  wonderful  economy.  Vegetation  proves  to 
be  one  of  them.  A  sprig  of  mint,  corked  up  with 
a  small  portion  of  foul  air,  placed  in  the  light,' 
renders  it  again  capable  of  supporting  life  or  flame. 
Here,  therefore,  is  a  constant  circulation  of  bene- 
fits maintained  between  the  two  great  provinces 
of  organized  nature.  The  plant  purifies,  what 
the  animal  has  poisoned ;  in  return,  the  contami- 
nated air  is  more  than  ordinarily  nutritious  to  the 
plant.  Agitation  with  voter  turns  out  to  be 
another  of  these  restoratives.  The  foulest  air, 
shaken  in  a  bottle  with  water  for  a  sufficient 
length  of  time,  recovers  a  wreat  degree  of  its  purity. 
Here  then  again,  allowing  for  the  sc^le  upon 
which  nature  works,  we  see  the  salutary  effects  of 
storms  and  tempests.  The  ycsty  waves,  which 
confound  the  heaven  and  the  sea,  are  doing  the 
very  thing  which  was  done  in  the  bottle.  No- 
thing can  be  of  greater  importance  to  the  living 
creation,  than  the  salubrity  of  their  atmosphere. 
It  ought  to  reconcile  us  therefore  to  these  agita- 
tions of  the  elements,  of  which  we  sometimes 
deplore  the  consequences,  to  know  that  they  tend, 
powerfully  to  restore  to  the  air  that  purity,  which 
so  many  causes  are  constantly  impairing. 

II.  In  water,  what  ought  not  a  little  to  he  ad- 
mired, are  those  negative  qualities  which  consti- 
tute its  purity.  Had  it  been  vinous,  or  oleaginous, 
or  acid ;  had  the  sea  been  filled,  or  the  rivers 
flowed,  with  wine  or  milk;  fish,  constituted  as 
they  are,  must  have  died ;  plants,  constituted  as 
they  are,  would  have  withered  ;  the  lives  of  animals 
which  feed  upon  plants,  must  have  perished.  Its 
very  insipidity,  which  is  one  of  those  negative  qua- 
lities, renders  it  the  best  of  all  menstrua.  Ha\'ing 
no  taste  of  its  own,  it  becomes  the  sincere  vehicle 
of  every  other.  Had  there  been  a  taste  in  water, 
he  it  what  it  might,  it  would  have  infected  every 


456 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


thing  we  ate  or  drank,  with  an  importunate  repe- 
tition of  the  same  flavour. 

Another  thing  in  this  element,  not  less  to  be 
admired,  is  the  constant  round  ■which  it  travels; 
and  by  which,  without  suflering  cither  adultera- 
tion or  waste,  it  is  continuallj'  oticring  itself  to  the 
wants  of  the  habitable  globe.  From  the  sea  are 
e.Klialed  those  vapours  which  form  the  clouds: 
these  clouds  descend  in  showers,  which,  pene- 
trating into  the  crevices  of  the  hills,  supply 
springs :  which  springs  flow  in  little  streams  into 
the  valleys ;  and  there  uniting,  become  rivers ; 
which  rivers,  in  return,  feed  the  ocean.  So  there 
is  an  incessant  circulation  of  the  same  fluid ;  and 
not  one  drop,  probably,  more  or  less  now  than 
there  was  at  the  creation.  A  particle  of  water 
takes  its  departure  from  the  surface  of  the  sea,  in 
order  to  fulfil  certain  important  offices  to  the  earth ; 
and,  having  executed  the  service  which  was  as- 
signed to  it,  returns  to  the  bosom  which  it  left. 

Some  have  thought,  that  we  have  too  much 
water  upon  the  globe,  the  sea  occupying  above 
three  quarters  of  its  whole  surface.  But  the 
expanse  of  ocean,  immense  as  it  is,  may  be  no 
more  than  sufficient  to  fertilize  the  earth.  Or, 
independently  of  this  reason,  I  know  not  why  the 
sea  may  not  have  as  good  a  right  to  its  place  as  the 
land.  It  may  proportionably  support  as  many  in- 
habitants ;  minister  to  as  large  an  aggregate  of  en- 
joyment. The  land  only  atibrds  a  habitable  sur- 
face ;  the  sea  is  habitable  to  a  great  depth. 

III.  Of  fire,  we  have  said  that  it  (i;>so^res.  The 
only  idea  probably  which  this  term  raised  in  the 
reader's  mind,  was  that  of  fire  melting  metals, 
resins,  and  oome  other  substances,  fluxing  ores, 
running  glass,  and  assisting  us  in  many  of  our 
operations,  chymical  or  culinary.  Now  these 
are  only  uses  of  an  occasional  kind,  and  give 
us  a  very  imperfect  notion  of  what  fire  does  for  us. 
The  grand  importance  of  this  dissolving  power, 
the  great  office  indeed  of  fire  in  the  economy  of 
nature,  is  keeping  things  in  a  state  of  solution, 
that  IS  to  say,  ifi  a  state  of  fluidity.  Were  it  not 
for  the  presence  of  heat,  or  of  a  certain  degree  of  it, 
all  fluids  would  be  frozen.  The  ocean  itself 
would  be  a  quarry  of  ice ;  universal  nature  stilf 
and  dead. 

We  see,  therefore,  that  the  elements  bear  not 
only  a  strict  relation  to  the  constitution  of  orga- 
nized bodies,  but  a  relation  to  each  other.  Water 
could  not  perform  its  office  to  the  earth  without 
air;  nor  exist,  as  water,  without  fire. 

IV.  Of  light  (whether  we  regard  it  as  of  the 
same  substance  with  fire,  or  as  a  different  sub- 
stance,) it  is  altogether  superfluous  to  expatiate 
upon  the  use.  No  man  disputes  it.  The  observa- 
tions, therefore,  which  I  shall  offer,  respect  that 
little  which  we  seem  to  know  of  its  constitution. 

Light  travels  from  the  sun  at  the  rate  of  twelve 
millions  of  miles  in  a  minute.  Urged  by  such  a 
velocity,  with  what  force  must  its  particles  drive 
against  (I  will  not  say  the  eye,  the  tenderest  of 
animal  substances,  but)  every  substance,  animate 
or  inanimate,  which  stands  in  its  way !  It  might 
seem  to  be  a  force  sufficient  to  shatter  to  atoms 
the  hardest  bodies. 

Bow  then  is  this  eflfect,  the  consequence  of  such 
prodigious  velocity,  guarded  against  1  By  a  pro- 
portionable mimi'tcness  of  the  particles  of  which 
light  is  composed.  It  is  impossible  for  the  human 
rnind  to  imagine  to  itself  any  thing  so  small  as  a  par- 
ticle of  light.     But  this  extreme  exilitv,  though  dif- 


ficult to  conceive,  it  is  easy  to  prove.  A  drop  of 
tallow,  expended  in  the  wick  of  a  flirthing  candle, 
shall  send  forth  rays  suflrcient  to  fill  a  hemisphere 
of  a  mile  diameter;  and  to  fill  it  so  full  of  these 
rays,  that  an  aperture  not  larger  than  the  pupil  of 
an  eye,  wherever  it  be  placed  within  the  hemi- 
sphere, shall  he  sure  to  receive  soaie  of  them. 
What  floods  of  light  are  continually  poured  from 
the  sun,  we  cannot  estimate  ;  but  the  immensity 
of  the  sphere  which  is  filled  with  particles  even  if 
it  reached  no  farther  than  the  orbit  of  the  earth, 
we  can  in  some  sort  compute :  and  we  have  reason 
to  believe,  that,  throughout  this  whole  region,  the 
particles  of  light  lie,  in  latitude  at  least,  near  to 
one  another.  The  spissitude  of  the  sun's  rays  at 
the  earth  is  such,  that  the  number  which  falls 
upon  a  burning-glass  of  an  inch  diameter,  is  suf- 
ficient, when  concentrated,  to  set  wood  on  fire. 

The  tenuity  and  the  velocity  of  particles  of 
light,  as  ascertained  by  separate  observations,  may 
be  said  to  be  proportioned  to  each  other ;  both 
surpassing  our  utmost  stretch  of  comprehension ; 
but  proportioned.  And  it  is  this  proportion  alone 
which  converts  a  tremendous  element  into  a  wel- 
come visitor. 

It  has  been  observed  to  me  by  a  learned  friend, 
as  having  often  struck  his  mind,  that  if  light  had 
been  made  by  a  common  artist,  it  would  have  been 
of  one  uniform  colour ;  whereas,  by  its  present 
composition,  we  have  that  variety  of  colours, 
which  is  of  such  infinite  use  to  us  for  the  distin- 
guishing of  objects ;  which  adds  so  much  to  the 
beauty  of  the  earth,  and  augments  the  stock  of 
our  innocent  pleasures. 

With  which  may  be  joined  another  reflection, 
viz.  that,  considering  light  as  compounded  of 
rays  of  seven  different  colours,  (of  which  there 
can  be  no  doubt,  because  it  can  be  resolved  into 
these  rays  by  simply  passing  it  through  a  prism,) 
the  constituent  parts  must  be  well  mixed  and 
blended  together,  to  produce  a  fluid  so  clear  and 
colourless,  as  a  beam  of  light  is,  when  received 
from  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Astronomy* 

My  opinion  of  Astronomy  has  always  been, 
that  it  is  not  the  best  medium  through  which  to 
])rove  the  agency  of  an  intelligent  Creator;  but 
that,  this  being  proved,  it  shows,  beyond  all  other 
sciences,  the  magnificence  of  his  operations.  The 
mind  which  is  once  convinced,  it  raises  to  sub- 
limer  views  of  the  Deity  than  any  other  subject 
affords ;  but  it  is  not  so  well  adapted,  as  some 
other  subjects  are,  to  the  purpose  of  argument. 
We  are  (lestitute  of  the  means  of  examining  the 
constitution  of  the  heavenly  bodies.  The  very 
simplicity  of  their  appearance  is  against  them. 
We  see  nothing,  but  bright  points,  luminous  cir- 
cles, or  the  pha.^es  of  spheres  reflecting  the  light 
which  falls  upon  them.  Now  we  deduce  design 
from  relation,  aptitude,  and  corresi)ondence  of 
•parts.     Some  degree,  therefore,  of  complcvity  is 


*  For  the  articles  in  this  chapter  marked  with  an  as- 
terisk, I  am  indebted  to  some  obli(;ing  communications 
received  (through  the  hands  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  El 
)ihin)  from  the  Rev  J.  Brinkley,  M.  A.  Andrew's  Pro 
fessor  of  Astronomy  in  the  University  of  Dublin. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


457 


aecessary  to  rentier  a  subject  fit  for  this  species  of 
dTgument.  But  the  heavenly  bodies  do  not.  ex- 
cept perhaps  in  the  instance  of  Saturn's  ring,  prt^ 
sent  themselves  to  our  observation  as  compound- 
ed of  parts  at  all.  This,  which  may  be  a  perfection 
in  them,  is  a  disadvantage  to  us,  as  inquirers  after 
their  nature.  They  do  not  come  within  our  me- 
chanics. 

And  what  we  say  of  their  forms,  is  true  of  their 
motions.  Their  motions  are  carried  on  without 
any  sensible  intermediate  apparatus ;  whereby  we 
are  cut  oft  from  one  principal  ground  of  argument- 
ation, analogy.  We  have  nothing  wherewith  to 
compare  them;  no  invention,  no  discovery,  no 
operation  or  resource  of  art,  which,  in  this  respect, 
resembles  them.  Even  those  things  which  are 
made  to  imitate  and  represent  them,  such  as  or- 
reries, planetaria,  celestial  globes,  &c.  bear  no 
affiuity  to  them,  in  the  cause  and  principle  by 
which  their  motions  are  actuated.  1  can  assign 
for  this  difference  a  reason  of  utility,  viz.  a  reason 
why,  though  the  action  of  terrestrial  bodies  upon 
each  other  be,  in  almost  all  cases,  through  the  in- 
tervention of  sohd  or  fluid  substances,  yet  central 
attraction  does  not  operate  in  this  manner.  It  was 
necessary  that  the  intervals  between  the  planetary 
orl)s  should  be  devoid  of  any  inert  matter  either 
fluid  or  solid,  because  such  an  intervening  sub- 
stance would,  by  its  resistance,  destroy  those  very 
motions,  which  attraction  is  employed  to  preserve. 
This  may  be  a  final  cause  of  the  difference;  but 
still  the  difference  destroys  the  analogy. 

Our  ignorance,  moreover,  of  the  sensitive  na- 
tures by  which  other  planets  are  inhabited,  neces- 
sarily keeps  from  us  the  knowledge  of  numberless 
utilities,  relations,  and  subserviencies,  which  we 
perceive  upon  our  own  globe. 

After  all;  the  real  subject  of  admiration  is,  that 
we  understand  so  much  of  astronom_y  as  we  do. 
That  an  animal  confined  to  the  surface  of  one  of 
the  planets ;  bearing  a  less  proportion  to  it  than 
the  smallest  microscopic  insect  does  to  the  plant 
it  lives  upon ;  that  this  little,  busv,  inquisitive 
creature,  by  the  use  of  senses  which  were  given 
to  it  for  its  domestic  necessities,  and  by  means  of 
the  assistance  of  those  senses  which  it  has  had  the 
art  to  procure,  should  have  been  enabled  to  ob- 
serve the  whole  system  of  worlds  to  which  its  own 
belongs;  the  changes  of  place  of  the  immense 
globes  which  compose  it ;  and  with  such  accuracy, 
as  to  mark  out  beforehand  the  situation  in  the 
heavens  in  which  they  will  be  found  at  any  future 
point  of  time ;  and  that  these  bodies,  after  sailing 
through  regions  of  void  and  trackless  space,  should 
arrive  at  the  place  where  they  were  expected,  not 
within  a  minute,  but  within  a  few  seconds  of  a 
minute,  of  the  time  prefixed  and  predicted :  all 
this  is  wonderful,  whether  we  refer  our  admiration 
to  the  constancy  of  the  heavenly  motions  them- 
selves, or  to  the  perspicacity  and  precision  with 
which  they  have  been  noticed  by  mankind.  Nor 
is  this  the  whole,  nor  indeed  the  chief  part,  of 
what  astronomy  teaches.  By  bringing  reason  to 
bear  upon  observation,  (the  acutest  reasoning 
upon  the  exactest  observation,)  the  astronomer 
has  been  able,  out  of  the  "  mystic  dance,"  and  the 
confusion  (for  such  it  is)  under  which  the  motions 
of  the  heavenly  bodies  present  themselves  to  the 
eye  of  a  mere  gazer  upon  the  skies,  to  eUcit  their 
?rder  and  their  real  paths. 

Our  knowledge,  therefore,  of  astronomy  is  ad- 
mirable, though  imperfect :  and,  amidst  the  con- 
3M 


fessed  desiderata  and  desideranda,  which  impede 
our  investigation  of  the  wisdom  of  the  Deitv  in 
these  the  grandest  of  his  works,  there  are  to  be 
found,  in  the  phenomena,  ascertained  circum- 
stances and  laws,  sufficient  to  indicate  an  intel- 
lectual agency  in  three  of  its  principal  operations, 
viz.  in  choosing,  in  determining,  in  regulating ; 
in  choosing,  out  of  a  boundless  variety  of  suppo- 
sitions which  were  equally  possible,  that  which  is 
beneficial;  in  determining,  what,  left  to  itself, 
had  a  thousand  chances  against  conveniency,  for 
one  in  its  favour;  in  regulating  subjects,  as  to 
quantity  and  degree,  which,  by  their  nature,  were 
unlimited  with  respect  to  citlier.  It  will  be  our 
business  to  ofler,  under  each  of  these  heads,  a  few 
instances,  such  as  best  admit  of  a  popular  expli- 
cation. 

I.  Amongst  proofs  of  choice,  one  is,  fixing  the 
source  of  light  and  heat  in  the  centre  of  the  sys- 
tem. The  sun  is  ignited  and  luminous;  the 
planets,  VFhich  move  round  him,  cold  and  dark. 
There  seems  to  be  no  antecedent  necessity  fortius 
order.  The  sun  might  have  been  an  opaque  mass  ; 
some  one,  or  two,  or  more,  or  any.  or  all,  the  pla- 
nets, globes  of  fire.  There  is  nothing  in  the  na- 
ture of  the  heavenly  bodies,  which  requires  that 
those  which  are  stationary  should  be  on  fire,  that 
those  which  move  should  be  cold :  for,  in  fact, 
comets  are  bodies  on  fire,  or  at  least  capable  of  the 
most  intense  heat,  yet  revolve  round  a  centre : 
nor  does  this  order  obtain  between  the  primary 
planets  and  their  secondaries,  which  are  all  opaque. 
When  we  consider,  therefore,  that  the  sun  is  one , 
that  the  planets  going  round  it  are,  at  least,  seven; 
that  it  is  indifferent  to  their  nature,  which  are  lu- 
minous and  which  are  opaque ;  and  also,  in  what 
order,  with  respect  to  each  other,  these  two  kinds 
of  bo<lies  are  disposed  ;  we  may  judge  of  the  im- 
probability of  the  present  arrangement  taking 
place  by  chance. 

If  bv  way  of  accounting  for  the  state  in  which 
we  find  the  solar  system,  it  be  alleged,  (and  this 
is  one  amongst  the  guesses  of  those  who  reject  an 
intelligent  Creator.)  that  the  planets  themselves 
arc  only  cooled  or  cooling  masses,  and  v»ere  once, 
hke  the  sun,  many  thousand  times  hotter  than 
red-hot  iron ;  then  it  follows,  that  the  sun  also 
himself  must  be  in  his  progress  towards  growing 
cold  ;  which  puts  an  end  to  the  possibility  of  his 
having  existed,  as  he  is,  from  eternity.  This  con- 
sequence arises  out  of  the  hypothesis  with  stiU 
more  certainty,  if  we  make  a  part  of  it,  what  the 
philosophers  who  maintain  it  have  usually  taught, 
that  the  planets  were  originally  masses  of  matter, 
struck  off  in  a  state  of  fusion,  from  the  body  of 
the  sun  bv  the  percussion  of  a  comet,  or  by  a 
shock  from  some  other  cause,  with  which  we  are 
not  acquainted  :  for,  if  these  masses,  partaking  of 
the  nature  and  substance  of  the  sun's  body,  have 
in  process  of  time  lost  their  heat,  that  body  it.'elf, 
in  time  likewise,  no  matter  in  how  much  longer 
time,  must  lose  its  heat  also,  and  therefore  be  in- 
capable of  an  eternal  duration  in  the  state  in 
which  we  see  it,  either  for  the  time  to  come,  or  the 
time  past. 

The  preference  of  the  present  to  any  other  mode 
of  distributing  luminous  and  opaque  bodies,  I  take 
to  be  evident.  It  requires  more  astronomy  than  1 
am  able  to  lav  before  the  reader,  to  show,  in  its 
particulars,  what  would  be  the  effect  to  the  sys- 
tem, of  a  dark  body  at  the  centre,  and  of  one  of 
the  planets  bein<T  luminous:  but  I  think  it  mani- 
39 


458 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


fest,  without  either  plates  or  calculation,  first,  that 
supposing  the  necessary  proportion  of  magnitude 
between  the  centra!  and  the  revolving  bodies  to  be 
preserved,  the  ignited  planet  would  not  be  suffi- 
cient to  illuminate  and  warm  the  rest  of  the  sys- 
tem ;  secondly,  that  its  light  and  heat  would  be 
imparted  to  the  other  planets  much  more  irregu- 
larly than  light  and  heat  are  now  received  from 
the  sun. 

(*)  II.  Another  thing,  in  which  a  choice  ap- 
pears to  be  exercised,  and  in  which,  amongst  the 
possibilities  out  of  which  the  choice  was  to  be 
made,  the  number  of  those  which  were  wrong 
bore  an  infinite  proportion  to  the  number  of  those 
wliich  were  right,  is  in  what  geometricians  call 
the  a.vis  of  rotation.  This  matter  I  will  endea- 
vour to  explain.  The  earth,  it  is  well  known,  is 
not  an  exact  globe,  but  an  oblate  spheroid,  some- 
thing like  an  orange.  Now  the  axes  of  rotation, 
or  tlie  diameters  upon  which  such  a  body  may  be 
mad(!  to  turn  round,  are  as  many  as  can  be  drawn 
through  its  centre  to  opposite  points  upon  its 
whole  surface  :  but  of  these  axes  none  are  -perma- 
nent, except  either  its  shortest  diameter,  i.  e.  that 
which  passes  through  the  heart  of  the  orange  from 
the  place  where  the  stalk  is  inserted  into  it,  and 
which  is  but  one;  or  its  longest  diameters,  at 
right  angles  with  the  former,  which  must  all  ter- 
minate in  the  single  circumference  which  goes 
round  the  thickest  part  of  the  orange.  The  short- 
est diameter  is  that  upon  which  in  fact  the  earth 
turns,  and  it  is,  as  the  reader  sees,  what  it  ought 
to  be,  a  permanent  axis ;  whereas,  had  blind 
chance,  had  a  casual  impulse,  had  a  stroke  or  push 
at  random,  set  the  earth  a-spinning,  the  odds  were 
infinite,  but  that  they  had  sent  it  round  upon  a 
wrong  axis.  And  what  would  have  been  the 
consequence  1  The  difference  between  a  perma- 
nent axis  and  another  axis  is  this :  When  a  sphe- 
roid in  a  state  of  rotatory  motion  gets  upon  a  per- 
manent axis,  it  keeps  there;  it  remains  steady 
and  faithful  to  its  position  ;  its  poles  preserve  their 
direction  with  respect  to  the  plane  and  to  the  cen- 
tre of  its  orbit:  but,  whilst  it  turns  upon  an  axis 
which  is  not  permanent  (and  the  number  of  those 
we  have  s(«n  infinitely  exceeds  the  number  of  the 
other,)  it  is  always  liable  to  shift  and  vacillate 
from  one  axis  to  another,  with  a  corresponduig 
change  in  the  inclination  of  its  poles.  Therefore, 
if  a  planet  once  set  oti'revolvmg  upon  any  other 
than  its  shortest,  or  one  of  its  longest  axes,  the 
poles  on  its  surface  would  keep  perpetually  chang- 
ing, and  it  never  would  attain  a  permanent  axis 
of  rotation.  The  eliect  of  this  untixedness  and 
instability  would  be,  that  the  equatorial  parts  of 
the  earth  might  become  the  polar,  or  the  polar  the 
equatorial ;  to  the  utter  destruction  of  plants  and 
animals,  which  are  not  capable  of  interchanging 
their  situations,  but  are  respectively  adapted  to 
their  own.  As  to  ourselves,  instead  of  rejoicing 
in  our  temperate  zone,  and  annually  preparing  lor 
the  moderate  vicissitude,  or  rather  the  agreeable  suc- 
cession of  seasons,  which  we  experience  and  ex- 
pect, we  might  come  to  be  locked  up  in  the  ice 
and  darkness  of  the  arctic  circle,  with  bodies  nei- 
ther inured  to  its  rigours,  nor  provided  with  shel- 
ter or  defence  against  them.  Nor  would  it  be 
much  better,  if  the  trepidation  of  our  pole,  taking 
an  opposite  course,  should  place  us  under  the 
heats  of  a  vertical  sun.  But  if  it  would  fare  so 
ill  with  the  human  inhabitant,  who  can  Hve  under 
greater  varieties  of  latitude  than  any  other  animal ; 


still  more  noxious  would  this  translation  of  climate 
have  proved  to  life  in  the  rest  of  the  creation; 
and,  most  perhaps  of  all,  in  plants.  The  habita- 
ble earth,  and  its  beautiful  variety,  might  have 
been  destroyed,  by  a  simple  mischance  in  the  axis 
of  rotation. 

(*)  III.  All  this,  however,  proceeds  upon  a  sup- 
position of  the  earth  having  been  formed  at  first 
an  oblate  spheroid.  There  is  another  supposhion ; 
and  perhaps  our  limited  information  will  not  ena- 
ble us  to  decide  between  them.  The  second  sup- 
position is,  that  the  earth,  being  a  mixed  mass 
somewhat  fluid,  took,  as  it  might  do,  its  present 
form,  by  the  joint  action  of  the  mutual  gravitation 
of  its  parts  and  its  rotatory  motion.  This,  as  we 
have  said,  is  a  point  in  the  history  of  the  earth, 
which  our  observations  are  not  sufficient  to  deter- 
mine. For  a  very  small  depth  below  the  surtace, 
(but  extremely  small,  less,  perhaj>s,  than  an  eight- 
thousandth  part,  compared  with  the  depth  of  the 
centre,)  we  find  vestiges  of  ancient  iiuidity.  But 
this  fluidity  must  have  gone  down  many  hundred 
times  farther  than  we  can  penetrate,  to  enable  the 
earth  to  talce  its  present  oblate  form :  and  whether 
any  traces  of  this  kind  exist  to  that  depth,  we  are 
ignorant.  Calculations  were  made  a  few  years 
ago,  of  the  mean  density  of  the  earth,  by  compar- 
ing the  force  of  its  attraction  with  the  force  of  at- 
traction of  a  rock  of  granite,  the  bulk  of  which 
could  be  ascertained :  and  the  upshot  of  the  cal- 
culation was,  that  the  earth  upon  an  average, 
through  its  whole  sphere,  has  twice  the  density 
of  granite,  or  about  five  times  that  of  water. 
Therefore  it  cannot  be  a  hollow  shell,  as  some 
have  formerly  su[)posed;  nor  can  its  internal 
parts  be  occupied  Iiy  central  fire,  or  by  water. 
The  solid  parts  must  greatly  exceed  the  fluid 
parts;  and  the  probability  is,  that  it  is  a  solid  mass 
throughout,  composed  of  substances  more  ponder- 
ous the  deeper  we  go.  Nevertheless,  we  may  con- 
ceive the  present  face  of  the  earth  to  have  origi- 
nated from  the  revolution  of  a  sphere,  covered  by 
a  surfiice  of  a  compound  mixture  ;  the  fluid  and 
solid  parts  separating,  as  the  surface  becomes 
quiescent.  Here  then  comes  in  the  inoderating 
hand  of  the  Creator.  If  the  water  had  exceeded  its 
present  proportion,  even  but  by  a  trifling  quantity 
compared  with  the  whole  globe,  all  the  land  would 
have  been  covered:  had  there  been  much  less 
than  there  is,  there  would  not  have  been  enough 
to  fertilize  the  continent.  Had  the  exsiccation 
been  progressive,  such  as  we  may  suppose  to  have 
been  produced  by  an  evaporating  heat,  how  came 
it  to  stop  at  the  point  at  which  we  see  it  ?  Why 
did  it  not  stop  sooner  ]  why  at  all '?  The  mandate 
of  the  Deity  will  account  for  this ;  nothing  else 
will. 

IV.  Of  CENTRtPETAL  FORCES.  By  virtue  of 
the  simplest  law  that  can  be  imagined,  viz.  that  a 
body  continues  in  the  state  in  which  it  is,  whe- 
ther of  motion  or  rest;  and,  if  in  motion,  goes  on 
in  the  line  in  which  it  was  proceeding,  and  with 
the  same  velocity,  unless  there  be  some  cause  for 
change :  by  virtue,  I  say,  of  this  law,  it  comes  to 
pass,  (what  may  appear  to  be  a  strange  conse- 
quence,) that  cases  ari.se,  in  which  attraction,  in- 
cessantly drawing  a  body  towards  a  centre,  nevei 
brings,  nor  ever  will  bring,  the  body  to  that  centre 
but  keep  it  in  eternal  circulation  round  it.  If  it 
were  possible  to  fire  off  a  cannon-ball  with  a  velo- 
city of  five  miles  in  a  second,  and  the  resistance 
of  the  air  could  be  taken  away,  the  cannon-ball 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


45Si 


would  for  ever  wheel  round  the  earth,  instead  of 
falling  down  upon  it.  This  is  the  princi})le  which 
sustains  the  heavenly  motions.  The  Deity,  hav- 
ing appointed  this  law  to  matter,  (than  which,  as 
we  have  said  hefore.  no  law  could  be  more  simple,) 
has  turned  it  to  a  wonderful  account  in  construct- 
ing jjlanctary  systems. 

The  actuating  cause  in  these  systems,  is  an  at- 
traction which  varies  reciprocally  as  the  square 
of  the  distance ;  that  is,  at  double  the  distance, 
has  a  quarter  of  the  force;  at  half  the  distance, 
four  times  the  strength ;  and  so  on.  Now,  con- 
cerning this  law  of  variation,  we  have  three  things 
to  observe :  First ;  that  attraction,  for  any  thing 
we  know  about  it,  was  just  as  capable  of  one  law 
of  variation,  as  of  another :  Secondly ;  that,  out 
of  an  infinite  number  of  possible  laws,  those  which 
were  admissible  for  the  purpose  of  supporting  the 
heavenly  motions,  lay  within  certain  narrow  li- 
mits; Thirdly;  that  of  the  admissible  laws,  or 
those  which  corae  within  the  limits  prescribed,  the 
law  that  actually  prevails  is  the  most  beneficial. 
So  far  as  these  propositions  can  be  made  out,  we 
may  be  said,  I  think,  to  prove  choice  and  regula- 
tion :  choice,  out  of  boundless  variety ;  and  regu- 
latiou,  of  that  which,  by  its  own  nature,  was,  in 
respect  of  the  property  regulated,  indifferent  and 
indefinite. 

I.  First  then,  attraction,  for  anything  we  know 
about  it,  was  originally  inditierent  to  all  laws  of 
variation  depending  upon  change  of  distance,  i.  e. 
just  as  susceptible  of  one  law  as  of  another.  It 
might  have  been  the  same  at  all  distances;  it 
might  have  increased  as  the  distance  increased : 
or  it  might  have  diminished  with  the  increase  of 
the  distance,  3'et  in  ten  thousand  different  propor- 
tions from  the  present ;  it  might  have  followed  no 
stated  law  at  all.  If  attraction  be  what  Cotes, 
with  many  other  Newtonians,  thought  it  to  be, 
a  primordial  property  of  matter,  not  dependent 
upon,  or  traceable  to,  any  other  material  cause; 
then,  by  the  very  nature  and  definition  of  a  pri- 
mordial property,  it  stood  indifferent  to  all  laws. 
If  it  be  the  agency  of  something  immaterial ;  then 
also,  for  any  thing  we  know  of  it,  it  was  indiffer- 
ent to  all  laws.  If  the  revolution  of  bodies  round 
a  centre  depend  upon  vortices,  neither  arc  these 
limited  to  one  law  more  than  another. 

There  is,  I  know,  an  account  given  of  attrac- 
tion, which  should  seem,  in  its  very  cause,  to  as- 
sign to  it  the  law  which  we  find  it  to  observe ; 
and  which,  therefore,  makes  that  law,  a  law,  not 
of  choice,  but  of  necessity :  and  it  is  the  account, 
which  ascribes  attraction  to  an  emanation  from 
the  attracting  body.  It  is  probable,  that  the  in- 
fluence of  such  an  emanation  will  be  proportioned 
to  the  spissitude  of  the  rays  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed; which  spissitude,  supposing  the  rays  to 
issue  in  right  lines  on  all  sides  from  a  point,  will 
be  reciprocally  as  the  square  of  the  distance.  The 
mathematics  of  this  solution  we  do  not  call  in 
question:  the  question  with  us  is,  whether  there 
be  any  sufficient  reason  for  believing  that  attrac- 
tion is  produced  by  an  emanation.  For  my  part, 
I  am  totally  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  how  particles 
streaming  yrom  a  centre  should  draw  a  body  to- 
wards it.  The  impulse,  if  impulse  it  be,  is  all  the 
other  way.  Nor  shall  we  find  less  difficulty  in 
conceiving  a  conflux  of  particles,  incessantly 
flowing  to  a  centre,  and  carrying  down  all  bodies 
along  with  it,  that  centre  also  itself  being  in  a 
state  of  rapid  motion  through  absolute  space;  for, 


by  what  source  is  the  stream  fed,  or  what  becomes 
of  the  accumulation  1  Add  to  which,  that  it  seems 
to  imply  a  contrariety  of  properties,  to  suppose  an 
ethereal  fluid  to  act,  but  not  to  resist ;  powerful 
enough  to  carry  down  bodies  with  great  force  to- 
wards a  centre,  yet,  inconsistently  with  the  nature 
of  inert  matter,  powerless  and  perfectly  yielding 
with  respect  to  the  motions  which  result  from  the 
projectile  impulse.  By  calculations  drawn  from 
ancient  notices  of  eclipses  of  the  moon,  we  can 
prove  that,  if  such  a  fluid  exist  at  all,  its  resistance 
has  had  no  sensible  effect  upon  the  moon  s  motion 
for  two  thousand  five  hundred  years.  The  truth 
is,  that,  except  this  one  circumstance  of  the  varia- 
tion of  the  attracting  force  at  different  distances 
agreeing  with  the  variation  of  the  spissitude,  tliere 
is  no  reason  whatever  to  support  the  hypothesis 
of  an  emanation;  and,  as  it  seems  to  me,  almost 
insuperable  rea.sons  against  it. 

(*)  II.  Our  second  proposition  is,  that,  whilst 
the  possible  laws  of  variation  were  inlinite,  the 
admissible  laws,  or  the  laws  compatible  with  the 
preservation  of  the  system,  lie  within  narrow 
limits.  If  the  attracting  force  had  varied  according 
to  any  direct  law  of  the  distance,  let  it  have  been 
what  it  would,  great  destruction  and  confusion 
would  have  taken  place.  The  direct  simple  pro- 
portion of  the  distance  would,  it  is  true,  have  pro- 
duced  an  ellipse:  but  the  perturbing  forces  would 
have  acted  with  so  much  advantage,  as  to  be  con- 
tinually changing  the  dimensions  of  the  ellipse,  in 
a  manner  inconsistent  with  our  terrestrial  creation. 
For  instance;  if  the  planet  Saturn,  so  large  and 
so  remote,  had  attracted  the  Earth,  both  in  pro- 
portion to  the  quantity  of  matter  contained  in  it, 
which  it  does ;  and  also  in  any  proportion  to  its 
distance,  i.  e.  if  it  had  pulled  the  harder  for  being 
the  farther  off'  (instead  of  the  reverse  of  it,)  it 
would  have  dragged  out  of  its  course  the  globe 
which  we  inhabit,  and  have  perplexed  its  motions, 
to  a  degree  incompatible  with  our  security,  our 
enjoyments,  and  probably  our  existence.  Of  the 
inrerse  laws,  if  the  centripetal  force  had  changed 
as  the  cube  of  the  distance,  or  in  any  higher  pro- 
portion, that  is,  (for  I  speak  to  the  unlearned,)  if, 
at  double  the  distance,  the  attractive  force  had 
been  diminished  to  an  eighth  part,  or  to  less  than 
that,  the  consequence  would  have  been,  that  the 
planets,  if  they  once  began  to  approach  the  sun, 
would  have  fallen  into  his  body;  if  they  once, 
though  by  ever  so  little,  increased  their  distance 
from  the  centre,  would  for  ever  have  receded  from 
it.  The  laws  therefore  of  attraction,  by  which  a 
system  of  revolving  bodies  could  be  upholden  in 
their  motions,  lie  within  narrow  limits,  compared 
with  the  possible  laws.  I  much  underrate  the  re- 
striction, when  I  say  that,  in  a  scale  of  a  mile, 
they  are  confined  to  an  inch.  All  direct  ratios  of 
the  distance  are  excluded,  on  account  of  danger 
from  perturbing  forces :  all  reciprocal  ratios,  except 
what  lie  beneath  the  cube  of  the  distance,  by  the 
demonstrable  consequence,  that  every  the  least 
change  of  distance  would,  under  the  operation  of 
such  laws,  have  been  fatal  to  the  repose  and  order 
of  the  system.  We  do  not  know,  that  is,  we  sel- 
dom reflect,  how  interested  we  are  in  this  matter. 
Small  irregularities  may  be  endured ;  but,  changes 
within  these  limits  being  allowed  for,  the  perma- 
nency of  our  ellipse  is  a  question  of  life  and  death 
to  our  whole  sensitive  world. 

(*)  III.  That  the  subsisting  law  of  attraction 
falls  within  the  limits  which  utility  requires,  when 


460 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


ihese  limits  bear  so  small  a  proportion  to  the  range 
of  possibilities  upon  which  chance  might  equally 
have  cast  it,  is  not,  with  any  appearance  of  rea- 
son, to  be  accounted  for  by  any  other  cause  than  a 
regulation  proceeding  from  a  designing  mind. 
But  our  next  proposition  carries  the  matter  some- 
what farther.  We  say,  in  the  third  place,  that, 
out  of  the  different  laws  which  lie  within  the 
limits  of  admissible  laws,  the  best  is  made  choice 
of;  that  there  are  advantages  in  this  particular 
law  which  cannot  be  demonstrated  to  belong  to 
any  other  law  ;  and,  concerning  some  of  which,  it 
can  be  demonstrated  that  they  do  not  belong  to 
«!ny  other. 

(*)  1.  Whilst  this  law  prevails  between  each 
particle  of  matter,  the  united  attraction  of  a  sphere, 
composed  of  that  matter,  observes  the  same  law. 
This  property  of  the  law  is  necessary,  to  render 
it  applicable  to  a  system  composed  of  spheres,  but 
it  is  a  property  which  belongs  to  no  other  law  of 
attraction  that  is  admissible.  The  law  of  varia- 
tion of  the  united  attraction  is  in  no  other  case  the 
same  as  the  law  of  attraction  of  each  particle,  one 
case  excepted,  and  that  is  of  the  attraction  varying 
directly  as  the  distance ;  the  inconvenienc.y  of 
which  law,  in  other  respects,  we  have  already  no- 
ticed. 

We  may  follow  this  regulation  somewhat  far- 
ther, and  still  more  strikingly  perceive  that  it  pro- 
ceeded from  a  designing  mind.  A  law  both  ad- 
missible anil  convenient  was  requisite.  In  what 
v/ay  is  the  law  of  the  attracting  globes  obtained  ? 
Astronomical  observations  and  terrestrial  experi- 
ments show  that  the  attraction  of  the  glolies  of  the 
system  is  made  up  of  the  attraction  of  their  parts ; 
the  attraction  of  each  globe  being  compounded  of 
the  attractions  of  its  parts.  Now  the  admissible 
and  convenient  law  whicli  exists,  could  not  be  ob- 
tained in  a  system  of  bodies  gravitating  by  the 
united  gravitation  of  their  parts,  unless  each  par- 
ticle of  macter  were  attracted  by  a  force  varying 
by  one  particular  law,  viz.  varying  inversely  as 
the  square  of  the  distance :  for,  if  the  action  of  the 
particles  be  according  to  any  other  law  whatever, 
the  admissilile  and  convenient  law,  which  is 
adopted,  could  not  be  olitaincd.  Here  then  are 
clearly  shown  regulation  and  design.  A  law 
both  admissible  and  convenient  was  to  be  obtained : 
the  mode  chosen  for  obtaining  that  law  was  by 
making  each  particle  of  matter  act.  After  this 
choice  was  made,  then  farther  attention  was  to 
be  given  to  each  particle  of  matter,  and  one,  and 
one  only,  particular  law  of  action  to  be  assigned  to 
it.  No  other  law  would  have  answered  the  pur- 
pose intended. 

(*)  2.  All  systems  must  be  liable  to  perturba- 
tions. And,  therefore,  to  guard  against  these  per- 
turbations, or  rather  to  guard  against  their  running 
to  destructive  lengths,  is  perhaps  the  strongest 
evidence  of  care  and  foresight  that  can  be  given. 
Now,  we  are  able  to  demonstrate  of  our  law  of 
attraction,  what  can  be  demonstrated  of  no  other, 
and  what  qualilies  the  dangers  which  arise  from 
cross  but  unavoidable  influences;  that  the  action 
of  the  parts  of  our  system  upon  one  another  will 
not  cause  permanently  increasing  irregularities, 
but  merely  periodical  or  vibratory  ones ;  that  is, 
they  will  come  to  a  limit,  and  then  go  back  again. 
This  we  can  demonstrate  only  of  a  system,  in 
which  the  following  properties  concur,  viz.  that 
the  force  shall  be  inversely  as  the  square  of  the 
distance;  the  masses  of  the  revolving  bodies  small,  1 


compared  with  that  of  the  body  at  the  centre ;  the 
orbits  not  much  inclined  to  one  another;  and 
their  eccentricity  little.  In  such  a  system,  the 
grand  points  are  secure.  The  mean  distances  and 
periodic  times,  upon  which  depend  our  tempera- 
ture, and  the  regularity  of  our  year,  are  constant. 
The  eccentricities,  it  is  true,  will  still  vary ;  but  so 
slowly,  and  to  so  small  an  extent,  as  to  produce  no 
inconveniency  from  fluctuation  of  temperature  and 
season.  The  same  as  to  the  obliquity  of  the 
planes  of  the  orbits.  For  instance,  the  inclination 
of  the  ecliptic  to  the  equator  will  never  change 
above  two  degrees  (out  of  ninety.)  and  that  will 
require  many  thousand  years  in  performing. 

It  has  been  rightly  also  remarked,  that,  if  the 
great  planets,  Jupiter  and  Saturn,  had  moved  in 
lower  spheres,  their  influences  would  have  had 
much  more  effect  as  to  disturbing  the  planetary 
motions,  than  they  now  have.  While  they  re- 
volve at  so  great  distances  from  the  rest,  they  act 
almost  equally  on  the  sun  and  on  the  inferior 
planets ;  which  has  nearly  the  same  consequences 
as  not  acting  at  all  upon  either. 

If  it  be  said  that  the  planets  might  have  been 
sent  round  the  sun  in  exact  circles,  ni  which  case, 
no  change  of  distance  from  the  centre  taking 
place,  the  law  of  variation  of  the  attracting  power 
would  have  never  come  in  question,  one  law 
would  have  served  as  well  as  another ;  an  answer 
to  the  scheme  may  be  drawn  from  the  considera- 
tion of  these  same  perturbing  forces.  The  system 
retaining  in  other  respects  its  present  constitution, 
though  the  planets  had  been  at  first  sent  round 
in  exact  circular  orbits,  they  could  not  have  kept 
them ;  and  if  the  law  of  attraction  had  not  been 
what  it  is,  or,  at  least,  if  the  prevailing  law  had 
transgressed  the  limits  above  assigned,  every  eva- 
gation  would  have  been  fatal :  the  planet  once 
drawn,  as  drawn  it  necessarily  must  have  beenj 
out  of  its  course,  would  have  wandered  in  endless 
error. 

(*)  V.  What  we  have  seen  in  the  law  of  the 
centripetal  force,  viz.  a  choice  guided  by  views  of 
utilitv,  and  a  choice  of  one  law  out  of  thousands 
which  might  equally  have  taken  place,  we  see  no 
less  in  the  figures  of  the  planetary  orbits.  It  was 
not  enough  to  fix  the  law  of  the  centripetal  force, 
though  by  the  wisest  choice ;  for,  even  under  that 
law,  it  was  still  comj)etent  to  the  planets  to  have 
moved  in  paths  possessing  so  great  a  degree  of 
eccentricity,  as,  in  the  course  of  every  revolution, 
to  be  brought  very  near  to  the  sun,  and  carried 
away  to  immense  distances  from  him.  The 
comets  actually  move  in  orbits  of  this  sort :  and, 
had  the  planets  done  so,  instead  of  going  round 
in  orbits  nearly  circular,  the  change  from  one  ex- 
tremity of  temperature  to  another  must,  in  ours  at 
least,  have  destroyed  every  animal  and  plant  upon 
its  surface.  Now,  the  distance  from  tiie  centre 
at  which  a  planet  sets  off,  and  the  absolute  force 
of  attraction  at  that  distance,  being  fixed,  the 
figure  of  its  orbit,  its  being  a  circle,  or  nearer  to, 
or  farther  ofi"  from  a  circle,  viz.  a  rounder  or  a 
longer  oval,  depends  upon  two  things,  the  velocity 
with,  and  the  direction  in  which,  the  planet  is 
projected.  And  these,  in  order  to  produce  a  right 
result,  must  be  both  brought  within  certain  narrow 
limits.  One,  and  only  one,  velocity,  united  with 
one,  and  only  one,  direction,  will  produce  a  [)er- 
fect  circle.  And  the  velocity  must  be  near  to 
this  velocity,  and  the  direction  also  near  to  this 
direction,  to  produce  orbits,  such  as  the  planetary 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


461 


•jrbits  arc,  nearly  circular ;  that  is,  ellipses  with 
small  eccentricities.  The  velocity  and  the  direc- 
tion must  both,  be  right.  If  the  velocity  be  wrong, 
no  direction  will  cure  the  error;  if  the  direction 
be  in  any  considerable  degree  oblique,  no  velocit}' 
will  produce  the  orbit  required.  Take  for  exam- 
ple the  attraction  of  gravity  at  the  surface  of  tiic 
earth.  The  force  of  that  attraction  being  what 
it  is,  out  of  all  the  degrees  of  velocity,  swift  and 
slow,  with  which  a  ball  might  be  shot  off',  none 
would  answer  the  purpose  of  which  we  are  speak- 
ing, but  what  was  nearly  that  of  five  miles  in  a 
second.  If  it  were  less  than  that,  the  body  would 
not  get  round  at  all,  but  would  come  to  the  ground  ; 
if  it  were  in  any  considerable  degree  more  than 
that,  the  body  would  take  one  of  those  eccentric 
courses,  these  long  ellipses,  of  which  we  have 
noticed  the  inconveniency.  If  the  velocity  reached 
the  rate  of  seven  miles  in  a  second,  or  went  be- 
yond that,  the  ball  would  fly  off"  from  the  earth, 
and  never  be  heard  of  more.  In  like  manner  with 
respect  to  the  direction  ;  out  of  the  innumerable 
angles  in  which  the  ball  might  be  sent  off  (I  mean 
angles  formed  with  a  line  drawn  to  the  centre,) 
none  would  serve  but  what  was  nearly  a  right 
one:  out  of  tlie  various  directions  in  which  the 
cannon  might  be  pointed,  upwards  and  down- 
wards, every  one  would  fail,  but  what  was  exactly 
or  nearl}'  horizontal.  The  same  thing  holds  true 
of  the  planets  :  of  our  own  amongst  the  rest.  We 
are  entitled  therefore  to  ask,  and  to  urge  the  ques- 
tion. Why  did  the  projectile  velocity  and  projec- 
tile direction  of  the  earth  happen  to  be  nearly 
those  which  would  retain  it  in  a  circular  form  ! 
Why  not  one  of  the  infinite  number  of  velocities, 
one  of  the  infinite  number  of  directions,  which 
would  have  made  it  approach  much  nearer  to,  or 
recede  much  farther  from,  the  sun  1 

The  planets  going  round,  all  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, and  all  nearly  in  the  same  plane,  afl[brded  to 
Butfon  a  ground  for  asserting  that  tlicy  had  all 
been  sliivered  from  the  sun  by  the  same  stroke  of 
a  comet,  and  by  that  stroke  projected  into  their 
present  orbits.  Now,  beside  that  this  is  to  attri- 
bute to  chance  the  fortunate  concurrence?  of  velo- 
city and  direction  which  we  have  been  here 
noticing,  the  hypothesis,  as  I  apprehend,  is  incon- 
sistent with  the  physical  laws  by  \\'hich  the 
heavenly  motions  are  governed.  If  the  planets 
were  struck  off  from  the  surface  of  the  sun,  they 
would  return  to  the  surface  of  the  sun  again. 
Nor  will  this  difficulty  be  got  rid  of,  by  supposing 
that  the  same  violent  blow  which  shattered  the 
sun's  surface,  and  separated  large  fragments  from 
it,  pushed  the  sun  himself  out  of  his  place  ;  for, 
the  consequence  of  this  would  be,  that  the  sun 
and  system  of  shattered  fragments  would  have  a 
progressive  motion,  which,  indeed,  may  possibly 
be  the  case  with  our  system ;  but  then  each  frag- 
ment would,  in  every  revolution,  return  to  the 
surface  of  the  sun  again.  The  hypothesis  is 
also  contradicted, by  the  vast  difference  which  sub- 
sists between  the  diameters  of  the  planetary 
orbits.  The  distance  of  Saturn  from  the  sun  (to 
say  nothing  of  the  Georgium  Sidus)  is  nearly 
five-and-twenty  times  that  of  Mercury ;  a  dispa- 
rity, which  it  seems  impossible  to  reconcile  with 
BufTon's  scheme.  Bodies  starting  from  the  same 
place,  with  whatever  difference  of  direction  or 
velocity  they  set  ofl^  could  not  have  been  found  at 
these  different  distances  from  the  centre,  still 
retaining  their  nearly  circular  orbits.    They  must 


have  been  carried  to  their  proper  distances,  before 
they  were  projected.* 

To  conclude  :  in  astronomy,  the  great  thing  is 
to  raise  the  imagination  to  the  subject,  and  that 
oftentimes  in  opposition  to  the  impression  made 
upon  the  senses.  An  illusion,  for  example,  must 
i5e  gotten  over,  arising  from  the  distance  at  which 
we  view  the  heavenly  bodies,  viz.  the  apparent 
sloicness  of  their  motions.  The  moon  shall  take 
some  hours  in  getting  half  a  yard  from  a  star 
which  it  touched.  A  motion  so  deliberate,  v>e  may 
think  casilj'  guided.  But  what  is  the  fact  1  The 
moon,  in  fact,  is,  all  this  while,  driving  through 
the  heavens,  at  the  rate  of  considerably  more  than 
two  thousand  miles  in  an  hour ;  which  is  more 
than  double  of  that  with  which  a  ball  is  shot  off 
from  the  mouth  of  a  cannon.  Yet  is  this  prodi- 
gious rapidity  as  much  under  government,  as  if 
the  planet  proceeded  ever  so  slowly,  or  were  con- 
ducted in  its  course  inch  by  inch.  It  is  also  diffi- 
cult to  bring  the  imagination  to  conceive  (what 
yet.  to  judge  tolerably  of  the  matter,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  conceive)  how  loose,  if  we  may  so  express 
it,  the  heavenly  bodies  are.  Enormous  globes, 
held  by  nothing,  confined  by  nothing,  are  turned 
into  free  and  boundless  space,  each  to  seek  its 
course  by  the  virtue  of  an  invisible  principle ; 
but  a  principle,  one,  common,  and  the  same  in 
all ;  and  ascertainable.  To  preserve  such  bodies 
from  being  lost,  from  running  together  in  heaps, 
from  hindering  and  distracting  one  another's  mo- 
tions in  a  degree  inconsistent  with  any  continu- 
ing order;  h.  e.  to  cause  them  to  form  planetary 
systems,  systems  that,  when  formed,  can  be  up- 
held, and  most  especially,  systems  accommodated 
to  the  organized  and  sensitive  natures  which  the 
planets  sustain,  as  we  know  to  be  the  case,  where 
alone  we  can  know  what  the  case  is,  upon  our 
earth :  all  this  requires  an  intelligent  interposi- 
tion, because  it  can  be  demonstrated  concerning 
it,  that  it  requires  an  adjustment  of  force,  dis- 
tance, direction,  and  velocity,  out  of  the  reach  of 
chance  to  have  produced ;  an  adjustment,  in  its 
view  to  utility,  similar  to  that  which  we  see  in 
ten  thousand  subjects  of  nature  which  are  nearer 
to  us,  but  in  power,  and  in  the  extent  of  space 
through  which  that  power  is  exerted,  stupendous. 

But  many  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  as  the  sun 
and  fixed  stars,  are  stationary.  Their  rest  must 
be  the  effect  of  an  absence  or  of  an  cquililirium 
of  attractions.  It  proves  also  that  a  projectile 
impulse  was  originally  given  to  some  of  the 
heavenly  bodies,  and  not  to  others.  Bijt  farther ; 
if  attraction  act  at  all  distances,  there  can  only 
be  one  quiescent  centre  of  gravity  in  the  universe: 
and  all  bodies  whatever  must  be  approaching  this 
centre,  or  revolving  round  it.     According  to  the 

*  If  we  suppose  the  matter  of  the  system  to  1>e  accu- 
mulated in  the  centre  by  its  gravity,  no  mechanical 
principles,  with  the  assistance  of  this  power  of  gravity, 
could  separate  the  vast  mass  into  sucli  parts  as  the  sun 
and  planets ;  and,  after  carrying  them  to  their  ditTerent 
distances,  project  them  in  their  several  directions,  pre- 
serving still  the  quality  of  action,  and  reaction,  or  the 
state  of  the  centre  of  gravity  of  the  system.  Such  an 
e.xquisite  structure  of  things  could  only  arise  from  the 
contrivance  and  powerful  intiuences  of  an  intelligpiit, 
free,  and  most  potent  agent.  Tlie  same  powers,  there- 
fore, which,  at  present,  govern  the  material  universe, 
and  conduct  its  various  motions,  are  very  different  from 
those  which  were  necessary  to  have  produced  it  from 
nothing,  or  to  have  disposed  it  in  the  admirable  form 
in  which  it  now  proceeds/' — JUaclaurin's  Account  »j 
JVewton's  Philog.  p.  407.  ed.  3. 
39* 


4&2 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


first  of  these  suppositions,  if  the  duration  of  tlie 
world  had  been  long  enough  to  allow  of  it.  all  its 
parts,  all  the  great  bodies  of  which  it  is  composed, 
must  have  been  gathered  together  in  a  heap  round 
this  point.  No  changes  however  which  have 
been  observed,  afford  us  the  smallest  reason  for 
believing,  that  either  the  one  supposition  or  the 
other  is  true  ;  and  then  it  will  follow,  that  attrac- 
tion itself  is  controlled  or  suspended  by  a  sui)erior 
agent ;  that  there  is  a  power  above  the  highest  of 
the  jiowers  of  material  nature ;  a  will  which  re- 
strains and  circumscribes  the  operations  of  the 
most  extensive.* 


CHAPTER  XXin. 

Of  the  Personality  of  the  Deity. 

Contrivance,  if  established,  appears  to  me 
to  prove  every  thing  which  we  wish  to  prove. 
Amongst  other  things,  it  proves  the  personality  of 
the  Deity,  as  distinguished  from  what  is  sometimes 
called  nature,  sometimes  called  a  principle :  which 
terms,  in  the  mouths  of  those  who  use  them  philo.so- 
phica  Jly,  seem  to  be  intended,  to  admit  and  to  express 
an  efficacy,  but  to  exclude  and  to  deny  a  personal 
agent.  Now  that  which  can  contrive,  which  can 
design,  must  be  a  person.  These  capacities  con- 
stitute personalitv,  for  they  imply  consciousness 
and  thought.  They  require  that  which  can  per- 
ceive an  end  or  purpose ;  as  well  as  the  power  of 
providing  means,  and  of  directing  them  to  their  end. + 
They  require  a  centre  in  which  perceyjtions  unite, 
and  from  which  volitions  flow;  which  is  mind. 
The  acts  of  a  mind  prove  the  existence  of  a  mind  ; 
and  in  whatever  a  mind  resides,  is  a  person.  The 
seat  of  intellect  is  a  person.  We  have  no  autho- 
rity to  limit  the  properties  of  mind  to  any  corpo- 
real form,  or  to  any  particular  circumscription  of 
space.  These  properties  subsist,  in  created  na- 
ture, under  a  great  variety  of  sensible  forms. 
Also  every  animated  being  has  its  sensorium ; 
that  is,  a  certain  portion  of  space,  within  which 
perception  and  volition  are  exerted.  This  sphere 
may  be  enlarged  to  an  indefinite  extent;  may 
comprehend  the  universe  ;  and,  being  so  imagined, 
may  serve  to  furnish  us  with  as  good  a  notion,  as 
we  are  capable  of  forming,  of  the  immensity  of 
the  Divine  Nature,  i.  e.  of  a  Being,  infinite,  as 
well  in  essence  as  in  power^  yet  nevertheless  a 
person. 

"No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time."  And 
this,  I  believe,  makes  the  great  difficulty.  Now 
it  is  a  difficulty  which  chiefly  arises  from  our  not 
duly  estimating  the  state  of  our  faculties.     The 


*  It  must  here  however  be  stated,  that  many  astrono- 
mers deny  that  any  of  the  heavenly  bodies  are  ab.soliite- 
ly  stationary.  Some  of  the  brightest  of  the  ti.ved  stars 
have  certainly  small  motions  ;  and  of  the  rest  the  dis- 
tance is  too  jjreat,  and  the  intervals  of  our  observation 
too  short,  to  enable  us  to  pronounce  with  certainty  that 
they  may  not  have  the  same.  The  motions  in  the  fi.xed 
stars  which  have  been  observed,  are  considered  either 
as  proper  to  each  of  them,  or  as  compounded  of  the  mo- 
tion of  our  system,  and  of  motions  proper  to  each  star. 
By  a  comparison  of  these  motions,  a  motion  in  our 
system  is  supposed  to  be  discovered.  By  continnina; 
this  analogy  to  other,  and  to  all  systems,  it  is  possible 
to  suppose  that  attraction  is  unlimited,  and  that  the 
whole  material  universe  is  revolving  round  some  fi.\ed 
point  within  its  containing  sphere  of  space. 

t  Priestley's  Letters  to  a  Philosophical  Unbeliever, 
p.  153.  ed.  2. 


Deity,  it  is  true,  is  the  object  of  none  of  our 
senses  :  but  reflect  what  limited  capacities  animal 
senses  are.  Many  animals  seem  to  have  but  one 
sense,  or  perhaps  two  at  the  most;  touch  and 
taste.  Ought  such  an  animal  to  conclude  against 
the  existence  of  odours,  sounds,  and  colours  !  To 
another  species  is  given  the  sense  of  smelling. 
This  is  an  advance  in  the  knowledge  of  the  pow- 
ers and  properties  of  nature  :  but,  if  this  tiivoin'ea 
animal  should  infer  from  its  superiority  over  the 
class  last  described,  that  it  perceived  every  thing 
which  was  perceptible  in  nature,  it  is  known  to  us, 
though  jjerhaps  not  suspected  by  the  animal  itsoll' 
that  it  proceeded  upon  a  false  and  presumptuous 
estimate  of  its  faculties.  To  another  is  added  the 
sense  of  hearing ;  which  lets  in  a  class  of  sensa- 
tions entirely  unconceived  by  the  animal  before 
spoken  of;  not  only  distinct,  but  remote  from  any 
which  it  had  ever  experienced,  and  greatly  supe- 
rior to  them.  Yet  this  last  animal  has  no  more 
ground  for  believing,  that  its  senses  comprehend  all 
things,  and  all  properties  of  things  which  exist,  than 
might  have  been  claimed  by  the  tribes  of  animals  be- 
neath it ;  for  we  know,  that  it  is  still  possible  to  pos- 
sess another  sense,  that  of  sight,  which  shall  disclose 
to  the  percipient  a  new  world.  This  lifth  sense 
makes  the  animal  what  the  human  animal  is  ;  but 
to  infer,  that  possibility  stops  here  ;  that  either  this 
fifth  sense  is  the  last  sense,  or  that  the  five  com- 
prehend all  existence  ;  is  just  as  unwarrantable  a 
conclusion,  as  that  which  might  have  been  made 
by  any  of  the  different  species  which  possessed 
fewer,  or  even  by  that,  if  such  there  be,  which 
possessed  only  one.  The  conclusion  of  the  one- 
sense  animal,  and  the  conclusion  of  the  live-sense 
animal,  stand  upon  the  same  authority,  There 
may  be  more  and  other  senses  than  those  which 
we  have.  There  may  be  senses  suited  to  the  per- 
ception of  the  powers,  properties,  and  substance, 
of  spirits.  These  may  belong  to  higher  orders  of 
rational  agents;  for  there  is  not  the  smallest  rea- 
son for  supposing  that  we  are  the  highest,  or  that 
the  scale  of  creation  stops  with  us. 

The  great  energies  of  nature  are  known  to  us 
only  by  their  effects.  The  substances  which  pro- 
duce them,  are  as  much  concealed  from  our  sense 
as  the  divine  essence  itself  Gravitation,  though 
constantly  present,  though  constantly  exerting  its 
influence,  though  everywhere  around  us,  near  us, 
and  within  us ;  though  diffused  throughout  all 
space,  and  penetrating  the  texture  of  all  bodies 
with  which  we  are  acquainted,  depends,  if  upon 
a  fluid,  upon  a  fluid  which,  though  both  powerful 
and  universal  in  its  operation,  is  no  object  of  sense 
to  us  ;  if  upon  any  other  kind  of  substance  or  ac- 
tion, upon  a  substance  and  action,  from  which  we 
receive  no  distinguishable  impressions.  Is  it  then 
to  be  wondered  at,  that  it  should,  in  some  mea- 
sure, be  the  same  with  the  Divine  nature  1 

Of  this  however  we  are  certain,  that  whatever 
the  Deity  be,  neither  the  tmiverse,  nor  any  part  of 
it  which  we  see,  can  be  He.  The  universe  itself 
is  merely  a  collective  name  :  its  parts  are  all  which 
are  real ;  or  which  are  things.  Now  inert  mat- 
ter is  out  of  the  question :  and  organized  sub- 
stances include  marks  of  contrivance.  But  what- 
ever includes  marks  of  contrivance,  whatc  ?r,  in 
its  constitution,  testifies  design,  necessarily  carries 
us  to  something  beyond  itself,  to  some  other  being, 
to  a  designer  prior  to,  and  out  of,  itself  No  ani- 
mal for  instance,  can  have  contrived  its  own  limbs 
and  senses ;  can  have  been  the  author  to  itself  of 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


46d 


the  design  with  which  they  were  constructed. 
That  supposition  involves  all  the  absurdity  of  self- 
creation,  i.  e.  of  acting  without  existing.  Nothing 
can  be  God,  which  is  ordered  by  a  wisdom  and  a 
will,  which  itself  is  void  of;  which  is  indebted  for 
any  of  its  properties  to  contrivance  ab  extra.  The 
not  having  that  in  his  nature  which  requires  the 
exertion  of  another  prior  being  (which  property 
IS  sometimes  called  self-sufficiency,  and  sometimes 
self-comprehension,)  appertains  to  the  Deity,  as 
his  essential  distinction,  and  removes  his  nature 
from  ^hat  of  all  things  which  we  see.  Which 
consideration  contains  the  answer  to  a  question 
that  has  sometimes  been  asked,  namely.  Why, 
since  something  or  other  must  have  existed  from 
eternity,  may  not  the  present  universe  be  that 
something  1  The  contrivance  perceived  in  it, 
proves  that  to  be  impossible.  Nothing  contrived, 
can,  in  a  strict  and  proper  sense,  be  eternal,  foras- 
much as  the  contriver  must  have  existed  before 
the  contrivance. 

Wherever  we  see  marks  of  contrivance,  we  are 
led  for  its  cause  to  an  intelligent  author.  And 
this  transition  of  the  understanding  is  founded 
upon  uniform  experience.  We  see  intelligence 
constantly  contriving  ;  that  is,  we  see  intelligence 
constantl}^  producing  effects,  marked  and  distin- 
guislied  by  certain  properties;  not  certain  parti- 
cular properties,  but  by  a  kind  and  class  of  pro- 
perties, such  as  relation  to  an  end,  relation  of  parts 
to  one  another,  and  to  a  common  purpose.  We 
see,  wherever  we  are  witnesses  to  the  actual  form- 
ation of  things,  nothing  except  intelligence  pro- 
ducing efiects  so  marked  and  distinguished.  Fur- 
nished with  this  experience,  we  view  the  produc- 
tions of  nature.  We  observe  them  also  marked 
and  distinguished  m  the  same  manner.  We  wish 
to  account  for  their  origin.  Our  experience  sug- 
gests a  cause  perfectly  adequate  to  this  account. 
No  experience,  no  single  instance  or  example, 
can  be  offered  in  favour  of  any  other.  In  this 
cause  therefore  we  ought  to  rest ;  in  this  cause  the 
common  sense  of  mankind  has,  in  fact,  rested, 
because  it  agrees  with  that,  which,  in  all  cases,  is 
the  foundation  of  knowledge, — the  undeviating 
course  of  their  experience.  The  reasoning  is  the 
same  as  that,  by  which  we  conclude  any  ancient 
appearances  to  have  been  the  effects  of  volcanoes 
or  inundations ;  namely,  because  they  resemble 
the  elTects  which  fire  and  water  produce  before  our 
eyes;  and  because  we  have  never  known  these  ef- 
fects to  result  from  any  other  operation.  And  this 
resemblance  may  subsist  in  so  many  circum- 
stances, as  not  to  leave  us  under  the  smallest  doubt 
in  forming  our  opinion.  Men  are  not  deceived  by 
this  reasoning :  for  whenever  it  happens,  as  it  some- 
times does  happen,  that  the  truth  comes  to  be  known 
by  direct  information,  it  turns  out  to  be  what  was 
expected.  In  like  manner,  and  upon  the  same  foun- 
dation, (which  in  truth  is  that  of  experience.)  we 
conclude  that  the  works  of  nature  proceed  from 
intelligence  and  design ;  because  in  the  properties 
of  rel.ition  to  a  purpose,  subserviency  to  a  use, 
they  resemble  what  intelligence  and  design  are 
constantly  producing,  and  what  nothing  except 
intelligence  and  design  ever  produce  at  all.  Of 
every  argument,  which  would  raise  a  question  as 
to  the  safety  of  this  reasoning,  it  maybe  observed, 
that  if  such  argument  be  listened  to,  it  leads  to 
the  inference,  not  only  that  the  present  order  of 
nature  is  insufficient  to  prove  the  existence  of  an 
intelligent  Creator,  but  that  no  imaginable  order 


would  be  sufficient  to  prove  it;  that  no  contri- 
vance, were  it  ever  so  mechanical,  ever  so  precise, 
ever  so  clear,  ever  so  perfectly  like  those  which  we 
ourselves  employ,  would  support  this  conclusion. 
A  doctrine,  to  which,  I  conceive,  no  sound  mind 
can  assent. 

The  force  however  of  the  reasoning  is  some- 
times sunk  by  our  taking  up  with  mere  names. 
We  have  already  noticed,*  and  we  must  here 
notice  again,  the  misapplication  of  the  term  ^'  law," 
and  the  mistake  concerning  the  idea  which  that 
term  expresses  in  physics,  whenever  such  idea  is 
maile  to  take  the  place  of  power,  and  still  more  of 
an  intelligent  power,  and,  as  such,  to  be  assigned 
for  the  cause  of  any  tiling,  or  of  any  property  of 
any  thing,  that  exists.  This  is  what  we  are  se- 
'■retly  apt  to  do,  when  we  speak  of  organized 
bodies  (plants  for  instance,  or  animals.)  owing 
their  production,  their  form,  their  growth,  their 
qualities,  their  beauty,  their  use,  to  any  law  or 
laws  of  nature ;  and  when  we  are  contented  to  sit 
down  with  that  answer  to  our  inquiries  concerning 
them.  I  say  once  more,  that  it  is  a  perver.^ion  of 
language  to  assign  any  law,  as  the  efficient  opera- 
tive cause  of  any  thing.  A  law  presupposes  an 
agent,  for  it  is  only  the  mode  according  to  which 
an  agent  proceeds;  it  implies  a  power,  for  it  is  the 
order  according  to  which  that  power  acts.  With- 
out this  agent,  without  this  power,  which  are 
both  distinct  from  itself,  the  "  law"  does  notliing ; 
is  nothing. 

What  has  been  said  concerning  "  law,"  holds 
true  of  mechanism.  Mechanism  is  not  itself 
power.  Mechanism,  without  power,  can  do  no- 
thing. Let  a  watch  be  contrived  and  constructed 
ever  so  ingeniously ;  be  its  parts  ever  so  many, 
ever  so  complicated,  ever  so  finely  wrought  or  ar- 
tificially put  together,  it  cannot  go  without  a 
weight  or  spring,  i.  e.  without  a  force  independent 
of,  and  ulterior  to,  its  mechanism.  The  spring 
acting  at  the  centre,  will  produce  different  motions 
and  difTerent  results,  according  to  the  variety  of 
the  intermediate  mechanism.  One  and  the  self- 
same spring,  acting  in  one  and  the  same  manner, 
riz.  by  simpl}"  expanding  itself,  may  be  the  cause 
of  a  hundred  different  and  all  useful  movements, 
if  a  hundred  different  and  well-devised  sets  of 
wheels  be  placed  betv^'een  it  and  the  final  eflect ; 
e.  g.  may  point  out  the  hour  of  the  day,  the  day 
of  the  month,  the  age  of  the  moon,  the  position  of 
the  planets,  the  cycle  of  the  years,  and  many 
other  serviceable  notices;  and  these  movements 
may  fulfil  their  purposes  with  more  or  less  per- 
fection, according  as  the  mechanism  is  better  or 
worse  contrived,  or  better  or  worse  executed,  or 
in  a  better  or  worse  state  of  repair :  but  {71  all 
cases,  it  is  necessary  that  the  spririg  act  at  the 
centre.  The  course  of  our  reasoning  upon  such  a 
subject  would  be  this :  By  inspecting  the  watch, 
even  when  standing  still,  we  get  a  proof  of  con- 
trivance, and  of  a  contriving  mind,  having  lieen 
employed  about  it.  In  the  form  and  obvious  rela- 
tion of  its  parts,  we  see  enough  to  convince  us  of 
this.  If  we  pull  the  works  in  pieces,  for  the 
purpose  of  a  closer  examination,  we  are  still  more 
fully  convinced.  But,  when  we  see  the  watch 
going,  we  see  proof  of  another  point,  vi:.  that 
there  is  a  power  somewhere,  and  somehow  or 
other,  applied  to  it ;  a  power  in  action ; — that 
there  is  more  in  the  subject  than  the  mere  wheels 


46 1 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


I  if  the  machine ;  — that  tlicre  is  a  secret  spring,  or 
:i  gravitating  plummet ; — in  a  word,  that  tliere  is 
force,  and  energy,  as  well  as  mechanism. 

So  then,  the  watch  in  motion  establishes  to  the 
observer  two  conclusions:  One;  that  thought, 
contrivance,  and  design  have  been  employed  in 
the  forming,  proportioning,  and  arranging"  of  its 
parts;  and  that  whoever  or  wherever  he  be,  or 
were,  such  a  contriver  tlicre  is,  or  was:  The 
other;  that  force  or  power,  distinct  from  mecha- 
nism, is,  at  this  present  thne,  acting  upon  it.  If  I 
saw  a  handmill  even  at  rest,  I  should  see  contri- 
vance :  but  if  I  saw  it  grinding,  I  should  be  as- 
sured that  a  hand  was  at  the  windlass,  though  in 
another  room.  It  is  the  same  in  nature.  In  the 
works  of  nature  we  trace  mechanism  ;  and  this 
alone  proves  contrivance :  but  living,  active,  mov- 
ing, productive  nature,  proves  also  the  exertion  ol' 
a  power  at  the  centre ;  for,  wherever  the  power 
resides  may  be  denominated  the  centre. 

The  intervention  and  disposition  of  what  are 
called  "  second  causes,"  fall  under  the  same  observ- 
ation. This  disposition  is  or  is  not  mechanism, 
according  as  we  can  or  cannot  trace  it  by  our 
senses  and  means  of  examination.  That  is  all  the 
difference  there  is ;  and  it  is  a  difference  which 
respects  our  faculties,  not  the  things  themselves. 
]N  ow  where  the  order  of  second  causes  is  mecha- 
nical, what  is  here  said  of  mechanism  strictly  ap- 
plies to  it.  But  it  would  be  always  mechanism 
(natural  chymistry,  for  instance,  would  be  mecha- 
nism,) if  our  senses  were  acute  enough  to  descry 
it.  Neither  mechanism,  therefore,  in  the  works 
of  nature,  nor  the  intervention  of  what  are  called 
second  causes,  (for  I  think  that  they  are  the  same 
thing,)  excuses  the  necessity  of  an  agent  distinct 
from  both. 

If,  in  tracing  these  causes,  it  be  said,  that  we 
find  certain  general  properties  of  matter  which 
liave  nothing  in  them  that  bespeaks  intelligence, 
I  answer,  that,  still,  the  managing  of  these  pro- 
perties, the  pointing  and  directing  them  to  the  uses 
which  we  see  made  of  them,  demands  intelligence 
in  the  highest  degree.  For  example :  suppose 
animal  secretions  to  be  elective  attractions,  and 
that  such  and  such  attractions  universally  belong 
to  such  and  such  substances ;  in  all  which  there  is 
no  intellect  concerned ;  still  the  choice  and  colloca- 
tion of  these  substances,  the  fixing  upon  right  sub- 
stances, and  disposing  them  in  right  places,  must 
be  an  act  of  intelligence.  What  mischief  would 
follow,  were  there  a  single  transposition  of  the 
secretory  organs;  a  single  mistake  in  arranging 
the  glands  which  compose  them  ! 

There  may  be  many  second  causes,  and  many 
courses  of  second  causes,  one  behind  another, 
between  what  we  observe  of  nature,  and  the  Deity : 
but  there  must  be  intelligence  somewhere ;  there 
must  be  more  in  nature  than  what  we  see ;  and, 
among-st  the  things  unseen,  there  must  be  an  in- 
telligent, designing  author.  The  philosopher  be- 
holds with  astonishment  the  production  of  things 
around  him.  Unconscious  particles  of  matter 
take  their  stations,  and  severally  range  themselves 
in  an  order,  so  as  to  become  collectively  plants  or 
animals,  i.  e.  organized  bodies,  with  parts  bearing 
strict  and  evident  relation  to  one  another,  and  to 
the  utility  of  the  whole :  and  it  should  seem  that 
these  particles  could  not  move  in  any  other  way 
than  as  they  do ;  for  they  testify  not  the  smallest 
sign  of  choice,  or  liberty,  or  discretion.  There 
siay  be  particular  intelligent  beings,  guiding  these 


motions  in  each  case :  or  they  may  be  the  result 
of  trains  of  mechanical  dispositions,  fixed  before- 
hand by  an  intelligent  appointment,  and  kept  in 
action  by  a  power  at  the  centre.  But,  in  either 
case,  there  must  be  intelligence. 

The  minds  of  most  men  are  fond  of  what  they 
call  a  principle,  and  of  the  appearance  of  simpli- 
city, in  accounting  for  phenomena.  Yet  this 
principle,  this  simplicity,  resides  merely  in  the 
name ;  which  name,  after  all,  comprises,  perhaps, 
under  it  a  diversified,  multifarious,  or  progressive 
operation,  distinguishable  into  parts.  The  power 
in  organized  bodies,  of  producing  bodies  like  them- 
selves, is  one  of  these  principles.  Give  a  pliiloso- 
I  pher  this,  and  he  can  get  on.  But  he  does  not 
reflect,  what  this  mode  of  production,  this  princi- 
ple (li  such  he  choose  to  call  it)  requires ;  how 
niucli  it  presupposes ;  what  an  apparatus  of  in- 
struments, some  of  which  are  strictly  mechanical, 
is  necessary  to  its  success ;  what  a  train  it  includes 
of  operations  and  changes,  one  succeeding  another, 
one  related  to  another,  one  ministering  to  another ; 
all  advancing,  by  intermediate,  and,  frequently, 
by  sensible  steps  to  their  ultimate  result !  Yet, 
because  the  whole  of  this  com})licated  action  is 
wrapped-up  in  a  single  term,  generation,  we  are 
to  set  it  down  as  an  elementary  principle ;  and  to 
suppose,  that  when  we  have  resolved  the  things 
which  we  see  in  this  principle,  we  have  sufficient- 
ly accounted  lor  their  origin,  without  the  neces- 
sity of  a  designing,  intelligent  Creator.  Tho 
truth  is,  generation  is  not  a  principle  but  a  process. 
We  might  as  well  call  the  casting  of  metals  a  prin- 
ciple ;  we  might,  so  far  as  appears  to  me,  as  well 
call  spinning  and  weaving  principles :  and,  then, 
referring  the  texture  of  cloths,  the  fabric  of  mus- 
lins and  calicoes,  the  patterns  of  diapers  and 
damasks,  to  these,  as  principles,  pretend  to  dis- 
pense with  intention,  thought,  and  contrivance, 
on  the  part  of  the  artist ;  or  to  dispense,  indeed, 
with  the  necessity  of  any  artist  at  all,  either  in  the 
manufacturing  of  the  article,  or  in  the  fabrication 
of  the  machinery  by  which  the  manufacture  was 
carried  on. 

And,  after  all,  how,  or  in  what  sense,  is  it  true, 
that  animals  produce  their  like?  A  butterfly, 
with  a  proboscis  instead  of  a  mouth,  with  four 
wings  and  six  legs,  produces  a  hairy  caterpillar, 
with  jaws  and  teeth,  and  fourteen  feet.  A  frog 
produces  a  tadpole.  A  black  beetle,  with  gauze 
wings,  and  a  crusty  covering,  produces  a  white, 
smooth,  soft  worm;  an  epheineron  fly,  a  cod-bait 
maggot.  These,  by  a  progress  through  different 
stages  of  life,  and  action,  and  enjoyment,  (and,  in 
each  state,  provided  with  implements  and  organs 
appropriated  to  the  temporary  nature  which  they 
bear,)  arrive  at  last  at  the  form  and  fashion  of  the 
parent  animal.  But  all  this  is  process,  not  prin- 
ciple ;  and  proves,  moreover,  that  the  property  of 
animated  bodies,  of  producing  their  like,  belongs 
to  them  not  as  a  primordial  property,  not  by  any- 
blind  necessity  in  the  nature  of  things,  but  as  the 
effect  of  economy,  wisdom,  and  design ;  because 
the  property  itself  assumes  diversities,  and  submits 
to  deviations  dictated  by  intelligible  utilities,  and 
serving  distinct  purposes  of  animal  happiness. 

The  opinion,  which  would  consider  "genera- 
tion" as  a  principle  in  nature ;  and  which  would 
assign  this  principle  as  the  cause,  or  endeavour  to 
satisfy  our  minds  with  such  a  cause,  of  the  exist- 
ence of  organized  bodies;  is  confuted,  in  my  judg- 
ment, not  only  by  every  mark  of  contrivance  dis- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


465 


coverable  in  those  bodies,  for  which  it  gives  us  no 
contriver,  offers  no  account  whatever  ;  but  also  by 
the  farther  consiJeration,  that  things  generated, 
possess  a  clear  relation  to  things  not  generated. 
If  it  were  merely  one  part  of  a  generated  body 
bearing  a  relation  to  another  part  of  the  same 
body  ;  as  the  mouth  of  an  animal  to  the  throat,  the 
throat  to  the  stomach,  the  stomach  to  the  intes- 
tines, those  to  the  recruiting  of  the  blood,  and,  by 
means  of  the  blood,  to  the  nourishment  of  the 
whole  frame:  or  if  it  were  only  one  generated 
bod}'^  bearing  a  relation  to  another  generated  body ; 
as  the  sexes  of  the  same  species  to  each  other, 
animals  of  prey  to  their  prey,  herbivorous  and 
graaivorous  animals  to  the  plants  or  seeds  upon 
which  they  feed;  it  might  be  contended,  that  the 
whole  of  this  correspondency  was  attributable  to 
generation,  the  common  origin  from  which  these 
substances  proceeded.  But  what  shall  we  say  to 
agreements  which  exist  between  things  generated 
and  things  not  generated  ?  Can  it  be  doubted, 
Was  it  ever  doubted,  but  that  the  lungs  of  a.mma.ls 
bear  a  relation  to  the  air,  as  a  permanently  elastic 
fluid  1  They  act  in  it  and  by  it ;  they  cannot  act 
without  it.  Now,  if  generation  produced  the  ani- 
mal, it  did  not  produce  the  air :  yet  their  properties 
correspond.  The  eye  is  made  for  light,  and  light 
for  the  eye.  The  eye  would  be  of  no  use  without 
light,  and  light  perhaps  of  little  without  eyes ;  yet 
one  is  produced  by  generation,  the  other  not.  The 
ear  depends  upon  undulations  of  air.  Here  are 
two  sets  of  motions :  first,  of  the  pulses  of  the  air ; 
secondly,  of  the  drum,  bones,  and  nerves  of  the 
ear;  sets  of  motions  bearing  an  evident  reference 
to  each  other :  yet  the  one,  and  the  apparatus  for 
the  one,  produced  by  the  intervention  of  genera- 
tion ;  the  other  altogether  independent  of  it. 

If  it  be  said,  that  the  air,  the  light,  the  elements, 
the  world  itself,  is  generated ;  I  answer,  that  I 
do  not  comprehend  the  proposition.  If  the  term 
mean  any  thing  similar  to  what  it  means  when 
applied  to  plants  or  animals,  the  proposition  is 
certainly  without  proof;  and,  I  think,  draws  as 
near  to  absurdity,  as  any  proposition  can  do,  which 
does  not  include  a  contradiction  in  its  terms.  I 
am  at  a  loss  to  conceive,  how  the  formation  of  the 
world  can  be  compared  to  the  generation  of  an 
animal.  If  the  term  generation  signify  something 
quite  different  from  what  it  signifies  on  ordinary 
occasions,  it  may,  by  the  same  latitude,  signify 
any  thing.  In  which  case,  a  word  or  phrase 
taken  from  the  language  of  Otaheite,  would  con- 
vey as  much  theory  concerning  the  origin  of  the 
universe,  as  it  does  to  talk  of  its  being  generated. 

We  know  a  cause  (intelligence)  adequate  to 
the  appearances  which  we  wish  to  account  for : 
we  have  this  cause  continually  producing  similar 
appearances :  yet,  rejecting  this  cause,  the  suffi- 
ciency of  which  we  know,  and  the  action  of  which 
is  constantly  before  our  eyes,  we  are  invited  to  re- 
sort to  suppositions  destitute  of  a  single  fact  for 
their  support,  and  confirmed  by  no  analogy  with 
which  we  are  acquainted.  Were  it  necessary  to 
inquire  into  the  motives  of  men's  opinions,  I  mean 
their  motives  separate  from  their  arguments ;  I 
should  almost  suspect,  that,  because  theproof  of  a 
Deity  drawn  from  the  constitution  of  nature  is  not 
only  popular  but  vulgar,  (which  may  arise  from 
the  cogency  of  the  proof,  and  be  indeed  its  highest 
recommendation,)  and  because  it  is  a  species  al- 
most of  puerility  to  take  up  with  it;  for  these 
reasons,  minds,  which  are  habitually  in  search  of 
3N 


invention  and  originality,  feel  a  resistless  inclina- 
tion to  strike  off  into  other  solutions  and  other 
expositions.  The  truth  is,  that  many  minds  are 
not  so  indisposed  to  any  thing  which  can  be  ofIt>r- 
ed  to  them,  as  they  are  to  the  Jlatness  of  being 
content  with  common  reasons:  and,  what  is  most 
to  be  lamented,  minds  con.scious  of  superiority, 
are  the  most  liable  to  this  repugnancy. 

The  "  suppositions"  here  alluded  to,  all  agree 
in  one  character :  they  all  endeavour  to  dispense 
with  the  necessity  in  nature,  of  a  particular,  per- 
sonal intelligence;  that  is  to  say,  with  the  exer- 
tion of  an  intending,  contriving  mind,  in  the 
structure  and  formation  of  the  organized  constitu- 
tions which  the  world  contains.  They  would  re- 
solve all  productions  into  unconscious  energies,  of 
a  like  kind,  in  that  respect,  with  attraction,  mag- 
netism, electricity,  &c. ;  without  any  thing  farther. 

In  this,  the  old  system  of  atheism  and  the  new 
agree.  And  I  much  doubt,  whether  the  new 
schemes  have  advanced  any  thing  upon  the  old, 
or  done  more  than  changed  the  terms  of  the  no- 
menclature. For  instance,  I  could  never  see  the 
difference  between  the  antiquated  system  of  atoms, 
and  Buflbn's  organic  molecules.  This  philoso- 
pher, having  made  a  planet  by  knocking  off  from 
the  sun  a  piece  of  melted  glass,  in  consequence  of 
the  stroke  of  a  comet;  and  having  set  it  in  motion, 
by  the  same  stroke,  both  round  its  own  axis  and 
the  sun ;  finds  his  next  difficulty  to  be,  how  to 
bring  plants  and  animals  upon  it.  In  order  to 
solve  this  difficulty,  we  are  to  suppose  the  uni- 
verse replenished  with  particles,  endowed  with 
life,  but  without  organization  or  senses  of  their 
own  ;  and  endowed  also  with  a  tendency  to  mar- 
shal themselves  into  organized  forms.  The  con- 
course of  these  particles,  by  virtue  of  this  tendency, 
but  without  intelligence,  will,  or  direction,  (lor  1 
do  not  find  that  any  of  these  qualities  are  ascribed 
to  them,)  has  produced  the  living  forms  which  we 
now  see. 

Very  few  of  the  conjectures  which  philosophers 
hazard  upon  these  subjects,  have  more  of  preten- 
sion in  them,  than  the  challenging  you  to  show 
the  direct  impossibility  of  the  hypothesis.  In  the 
present  example,  there  seemed  to  be  a  positive 
objection  to  the  whole  scheme  upon  the  very  face 
of  it ;  which  was  that,  if  the  case  were  as  here  re- 
presented, nexD  combinations  ought  to  be  perpetu- 
ally taking  place ;  new  plants-  and  animals,  or 
organized  bodies  which  were  neither,  ought  to  be 
starting  up  before  our  eyes  every  day.  For  this, 
however,  our  philosopher  has  an  answer.  Whilst 
so  many  forms  of  plants  and  animals  are  already 
in  existence,  and,  consequently,  so  many  "  inter- 
nal moulds,"  as  he  calls  them,  are  prepared  and 
at  hand,  the  organic  particles  run  into  these 
moulds,  and  are  employed  in  supplying  an  acces- 
sion of  substance  to  them,  as  well  for  their  growth 
as  for  their  propagation.  By  which  means, 
things  keep  their  ancient  course.  But,  says  the 
same  philosopher,  should  any  general  loss  or  de- 
struction of  the  present  constitution  of  organized 
bodies  take  place,  the  particles,  for  want  of 
"moulds"  into  which  they  might  enter,  would  run 
into  different  combinations,  and  replenish  the 
waste  with  new  species  of  organized  suiistances. 

Is  there  any  history  to  countenance  this  notion  1 
[s  it  known,  that  any  destruction  has  been  so  re- 
paired ?  any  desert  thus  rt^-peopled  1 

So  far  as  1  remember,  the  only  natural  appear- 
ance mentioned  by  our  author,  by  way  of  fact 


4<!6 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


whereon  to  build  his  hypothesis,  is  the  formation 
of  icornis  in  the  intestines  of  animals,  which  is 
here  ascribed  to  the  coahtion  of  superabundant 
organic  particles,  floating  about  in  the  first  pas- 
sages ;  and  whicli  have  combined  themselves  into 
these  simple  animal  forms,  for  want  of  internal 
moulds,  or  of  vacancies  in  those  moulds,  into 
which  they  might  be  received.  The  thing  referred 
to,  is  rather  a  species  of  facts,  than  a  single  fact; 
as  some  other  cases  may,  with  equal  reason,  be 
included  under  it.  But  to  make  it  a  fact  at  all, 
or,  in  any  sort,  applicable  to  the  question,  we  must 
begin  with  asserting  an  e^uu^oc-aZ  generation,  con- 
trary to  analogy,  aiid  without  necessity  :  contrary 
to  an  analogy,  which  accompanies  us  to  the  very 
limits  ofour  knowledge  or  inquiries;  for  wherever, 
either  in  plants  or  animals,  we  are  able  to  examine 
the  subject,  we  find  procreation  from  a  parent 
form:  without  necessity;  fori  apprehend  that  it 
is  seldom  difficult  to  suggest  methods,  by  which 
the  eggs,  or  spawn,  or  yet  invisible  rudiments  of 
these  vermin,  may  have  obtained  a  passage  into 
the  cavities  in  which  they  are  found.*  Add  to 
this,  that  their  constancj/ to  their  species,  which, 
1  believe,  is  as  regular  in  these  as  in  the  other 
vermes,  decides  the  question  against  our  philoso- 
pher, if,  in  truth,  any  question  remained  upon  the 
sulijcct. 

Lastly  :  These  wonder-working  instruments, 
these  "  internal  moulds,"  what  are  they  after  all  1 
what,  when  examined,  but  a  name  without  sig- 
nification ;  unintelligible,  if  not  self  contradictory ; 
at  the  best,  differing  in  nothing  from  the  "essen- 
tial forms"  of  the  Greek  philosophy  1  One  short 
sentence  of  Buffon's  work  exhibits  his  scheme  as 
follows :  "  When  this  nutritious  and  prolific 
matter,  which  is  diflused  throughout  all  nature, 
passes  through  the  internal  mould  of  an  animal 
or  vegetable,  and  finds  a  proper  matrix,  or  recep- 
tacle, it  gives  rise  to  an  animal  or  vegetable  of  the 
same  species."  Does  any  reader  annex  a  mean- 
ing to  the  expression  '"  internal  mould,"  in  this 
sentence  1  Ought  it  then  to-be  said,  that,  though 
we  have  little  notion  of  an  internal  mould,  we 
have  not  much  more  of  a  designing  mind  1  The 
very  contrary  of  this  assertion  is  the  truth.  When 
we  speak  of  an  artificer  or  an  architect,  we  talk 
of  what  is  comprehensible  to  our  understanding, 
and  familiar  to  our  experience.  We  use  no  other 
terms  than  what  refer  us  for  their  meaning  to 
our  consciousness  and  observation ;  what  express 
the  constant  objects  of  both:  whereas  names  like 
that  we  have  mentioned,  refer  us  to  nothing ; 
excite  no  idea ;  convey  a  sound  to  the  ear,  but  I 
think  do  no  more. 

Another  system  which  has  lately  been  brought 
forward,  and  with  much  ingenuity,  is  that  of  ap- 
petencies. The  principle,  and  the  short  account 
of  the  theory,  is  this.  Piece-  of  soft,  ductile  matter, 
being  endued  with  propensities  or  appetencies  for 
particular  actions,  would,  by  continual  endeavours, 
carried  on  through  a  long  series  of  generations, 
work  themselves  graduallv  into  suitable  forms; 
and.  at  length,  acquire,  though  perhaps  by  ob- 
scure and  almost  imperceptible  improvements,  an 
m-ir.inization  fitted  to  the  action  which  their  res- 
jjective  ])ropensities  led  them  to  exert.     A  piece 

*  I  trust  I  may  tip  excused,  for  not  citing,  as  anottier 
fact  which  is  to  contirrn  the  hypothesis,  agrave  assertion 
of  this^  writer,  that  the  branches  of  trees  upon  which 
thp  slag  feeds,  break  out  again  in  his  horns.  Sach  facts 
merit  no  discussion. 


of  animated  matter,  for  example,  that  was  enduea 
with  a  propensity  to^y,  though  ever  so  shapeless, 
though  no  other  we  will  suppo.se  than  a  round 
ball  to  begin  with,  would,  in  a  course  of  ages,  if 
not  in  a  million  of  years,  perhaps  in  a  hundred 
millions  of  years  (for  our  theorists,  having  eternity 
to  dispose  of,  are  never  sparing  in  time,)  acquire 
wings.  The  same  tendency  to  locomotion  in  an 
aquatic  animal,  or  rather  in  an  animated  lump 
which  might  happen  to  be  surrounded  by  water, 
would  end  in  the  production  of  Jins :  in  a  living 
substance,  confined  to  the  solid  earth,  would  put 
out  legs  and  fiet ;  or,  if  it  took  a  different  turn, 
would  break  the  body  into  ringlets,  and  conclude 
by  crawling  upon  the  ground. 

Although  I  have  introduced  the  mention  of  this 
theory  into  this  place,  I  am  unwilHng  to  give  to 
it  the  name  of  an  atheistic  scheme,  for  two  reasons  • 
first,  because,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to  understand  it, 
the  original  propensities  and  the  numberless  va- 
rieties of  them  (so  different,  in  this  respect,  from 
the  laws  of  mechanical  nature,  which  are  few  and 
simple,)  are,  in  the  plan  itself,  attributed  to  the 
ordination  and  appointment  of  an  intelligent  and 
designing  Creator:  secondly,  because,  likewise, 
that  large  postulatum,  which  is  all  along  assumed 
and  presupposed,  the  faculty  in  living  bodies  of 
producing  other  bodies  organized  like  themselves, 
seems  to  be  referred  to  the  same  cause ;  at  least  is 
not  attempted  to  be  accounted  for  by  any  other. 
In  one  important  respect,  however,  the  theory 
before  us  coincides  with  atheistic  systems,  viz.  in 
that,  in  the  formation  of  plants  and  animals,  in 
the  structure  and  use  of  their  parts,  it  does  away 
final  causes.  Instead  of  the  parts  of  a  plant  or 
animal,  or  the  particular  structure  of  the  parts, 
having  been  intended  for  the  action  or  the  use  to 
which  we  see  them  applied ;  according  to  this 
theory,  they  have  themselves  grown  out  of  that 
action,  sprung  from  that  use.  The  theory  there- 
fore dispenses  with  that  which  we  insist  upon, 
the  necessity,  in  each  particular  case,  of  an  intel- 
ligent, designing  mind,  for  the  contriving  and  de- 
termining of  the  forms  which  organized  bodies 
bear.  Give  our  philosopher  these  appetencies; 
give  him  a  portion  of  living  irritable  matter  (a 
nerve,  or  the  clipping  of  a  nerve,)  to  work  upon ; 
give  also  to  his  incipient  or  progressive  forms,  the 
power,  in  every  stage  of  their  alteration,  of  propa- 
gating their  like  ;  and,  if  he  is  to  be  believed,  he 
could  replenish  the  world  with  all  the  vegetable 
and  animal  productions  which  we  at  present  see 
in  it. 

The  scheme  under  consideration  is  open  to  the 
same  objection  with  other  conjectures  of  a  similar 
tendency,  viz.  a  total  defect  of  evidence.  No 
changes,  like  those  which  the  theory  requires, 
have  ever  been  observed.  All  the  changes  in 
Ovid's  Metamorphoses  might  have  been  effected 
by  these  appetencies,  if  the  theory  were  true ;  yet 
not  an  example,  nor  the  pretence  of  an  example, 
is  offered  of  a  single  change  being  known  to  have 
taken  place.  Nor  is  the  order  of  generation  obe- 
dient to  the  principle  upon  which  this  theory  is 
built.  The  mamma;*  of  the  male  have  not  vanished 


*  I  confess  myself  totally  at  a  loss  to  guess  at  the 
reason,  either  final  or  etficieiit,  for  this  part  of  the  ani- 
mal frame;  unless  there  be  some  foundation  for  an 
opinion,  of  which  f  draw  ihe  hint  from  a  paper  of  Mr. 
Everard  Home,  (Phil.  Transact.  17!W,  p  2.)  h.  that  the 
mamma;  of  the  fcEtus  may  be  formed,  before  the  sex  is 
determined. 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


467 


by  inusitation ;  nee  curtorum ,  per  rmilta  sazcula, 
JudcEorum  propagini  deest  prceputium.  It  is 
easy  to  say,  and  it  has  been  said,  that  the  altera- 
tive process  is  too  slow  to  be  perceived ;  that  it 
has  been  carried  on  through  tracts  of  immeasura- 
ble time;  and  that  the  present  order  of  things  is 
the  result  of  a  gradation,  of  which  no  human 
records  can  trace  the  steps.  It  is  easy  to  say  this ; 
and  yet  it  is  still  true,  that  the  hypothesis  remains 
destitute  of  evidence. 

The  analogies  which  have  been  alleged,  are 
<)f  the  following  kind  :  The  bunch  of  a  camel,  is 
said  to  be  no  other  than  the  efiect  of  carrj-ing 
burdens ;  a  service  in  which  the  species  has  been 
employed  from  the.most  ancient  times  of  the  world. 
The  first  race,  by  the  daily  loading  of  the  back, 
would  probably  find  a  small  grumous  tumour  to  be 
formed  in  the  flesh  of  that  part.  The  next  progeny 
would  bring  this  tumour  into  the  world  with  them. 
The  life  to  which  they  were  destined,  would  in- 
crease it.  The  cause  which  first  generated  the  tu- 
bercle being  continued,  it  would  go  on,  through 
every  succession,  to  augment  its  size,  till  it  attained 
the  form  and  the  bulk  under  which  it  now  appears. 
This  may  serve  for  one  instance:  another,  and 
that  also  of  the  passive  sort,  is  taken  from  certain 
species  of  birds.  Birds  of  the  era  «c  kind,  as  the 
crane  itself,  the  heron,  bittern,  stork,  have,  in 
general,  their  thighs  bare  of  feathers.  This  priva- 
tion is  accounted  for  from  t)ie  habit  of  wading  in 
water,  and  from  the  effect  of  that  element  to 
check  the  growth  of  feathers  upon  these  parts ;  in 
consequence  of  which,  the  health  and  vegetation 
of  the  feathers  declined  through  each  generation 
ot  the  animal ;  the  tender  down,  exposed  to  cold 
and  wetnes's,  became  weak,  and  thin,  and  rare,  till 
the  deterioration  ended  in  the  result  which  we 
see,  of  absolute  nakedness.  I  will  mention  a 
third  instance,  because  it  is  drawn  from  an  active 
habit,  as  the  two  last  were  from  passive  habits  ; 
and  that  is  the  pouch  of  the  pelican.  The  de- 
scription which  naturalists  give  of  this  organ,  is 
as  follows:  "From  the  lower  edges  of  the  under 
chap,  hangs  a  bag,  reaching  from  the  whole  length 
of  the  bill  to  the  neck,  which  is  said  to  be  capable 
of  containing  fifteen  quarts  of  water.  This  bag, 
the  bird  has  a  power  of  wrinkling  up  into  the 
hollow  of  the  under  chap.  When  the  bag  is 
empty,  it  is  not  seen  ;  but  when  the  bird  has  fish- 
ed with  success,  it  is  incredil>le  to  what  an  extent 
it  is  often  dilated.  The  first  thing  the  pelican 
does  in  fishing,  is  to  fill  the  bag  ;  and  then  it  re- 
turns to  digest  its  burden  at  leisure.  The  bird 
preys  upon  the  large  fishes,  and  hides  them  by 
dozens  in  its  pouch.  When  the  bill  is  opened  to  its 
widest  extent,  a  person  may  run  his  head  into  the 
bird's  mouth ;  and  conceal  it  in  this  monstrous 
pouch,  thus  adapted  for  very  singular  purposes."* 
Now  this  extraordinary  conformation  is  nothing 
more,  say  our  philosophers,  than  the  result  of 
habit;  not  of  the  habit  or  effort  of  a  single  pelican, 
or  of  a  single  race  of  pelicans,  but  of  a  habit 
perpetuated  through  a  long  series  of  generations. 
The  pelican  soon  found  the  conveniency  of  reserv- 
ing in  its  mouth,  when  its  appetite  was  glutted, 
the  remainder  of  its  prey,  which  is  fish.  The  ful- 
ness produced  by  this  attempt,  of  course  stretched 
the  skin  which  lies  between  the  under  chaps,  as 
being  the  most  yielding  part  of  the  mouth.  Everv 
distension   increased   the    cavity.     The   original 


Goldsmith,  vol.  vi.  p.  52. 


bird,  and  many  generations  which  succeeded  him, 
might  find  difficulty  enough  in  making  the  pouch 
answer  this  purpose  :  but  future  pelicans,  entering 
upon  life  with  a  pouch  derived  from  their  progeni- 
tors, of  considerable  capacity,  would  more  readily 
accelerate  its  advance  to  perfection,  by  frequently 
pressing  down  the  sac  with  the  weight  of  fish 
which  it  might  now  be  made  to  contain. 

These,  or  of  this  kind,  are  the  analogies  relied 
upon.  Now,  in  the  first  place,  the  instances  them- 
selves are  unauthenticated  by  testimony;  and,  in 
theory,  to  say  the  least  of  them,  open  to  great  ob- 
jections. Who  ever  read  of  camels  without 
bunches,  or  with  bunches  less  than  those  with 
which  they  are  at  present  usually  formed  1  A 
bunch,  not  unlike  the  camel's,  is  found  between 
the  shoulders  of  the  bufl'alo ;  of  the  origin  of  which 
it  is  impossible  to  give  the  account  here  given.  In 
the  second  example ;  Why  should  the  application 
of  water,  which  appears  to  promote  and  thick- 
en the  growth  of  feathers  upon  the  bodies  and 
breasts  of  geese,  and  swans,  and  other  water- fowls, 
have  divested  of  this  covering  the  thighs  of  cranes  1 
The  third  instance,  which  appears  to  me  as  plau- 
sible as  any  that  can  be  produced,  has  this  against 
it.  that  it  is  a  singularity  restricted  to  the  species; 
whereas,  if  it  had  its  commencement  in  the  cause 
and  manner  which  have  been  assigned,  the  like 
conformation  might  be  expected  to  take  place  in 
other  birds,  which  feed  upon  fish.  How  comes  it 
to  pass,  that  the  pelican  alone  was  the  in^entress, 
and  her  descendants  the  only  inheritors,  of  this 
curious  resource  1 

But  it  is  the  less  necessary  to  controvert  the  in- 
stances themselves,  as  it  is  a  straining  of  analogy 
beyond  all  limits  of  reason  and  credibility,  to  as- 
sert that  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fish,  with  all  their 
variety  and  complexity  of  organization,  have  been 
brought  into  their  forms,  and  distinguished  into 
their  several  kinds  and  natures,  by  the  same  pro- 
cess (even  if  that  process  could  be  demonstrated, 
or  had  it  ever  been  actually  noticed)  as  might 
seem  to  serve  for  the  gradual  generation  of  a  ca- 
mel's bunch,  or  a  pelican's  pouch. 

The  solution,  when  applied  to  the  works  of  na- 
ture generally,  is  contradicted  by  many  of  the 
phenomena,  and  totally  inadequate  to  others. 
The  ligaments  or  strictures,  by  which  the  ten- 
dons are  tied  down  at  the  angles  of  the  joints, 
could,  by  no  possibility,  be  formed  by  the  motion 
or  exercise  of  the  tendons  themselves;  by  any  ap- 
jietency  exciting  these  part  into  action  ;  or  by  any 
tendency  arising  thereform.  The  tendency  is  all 
the  other  way  ;  the  conatus  in  constant  opposition 
to  them.  Length  of  time  does  not  help  the  case 
at  all,  but  the  reverse.  The  valves  also  in  the 
blood-vessels,  could  never  be  formed  in  the  man- 
ner which  our  theorist  proposes.  The  blood,  in 
its  right  and  natural  course,  has  no  tendency  to 
form  them.  When  obstructed  or  refluent,  it  has 
the  contrary.  These  parts  could  not  grow  out  of 
their  use,  though  they  had  eternity  to  grow  in. 

The  senses  of  animals  appear  to  me  altogether 
incapiable  of  receiving  the  e.\)>lanation  of  their  ori- 
gin which  this  theory  affords.  Including  under 
the  word  "sense"  the  organ  and  the  perception, 
we  have  no  account  of  either.  How  will  our  phi- 
lo.sopher  get  at  vision,  or  make  an  eye  ?  How 
should  the  blind  animal  nfieit  sight,  of  which 
blind  animals,  we  know,  have  neither  concejjtion 
nor  desire  ?  Ati"ectii)ff  it,  by  what  operation  of  its 
will,  by  what  endeavour  to  see,  could  it  so  deter- 


468 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


mine  the  fluids  of  its  body,  as  to  inchoate  the  for- 
mation of  an  eye'?  or,  suppose  the  eye  formed, 
Would  the  perception  follow  ?  The  same  of  the 
other  senses.  And  this  objection  holds  its  force, 
ascribe  what  you  will  to  the  hand  of  time,  to  the 
power  of  habit,  to  changes  too  slow  to  be  observed 
by  man,  or  brought  within  any  comparison  which 
he  is  able  to  make  of  past  things  with  the  present : 
concede  what  you  please  to  these  arbitrary  and 
unattested  suppositions,  how  will  they  help  you  7 
Here  is  no  inception.  No  laws,  no  course,  no 
powers  of  nature  which  prevail  at  present,  nor 
any  analogous   to   these,  would  give  commence- 

n        t    •      •      •  • 

ment  to  a  new  sense.  And  it  is  in  vain  to  inquire, 
how  that  might  proceed,  which  could  ne\er  begin. 

I  think  the  senses  to  be  the  most  inconsistent 
with  the  hypothesis  before  us,  of  any  part  of  the 
animal  frame.  But  other  parts  are  sufficiently  so. 
The  solution  does  not  apply  to  the  parts  of  ani- 
mals, which  have  little  in  them  of  motion.  If  we 
could  suppose  joints  and  muscles  to  be  gradually 
formed  by  action  and  exercise,  what  action  or  ex- 
ercise could  form  a  skull,  and  fill  it  with  brains'? 
No  effort  of  the  animal  could  determine  the  cloth- 
ing of  its  skin.  What  conatus  could  give  prickles 
to  the  porcupine  or  hedgehog,  or  to  the  sheep  its 
fleece  1 

In  the  last  place :  What  do  these  appetencies 
mean  when  applied  to  plants  1  I  am  not  able  to 
give  a  signification  to  the  term,  which  can  be 
transferred  from  animals  to  plants ;  or  which  is 
common  to  both.  Yet  a  no  less  successful  organi- 
zation is  found  in  plants,  than  what  obtains  in 
animals.  A  solution  is  wanted  for  one,  as  well  as 
the  other. 

Upon  the  whole;  after  all  the  schemes  and 
struggles  of  a  reluctant  philosophy,  the  necessary 
resort  is  to  a  Deity.  The  marks  of  design  are 
too  strong  to  be  gotten  over.  Design  must  have 
had  a  designer.  That  designer  must  have  been  a 
person.     That  person  is  God. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Of  the  Natural  Attributes  of  the  Deity. 

It  is  an  immense  conclusion,  that  there  is  a 
God  ;  a  perceiving,  intelligent,  designing  Being  ; 
at  the  head  of  creation,  and  from  whose  will  it 
proceeiled.  The  attributes  of  such  a  Being,  sup- 
pose his  reality  to  be  proved,  must  be  adequate  to 
the  magnitude,  extent,  and  multiplicity  of  his  ope- 
rations :  which  are  not  only  vast  beyond  compa- 
rison with  those  performed  by  any  other  power; 
but,  so  far  as  respects  our  conceptions  of  them, 
infinite,  because  they  are  unlimited  on  all  sides. 

Yet  the  contemplation  of  a  nature  so  exalted, 
however  surely  we  arrive  at  the  proof  of  its  exist- 
ence, overwhelms  our  faculties.  The  mind  feels 
its  powers  sink  under  the  subject.  One  conse- 
quence of  which  is.  that  from  painful  abstraction 
the  thoughts  seek  relief  in  sensible  images. — 
Whence  may  be  deduced  the  ancient,  and  almost 
universal  propensity  to  idolatrous  substitutions. 
They  are  the  resources  of  a  labouring  imagina- 
tion. False  religions  usually  fall  in  with  the  na- 
tural propensity ;  true  religions,  or  such  as  have 
derived  themselves  from  the  true,  resist  it. 

It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  the  revelations 
which  we  acknowledge,  that,  whilst  they  reject 


idolatry  with  its  many  pernicious  accompani- 
ments, they  introduce  the  Deity  to  human  ap- 
prehension, under  an  idea  more  personal,  more 
determinate,  more  within  its  compass,  than  the 
theology  of  nature  can  do.  And  this  they  do  by 
representing  him  exclusively  under  the  relation 
in  which  he  stands  to  ourselves;  and,  for  the  most 
part,  under  some  precise  character,  resulting  from 
that  relation,  or  from  the  history  of  his  provi- 
dences :  which  method  suits  the  span  of  our  in- 
tellects much  better  than  the  universahty  which 
enters  into  the  idea  of  God,  as  deduced  from  the 
views  of  nature.  When,  therefore,  these  repre- 
sentations are  well  founded  in  point  of  authority, 
(for  all  depends  upon  that,)  they  aflbrd  a  conde- 
.scension  to  the  state  of  our  faculties,  of  which, 
they  who  have  most  reflected  on  the  subject,  will 
be  the  first  to  acknowledge  the  want  and  the  value. 

Nevertheless,  if  we  be  careful  to  imitate  the  do- 
cuments of  our  religion,  by  confining  our  explana- 
tions to  what  concerns  ourselves,  and  do  not  afi'ect 
more  precision  in  our  ideas  than  the  subject  al- 
lows of,  the  several  terms  which  are  employed  to 
denote  the  attributes  of  the  Deity,  may  be  made, 
even  in  natural  religion,  to  bear  a  sense  consistent 
with  truth  and  reason,  and  not  surpassing  our 
comprehension. 

These  terms  are;  Omnipotence,  omniscience, 
omnipresence,  eternity,  sell-existence,  necessary 
existence,  spirituality. 

"Omnipotence,"  "omniscience,"  "infinite" 
power,  "infinite"  knowledge,  are  snperlatives, 
expressing  our  conception  of  these  attributes  in 
the  strongest  and  most  elevated  terms  which  lan- 
guage supplies.  We  ascribe  power  to  the  Deity 
under  tJie  name  of  "omnipotence,"  the  strict  and 
correct  conclusion  being,  that  a  power  which  could 
create  such  a  world  as  this  is,  must  be  beyond  all 
comparison,  greater  than  any  which  we  experience 
in  ourselves,  than  any  which  we  observe  in  other 
visible  agents ;  greater  also  than  any  which  we 
can  want,  for  our  individual  protection  and  pre- 
servation, in  the  Being  upon  whom  we  dejjend. 
It  is  a  power,  likewise,  to  which  we  are  not  au- 
thorized, by  our  observation  or  knowledge,  to  as- 
sign any  limits  of  space  or  duration. 

Very  much  of  the  same  sort  of  remark  is 
applicable  to  the  term  "  omniscience,"  infinite 
knowledge,  or  infinite  wisdom.  In  strictness  of 
language,  there  is  a  difference  between  knowledge 
and  wisdom ;  wisdom  always  supposing  action, 
and  action  directed  by  it.  With  respect  to  the 
first,  viz.  knowledge,  the  Creator  must  know, 
intimately,  the  constitution  and  properties  of  the 
things  which  he  created ;  which  seems  also  to 
imply  a  foreknowledge  of  their  action  u})on  one 
another,  and  of  their  changes  ;  at  least,  so  far  as 
the  same  result  from  trains  of  physical  and  neces- 
sary causes.  His  omniscience  also,  as  far  as 
respects  things  present,  is  deducible  from  his 
nature,  as  an  intelligent  being,  joined  with  the 
extent  or  rather  the  universality,  of  his  operations. 
Where  he  acts,  he  is ;  and  where  he  is,  he  per- 
ceives. The  wisdom  of  the  Deity,  as  testified  in 
the  works  of  creation,  surpasses  all  idea  we  have 
of  wisdom,  drawn  from  the  highest  intellectual 
operations  of  the  highest  class  of  intelligent  beings 
with  whom  we  are  acquainted ;  and,  which  is  of 
the  chief  importance  to  us,  whatever  be  its  com- 
pass or  extent,  which  it  is  evidently  impossible 
that  we  should  be  able  to  determine,  it  must  be 
adequate  to  the  conduct  of  that  order  of  things 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


469 


jnder  which  we  live.  And  this  is  enough.  It 
IS  of  very  inferior  consequence,  by  what  terms  wc 
express  our  notion,  or  rather  our  admiration,  of 
this  attribute.  I'he  terms,  which  the  piety  and 
the  usage  of  language  have  rendered  habitual  to 
us,  may  be  as  proper  as  any  other.  We  can 
trace  this  attrilmte  much  beyond  what  is  neces- 
sary for  any  conclusion  to  which  we  have  occasion 
to  apply  it.  The  degree  of  knowledge  and  power 
req  uisite  for  the  formation  of  created  nature,  cannot, 
with  respect  to  us,  be  distinguished  from  infinite. 

The  Divine  "  omnipresence"  stands,  in  natural 
theology,  upon  this  foundation : — In  every  part 
and  place  of  the  universe  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted, we  perceive  the  exertion  of  a  power, 
which  we  believe,  mediately  or  immediately  to 
proceed  from  the  Deity.  For  instance  ;  in  what 
part  or  point  of  space,  that  has  ever  been  ex- 
plored, do  we  not  discover  attraction!  In  what 
regions  do  we  not  find  light.  In  what  accessible 
portion  of  our  globe,  do  we  not  meet  with  gravi- 
ty, magnetism,  electricity;  together  with  the  pro- 
perties also  and  powers  of  organized  substances, 
of  vegetable  or  of  animated  nature  ?  Nay,  farther, 
we  may  ask.  What  kingdom  is  there  of  nature, 
what  corner  of  space,  in  which  there  is  any  thing 
that  can  be  examined  by  us,  where  we  do  not  fall 
upon  contrivance  and  design  7  The  only  reflec- 
tion perhaps  which  arises  in  our  minds  from  this 
view  of  the  world  around  us  is,  that  the  laws  of 
nature  everywhere  prevail ;  that  they  are  uniform 
and  universal.  But  what  do  we  mean  by  the 
laws  of  nature,  or  by  any  law  1  Effects  are  pro- 
duced by  power,  not  by  laws.  A  law  cannot  exe- 
cute itself  A  law  refers  us  to  an  agent.  Now 
an  agency  so  general,  as  that  we  cannot  discover 
its  absence,  or  assign  the  place  in  which  some 
efiect  of  its  continued  energy  is  not  found,  may, 
in  popular  language  at  least,  and,  perhaps,  with- 
out n.iuch  deviation  from  philosophical  strictness, 
be  called  universal:  and,  with  not  quite  the  same, 
but  with  no  inconsiderable  propriety,  the  person 
or  Being,  in  whom  that  power  resides,  or  from 
whom  it  is  derived,  may  be  taken  to  be  omnipre- 
sent. He  who  upholds  all  things  by  his  power, 
may  be  said  to  be  every  where  present. 

This  is  called  a  virtual  presence.  There  is 
also  what  metaphysicians  denominate  an  essen- 
tial ubiquity ;  and  which  idea  the  language  of 
Scripture  seems  to  favour  :  but  the  former,  I  think, 
goes  as  far  as  natural  theology  carries  us. 

"  Eternity"  is  a  negative  idea,  clothed  with  a 
positive  name.  It  supposes,  in  that  to  which  it  is 
applied,  a  present  existence;  and  is  the  negation 
of  a  beginning  or  an  end  of  that  existence.  As 
applied  to  the  Deity,  it  has  not  been  contro- 
verted by  those  who  acknowledge  a  Deity  at 
all.  Most  assuredly,  there  never  was  a  time  in 
which  nothing  existed,  because  that  condition  must 
have  continued.  The  universal  blank  must  have 
remained  ;  nothing  could  rise  up  out  of  it ;  nothing 
could  ever  have  existed  since ;  nothmg  could 
exist  now.  In  strictness,  however,  we  have  no 
concern  with  duration  prior  to  that  of  the  visible 
world.  Upon  this  article  therefore  of  theology, 
it  is  sufficient  to  know,  that  the  contriver  neces- 
sarily existed  before  the  contrivance. 

"  Selt-existcnce"  is  another  negative  idea,  viz. 
the  negation  of  a  preceding  cause,  as  of  a  pro- 
genitor, a  maker,  an  author,  a  creator. 

"  Necessary  existence"  means  demonstrable 
existence. 


"  Spirituality"  expresses  an  idea,  made  up  of  a 
negative  part,  and  of  a  positive  part.  The  nega- 
tive part  consists  in  the  exclusion  of  some  of  the 
known  properties  of  matter,  especially  of  solidity, 
of  the  vis  inertice,  and  of  gravitation.  The  posi- 
tive part  comprises  perception,  thought,  will, 
power,  action ;  by  which  last  term  is  meant,  the 
origination  cf  motion ;  the  quality,  perhaps,  in 
which  resides  the  essential  superiority  of  spirit 
over  matter,  "  which  cannot  move,  unless  it  be 
moved ;  and  cannot  but  move,  when  imjiclled 
by  another."*  I  a[)prehend  that  there  can  be  no 
difficulty  in  applying  to  the  Deity  both  parts  of 
this  idea. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  Unity  of  the  Deity. 

Of  the  "  Unity  of  the  Deity,"  the  proof  is,  the 
uniformity  of  plan  observable  in  the  universe. 
The  universe  itself  is  a  system ;  each  part  either 
depending  upon  other  parts,  or  being  connectea 
with  other  parts  by  some  common  law  of  motion, 
or  by  the  presence  of  some  common  substance. 
One  principle  of  gravitation  causes  a  stone  to  drop 
towards  the  earth,  and  the  moon  to  wheel  round 
it.  One  law  of  attraction  carries  all  the  different, 
planets  about  the  sun.  This  philosophers  de- 
monstrate. There  are  also  other  points  of  agree- 
ment amongst  them,  which  may  be  considered  as 
marks  of  the  identity  of  their  origin,  and  of  their 
intelligent  Author.  In  all  are  Ibund  the  con- 
veniency  and  stability  derived  from  gravitation. 
They  all  experience  vicissitudes  of  days  and 
nights,  and  changes  of  season.  They  all,  at 
least  Jupiter,  Mars,  and  Venus,  have  the  same 
advantages  from  their  atmosphere  as  we  have. 
In  all  the  planets,  the  axes  of  rotation  are  perma- 
nent. Nothing  is  more  probable  than  that  the 
same  attracting  influence,  acting  according  to  the 
same  rule,  reaches  to  the  fixed  stars  :  but,  if  this 
be  only  probable,  another  thing  is  certain,  viz. 
that  the  same  element  of  light  does.  The  light 
from  a  fixed  star  affects  our  eyes  in  the  same 
manner,  is  refracted  and  reflected  according  to 
the  same  laws,  as  the  light  of  a  candle.  The 
velocity  of  the  light  of  the  fixed  stars  is  also  the 
same  as  the  velocity  of  the  light  of  the  sun, 
reflected  from  the  satellites  of  .Tupiter.  The  heat 
of  the  sun,  in  kind,  differs  nothing  from  the  heat 
of  a  coal  lire. 

In  our  own  globe,  the  case  is  clearer.  New 
countries  are  continually  discovered,  but  tlie  old 
laws  of  nature  are  always  found  in  them  new 
plants  perhaps,  or  animals,  but  always  in  com- 
pany with  plants  and  animals  which  we  already 
know  ;  and  always  possessing  many  of  the  same 
general  properties.  We  never  get  amongst  such 
original,  or  totally  different,  modes  of  existence, 
as  to  indicate,  that  we  are  come  into  the  province 
of  a  different  Creator,  or  under  the  direction  of  a 
different  will.  In  truth,  the  same  order  of  things 
attends  us,  wherever  we  go.  The  elements  act 
upon  one  another,  electricity  operates,  the  tides 
rise  and  fall,  the  magnetic  needle  elects  its  posi- 
tion, in  one  region  of  the  earth  and  sea.  as  well 

*  Bishop  Wilkin's  Friiiciples  of  Natural  Eeligion 
p.  106. 

40 


470 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


as  in  another.  One  atmosphere  invests  all  parts 
of  the  globe,  anJ  connects  all ;  one  sun  illumi- 
nates, one  moon  exerts  its  specific  attraction  upon 
all  parts.  If  there  be  a  variety  in  natural  ellccts, 
as,  e.  g.  in  the  tides  of  different  seas,  that  very 
variety  is  the  result  of  the  same  cause,  acting 
under  dilferent  circumstances.  In  many  cases 
this  is  proved  ;  in  all,  is  probable. 

The  inspection  and  comparison  oi  living  forms, 
add  to  this  argument  examples  without  number. 
Uf  all  large  terrestrial  animals,  the  structure  is 
very  much  alike  ;  their  senses  nearly  the  same  ; 
their  natural  functions  and  passions  nearly  the 
same;  their  viscera  nearly  the  same,  both  in  sub- 
stance, shape,  and  oiSce :  digestion,  nutrition, 
circulation,  secretion,  go  on,  in  a  similar  manner, 
in  all :  the  great  circulating  fluid  is  the  same ; 
for,  I  think  no  difference  has  been  discovered  in 
the  properties  of  blood,  from  whatever  animal  it 
be  drawn.  The  experiment  of  transfusion  proves 
that  the  blood  of  one  animal  will  serve  for  another. 
The  skeletons  also  of  the  larger  terrestrial  ani- 
mals, show  particular  varieties,  but  still  under  a 
great  general  affinity.  The  resemblance  is  some- 
what less,  yet  sufficiently  evident  between  qua- 
drupeds and  birds.  They  are  all  alike  in  five 
respects,  for  one  in  which  they  differ. 

\njish,  which  belong  to  another  department,  as 
it  were,  of  nature,  the  points  of  comparison  be- 
come fewer.  But  we  never  lose  sight  of  our  ana- 
logy, e.  g.  we  still  meet  with  a  stomach,  a  liver,  a 
spine;  with  bile  and  blood  ;  with  teeth;  with  eyes, 
(which  eyes  are  only  slightly  varied  from  our  own, 
and  which  variation  in  truth  demonstrates  not 
an  interruption,  but  a  continuance  of  the  same  ex- 
quisite plan ;  for  it  is  the  adaptation  of  the  organ 
to  the  element,  viz.  to  the  different  refraction  of 
light  passing  into  the  eye  out  of  a  denser  me- 
dmm.)  The  provinces,  also,  themselves  of  water 
and  earth,  are  connected  by  the  species  of  animals 
which  inhabit  both  ;  and  also  by  a  large  tribe  of 
aquatic  animals  which  closely  resemble  the  terres- 
trial in  their  internal  structure ;  I  mean  the  ceta- 
ceous tribe,  which  have  hot  blood,  respiring  lungs, 
bowels,  and  other  essential  parts,  like  those  of  land 
animals.  This  similitude,  surely,  bespeaks  the 
same  creation  and  the  same  Creator. 

Insects  and  shell-Jish  appear  to  me  to  differ  from 
other  classes  of  animals  the  most  widely  of  any. 
Yet  even  here,  beside  many  points  of  particular 
resemblance,  there  exists  a  general  relation  of  a 
pecuHar  kind.  It  is  the  relation  of  inversion  ;  the 
law  of  contrariety :  namely,  that,  whereas,  in 
other  animals,  the  bones,  to  which  the  muscles  are 
attached,  lie  within  the  body  ;  in  insects  and  shell- 
fish, they  lie  on  the  outside  of  it.  The  shell  of 
a  lobster  performs  to  the  animal  the  office  of  a 
hone,  by  furnishing  to  the  tendons  that  fixed  basis 
or  immoveable  fulcrum,  without  which,  mechani- 
cally, they  could  not  act.  The  crust  of  an  insect 
is  its  shell,  and  answers  the  like  purpose.  The 
shell  also  of  an  oyster  stands  in  theplaceof  aione; 
the  bases  of  the  muscles  being  fixed  to  it,  in  the 
same  manner  as,  in  other  animals,  they  are  fixed 
to  the  bones.  All  which  (under  wonderful  varie- 
ties, indeed,  and  adaptations  of  form,)  confesses  an 
imitation,  a  remembrance,  a  carrying  on  of  the 
same  plan. 

The  observations  here  made,  are  equally  appli- 
cable to  plants ;  but,  I  think,  unnecessary  to  be 
pursued.  It  is  a  very  striking  circumstance,  and 
alone  sufficient  to  prove  all  which  we  contend  for,  i 


that,  in  this  part  likewise  of  organized  nature,  wo 
perceive  a  continuation  of  the  sexual  system. 

Certain  however  it  is,  that  the  whole  argument 
for  the  divine  unity,  goes  no  farther  than  to  a  unity 
of  counsel. 

It  may  likewise  be  acknowledged,  that  no  argu- 
ments which  we  are  in  possession  of,  exclude  the 
ministry  of  subordinate  agents.  If  such  there  be, 
they  act  under  a  presiding,  a  controlling  will ;  be- 
cause they  act  according  to  certain  general  restric- 
tions, by  certain  common  rules,  and,  as  it  should 
seem,  upon  a  general  plan :  but  still  such  agents, 
and  different  ranks,  and  classes,  and  degrees  of 
them,  may  be  employed. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
The  Goodness  of  the  Deity. 

The  proof  of  the  divine  goodness  rests  upon 
two  propositions  :  each,  as  we  contend,  capable  of 
being  made  out  by  observations  drawn  from  the 
appearances  of  nature. 

The  first  is,  "  that,  in  a  vast  plurality  of  in- 
.stances  in  which  contrivance  is  perceived,  the  de- 
sign of  the  contrivance  is  beneficial.'" 

The  second,  -'that  the  Deity  has  superadded 
pleasure  to  animal  sensations,  beyond  what  was 
necessary  for  any  other  purpose,  or  when  the  pur- 
pose, so  far  as  it  was  necessary,  might  have  been 
effected  by  the  operation  of  pain." 

First,  "  In  a  vast  plurality  of  instances  in  which 
contrivance  is  perceived,  the  design  of  the  contri- 
vance is  beneficial." 

No  productions  of  nature  display  contrivance  so 
manifestly  as  the  parts  of  animals;  and  the  parts 
of  animals  have  all  of  them,  I  believe,  a  real,  and, 
with  very  few  exceptions,  all  of  them  a  known  and 
intelligible,  subserviency  to  the  use  of  the  animal. 
Now,  when  the  multitude  of  animals  is  consider- 
ed, the  number  of  parts  in  each,  their  figure  and 
fitness,  the  faculties  depending  upon  them,  the 
variety  of  species,  the  complexity  of  structure,  the 
success,  in  so  many  cases,  and  felicity  of  the  re- 
sult, we  can  never  reflect,  without  the  profoundest 
adoration,  upon  the  character  of  that  Being  from 
whom  all  these  things  have  proceeded  :  we  can- 
not help  acknowledging,  what  an  exertion  of  be- 
nevolence creation  was ;  of  a  benevolence  how 
minute  in  its  care,  how  vast  in  its  comprehen- 
sion ! 

When  we  appeal  to  the  parts  and  faculties  of 
animals,  and  to  the  limbs  and  senses  of  animals  in 
particular,  we  state,  I  conceive,  the  proper  medium 
of  proof  for  the  conclusion  which  we  wish  to  es- 
tablish. I  will  not  say,  that  the  insensible  parts 
of  nature  are  made  solely  for  the  sensitive  parts  : 
but  this  I  say,  that,  when  we  consider  the  benevo- 
lence of  the  Deity,  we  can  only  consider  if  in  re- 
lation to  sensitive  being.  Without  this  reference, 
or  referred  to  any  thing  else,  the  attriliute  has  no 
object:  the  term  has  no  meaning.  Dead  matter 
is  "nothing.  The  parts,  therefore,  especially  the 
limbs  and  senses,  of  animals,  although  they  con- 
stitute, in  mass  and  quantity,  a  small  portion  of 
the  material  creation,  yet,  since  they  alone  are  in- 
struments of  perception,  they  compose  what  may 
be  called  the  whole  of  visible  nature,  estimated 
with  a  view  to  the  disposition  of  its  Author. 
Consequently,  it  is  in  these  that  we  are  to  seek  his 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


471 


character.     It  is  by  these  that  we  are  to  prove, 
that  the  world  was  made  witli  a  benevolent  desig'n. 

Nor  is  the  design  abortive.  It  is  a  happy  world 
after  all.  The  air,  the  earth,  the  water,  teem  with 
delighted  existence.  In  a  spring  noon,  or  a  sum- 
mer evening,  on  whichever  side  I  turn  my  eyes, 
myriads  of  nappy  beings  crowd  upon  my  view. 
"  The  insect  youth  are  on  the  wing."  Swarms 
of  new-born  J!ies  are  trying  thwr  pinions  in  the 
air.  Their  sportive  motions,  their  wanton  mazes, 
their  gratuitous  activity,  their  continual  change  of 
place  without  use  or  purpose,  testify  their  joy,  and 
the  exultation  which  they  feel  in  their  lately  dis- 
covered faculties.  A  bee  amongst  the  flowers  in 
spring,  is  one  of  the  most  cheerful  objects  that  can 
be  looked  upon.  Its  life  appears  to  be  all  enjoy- 
ment;  so  busy,  and  so  pleased;  yet  it  is  only  a 
specimen  of  insect  life,  with  which,  by  reason  of 
the  animal  being  half  domesticated,  we  happen  to 
be  better  acquainted  than  we  are  with  that  of 
others.  The  ichole  winged  insect  tribe,  it  is  pro- 
bable, are  equally  intent  upon  their  proper  em- 
ployments, and,  under  every  variety  of  constitu- 
tion, gratified,  and  perhaps  equally  gratified,  by 
the  offices  which  the  Author  of  their  nature  has 
assigned  to  them.  But  the  atmosphere  is  not  the 
only  scene  of  enjoyment  for  the  insect  race. 
Plants  are  covered  with  aphides,  greedily  sucking 
their  juices,  and  constantly,  as  it  should  seem,  in 
the  act  of  sucking.  It  cannot  be  doubted  but  that 
this  is  a  state  of  gratification.  What  else  should 
fix  them  so  close  to  the  operation,  and  so  long  7 
Other  species  are  running  about ;  with  an  ala- 
crity in  their  motions,  which  carries  with  it  every 
mark  of  pleasure.  Large  patches  of  ground  are 
sometimes  half  covered  with  these  brisk  and 
sprightly  natures.  If  we  look  to  what  the  ica- 
ters  produce,  shoals  of  the  fry  of  fish  frequent  the 
margins  of  rivers,  of  lakes,  and  of  the  sea  itself 
These  are  so  happy,  that  they  know  not  what  to 
do  with  themselves.  Their  attitudes,  their  viva- 
city, their  leaps,  out  of  the  water,  their  frolics  in 
it,  (which  I  have  noticed  a  thousand  times  with 
equal  attention  and  amusement,)  all  conduce  to 
show  their  excess  of  spirits,  and  are  simply  the 
effects  of  that  excess.  Walking  by  the  sea-side, 
in  a  calm  evening,  upon  a  sandy  shore,  and  with 
an  ebbing  tide,  I  have  frequently  remarked  the 
appearance  of  a  dark  cloud,  or  rather,  very  thick 
mist  hanging  over  the  edge  of  the  water,  to  the 
height,  perhaps,  of  half  a  yard,  and  of  the  breadth 
of  two  or  three  yards,  stretching  along  the  coast 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  always  retiring 
with  the  water.  When  this  cloud  came  to  be  ex- 
amined, it  proved  to  be  nothing  else  than  so  much 
space,  filled  with  young  shrimps,  in  the  act  of 
bounding  into  the  air  from  the  shallow  margin  of 
the  water,  or  from  the  wet  sand.  If  any  motion 
of  a  mute  animal  could  express  dehght,  it  was 
this :  if  they  had  meant  to  make  signs  of  their 
happiness,  they  could  not  have  done  it  more  in- 
telligibly. Suppose  then,  what  I  have  no  doubt 
of,  each  individual  of  this  number  to  be  in  a  state 
of  positive  enjoyment ;  what  a  sum,  collectively, 
of  gratification  and  pleasure  have  we  here  before 
our  view ! 

The  young  of  all  animals  appear  to  me  to  re- 
ceive pleasure  simply  from  the  exercise  of  their 
hmbs  and  bodily  faculties,  without  reference  to 
any  end  to  be  attained,  or  an}'  use  to  be  answered 
by  the  exertion.  A  child,  without  knov^'ing  any 
thing  of  the  use  of  language,  is  in  a  high  degree 


delighted  with  being  able  to  speak.  Its  incessant 
repetition  of  a  few  articulate  sounds,  or,  perhaps, 
of  the  single  word  which  it  has  learnt  to  pro- 
nounce, proves  this  point  clearly.  Nor  is  it  less 
pleased  with  its  first  successful  endeavours  to 
walk,  or  rather  to  run,  (which  precedes  walking,) 
although  entirely  ignorant  of  the  importance  of 
the  attainment  to  its  future  life,  and  even  without 
applying  it  to  any  present  purpose.  A  child  is 
delighted  with  speaking,  without  having  any  thing 
to  say ;  and  with  walking,  without  knowing 
where  to  go.  And  prior  to  both  these,  I  am  dis- 
posed to  believe,  that  the  waking  hours  of  infancy 
are  agreeably  taken  up  with  the  exercise  of  visit)n, 
or  perhaps,  more  properly  speaking,  with  learning 
to  see. 

But  it  is  not  for  youth  alone  that  the  great  Pa- 
rent of  creation  hath  provided.  Happiness  is 
found  with  the  purring  cat,  no  less  than  with  the 
playful  kitten ;  in  the  arm-chair  of  dozing  age,  as 
well  as  in  either  the  sprightliness  of  the  dance  or 
the  animation  of  the  chase.  To  novelty,  to  ac-ute- 
ness  of  sensation,  to  hope,  to  ardour  of  pursuit, 
succeeds,  what  is,  in  no  inconsiderable  degree,  an 
equivalent  for  them  all,  "  perception  of  ease." 
Herein  is  the  exact  difference  between  the  young 
and  the  old.  The  young  are  not  happy  but  when 
enjoying  pleasure;  the  old  are  happy  when  free 
froni  pain.  And  this  constitution  suits  with  the 
degrees  of  ammal  power  which  they  respectively 
possess.  The  vigour  of  youth  was  to  be  stimu- 
lated to  action  by  impatience  of  rest ;  whilst  to  the 
imbecility  of  age,  quietness  and  repose  become 
positive  gratifications.  In  one  important  respect 
the  advantage  is  with  the  old.  A  state  of  ease  is, 
generally  speaking,  more  attainable  than  a  state 
of  pleasure.  A  constitution,  therefore,  which  can 
enjoy  ease,  is  preferable  to  that  which  can  taste 
only  pleasure.  This  same  perception  of  ease 
oftentimes  renders  old  age  a  condition  of  great 
comfort ;  especially  when  riding  at  its  anchor  after 
a  busy  or  tempestuous  life.  It  is  well  described 
by  Pcousseau,  to  be  the  interval  of  repose  and  en- 
joyment, between  the  hurry  and  the  end  of  life. 
How  fiir  the  same  cause  extends  to  other  animal 
natures,  cannot  be  judged  of  with  certainty.  The 
appearance  of  satisfection,  with  which  most  ani- 
mals, as  their  activity  subsides,  seek  and  enjoy 
rest,  affords  reason  to  believe,  that  this  source  of 
gratification  is  appointed  to  advance  file,  under  all, 
or  most  of  its  various  forms.  In  the  species  with 
which  we  are  best  acquainted,  namely  our  own,  I 
am  far,  even  as  an  observer  of  human  life,  from 
thinking  that  youth  is  its  happiest  season,  much 
less  the  only  happy  one:  as  a  Christian,  I  am 
wilhng  to  believe  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth 
in  the  following  representation  given  by  a  very 
pious  writer,  as  well  as  excellent  man  :*  "  To  the 
intelligent  and  virtuous,  old  age  presents  a  scene 
of  tranquil  enjoyments,  of  obedient  appetite,  of 
well-regulated  affections,  of  maturity  in  knowledge, 
and  of  calm  preparation  for  immortality.  In  this 
serene  and  dignified  state,  placed  as  it  were  on  the 
confines  of  two  worlds,  the  mind  of  a  good  man 
reviews  what  is  past  with  a  complacency  of  an 
approving  conscience  ;  and  looks  forward  with 
humble  confidence  in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  with 
devout  aspirations  towards  his  eternal  and  ever- 
increasing  favour." 


*  Father's  Instructions;  by  Dr.  Percival  of  Manches- 
ter, p.  317. 


472 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


What  is  seen  in  different  stages  of  the  same 
life,  is  still  more  exemplilied  in  the  lives  of  differ- 
ent animals.  Animal  enjoyments  are  inffnitely 
diversified.  The  modes  of  life,  to  which  the  or- 
ganization of  different  animals  respectively  deter- 
mines them,  are  not  only  of  various  but  of  oppo- 
site kinds.  Yet  each  is  happy  in  its  own.  For 
instance :  animals  of  prey  live  much  alone  ;  ani- 
mals of  a  milder  constitution,  in  society.  Yet  the 
herring,  which  lives  in  shoals,  and  the  sheep, 
which  lives  in  flocks,  are  not  more  happy  in  a 
crowd,  or  more  contented  amongst  their  compa- 
nions, than  is  the  pike,  or  the  lion,  with  the  deep 
solitudes  of  the  pool,  or  the  forest. 

But  it  will  be  said,  that  the  instances  which 
we  have  here  brought  forward,  whether  of  viva- 
city or  repose,  or  of  apparent  enjoyment  derived 
from  either,  are  picked  and  favourable  instances. 
We  answer,  first,  that  they  are  instances,  never- 
theless, which  comprise  large  provinces  of  sensi- 
tive existence  ;  that  every  case  which  we  have  de- 
scribed, is  the  case  of  millions.  At  this  moment, 
in  every  given  moment  of  time,  how  many  myri- 
ads of  animals  are  eating  their  food,  gratifying 
their  appetites,  ruminating  in  their  holes,  ac- 
complishing their  wishes,  pursuing  their  pleasures, 
taking  their  pastimes  !  In  each  individual,  how 
many  things  must  go  right  for  it  to  be  at  ease ; 
yet  how  large  a  proportion  out  of  every  species  is  so 
in  every  assignable  instant !  Secondly,  we  con- 
tend in  the  terms  of  our  original  proposition,  that 
throughout  the  whole  of  life,  as  it  is  diflTused  in 
nituve,  and  as  far  as  we  are  acquainted  with  it, 
looking  to  the  average  of  sensations,  the  plurality 
and  the  preponderancy  is  in  favour  of  happiness 
by  a  vast  excess.  In  our  own  species,  in  which 
perhaps  the  assertion  may  be  more  questionable 
than  in  any  other,  the  prepollency  of  good  over  evil, 
of  health,  for  example,  and  ease,  over  pain  and 
distress,  is  evinced  by  the  very  notice  which  cala- 
mities excite.  What  inquiries  docs  the  sickness 
of  our  friends  produce !  what  conversation  their 
misfortunes!  This  shows  that  the  common  course 
of  things  is  in  favour  of  happiness  ;  that  happiness 
IS  the  rule,  misery  the  exception.  Were  the  order 
reversed,  our  attention  would  be  called  to  exam- 
ples of  health  and  competency,  instead  of  disease 
and  want. 

One  great  cause  of  our  insensibility  to  the  good- 
ness of  the  Creator,  is  the  very  extensive ness  of 
his  bounty.  We  prize  but  little  what  we  share 
only  in  common  with  the  rest,  or  with  the  gene- 
rality of  our  species.  When  we  hear  of  blessings, 
we  think  forthwith  of  successes,  of  prosperous  for- 
tunes, of  honours,  riches,  preferments,  i.  e.  of  those 
advantages  and  superiorities  over  others,  which 
we  happen  either  to  possess,  or  to  be  in  pursuit  of, 
or  to  covet.  The  common  benefits  of  our  nature 
entirely  escape  us.  Yet  these  are  the  great  things. 
These  constitute  what  most  properly  ought  to  be 
accounted  blessings  of  Providence  ;  what  alone,  if 
we  might  so  speak,  are  worthy  of  its  care.  Night- 
Iv  rest  and  daily  bread,  the  ordinary  use  of  our 
liml)s,  and  senses,  and  understandings,  are  gifts 
which  admit  of  no  comparison  with  any  other. 
Yet,  because  almost  every  man  we  meet  with  pos- 
sesses these,  we  leave  them  out  of  our  enumera- 
tion. They  raise  no  sentiment;  they  move  no 
gratitude.  Now,  herein  is  our  judgment  pervert- 
ed by  our  selfishness.  A  blessing  ought  in  truth 
to  be  the  more  satisfactory,  the  bounty  at  least  of 
the  donor  is  rendered  more  conspicuous,  by  its 


very  difflision,  its  commonness,  its  cheapness ;  bv 
its  falling  to  the  lot,  and  forming  the  happiness, 
of  the  great  bulk  and  body  of  our  species,  as  weli 
as  of  ourselves.  Nay,  even  when  we  do  not  pos- 
sess it,  it  ought  to  be  matter  of  thankfulness  that 
others  do.  But  we  have  a  different  way  of  think- 
ing. We  court  distinction.  That  is  not  the 
worst ;  we  see  nothing  but  what  has  distinction  to 
recommend  it.  This  necessarily  contracts  our 
views  of  the  Creator's  beneficence  within  a  nar- 
row compass  ;  and  most  unjustly.  It  is  in  those 
things  which  are  so  common  as  to  be  no  distinc- 
tion, that  the  amplitude  of  the  divine  benignity  is 
perceived. 

But  pain,  no  doubt,  and  privations  exist,  in  nu- 
merous instances,  and  to  a  degree,  which,  collect- 
ively, would  be  very  great,  if  they  were  compared 
with  any  other  thing  than  with  the  mass  of  ani- 
mal fruition.  For  the  application,  therefore,  of 
our  proposition  to  that  mixed  state  of  things  which 
these  exceptions  induce,  two  rules  are  necessary, 
and  both,  I  think,  just  and  fair  rules.  One  is, 
that  we  regard  those  effects  alone  which  are  ac- 
companied with  proofs  of  intention :  the  other,  that 
when  we  cannot  resolve  all  appearances  into  bene- 
volence of  design,  we  make  the  few  give  place  to 
the  many  ;  the  httle  to  the  great;  that  we  take  our 
judgment  from  a  large  and  decided  preponderancy, 
if  there  be  one. 

I  crave  leave  to  transcribe  into  this  place,  what 
I  have  said  upon  this  subject  in  my  Moral  Philo- 
sophy : — 

"  When  God  created  the  human  species,  either 
he  wished  their  happiness,  or  he  wished  their 
misery,  or  he  was  indifferent  and  unconcerned 
about  either. 

"  If  he  had  wished  our  misery,  he  might  have 
made  sure  of  his  purpose,  by  forming  our  senses 
to  be  so  many  sores  and  ])ains  to  us,  as  they  are 
now  instruments  of  gratification  and  enjoyment : 
or  by  placing  us  amidst  objects,  so  ill  suited  to  our 
perceptions  as  to  have  continually  offended  us, 
instead  of  ministering  to  our  refreshment  and  de- 
light. He  might  have  made,  for  example,  every 
thing  we  tasted,  bitter ;  every  thing  we  saw,  loath- 
some; every  thing  we  touched,  a  sting;  every 
smell,  a  stench  ;  and  every  sound,  a  discord. 

"  If  he  had  been  indifferent  about  our  happi- 
ness or  misery,  we  must  impute  to  our  good  for- 
tune (as  all  design  by  this  supposition  is  excluded) 
both  the  capacity  of  our  scn.ses  to  receive  pleasure, 
and  the  supply  of  external  objects  fitted  to  pro- 
duce it. 

"  But  either  of  these,  and  still  more  both  of 
them,  being  too  much  to  be  attributed  to  accident, 
nothing  remains  but  the  first  supposition,  that 
God,  when  he  created  the  human  species,  wished 
their  happiness ;  and  made  for  them  the  provision 
which  he  has  made,  with  that  view  and  tor  that 
pur])ose. 

"  The  same  argument  may  be  proposed  in  dif- 
ferent terms;  thus:  Contrivance  proves  design: 
and  the  predominant  tendency  of  the  contrivance 
indicates  the  dis])osition  of  the  designer.  The 
world  abounds  with  contrivances:  and  all  the 
contrivances  which  we  are  acquainted  with,  are 
directed  to  beneficial  purposes.  Evil,  no  doubt, 
exists ;  but  is  never,  that  we  can  perceive,  the  ob- 
ject of  contrivance.  Teeth  are  contrived  to  eat, 
not  to  ache ;  their  aching  now  and  then  is  inci- 
dental to  the  contrivance,  perhaps  inseparable 
from  it :  or  even,  if  you  will,  let  it  be  called  a  de- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


4*3 


feet  in  the  contrivance :  but  it  is  not  the  object  of 
it.  This  is  a  distinction  which  well  deserves  to 
be  attended  to.  In  describing  implements  of  hus- 
bandry, you  would  hardly  say  of  the  sickle,  that 
it  is  made  to  cut  the  reaper's  hand  ;  though  from 
the  construction  of  the  instrument  and  the  man- 
ner of  using  it,  this  mischief  often  follows.  But 
if  you  had  occasion  to  describe  instruments  of  tor- 
ture, or  e.xecution :  this  engine,  you  would  say,  is 
to  extend  the  sinews;  this  to  dislocate  the  joints; 
this  to  break  the  bones ;  this  to  scorch  the  soles 
of  the  feet.  Here,  pain  and  misery  are  the  very 
objects  of  the  contrivance.  Now,  nothing  of  this 
sort  is  to  be  found  in  the  works  of  nature.  We 
never  discover  a  train  of  contrivance  to  bring 
about  an  evil  purpose.  No  anatomist  ever  disco- 
vered a  system  of  organization  calculated  to  pro- 
duce pain  and  disease  ;  or,  in  explaining  the  parts 
of  the  human  body,  ever  said,  this  is  to  irritate; 
this  to  inflame ;  this  duct  is  to  convey  the  gravel 
to  the  kidneys;  this  gland  to  secrete  the  humour 
which  forms  the  gout :  if  by  chance  he  come  at  a 
part  of  which  he  knows  not  the  use,  the  most  he 
can  say  is,  that  it  is  useless;  no  one  ever  suspects 
that  it  is  put  there  to  incommode,  to  annoy,  or  to 
torment.'" 

The  TWO  CASES  which  appear  to  me  to  have 
the  most  of  difficulty  in  them,  as  forming  the 
most  of  the  appearance  of  exception  to  the  repre- 
sentation here  fflven,  are  those  oi' venomous  ani- 
mals,  and  of  animals  preying  upon  one  another. 
These  properties  of  animals,  wherever  they  are 
found,  must,  I  think,  be  referred  to  de.sisin ;  be- 
cause there  is  in  all  cases  of  the  first,  and  in  most 
cases  of  the  second,  an  express  and  distinct  or- 
ganization provided  for  the  producing  of  them. 
Under  the  first  head,  the  fangs  of  vipers,  the 
stings  of  wasps  and  scorpions,  are  as  clearlv  in- 
tended for  their  purpose,  as  any  animal  structure 
is  for  any  purpose  the  most  incontestablv  benefi- 
cial. And  the  same  thing  must,  under  the  second 
head,  be  acknowledged  of  the  talons  and  beaks  of 
birds,  of  the  tusks,  teeth,  and  claws,  of  beasts  of 
prey;  of  the  shark's  mouth,  of  the  spider's  web, 
and  of  numberless  weapons  of  offence  belonging 
to  different  tribes  of  voracious  insects.  We  can- 
not, therefore,  avoid  the  difficulty  by  saving,  that 
the  effect  was  not  intended.  The  only  question 
open  to  us  is,  whether  it  be  ultimately  evil.  From 
the  confessed  and  felt  imperfection  of  our  know- 
ledge, we  ought  to  presume  that  there  may  be 
consequences  of  this  economy  which  are  hidden 
from  us;  from  the  benevolence  which  pervades  the 
general  designs  of  nature,  we  ought  also  to  pre- 
sume, that  these  consequences,  if  they  could  enter 
into  our  calculation,  would  turn  the  balance  on 
the  favourable  side.  Both  these  I  contend  to  be 
reasonable  presumptions.  Not  reasonable  pre- 
sumptions, if  these  two  cases  were  the  onlv  cases 
which  nature  presented  to  our  observation;  but 
reasonable  presumptions  under  the  reflection,  that 
the  cases  in  question  are  combined  with  a  multi- 
tude of  intentions,  all  proceeding  from  the  same 
author,  and  all,  except  these,  directed  to  ends  of 
undisputed  utility.  Of  the  vindications,  however, 
of  this  economy,  which  we  are  able  to  assign, 
such  as  most  extenuate  thje  difficulty  are  the  fol- 
lowing. 

With  respect  to  venomous  bites  and  stings,  it 
may  be  observed, — 

I.  That,  the  animal  itself  being  regarded,  the 
faculty  complained  of  is  good :  being  conducive, 
30 


in  all  cases,  to  the  defence  of  the  animal ;  in  some 
cases,  to  the  subduing  of  its  prey;  and  in  some 
probably,  to  the  killing  of  it,  when  caught,  liy  a 
mortal  wound,  inliicted  in  the  passage  to  the  sto- 
mach, which  may  be  no  less  mercilul  to  the  \ ic- 
tim,  than  salutary  to  the  devourer.  In  ths'  vijicr, 
for  instance,  the  poisonous  fang  may  do  th:it 
which,  in  other  animals  of  prey,  is  done  by  the 
crush  of  the  teeth.  Frogs  and  mice  might  be 
swallowed  alive  without  it. 

2.  But  it  will  be  said,  that  this  provision,  when 
it  comes  to  the  case  of  bites,  deadly  even  to  hu- 
man bodies  and  to  those  of  large  quadrupeds,  is 
greatly  overdone  ;  that  it  might  have  fulfilled  its 
use,  and  yet  have  been  much  less  delete) ious  than 
it  is.  Now  I  believe  the  case  of  bites,  which  pro- 
duce death  in  large  animals,  (of  stings  I  think 
there  are  none,)  to  be  very  few.  The  experiments 
of  the  Abbe  Fontana,  which  were  numerous,  go 
strongly  to  the  proof  of  this  point.  He  found  that 
it  required  the  action  of  five  exasperated  vipers  to 
kill  a  dog  of  a  moderate  size:  but  that,  to  the  kill- 
ing of  a  mouse  or  a  frog,  a  single  bite  was  suffi- 
cient ;  which  agrees  with  the  use  we  assign  to  the 
faculty.  The  Abbe  seemed  to  be  of  opinion,  that 
the  bite  even  of  the  rattle-snake  would  not  usual- 
ly be  mortal ;  allowing,  however,  tl.  it  in  certain 
particularly  unfortunate  cases,  as  when  the  punc- 
ture had  touched  some  very  tender  part,  pricked  a 
principal  nerve  for  instance,  or,  as  it  is  said,  some 
more  considerable  lymphatic  vessel,  death  might 
speedily  ensue, 

3.  It  has  been,  I  think,  very  justly  remarked, 
concerning  serpents,  that,  whilst  only  a  few  spe- 
cies possess  the  venomous  property,  that  property 
guards  the  whole  tribe.  The  most  innocuous 
snake  is  avoided  with  as  much  care  as  a  viper. 
Now  the  terror  with  which  large  animals  regard 
this  class  of  reptiles,  is  its  protection;  and  this 
terror  is  founded  on  the  fbrmidalile  revenge,  which 
a  few  of  the  number,  compared  with  the  whole, 
are  capable  of  taking.  The  species  of  serpents,  de- 
scribed by  Linna?us.  amount  to  two  hundred  and 
eighteen,  of  which  thirty-two  only  are  poisonous. 

4.  It  seems  to  me,  that  animal  constitutions  are 
provided,  not  .only  for  each  element,  but  for  each 
state  of  the  elements,  i.  e.  for  every  climate,  and 
for  every  temperature  ;  and  that  part  of  the  mis- 
chief complained  of,  arises  from  animals  (the  hu- 
man anmial  most  especially)  occupying  situations 
upon  the  earth,  which  do  not  belong  to  them,  nor 
were  ever  intended  for  their  habitation.  The  fol- 
ly and  wickedness  of  mankind,  and  necessities 
proceeding  from  these  causes,  have  driven  nmlti- 
tudes  of  the  species  to  seek  a  refuge  amongst 
burning  sands,  whilst  countries,  blessed  with  hos- 
pitable skies,  and  with  the  most  fertile  soils,  le- 
main  almost  without  a  human  tenant.  We  in- 
vade the  territories  of  wild  beasts  and  venonious 
reptiles,  and  then  complain  that  we  are  infested 
by  their  bites  and  stings.  Some  accounts  of 
Africa  place  this  observation  in  a  strong  point 
of  view,  "  The  deserts,"  says  Adanson,  "  are  en- 
tirely barren,  except  where  they  are  found  to  pro- 
duce serpents :  and  in  such  quantities,  that  some 
extensive  plains  are  almost  entirely  covered  with 
them."  These  are  the  natures  appropriated  to 
the  situation.  Let  them  enjoy  their  existence; 
let  them  have  their  country,  Surfiice  enough 
will  be  left  to  man.  though  his  numbers  were  in- 
creased a  hundred-fold,  and  left  to  him,  where  he 
might  live,  exempt  from  these  annoyances. 

40* 


474 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


The  SECOND  CASK,  viz.  that  of  animals  devour- 
ing one  another,  furnishes  a  consideration  of 
much  larger  extent.  To  judge  whether,  as  a  ge- 
neral provision,  this  can  be  deemed  an  evil,  even 
so  far  as  we  understand  its  consequences,  which, 
probably,  is  a  partial  understanding,  the  following 
reflections  are  /it  to  be  attended  to. 

1.  Immortality  upon  this  earth  is  out  of  the 
question.  Without  death  there  could  be  no  gene- 
ration, no  sexes,  no  parental  relation,  i.  e.  as  things 
are  constituted,  no  animal  haiipiness.  The  parti- 
cular duration  of  life,  assigned  to  dillbrent  animals, 
can  form  no  part  of  the  objection ;  because,  what- 
ever that  duration  be,  whilst  it  remains  finite  and 
limited,  it  may  always  be  asked,  why  it  is  no 
longer.  The  natural  age  of  ditierent  animals  va- 
ries, from  a  single  day  to  a  century  of  years.  No 
account  can  be  given  of  this ;  nor  could  any  be 
given,  whatever  other  proportion  of  life  had  ob- 
tained amongst  them. 

The  term  then  of  life  in  different  animals  being 
the  same  as  it  is,  the  question  is,  what  mode  of 
taking  it  away  is  the  best  even  for  the  animal  it- 
self 

Now,  according  to  the  established  order  of  na- 
ture, (which  we  must  suppose  to  prevail,  or  we 
cannot  reason  at  all  upon  the  subject,)  the  three 
methods  by  which  hfe  is  usually  put  an  end  to, 
are  acute  diseases,  decay,  and  violence.  The  sim- 
ple and  natural  life  of  brutes,  is  not  often  visited 
by  acute  distempers ;  nor  could  it  be  deemed  an 
improvement  of  their  lot,  if  they  were.  Let  it  be 
considered,  therefore,  in  what  a  condition  of  suf- 
fering and  misery  a  brute  animal  is  placed,  which 
is  left  to  perish  by  decay.  In  human  sickness  or 
infirmity,  there  is  the  assistance  of  man's  rational 
fellow-creatures,  if  not  to  alleviate  bis  pains,  at 
least  to  minister  to  his  necessities,  and  to  supply 
the  place  of  his  own  activity.  A  brute,  in  his 
wild  and  natural  state,  does  every  thing  for  him- 
self When  his  strength,  therefore,  or  his  sjieed, 
or  his  limbs,  or  his  senses,  fail  him,  he  is  deliver- 
ed over,  either  to  absolute  famine,  or  to  the  pro- 
tracted wretchedness  of  a  life  slowly  wasted  by 
the  scarcity  of  food.  Is  it  then  to  see  the  world 
tilled  with  drooping,  sujierannuated,  half-starved, 
helpless,  and  uuhclped,  animals,  that  you  would 
alter  the  present  system  of  pursuit  and  prey  1 

2.  Which  system  is  also  to  them  the  spring  of 
motion  and  activity  on  both  sides.  The  pursuit 
of  its  prey  forms  tlie  employment,  and  appears  to 
constitute  the  pleasure,  of  a  considerable  part  of 
the  animal  creation.  The  using  of  the  means  of 
defence,  or  flight,  or  precaution,  forms  also  the 
business  of  another  part.  And  even  of  this  latter 
tribe,  we  have  no  reason  to  suppose,  that  their 
happiness  is  nmch  molested  by  their  fears.  Their 
danger  exists  continually ;  and  in  some  cases 
they  seem  to  be  so  far  sensible  of  it  as  to  provide, 
in  the  best  manner  they  can,  against  it ;  but  it  is 
only  when  the  attack  is  actually  made  upon  them, 
that  they  appear  to  suffer  from  it.  To  contem- 
plate the  insecurity  of  their  condition  with  anxiety 
and  dread,  requires  a  degree  of  reflection,  which  | 
(happily  for  themselves)  they  do  not  possess.  A 
liare,  notwithstanding  the  number  of  its  dangers 
and  its  enemies,  is  as  playful  an  animal  as  any 
other. 

3  But,  to  do  justice  to  the  question,  the  system 
of  animal  destruction  ought  always  to  be  con.si- 
dered  in  strict  connexion  with  another  property 
of  animal  nature,  viz.  superj'ecundity.     They  are 


countervailing  qualities.  One  subsists  by  the 
correction  ot  the  other.  In  treating,  therefore,  of 
the  subject  under  this  view  (which  is,  I  believe, 
the  true  one,)  our  business  will  be,  first,  to  point 
out  the  advantages  which  are  gained  by  the 
powers  in  nature  of  a  superabundant  multiplica- 
tion ;  and,  then,  to  show,  that  these  advantages 
are  so  many  reasons  for  appointing  that  system  of 
national  hostilities,  which  we  are  endeavouring  to 
account  for. 

In  almost  all  cases,  nature  produces  her  sup- 
plies with  profusion.  A  single  cod-fish  spawns, 
in  one  season,  a  greater  number  of  eggs,  than  all 
the  inhabitants  of  England  amount  to.  A  thou- 
sand other  instances  of  prolific  generation  niiglit 
be  stated,  which,  though  not  equal  to  this,  would 
carry  on  the  increase  of  the  species  with  a  rapidity 
which  outruns  calculation,  and  to  an  immeasura- 
ble extent.  The  advantages  of  such  a  constitu- 
tion are  two:  first,  that  it  tends  to  keep  the  world 
always  full ;  whilst,  secondly,  it  allows  the  pro- 
portion between  the  several  species  of  animals  to 
be  differently  modified,  as  diflerent  purposes  re- 
quire, or  as  diflerent  situations  may  afibrd  lor 
them  room  and  food.  Where  this  vast  ti?cundity 
meets  with  a  vacancy  fitted  to  receive  the  species, 
there  it  operates  with  its  whole  effect ;  there  it 
pours  in  its  numbers,  and  replenishes  the  waste. 
We  complain  of  what  we  call  the  exorbitant 
multiplication  of  some  troublesome  insects;  not 
reflecting,  that  large  portions  of  nature  might  be 
left  void  without  it.  If  the  accounts  of  travellers 
may  be  depended  upon,  immense  tracts  of  Ibrest  in 
North  America  would  be  nearly  lost  to  sensitive 
existence,  if  it  were  not  for  gnats.  "  In  the  thinly 
inhabited  regions  of  America,  in  which  the  waters 
stagnate  and  the  clin.ate  is  warm,  the  whole  air  is 
filled  with  crowds  ot  these  insects."  Thus  it  is, 
that  where  we  looked  for  solitude  and  death- like 
silence,  we  meet  with  animation,  activity,  enjoy- 
ment ;  with  a  busy,  a  happy,  and  a  peopled  world. 
Again ;  hosts  of  viice  are  reckoned  amongst  the 
plagues  of  the  north-east  part  of  Europe ;  whereas 
\ast  plains  in  Siberia,  as  we  learn  from  good  au- 
thority, would  be  Ufeless  without  them.  The 
Caspian  deserts  are  converted  by  their  presence 
into  crowded  warrens.  Between  the  Volga  and 
the  Yaik,  and  in  the  country  of  Hyrcania,  the 
ground,  says  Pallas,  is  in  many  places  covered 
with  little  hills,  raised  by  the  earth  cast  out  in 
forming  the  burrows.  Do  we  so  envy  these 
blissful  abodes,  as  to  pronounce  the  fecundity  by 
which  they  are  supplied  with  inhabitants,  to  be  an 
evil:  a  subject  of  complaint,  and  not  of  praise? 
Farther,  by  virtue  of  this  same  superfecundity, 
what  we  term  destruction,  becomes,  almost  in- 
.stantly,  the  parent  of  life.  What  we  call  bliglits, 
are,  oftentimes,  legions  of  animated  beings,  claim- 
ing their  portion  in  the  bounty  of  nature.  What 
corru|)ts  the  produce  of  the  earth  to  us,  prepare!* 
it  ibr  them.  And  it  is  by  means  of  their  rapid 
multiplication,  that  they  take  possession  of  their 
pasture ;  a  slow  propagation  would  not  meet  the 
opportunity. 

But  in  conjunction  with  the  occasional  use  of 
this  fruitfulness,  we  observe,  also,  that  it  allows 
the  jiroportion  between  the  several  sijecies  of 
animals  to  be  diflerently  modified,  as  dillerent 
purposes  of  utility  may  require.  When  the 
forests  of  America  come  to  be  cleared,  and  the 
swamps  drained,  our  gnats  will  give  place  to 
other  inhabitants.     If  the  population  of  Europe 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


475 


should  spread'  to  the  north  and  tlie  east,  the  mice 
will  retire  before  the  husbandman  and  the  shep- 
herd, and  yield  their  station  to  herds  and  flocks. 
In  what  concerns  the  human  species,  it  may  be  a 
piirt  of  the  scheme  of  Providence,  that  the  earth 
should  be  inhabited  by  a  shifting,  or  perhaps  a 
circulating  population.  In  this  economy,  it  is 
possible  that  there  may  be  the  following  advan- 
tages :  when  old  countries  are  become  exceeding- 
ly corrupt,  simpler  modes  of  life,  purer  morals, 
and  belter  institutions,  may  rise  up  in  new  ones, 
wliilst  fresh  soils  reward  the  cultivator  with  more 
plentiful  returns.  Thus  the  different  portions  of 
globe  come  into  use  in  succession  at  the  residence 
of  man;  and,  in  his  absence,  entertain  other  guests, 
which,  by  their  sudden  multiplication,  till  the 
chasm.  In  domesticated  animals,  we  find  the  ef- 
fect of  their  fecundity  to  be,  that  we  can  always 
command  numbers ;  we  can  always  have  as  many 
of  any  particular  species  as  we  please,  or  as  we 
can  support.  Nor  do  we  complain  of  its  excess ; 
it  being  much  more  easy  to  regulate  abundance, 
than  to  supply  scarcity. 

But  then  this  superfecundify,  though  of  great 
occasional  use  and  importance,  exceeds  the  ordi- 
nary capacity  of  nature  to  receive  or  support  its 
progeny.  All  superabundance  supposes  destruc- 
tion, or  must  destroy  itself  Perhaps  there  is  no 
species  of  terrestrial  animals  whatever,  which 
would  not  overrun  the  earth,  if  it  were  permitted 
to  multiply  in  perfect  safety ;  or  of  fish,  which 
would  not  fill  the  ocean :  at  least,  if  any  single 
species  were  left  to  their  natural  increase  without 
disturbance  or  restraint,  the  food  of  other  species 
would  be  exhausted  by  their  maintenance.  It  is 
necessary,  therefore,  that  the  effects  of  such  pro- 
lific faculties  be  curtailed.  In  conjunction  with 
other  checks  and  limits,  all  subservient  to  the 
same  purpose,  are  the  thinnings  which  take  place 
among  animals,  by  their  action  upon  one  another. 
In  some  instances  we  ourselves  experience,  very 
directly,  the  use  of  these  hostilities.  One  species 
of  insects  rids  us  of  another  species;  or  reduces 
their  ranks.  A  third  species,  perhaps,  keeps  the 
second  within  bounds ;  and  birds  or  lizards  are  a 
fence  against  the  inordinate  increase  by  which 
even  these  last  might  infest  us.  In  other,  more 
numerous,  and  possibly  more  important,  instances, 
this  disposition  of  things,  although  less  necessary 
or  useful  to  us,  and  of  course  less  observed  by  us, 
may  be  necessary  and  useful  to  certain  other  spe- 
cies: or  even  for  the  preventing  of  the  loss  of 
certain  species  from  the  universe :  a  misfortune 
which  seems  to  be  studiously  guarded  against. 
Though  there  may  be  the  appearance  of  failure  in 
some  of  the  details  of  Nature's  works,  in  her  great 
purposes  there  never  are.  Her  species  never  fail. 
The  provision  which  was  originally  made  for 
continuing  the  replenishment  of  the  world,  has 
proved  itself  to  be  effectual  through  a  long  suc- 
cession of  ages. 

What  farther  shows,  that  the  system  of  de- 
struction amongst  animals  holds  an  express  rela- 
tion to  the  system  of  fecundity ;  that  they  are  parts 
indeed  of  one  compensatory  scheme ;  is,  that,  in 
eaclj  species,  the  fecundity  hears  a  proportion  to 
the  smaliness  of  the  animal,  to  the  weakness,  to 
the  shortness,  of  its  natural  term  of  Ufe,  and  to 
the  dangers  and  enemies  by  which  it  is  surround- 
ed. An  elephant  produces  but  one  calf;  a  butter- 
fly lays  six  hundred  eggs.  Birds  of  prey  seldom 
produce  more  than  two  eggs :  the  sparrow  tribe, 


and  the  duck  tribe,  frequently  sit  \ipon  a  dozen. 
In  the  rivers,  we  meet  with  a  thousand  minnows 
for  one  pike ;  in  the  sea,  a  million  of  herrings  for 
a  single  shark.  Compensation  obtains  through 
out.  Defencelessness  and  devastation  are  repair- 
ed by  fecundity. 

We  have  dwelt  the  longer  on  these  considera- 
tions, because  the  suliject  to  which  they  apply, 
namely,  that  of  animals  devouring  one  another, 
forms  the  chief,  if  not  the  only  instance,  in  the 
works  of  the  Deity,  of  an  economy,  stamped  by 
marks  of  design,  in  which  the  character  ot  utility 
can  be  called  in  question.  The  case  of  venumuus 
animals  is  of  much  inferior  consequence  to  the 
case  of  prey,  and,  in  some  degree,  is  also  included 
under  it.  To  both  cases  it  is  probable  that  many 
more  reasons  belong,  than  those  of  which  we  are 
in  possession. 

Our  FIRST  PROPOSITION,  and  that  wliich  we 
have  hitherto  been  defending,  was,  "  that,  in  a 
vast  plurality  of  instances,  in  which  contrivance 
is  perceived,  the  design  of  the  contrivance  is  be- 
neficial." 

Our  SECOND  PROPOSITION  is,  "  that  the  Deity 
has  added  ;3/easure  to  animal  sensations,  beyond 
what  was  necessary  for  any  other  purpose,  or 
when  the  purpose,  so  far  as  it  was  necessary, 
might  have  been  effected  by  the  operation  of  pain." 

This  proposition  may  be  thus  explained:  The 
capacities,  which,  according  to  the  established 
course  of  nature,  are  necessary  to  the  support  or 
preservation  of  an  animal,  however  manifestly 
they  may  be  the  result  of  an  organization  con- 
trived for  the  purpose,  can  only  be  deemed  an  act 
or  a  part  of  the  same  will,  as  that  which  decreed 
the  existence  of  the  animal  itself;  because,  whe- 
ther the  creation  proceeded  from  a  benevolent  or  a 
malevolent  being,  these  capacities  must  have  been 
given,  if  the  animal  existed  at  all.  Animal  pro- 
perties, therefore,  which  fall  under  this  description, 
do  not  strictly  prove  the  goodness  of  God  :  they 
may  prove  the  existence  of  the  Deity ;  they  may 
prove  a  high  degree  of  power  and  intelhgence: 
but  they  do  not  prove  his  goodness ;  forasmuch  as 
they  must  have  been  found  in  any  creation  which 
was  capable  of  continuance,  although  it  is  possible 
to  suppose,  that  such  a  creation  might  have  been 
produced  by  a  being  whose  views  rested  upon 
misery. 

But  there  is  a  class  of  properties,  which  may  he 
said  to  be  superadded  from  an  intention  expressly 
directed  to  happiness  ;  an  intention  to  give  a  hap- 
py existence  distinct  from  the  general  intention  of 
providing  the  means  of  existence ;  and  that  is,  of 
capacities  for  pleasure,  in  cases  wherein,  so  far  as 
the  conversation  of  the  individual  or  of  the  species 
is  concerned,  they  were  not  wanted,  or  wherein 
the  purpose  might  have  been  secured  by  the  ope- 
ration of  pain.  The  provision  which  is  made  of  a 
variety  of  objects,  not  necessary  to  life,  and  minis- 
tering only  to  our  pleasures  ;  and  the  properties 
given  to  the  necessaries  of  life  themselves,  by 
which  they  contribute  to  pleasure  as  well  as  pre- 
servation ;  show  a  farther  design,  .han  that  of 
giving  existence.* 

A  single  instance  will  make  all  this  clear.  As- 
suming the  necessity  of  food  for  the  support  of 


*  See  this  topic  considered  in  Dr.  Balguy"s  Treatise 
upon  the  Divine  Benevolence.  This  e.xcellent  author 
first,  I  think,  proposed  it:  and  nearly  in  the  terms  in 
which  it  is  here  stated.  Some  other  observations  also 
under  this  head  are  taken  from  that  treatise. 


476 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


animal  life;  it  is  requisite,  that  the  animal  be  pro- 
vided with  organs,  fitted  for  the  procuring,  re- 
ceiving, and  digesting,  of  its  food.  It  may  also  be 
necessary,  that  the  animal  be  impelled  by  its  sen- 
sations to  exert  its  organs.  But  the  pain  of  hun- 
ger would  do  all  tills.  Why  add  pleasure  to  the 
act  of  eating ;  sweetness  and  relish  to  food  '?  why  a 
new  and  ap[)ropriate  sense  for  the  perception  of  the 
pleasure!  Why  should  the  juice  of  a  peach,  ap- 
plied to  the  palate,  allect  the  part  so  ditli'rently 
from  what  it  does  when  rubbed  upon  the  palm  of 
the  hand  ?  This  is  a  constitution  which,  so  far  as 
appears  to  me,  can  he  resolved  into  nothing  but 
the  pure  benevolence  of  the  Creator.  Eating  is 
necessary;  but  the  pleasure  attending  it  is  not 
necessary :  and  that  this  pleasure  depends,  not 
only  upon  our  being  in  possession  of  the  sense  of 
taste,  which  is  different  from  every  other,  but  upon 
a  particular  state  of  the  organ  in  which  it  resides, 
a  felicitous  adaptation  of  the  organ  to  the  object, 
will  be  confessed  by  any  one,  who  may  happen  to 
have  experienced  that  vitiation  of  taste  which  fre- 
quently occurs  in  fevers,  when  every  taste  is  irre- 
gular, and  every  one  bad. 

In  mentioning  the  gratifications  of -the  palate,  it 
may  be  said  that  we  have  made  choice  of  a  trifling 
example.  I  am  not  of  that  opinion.  They  afford 
a  share  of  enjoyment  to  man ;  but  to  brutes  1  be- 
lieve that  they  are  of  very  great  importance.  A 
horse  at  liberty  passes  a  great  part  of  his  waking 
hours  in  eating.  To  the  ox,  the  sheep,  the  deer, 
and  other  ruminating  animals,  the  pleasure  is 
doubled.  Their  whole  time  almost  is  divided  be- 
tween browsing  upon  their  pasture  and  chewing 
their  cud.  Whatever  the  pleasure  be,  it  is  spread 
over  a  large  portion  of  their  existence.  If  there  be 
animals,  such  as  the  lupous  fish,  which  swallow 
their  prey  whole,  and  at  once,  without  any  time, 
as  it  should  seem,  for  either  drawing  out,  or  re- 
lishing, the  taste  in  the  mouth,  is  it  an  improba- 
ble conjecture,  that  the  seat  of  taste  with  them  is 
in  the  stomach ;  or,  at  least,  that  a  sen.se  of  plea- 
sure, whether  it  be  taste  or  not,  accompanies  the 
dissolution  of  the  food  in  that  receptacle,  which 
dissolution  in  general  is  carried  on  very  slowly  ? 
If  this  opinion  be  right,  they  are  more  than  repaid 
for  the  defect  of  palate.  The  feast  lasts  as  long 
as  the  digestion. 

In  seeking  for  argument,  we  need  not  stay  to 
insist  upon  the  comparative  importance  of  our  ex- 
ample ;  for  the  observation  holds  equally  of  all,  or 
of  three  at  least  of  the  other  senses.  The  neces- 
sary purpose  of  hearing  might  have  been  answered 
without  harmony ;  of  smell,  without  fragrance  ;  of 
vision,  without  beauty.  Now,  "  if  the  Deity  had 
been  indifierent  about  our  happiness  or  misery, 
we  must  impute  to  our  good  fortune,  (as  all  de- 
sign by  this  supposition  is  excluded,)  both  the  ca- 
pacity of  our  senses  to  receive  pleasure,  and  the 
supply  of  external  objects  fitted  to  excite  it."  I 
allege  these  as  two  feiicities,  for  they  are  different 
things,  yet  both  necessary  :  the  sense  being  formed, 
the  olijects,  which  were  applied  to  it,  might  not 
have  suited  it;  the  objects  being  fixed,  the  sense 
might  not  have  agreed  with  them.  A  coincidence 
is  here  required,  which  no  accident  can  account 
for.  There  are  three  possible  su|)positions  upon 
the  subject,  and  no  more.  The  first;  that  the 
sense,  by  its  original  constitution,  was  made  to 
suit  the  object:  the  second  ;  that  the  object,  by  its 
original  constitution,  was  made  to  suit  the  sense: 
he  third ;  that  the  sense  is  so  constituted,  as  to  be 


able,  either  universally,  or  within  certain  limits, 
by  habit  and  familiarity,  to  render  every  object 
pleasant.  Whichever  of  these  suppositions  we 
adopt,  the  effect  evinces,  on  the  part  of  the  Au- 
thor of  nature,  a  studious  benevolence.  If  the 
j)leasures  which  we  derive  from  any  of  our  senses, 
depend  upon  an  original  congruity  between  the 
sense  and  the  properties  perceived  by  it,  we  know 
by  experience,  that  the  adjustment  demanded, 
with  respect  to  the  qualities  which  were  conferred 
upon  the  objects  that  surround  us,  not  only  choice 
and  selection,  out  of  a  boundless  variety  of  possi- 
ble qualities  with  which  these  objects  might  have 
been  endued,  but  a  proportioning  also  oj"  degree. 
because  an  excess  or  defect  of  intensity  spoils  the 
perception,  as  much  almost  as  an  error  in  the  kind 
and  nature  of  the  quality.  Likewise  tlie  degree 
of  dulness  or  acuteness  in  the  sense  itself,  is  no 
arbitrary  thing,  but,  in  order  to  preserve  the  con- 
gruity here  spoken  of,  requires  to  be  in  an  exactor 
near  correspondency  with  the  strength  of  the  im- 
pression. The  dulness  of  the  senses  forms  the 
complaint  of  old  age.  Persons  in  fevers,  and,  1 
believe,  in  most  maniacal  cases,  experience  great 
torment  from  their  preternatural  acuteness.  An 
increased,  no  less  than  an  impaired  sensibility,  in- 
duces a  state  of  disease  and  suffering. 

The  doctrine  of  a  specific  congruity  between 
animal  senses  and  their  objects,  is  strongly  fa- 
voured by  what  is  observed  of  insects  in  the  elec- 
tion of  their  food.  Some  of  these  will  feed  upon 
one  kind  of  plant  or  animal,  and  upon  no  other : 
some  caterpillars  upon  the  cabbage  alone ;  some 
u])on  the  black  currant  alone.  The  species  of  cater- 
pillar which  eats  the  vine,  will  starve  upon  the 
elder ;  nor  will  that  which  we  find  upon  fennel, 
touch  the  rose-bush.  Some  insects  confine  them- 
selves to  two  or  three  kinds  of  plants  or  animals. 
Some  again  show  so  strong  a  preference,  as  to  af- 
ford reason  to  believe,  that,  though  they  may  be 
driven  by  hunger  to  others,  they  are  led  by  the 
pleasure  of  taste  to  a  few  particular  plants  alone: 
and  all  this,  as  it  should  seem,  independently  of 
habit  or  imitation. 

But  should  we  accept  the  third  hypothesis,  and 
even  carry  it  so  far,  as  to  ascribe  every  thing 
which  concerns  the  question  to  habit  (as  in  certain 
species,  the  human  species  most  particularly,  there 
is  reason  to  attribute  something,)  we  have  then 
before  us  an  animal  capacity,  not  less  perhaps  to 
be  admired  than  the  native  congruities  which  the 
other  scheme  adopts.  It  cannot  be  shown  to  re- 
sult from  any  fixed  necessity  in  nature,  that  what 
is  frequently  apphed  to  the  senses  should  of  course 
become  agreeable  to  them.  It  is,  so  far  as  it  sub- 
sists, a  power  of  accommodation  provided  in  these 
senses  by  the  Author  of  their  structure,  and  forms 
a  part  of  their  perfection. 

In  whichever  way  we  regard  the  senses,  they 
appear  to  be  specific  gifts,  ministering,  not  only  to 
preservation,  but  to  pleasure.  But  what  we 
usually  call  the  sejises,  are  probably  themselves 
far  from  being  the  only  vehicles  of  enjoyment,  or 
the  whole  of  our  constitution  which  is  calculated 
for  the  same  purpose.  YV^e  have  many  internal 
sensations  of  the  most  agreeable  kind,  hardly  re- 
ferable to  any  of  the  five  senses.  Some  physiolo- 
gists have  holden,  that  all  secretion  is  pleasurable ; 
and  that  the  complacency  which  in  health,  with- 
out any  external  assignable  object  to  excite  it,  we 
derive  from  life  itself,  is  the  eHecl  of  our  secretions 
going  on  well  within  us.     All  this  may  be  true: 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


477 


but  if  true,  what  reason  can  be  assigned  for  it, 
except  the  will  of  the  Creator  1  It  may  reasona- 
bly be  asked,  Why  is  any  thing  a  pleasure  1  and 
I  know  no  answer  which  can  be  returned  to  the 
question,  but  that  which  refers  it  to  appointment. 

We  can  give  no  account  whatever  of  our  plea- 
sures in  the  simple  and  original  perception ;  and, 
even  when  physical  sensations  are  assumed,  we 
can  seldom  account  for  them  in  the  secondary 
and  complicated  shapes,  in  which  they  take  the 
name  of  diversions.  I  never  yet  met  with  a 
sportsman,  who  conld  tell  me  in  what  the  sport 
consisted  ;  who  could  resolve  it  into  its  principle, 
and  state  that  principle.  I  have  been  a  great  fol- 
lower of  fishing  myself  and  in  its  cheerful  soli- 
tude have  passed  some  of  the  happiest  hours  of  a 
sufficiently  happy  life ;  but,  to  this  moment,  I 
could  never  trace  out  the  source  of  the  pleasure 
which  it  afforded  me. 

The  "  quantum  in  rebus  inane  !"  whether  ap- 
plied to  our  amusements  or  to  our  graver  pursuits 
(to  which,  in  truth,  it  sometimes  equally  belongs,) 
is  always  an  unjust  complaint.  If  tritles  engage, 
and  if  trifles  make  us  happy,  the  true  reflection 
suggested  by  the  experiment,  is  upon  the  tendency 
of  nature  to  gratification  and  enjoyment,  which 
is,  in  other  words,  the  goodness  of  its  Author 
towards  his  sensitive  creation. 

Rational  natures  also,  as  such,  exhibit  qualities 
which  help  to  confirm  the  truth  of  our  position. 
The  degree  of  understanding  found  in  mankind, 
is  usually  much  greater  than  what  is  necessary 
for  mere  preservation.  The  pleasure  of  choosing 
for  themselves,  and  of  prosecuting  the  object  of 
their  choice,  should  seem  to  be  an  original  source 
of  enjoyment.  The  pleasures  received  from  things, 
great,  beautiful,  or  new,  from  imitation,  or  from 
the  liberal  arts,  are,  in  some  measure,  not  only 
superadded,  but  unmixed,  gratifications,  having 
no  pains  to  balance  them.* 

I  do  not  know  whether  our  attachment  to  pro- 
•perty  be  not  something  more  than  the  mere  dic- 
tate of  reason,  or  even  than  the  mere  efiect  of 
association.  Property  communicates  a  charm  to 
whatever  is  the  object  of  it.  It  is  the  first  of  our 
abstract  ideas :  it  cleaves  to  us  the  closest  and 
the  longest.  It  endears  to  the  child  its  plaything, 
to  the  peasant  his  cottage,  to  the  landholder  his 
estate.  It  supplies  the  place  of  prospect  and 
scenery.  Instead  of  coveting  the  beauty  of  dis- 
tant situations,  it  teaches  every  man  to  find  it  in 
his  own.  It  gives  boldness  and  grandeur  to 
plains  and  fens,  tinge  and  colouring  to  clays  and 
fallows. 

All  these  considerations  come  in  aid  of  our 
second  proposition.  The  reader  will  now  bear  in 
mind  what  our  two  propositions  were.  They 
were,  firstly,  that  in  a  vast  plurality  of  instances, 
in  which  contrivance  is  perceived,  the  design  of 
the  contrivance  is  beneficial:  secondly,  that  the 
Deity  has  added  pleasure  to  animal  sensations 
beyond  what  was  necessary  for  any  other  pur- 
pose ;  or  when  the  purpose,  so  far  as  it  was  ne- 
cessary, might  have  been  effected  by  the  operation 
of  pain. 

Whilst  these  propositions  can  be  maintained, 
we  are  authorized  to  ascribe  to  the  Deity  the 
character  of  benevolence :  and  what  is  benevo- 
lence at  all,  must  in  him  be  infinite  benevolence, 
by  reason  of  the  infinite,  that  is  to  say,  the  incal- 


culably great,  number  of  objects,  upon  which  it  is 
exercised. 


Or  the  ORiniN  of  evil,  no  universal  solution 
has  been  discovered  ;  I  mean,  no  solution  which 
reaches  to  all  cases  of  complaint.  The  most  com- 
prehensive is  that  which  arises  from  the  consi- 
deration of  general  rules.  We  may,  1  think, 
without  much  dilficulty,  be  brought  to  admit  the 
four  following  points :  first,  that  important  advan- 
tages may  accrue  to  the  universe  from  the  order 
of  nature  proceeding  according  to  general  laws  : 
secondly,  that  general  laws,  however  well  set  and 
constituted,  often  thwart  and  cross  one  another: 
thirdly,  that  from  these  thwartings  and  crossings, 
frequent  particular  inconveniences  will  arise  :  and 
fourthly,  that  it  agrees  witli  our  observation  to 
suppose,  that  some  degree  of  these  inconveniences 
takes  place  in  the  works  of  nature.  These 
points  may  be  allowed  ;  and  it  may  also  be  assert- 
ed, that  the  general  laws  with  which  we  are 
acquainted,  are  directed  to  beneficial  ends.  On 
the  other  hand,  with  many  of  these  laws  we  are 
not  acquainted  at  all,  or  we  are  totally  unable  to 
trace  them  in  their  branches,  and  in  their  o{)cra- 
tion  ;  the  efiect  of  which  ignorance  is,  that  they 
cannot  be  of  importance  to  us  as  measures  by 
which  to  regulate  our  conduct.  The  conservation 
of  them  may  be  of  importance  in  other  respects, 
or  to  other  beings,  but  we  are  uninformed  of  their 
value  or  use ;  uninformed,  consequently,  when, 
and  how  far,  they  may  or  may  not  be  suspended, 
or  their  effects  turned  aside,  by  a  presiding  and 
benevolent  will,  without  incurring  greater  evils 
than  those  which  would  be  avoided.  The  consi- 
deration, therefore,  of  general  laws,  although  it 
may  concern  the  question  of  the  origin  of  evil 
very  nearly  (which  I  think  it  does,)  rests  in  views 
disproportion;ite  to  our  faculties,  and  in  a  know- 
ledge which  we  do  not  possess.  It  serves  rather 
to  account  for  the  obscurity  of  the  subject, 
than  to  supply  us  with  distinct  answers  to  our 
difficulties.  However,  whilst  we  assent  to  the 
above-stated  propositions  as  principles,  whatever 
uncertainty  we  may  find  in  the  application,  we 
lay  a  ground  for  believing,  that  cases  of  apparent 
evil,  for  which  we  can  suggest  no  particular  rea- 
son, are  governed  by  reasons,  which  are  more 
general,  which  lie  deeper  in  the  order  of  second 
causes,  and  which  on  that  account  are  removed  to 
a  greater  distance  from  us. 

The  doctrine  of  imperfections,  or,  as  it  is  called, 
of  evils  of  imperfection,  furnishes  an  account, 
founded,  like  the  former,  m  views  of  universal 
nature.  The  doctrine  is  briefly  this  : — Jt  is  pro- 
bable, that  creation  may  be  better  replenished  by 
sensitive  beings  of  different  sorts,  than  by  sensi- 
tive beings  all  of  one  sort.  It  is  likewise  proba- 
ble, that  it  may  be  better  replenished  by  different 
orders  of  lieings  rising  one  above  another  in  gra- 
dation, than  by  beings  possessed  of  equal  degrees 
of  perfection.  Now,  a  gradation  of  such  beings 
implies  a  gradation  of  imperfections.  No  class 
can  justly  com[)lain  of  the  imperfections  which 
belong  to  its  place  in  the  scale,  unless  it  were 
allowable  for  it  to  comjilain,  that  a  scale  of  being 
was  appointed  in  nature  ;  for  which  appointment 
there  appear  to  be  reasons  of  wisdom  and  good- 
ness. 

In  like  manner,  Jlniteness,  or  what  is  resolva- 
ble into  finiteness,  in   inanimate  subjects,   can 


478 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


never  be  a  just  subject  of  complaint ;  because  if 
it  were  ever  so,  it  would  be  alwa3's  so:  we  mean, 
that  we  can  never  reasonably  demand  that  things 
should  be  larger  or  more,  when  the  same  demand 
might  be  made,  whatever  the  quantity  or  number 
was. 

And  to  me,  it  seems,  that  the  sense  of  mankind 
•las  so  far  acquiesced  in  these  reasons,  as  that  we 
reldoni  complain  of  evils  of  this  class,  when  we 
clearly  perceive  them  to  be  such.  What  I  have 
to  add,  therefore,  is,  that  we  ought  not  to  com- 
plain of  some  other  evils,  which  stand  upon  the 
same  foot  of  vindication  as  evils  of  confessed  im- 
perfection. We  never  complain,  that  the  globe 
of  our  earth  is  too  small :  nor  should  we  complain, 
if  it  were  even  much  smaller.  But  where  is  the 
ditference  to  us,  between  a  less  globe,  and  part  of 
the  present  being  uninhabitable '?  The  inhabit- 
ants of  an  island  may  be  apt  enough  to  murmur 
at  the  sterility  of  some  parts  of  it,  against  its 
r  >cks,  or  sands,  or  swamps ;  but  no  one  thinks 
himself  authorized  to  murmur,  simply  because  the 
island  is  not  larger  than  it  is.  Yet  these  are  the 
same  griefs. 

The  above  are  the  two  metaphysical  answers 
which  have  been  given  to  this  great  ques- 
tion. They  are  not  the  wor.se  for  being  metaphy- 
sical, provided  they  be  founded  (whi(-h  I  think 
they  are)  in  right  rea.soning :  but  they  are  of  a 
nature  too  wide  to  be  brought  under  our  survey, 
and  it  is  often  difficult  to  apply  them  in  the  detail. 
Our  speculations,  therefore,  are  perhaps  better 
employed  when  they  confine  themselves  within  a 
narrower  circle 

The  observations  which  follow,  are  of  this  more 
limited,  but  more  determinate,  kind. 

Of  bodilij  pain,  the  principal  observation,  no 
doubt,  is  that  which  we  have  already  made,  and 
already  dwelt  upon,  viz.  "  that  it  is  seldom  the 
object  of  contrivance  ;  that  when  it  is  so,  the  con- 
trivance rests  ultimately  in  good." 

To  which,  however,  may  be  added,  that  the  an- 
nexing of  pain  to  the  means  of  destruction,  is  a 
salutary  provision;  inasmuch  as  it  teaches  vigi- 
lance and  caution ;  both  gives  notice  of  danger, 
and  excites  those  endeavours  which  may  be  neces- 
Bary  to  preservation.  The  evil  consequence,  which 
sometimes  arises  from  the  want  of  that  timely  in- 
timation of  danger  which  pain  gives,  is  known  to 
the  inhabitants  of  cold  countries  by  the  example 
of  frost-bitten  limbs.  I  have  conversed  with  pa- 
tients who  had  lost  toes  and  fingers  by  this  cause. 
They  have  in  general  told  me,  that  they  were  to- 
tally unconscious  of  any  local  uneasiness  at  the 
time.  Some  I  have  heard  declare,  that,  whilst 
they  were  about  their  employment,  neither  their 
situation,  nor  the  state  of  the  air  was  unpleasant. 
They  felt  no  pain;  they  suspected  no  mischief; 
till,  by  the  applic<ition  of  warmth,  they  discovered, 
too  late,  the  fatal  injury  which  some  of  their  ex- 
tremities had  sufiered  I  say  that  this  shows  the 
use  of  pain,  and  that  we  stand  in  need  of  such  a 
monitor.  I  believe  also  that  the  use  extends  farther 
than  we  suppose,  or  can  now  trace  ;  that  to  disa- 
greeable sensations  we,  and  all  animals,  owe,  or 
have  owed,  many  habits  of  action  which  are  salu- 
tary, but  which  are  become  so  familiar,  as  not 
easily  to  be  referred  to  their  origin. 

Pain  also  itself  is  not  without  its  alleviations. 
It  may  be  violent  and  frequent ;  but  it  is  seldom 
both  violent  and  long-continued :  and  its  pauses 
Hud  intermissions  become  positive  pleasures.     It 


has  the  power  of  shedding  a  satisfaction  over  in- 
tervals of  ease,  which,  I  believe,  few  enjoyments 
exceed.  A  man  resting  from  a  fit  of  the  stone  or 
gout,  is,  for  the  time,  in  possession  of  feelings 
which  undisturbed  health  cannot  impart.  They 
may  be  dearly  bought,  but  still  they  are  to  be  set 
against  the  price.  And,  indeed,  it  depends  upon 
the  duration  and  urgency  of  the  pain,  whether 
they  be  dearly  bought  or  not.  I  am  far  from  be- 
ing sure,  that  a  man  is  not  a  gainer  by  suffering  a 
moderate  interruption  of  bodily  ease  for  a  couple 
of  hours  out  of  the  four-and-twenty.  Two  very 
common  observations  favour  this  opinion :  one  is, 
that  remissions  of  pain  call  forth,  from  those  who 
experience  them,  stronger  expressions  of  satisfac- 
tion and  of  gratitude  towards  both  the  author  and 
the  instruments  of  their  relief,  than  are  excited  by 
advantages  of  any  other  kind  :  the  second  is,  that 
the  spirits  of  sick  men  do  not  sink  in  proportion 
to  the  acuteness  of  their  sufferings;  but  rather 
appear  to  be  roused  and  supported,  not  by  pain, 
but  by  the  high  degree  of  comfort  which  they  de- 
rive from  its  cessation,  or  even  its  subsidency, 
whenever  that  occurs ;  and  which  they  taste  with 
a  relish,  that  diffuses  some  portion  of  mental  com- 
placency over  the  whole  of  that  mixed  state  of 
sensations  in  which  disease  has  placed  them. 

In  connexion  with  bodily  pain  may  be  consider- 
ed bodily  disease,  whether  painful  or  not.  Few 
diseases  are  fatal.  I  have  before  me  the  account 
of  a  dispensary  in  the  neighbourhood,  which  states 
six  years'  experience  as  follows : 

Admitted    -    -    -    -    6420 
Cured      .    .     -    .     -    547G 

Dead 234 

And  this  1  suppose  nearly  to  agree  with  what 
other  similar  institutions  exhibit.  Now,  in  all 
these  cases,  some  disorder  must  have  been  felt,  or 
the  patients  would  not  have  applied  for  a  remedy  ; 
yet  we  see  how  large  a  proportion  of  the  maladies 
which  were  brought  forward,  have  either  yielded 
to  proper  treatment,  or,  what  is  more  probable, 
ceased  of  their  own  accord.  We  owe  these  fre- 
quent recoveries,  and,  where  recovery  does  not 
take  place,  this  patience  of  the  human  constitution 
under  many  of  the  distempers  by  which  it  is  vi- 
sited, to  two  benefactions  of  our  nature.  One  is. 
that  she  works  within  certain  limits  ;  allows  of  a 
certain  latitude  within  which  health  may  be  pre- 
served, and  within  the  confines  of  which  it  only 
sufl'«3rs  a  graduated  diminution.  Different  quan- 
tities of  food,  different  degrees  of  exercise,  differ- 
ent portions  of  sleep,  different  states  of  the  atmos- 
phere, are  compatible  with  the  possession  of  health. 
So  likewise  it  is  with  the  secretions  and  excre- 
tions, with  many  internal  functions  of  the  body, 
and  with  the  state,  probably,  of  most  of  its  in- 
ternal organs.  They  may  vary  considerably,  not 
only  without  destroying  life,  but  without  occasion- 
ing any  high  degree  of  inconveniency.  The 
other  property  of  our  nature  to  which  we  are  still 
more  beholden,  is  its  constant  endeavour  to  restore 
itself  when  disordered,  to  its  regular  course.  The 
fluids  of  the  body  appear  to  possess  a  power  of 
separating  and  expelling  any  noxious  substance 
which  may  have  mixed  itself  with  them.  This 
they  do,  in  eruptive  fevers,  by  a  kind  of  dcspuma- 
tion,  as  Sy<lenham  calls  it,  analogous  in  some 
measure  to  the  intestine  action  by  which  ferment- 
ing liquors  work  the  vest  to  the  surface.  The  so- 
lids, on  their  part,  when  their  action  is  obstructed, 
not  only  resume  their  action,  as  soon  as  the  oL 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


479 


struction  is  removed,  but  they  struggle  with  the 
impediment.  They  take  an  action  as  near  to  the 
true  one,  as  the  difficulty  and  the  disorganization, 
with  which  they  have  to  contend,  will  allow  of. 

Of  mortal  diseases,  the  great  use  is  to  reconcile 
us  to  death.  The  horror  of  death  proves  the  va- 
lue of  life.  But  it  is  in  the  power  of  disease  to 
abate,  or  even  extinguish,  this  horror:  which  it 
does  in  a  wonderful  manner,  and,  oftentimes,  by  a 
mild  imperceptible  gradation.  Every  man  who 
has  been  placed  in  a  situation  to  observe  it,  is  sur- 
prised with  the  change  which  has  been  wrought 
in  himself,  when  he  compares  the  view  which  he 
entertains  of  death  upon  a  sick-bed,  with  the 
heart-sinking  dismay  with  which  he  should  some 
time  ago  have  met  it  in  health.  There  is  no  simi- 
litude between  the  sensations  of  a  man  led  to  ex- 
ecution, and  the  calm  expiring  of  a  patient  at  the 
close  of  his  disease.  Death  to  him  is  only  the  last 
of  a  long  train  of  changes;  in  his  progress  through 
which,  k  is  possible  that  he  may  experience  no 
shocks  or  sudden  transitions. 

Death  itself,  as  a  mode  of  removal  and  of  suc- 
cession, is  so  connected  with  the  whole  order  of 
our  animal  world,  that  almost  every  thing  in  that 
world  must  he  changed,  to  be  able  to  do  without 
it.  It  may  seem  likewise  im[)ossible  to  se])arate 
the  fear  of  death  from  the  enjoyment  of  life,  or 
the  perception  of  that  fear  from  rational  natures. 
Brutes  are  in  a  great  measure  delivered  from  all 
anxiety  on  this  account  by  the  inferiority  of  their 
faculties;  or  rather  they  seem  to  be  armed  with 
the  apprehension  of  death  just  sufficiently  to  put 
them  upon  the  means  of  preservation,  and  no 
farther.  But  would  a  human  being  wish  to  pur- 
chase this  immunity  at  the  expense  of  those  men- 
tal powers  which  enable  him  to  look  forward  to 
the  future  1 

Death  implies  separation  ;  and  the  loss  of  those 
whom  we  love,  must  necessarily,  so  far  as  we  can 
conceive,  be  accompanied  with  pain.  To  the 
brute  creation,  nature  seems  to  have  stejiped  in 
with  some  secret  provision  for  their  relief,  under 
the  rupture  of  their  attachments.  In  their  in- 
stincts towards  their  offspring,  and  of  their  off- 
spring, to  them,  I  have  often  been  surprised  to  ob- 
serve how  ardently  they  love,  and  how  soon  they 
forget.  The  pertinacity  of  human  sorrow,  (upon 
which,  time  also,  at  length,  lays  its  softening  hand,) 
is  probably,  therefore,  in  some  manner  connected 
with  the  qualities  of  our  rational  or  moral  nature. 
One  thing  liowever  is  clear,  viz.  that  it  is  better 
that  we  should  possess  affections,  the  sources  of 
so  many  virtues,  and  so  many  joys,  although  thev 
be  exposed  to  the  incidents  of  life,  as  well  as  the 
interruptions  of  mortality,  than,  bv  the  want  of 
them,  be  reduced  to  a  state  of  selfishness,  apathy, 
and  quietism. 

Of  other  external  evils,  (still  confining  ourselves 
to  what  are  called  physical  or  natural  evils.)  a  con- 
siderable part  come  within  the  scope  of  the  follow- 
ing observation  : — The  great  principle  of  human 
satisfiction  is  engagement.  It  is  a  most  just  dis- 
tinction, which  the  late  Mr.  Tucker  has  dwelt 
upon  so  largely  in  his  works,  between  pleasures 
in  which  we  are  passive,  and  pleasures  in  which 
we  are  active.  And,  I  believe,  every  attentive 
observer  of  human  life  will  assent  to  his  posi- 
tion, that,  however  grateful  the  sensations  may 
occasionally  be  in  which  we  are  passive,  it  is  not 
these,  but  the  latter  class  of  our  pleasures,  which 
constitute  satisfaction  ;  which  supply  that  regular 


stream  of  moderate  and  miscellaneous  enjoyments, 
in  which  hap[)iuess,  as  distinguished  from  volup- 
tuousness, consists.  Now  for  rational  occupation, 
which  is,  in  other  words,  for  the  very  material  of 
contented  existence,  there  would  be  no  place  left, 
if  either  the  things  with  which  we  had  to  do  were 
absolutely  impracticable  to  our  endeavours,  or  if 
they  were  too  obedient  to  our  uses.  A  world  fur- 
nished with  advantages  on  one  side,  and  beset  with 
difficulties,  wants,  and  inconveniences,  on  the 
other,  is  the  proper  abode  of  free,  rational,  and  ac- 
tive natures,  being  the  fittest  to  stimulate  and  ex- 
ercise their  faculties.  The  ver}'  refractoriness  of 
the  objects  they  have  to  deal  with  contributes  to 
this  purpose.  A  world  in  which  nothing  depended 
upon  ourselves,  however  it  might  have  suited  an 
imaginary  race  of  beings,  would  not  have  suited 
mankind!  Their  skill,  prudence,  industry  ;  their 
various  arts,  and  their  best  attainments,  from  the 
application  of  which  they  draw,  if  not  their  high- 
est, their  most  permanent  gratifications,  would  be 
insignificant,  if  things  could  be  either  moulded  by 
our  volitions,  or,  of  their  own  accord,  conformed 
themselves  to  our  views  and  wishes.  Now  it  is  in 
this  refractoriness  that  we  discern  the  seed  and 
principle  of  physical  evil,  as  far  as  it  arises  from 
that  which  is  external  to  us. 

Civil  evils,  or  the  evils  of  civil  life,  are  much 
more  easily  disposed  of,  than  physical  evils;  be- 
cause they  are,  in  truth,  of  much  less  magnitude, 
and  also  because  they  result,  by  a  kind  of  neces- 
sity, not  only  from  the  constitution  of  our  nature, 
but  from  a  part  of  that  constitution  which  no 
one  would  wish  to  see  altered.  The  case  is  this : 
Mankind  will  in  every  country  breed  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point  of  distress.  That  point  may  be  difli?-r- 
eiit  in  different  countries  or  ages,  according  to  the 
established  usages  of  life  in  each.  It  will  also 
shift  upon  the  scale,  so  as  to  admit  of  a  greater  or 
less  number  of  inhabitants,  according  as  the  quan- 
titj'  of  provision,  which  is  either  produced  in  the 
country,  or  supplied  to  it  from  other  countries, 
may  happen  to  vary.  But  there  must  always  be 
such  a  point,  and  the  species  will  always  breed  up 
to  it.  The  order  of  generation  proceeds  by  some- 
thing like  a  geometrical  progression.  The  in- 
crease of  provision,  under  circumstances  even  the 
most  advantageous,  can  only  assume  the  form  of 
an  arithmetic  series.  Whence  it  follows,  that  the 
population  will  always  overtake  the  provision, 
will  pass  beyond  the  line  of  plenty,  and  will  con- 
tinue to  increase,  till  checked  by  the  difficulty  of 
procuring  subsistence.*  Such  difficulty  therefore, 
along  with  its  attendant  circumstances,  Tnust  be 
found  in  every  old  country :  and  these  circum- 
stances constitute  what  we  call  poverty,  which, 
necessarily,  imposes  labour,  servitude,  restraint. 

It  seems  impossible  to  people  a  country  with  in 
habitants  who  shall  be  all  easy  in  circumstances. 
For  suppose  the  thing  to  be  done,  there  would  be 
such  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  amongst 
them,  as  would  in  a  few  years  change  the  face  of 
affairs  entirely,  i.  e.  as  would  increase  the  con- 
sumption of  those  articles,  which  supplied  the 
natural  or  habitual  wants  of  the  country,  to  such 
a  degree  of  scarcity,  as  must  leave  the  greatest 
part  of  the  inhabitants  unable  to  procure  them 
without  toilsome  endeavours,  or,  out  of  the  differ- 
ent kinds  of  these  articles,  to  procure  any  kind 

*  See  a  statement  of  this  subject,  in  a  late  treatise 
upon  population. 


480 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


except  that  which  was  most  easily  produced.  And 
this,  in  fact,  describes  the  condition  of  the  mass  of 
the  community  in  all  countries  ;  a  condition  una- 
voidably, as  it  should  seem,  resulting  from  the  pro- 
vision which  is  made  in  the  human,  in  common 
with  all  animal  constitutions,  for  the  perpetuity 
and  multiplication  of  the  species. 

It  need  not  however  dishearten  any  endeavours 
for  the  pui'lic  service,  to  know  that  population 
naturally  treads  upon  the  heels  of  improvement. 
If  the  condition  of  a  people  be  meliorated,  the  con- 
sequence will  be  either  that  the  mean  happiness 
will  be  increased,  or  a  greater  number  partake  of 
it :  or,  which  is  most  likely  to  happen,  that  both 
effects  will  take  place  together.  There  may  be 
limits  fixed  by  nature  to  both,  but  they  are  limits 
j.ot  yet  attained,  nor  even  approached,  in  any 
country  of  the  world. 

And  when  we  speak  of  limits  at  all,  we  have 
respect  only  to  provisions  for  animal  wants. 
There  are  sources,  and  means,  and  auxiliaries, 
and  augmentations,  of  human  happiness,  commu- 
nicable without  restriction  of  numbers ;  as  capable 
of  being  possessed  by  a  thousand  persons  as  by 
one.  Such  are  those,  which  flow  from  a  mild, 
contrasted  with  a  tyrannic  government,  whether 
civil  or  domestic ;  those  which  spring  from  reli- 
gion; those  which  grow  out  of  a  sense  of  security; 
those  which  depend  upon  habits  of  virtue,  sobriety, 
moderation,  order ;  those,  lastly,  which  are  found 
in  the  possession  of  well-directed  tastes  and  de- 
sires, compared  with  the  dominion  of  tormenting, 
pernicious,  contradictory,  unsatisfied,  and  unsatis- 
tiable  passions. 

The  distinctions  of  civil  life  are  apt  enough  to 
be  regarded  as  evils,  by  those  who  sit  under  them ; 
but,  in  my  opinion,  with  very  little  reason. 

In  the  first  place,  the  advantages  which  the 
higher  conditions  of  life  are  supposed  to  confer, 
bear  no  proportion  in  value  to  the  advantages 
which  are  bestowed  by  nature.  The  gifts  of  na- 
ture always  surpass  the  gifts  of  fortune.  How 
much,  for  example,  is  activity  better  than  attend- 
ance; beauty  than  dress:  appetite,  digestion,  and 
tranquil  bowels,  than  all  the  studies  of  cookery, 
or  than  the  most  costly  compilation  of  forced  or 
far-fetched  dainties ! 

Nature  has  a  strong  tendency  to  equalization. 
Habit,  the  instrument  of  nature,  is  a  great  level- 
ler; the  familiarity  which  it  induces,  taking  off 
the  edge  both  of  our  pleasures  and  our  sufferings. 
Indulgences  which  are  habitual,  keep  us  in  ease, 
and  cannot  be  carried  much  firther.  So  that, 
with  respect  to  the  gratifications  of  which  the 
senses  are  capable,  the  difference  is  by  no  means 
proportionable  to  the  apparatus.  Nay,  so  far  as 
superfluity  generates  fastidiousness,  the  difference 
is  on  the  wrong  side. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  contend,  that  the  advan- 
tages derived  from  wealth  are  none,  (under  due 
regulations  they  are  certainly  considerable,)  but 
that  they  are  not  greater  than  they  ought  to  be. 
Money  is  the  sweetener  of  human  toil ;  the  substi- 
tute for  coercion ;  the  reconciler  of  labour  with 
liberty.  It  is,  moreover,  the  stimulant  of  enter- 
prize  in  all  projects  and  undertakings,  as  well  as 
of  diligence  in  the  most  beneficial  arts  and  employ- 
ments. Now  did  affluence,  when  possessed,  con- 
tribute nothing  to  the  happiness,  or  nothing  be- 
yond the  mere  supply  of  necessaries ;  and  the 
secret  should  come  to  he  discovered  ;  we  might  be 
ill  danger  of  losing  great  part  of  the  uses,  which 


are,  at  present,  derived  to  us  through  this  import- 
ant medium.  Not  only  would  the  tranquillity  ot 
social  life  be  put  in  peril  by  the  want  of  a  motive 
to  attach  men  to  their  private  concerns :  but  the 
satisfaction  which  all  men  receive  from  success  in 
their  respective  occupations,  which  collectively 
constitutes  the  great  mass  of  human  comfort, 
would  be  done  away  in  its  very  principle. 

With  respect  to  station,  as  it  is  distinguished 
from  riches,  whether  it  confer  authority  over 
others,  or  be  invested  with  honours  which  apply 
solely  to  sentiment  and  imagination,  the  truth  is, 
that  what  is  gained  by  rising  through  the  ranks  of 
life,  is  not  more  than  sufficient  to  draw  forth  the 
exertions  of  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  pursuits 
which  lead  to  advancement,  and  which,  in  gene- 
ral, are  such  as  ought  to  be  encouraged.  Distinc- 
tions of  this  sort  are  subjects  much  more  of  com- 
petition than  of  enjoyment:  and  in  that  competition 
their  use  consists.  It  is  not,  as  hath  been  rightly 
observed,  by  what  the  lord  mayor  icv\ii  in  his 
coach,  but  by  what  the  appre?iijce  feels  who  gazes 
at  him,  that  the  public  is  served. 

As  we  approach  the  summits  of  human  great- 
ness, the  comparison  of  good  and  evil,  with  re- 
spect to  personal  comfort,  becomes  still  more  pro- 
blematical ;  even  allowing  to  ambition  all  its 
pleasures.  The  poet  asks,  "  What  is  grandeur, 
what  is  power :"  The  philosopher  answers,  "  Con- 
straint and  plague:  et  in  maxima,  qudque  fortu- 
vd  minivium  licere."  One  very  common  error 
misleads  the  opinion  of  mankind  on  this  head,  viz. 
that,  universally,  authority  is  pleasant,  submission 
painful.  In  the  general  course  of  human  aliairs, 
the  very  reverse  of  this  is  nearer  to  the  truth. 
Command  is  anxiety,  obedience  ease. 

Artificial  distinctions  sometimes  promote  real 
equality.  V/hether  they  be  hereditary,  or  be  the 
homage  paid  to  office,  or  the  respect  attached  by 
public  opinion  to  particular  professions,  they  serve 
to  confront  that  grand  unavoidable  distinction 
which  arises  from  property,  and  which  is  most 
overbearing  where  there  is  no  other.  It  is  of  the 
nature  of  |)roperty,  not  only  to  be  irregularly  dis- 
tributed, iiut  to  run  into  large  masses.  Public 
laws  should  be  so  constructed  as  to  favour  its  dif- 
fusion as  much  as  they  can.  But  all  that  can  be 
done  by  laws,  consistently  with  that  degree  of  go- 
vernment of  his  property  which  ought  to  be  left 
to  the  subject,  will  not  be  sufficient  to  counteract 
this  tendency.  There  must  always  therefore  be 
the  difference  between  rich  and  poor:  and  this 
difference  will  be  the  more  grinding,  when  no  pre- 
tension is  allowed  to  be  set  up  against  it. 

So  that  the  evils,  if  evils  they  must  be  called, 
which  spring  either  from  the  necessary  subordina- 
tions of  civil  life,  or  from  the  distinctions  which 
have,  naturally,  though  not  necessarily,  grown  up 
in  most  societies,  so  long  as  they  are  unaccom))a- 
nied  by  privileges  injurious  or  oppressive  to  the 
rest  of  thecomumnity,  are  such,  as  may,  even  by 
the  most  depressed  ranks,  be  endured  with  very 
little  prejudice  to  their  comfort. 

The  mischiefs  of  which  mankind  are  the  occa- 
sion to  one  another,  by  their  private  wickeihiess 
and  cruelties,  by  tyrannical  exercises  of  power;  by 
rebellions  against  just  authority;  by  wars;  by  na- 
tional jealnusiet  and  competitions  operating  to  the 
destruction  ot  tnird  countries ;  or  by  other  instances 
of  misconduct  either  in  individuals  or  societies,  are 
all  to  be  resolved  into  the  character  of  man  as  a 
free  agent.     Free  agency  in  its  very  essence  con- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


481 


tains  liability  to  abuse.  Yet,  if  you  deprive  man 
of  his  free  agency,  you  subvert  his  nature.  You 
may  have  order  from  him  and  regularity,  as  you 
may  from  the  tides  or  the  trade-winds,  but  you 
put  an  end  to  his  moral  character,  to  virtue,  to 
merit,  to  accountableness,  to  the  use  indeed  of  rea- 
son. To  which  must  be  added  the  observation, 
that  even  the  bad  qualities  of  mankind  have  an 
origin  in  their  good  ones.  The  case  is  this :  Hu- 
man passions  are  either  necessary  to  human  wel- 
fare, or  capable  of  being  made,  and,  in  a  great 
majority  of  instances,  in  fact  made,  conducive  to 
its  happiness.  These  passions  are  strong  and 
general;  and,  perhaps,  would  not  answer  their 
purpose  unless  they  were  so.  But  strength  and 
generality,  when  it  is  expedient  that  particular 
circumstances  should  be  respected,  become,  if  left 
to  themselves,  excess  and  misdirection.  From 
which  excess  and  misdirection,  the  vices  of  man- 
kind (the  causes,  no  doubt,  of  much  misery) 
appear  to  spring.  This  account,  whilst  it  shows 
us  the  principle  of  vice,  shows  us,  at  the  same 
time,  the  province  of  reason  and  of  self  government : 
the  want  also  of  every  support  which  can  be  pro- 
cured to  either  from  the  aids  of  religion ;  and  it 
shows  this,  without  having  recourse  to  any  native, 
gratuitous  malignity,  in  the  human  constitution. 
Mr.  Hume,  in  his  posthumous  dialogues,  asserts, 
indeed,  of  idleness,  or  aversion  to  labour,  (which 
he  states  to  lie  at  the  root  of  a  considerable  part 
of  the  evils  which  mankind  suffer,)  that  it  is  sim- 
ply and  merely  bad.  But  how  does  he  distinguish 
idleness  from  the  love  of  easel  or  is  he  sure,  that 
the  love  of  ease  in  individuals  is  not  the  chief 
foundation  of  social  tranquillity  1  It  will  be  found, 
I  believe,  to  be  true,  that  in  every  community 
there  is  a  large  class  of  its  members,  whose  idle- 
ness is  the  best  quality  about  them,  being  the 
corrective  of  other  bad  ones.  If  it  were  possible,  in 
every  instance,  to  give  a  right  determination  to  in- 
dustry, we  could  never  have  too  much  of  it.  But 
this  is  not  possible,  if  men  are  to  be  free.  And 
without  this,  nothing  would  be  so  dangerous,  as 
an  incessant,  universal,  indefatigable  activity.  In 
the  civil  world,  as  well  as  in  the  material,  it  is  the 
VIS  inerticB  which  keeps  things  in  their  places. 


Natural  Theology  has  ever  been  pressed 
with  this  question  :  Why,  under  the  regency  of 
the  supreme  and  benevolent  Will,  should  there 
be  in  the  world,  so  much,  as  there  is,  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  chance? 

The  question  in  its  whole  compass  lies  beyond 
our  reach :  but  there  are  not  wanting,  as  in  the 
origin  of  evil,  answers  which  seem  to  have  con- 
siderable weight  in  particular  cases,  and  also  to 
embrace  a  considerable  number  of  cases. 

I.  There  must  be  chance  in  the  midst  of  design : 
by  which  we  mean,  that  events  which  are  not  de- 
signed, necessarily  arise  from  the  pursuit  of  events 
which  are  designed.  One  man  travelling  to  York, 
meets  another  man  travelling  to  London.  Their 
meeting  is  by  chance,  is  accidental,  and  so  would 
be  called  and  reckoned,  though  the  journeys 
which  produced  the  meeting  were,  both  of  them, 
undertaken  with  design  and  from  deliberation. 
The  meeting,  though  accidental,  was  nevertheles.^ 
hypothetically  necessary  (which  is  the  onlv  sort  of 
necessity  tliat  is  intrlligible  :)  for  if  the  two  jour- 
neys were  commenced  at  the  time,  pursued  ia  the 
3P 


direction,  and  with  the  speed,  in  which  and  with 
which,  they  were  in  fact  begun  and  performed, 
the  meeting  could  not  be  avoided.  There  was 
not,  therefore,  the  less  necessity  in  it  for  its  being 
by  chance.  Again,  the  rencounter  might  be 
most  unfortunate,  though  the  errands,  upon  which 
each  party  set  out  upon  his  journey,  were  the 
most  innocent  or  the  most  laudable.  The  bye 
efiect  may  be  unfavourable,  without  impeachment 
of  the  proper  purpose,  for  the  sake  of  which  the 
train,  from  the  operation  of  which  these  conse- 
quences ensued,  was  put  in  motion.  Although 
no  cause  act  without  a  good  purpose  ;  accidental 
consequences,  like  these,  may  be  either  good  or 

II.  The  appearance  of  chance  will  always  bear 
a  proportion  to  the  ignorance  of  the  observer. 
The  east  of  a  die  as  regularly  follows  the  laws  of 
motion,  as  the  going  of  a  watch ;  yet,  because  we 
can  trace  the  operation  of  those  laws  through  the 
works  and  movements  of  the  watch,  and  cannot 
trace  them  in  the  shaking  and  throwing  of  the 
die  (though  the  laws  be  the  same,  and  prevail 
equally  in  both  cases,)  we  call  the  turning  up  of 
the  number  of  the  die  chance,  the  pointing  of  the 
index  of  the  watch,  machinery,  order,  or  by  some 
name  which  excludes  chance.  It  is  the  same  in 
those  events  which  depend  upon  the  will  of  a  free 
and  rational  agent.  The  verdict  of  a  jury,  the  sen- 
tence of  a  judge,  the  resolution  of  an  assembly, 
the  issue  of  a  contested  election,  will  have  more 
or  less  of  the  appearance  of  chance,  might  be  more 
or  less  the  subject  of  a  wager,  according  as  we 
were  less  or  more  acquainted  with  the  reasons 
which  influenced  the  deliberation.  The  differ- 
ence resides  in  the  information  of  the  observer, 
and  not  in  the  thing  itself;  which,  in  all  the  cases 
proposed,  proceeds  from  intelligence,  from  mind, 
from  counsel,  from  design. 

Now  when  this  one  cause  of  the  appearance  of 
chance,  viz.  the  ignorance  of  the  observer,  comes 
to  be  applied  to  the  operations  of  the  Deity,  it  is 
easy  to  foresee  how  fruitful  it  must  prove  of  dif- 
ficulties and  of  seeming  confusion.  It  is  only  to 
think  of  the  Deity,  to  perceive  what  variety  of 
objects,  what  distance  of  time,  what  extent  of 
space  and  action,  his  counsels  may,  or  rather 
must,  comprehend.  Can  it  be  wondered  at,  that, 
of  the  purposes  which  dwell  in  such  a  mind  as 
this,  so  small  a  part  should  be  known  to  us  1  It 
is  only  necessary,  therefore,  to  bear  in  our  thought, 
that  in  proportion  to  the  inadequateness  of  our  in- 
formation, will  be  the  quantity,  in  the  world,  of 
apparent  chance. 

III.  In  a  great  variety  of  cases,  and  of  cases 
comprehending  numerous  subdivisions,  it  appears, 
for  many  reasons,  to  be  better  that  events  rise  up 
by  chance,  or  more  properly  speaking  with  the 
appearance  of  chance,  than  according  to  any  ob- 
servable rule  whatever.  This  is  not  seldom  the 
case  even  in  human  arrangements.  Each  person's 
place  and  precedency,  in  a  public  meeting,  may  be 
determined  by  lot.  Work  and  labour  may  be  al- 
lotted.     Tasks  and  burdens  may  be  allotted. 

Operumqiie  laborem 

Partibus  aequabat  justis.  aut  sorte  traliebat. 

Military  service  and  station  maybe  allotted.  The 
distribution  of  provision  may  be  made  by  lot,  as  it 
is  in  a  sailor's  mess ;  in  some  cases  also,  the  dis- 
tribution of  favours  may  be  made  by  lot.  In  all 
these  cases,  it  seems  to  be  acknowledged,  that  there 
41 


482 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


are  advantages  in  permitting  events  to  chance, 
siiijorior  to  those,  which  would  or  could  arise 
from  regulation.  In  all  these  cases  also,  though 
events  rise  up  in  the  way  of  chance,  it  is  by  ap- 
pointment that  they  do  so. 

In  other  events,  and  such  as  are  independent  of 
human  will,  the  reasons  for  this  preference  of  un- 
certainty to  rule,  appear  to  be  still  stronger.  For 
example:  it  seems  to  be  expedient  that  the  period 
of  human  life  should  be  uncertain.  Did  mortality 
follow  any  fixed  rule,  it  would  produce  a  security 
in  those  that  were  at  a  distance  from  it,  which 
would  lead  to  the  greatest  disorders ;  and  a  horror 
in  those  who  approached  it,  similar  to  that  which 
a  condemned  prisoner  feels  on  the  night  before  his 
execution.  But,  that  death  be  uncertain,  the 
young  must  sometimes  die  as  well  as  the  old.  Also 
were  deaths  never  sudden,  they  who  are  in  health 
would  be  too  confident  of  life.  The  strong  and 
the  active,  who  want  most  to  be  warned  and 
checked,  would  live  without  apprehension  or  re- 
straint. On  the  other  hand,  were  sudden  deaths 
very  frequent,  the  sense  of  constant  jeopardy 
would  interfere  too  much  with  the  degree  of  ease 
and  enjoyment  intended  for  us ;  and  human  life 
be  too  precarious  for  the  business  and  interests 
which  belong  to  it.  There  could  not  be  depend- 
ance  either  upon  our  own  lives,  or  the  lives  of 
those  with  whom  we  were  connected,  sufficient 
to  carry  on  the  regular  offices  of  human  society. 
The  manner,  therefore,  in  which  death  is  made 
to  occur,  conduces  to  the  purposes  of  admonition, 
without  overthrowing  the  necessary  stability  of 
human  aflairs. 

Disease  being  the  forerunner  of  death,  there  is 
the  same  reason  for  its  attacks  coming  upon  us 
under  the  appearance  of  chance,  as  there  is  for 
uncertainty  in  the  time  of  death  itself 

The  seasoris  are  a  mixture  of  regularity  and 
chance.  They  are  regular  enough  to  authorize 
expectation,  whilst  their  being,  in  a  considerable 
degree,  irregular,  induces,  on  the  part  of  the  cul- 
tivators of  the  soil,  a  necessity  for  personal  attend- 
ance, for  activity,  vigilance,  precaution.  It  is 
this  necessity  which  creates  farmers ;  which 
divides  the  profit  of  the  soil  between  the  owner 
and  the  occupier;  which  by  requiring  expedients, 
by  increasing  employment,  and  by  rewarding  ex- 
penditure, promotes  agricultural  arts,  and  agricul- 
tural life,  of  all  modes  of  life,  the  best,  being  the 
most  conducive  to  health,  to  virtue,  to  enjoyment. 
I  believe  it  to  be  found  in  fact,  that  where  the  soil 
is  the  most  fruitful,  and  the  seasons  the  most  con- 
stant, there  the  condition  of  the  cultivators  of  the 
earth  is  most  depressed.  Uncertainty,  therefore, 
has  its  use  even  to  those  who  sometimes  complain 
of  it  the  most.  Seasons  of  scarcity  themselves  are 
not  without  their  advantages.  They  call  forth 
new  exertions;  they  set  contrivance  and  ingenui- 
ty at  work ;  they  give  birth  to  improvements  in 
agriculture  and  economy;  they  promote  the  in- 
vestigation and  management  of  {)ul)lic  resources. 

Again;  there  are  strong  intelligible  reasons, 
why  there  should  exist  in  human  society  great 
disparity  of  wealth  and  station  ;  not  only  as  these 
things  are  acquired  in  different  degrees,  but  at  the 
first  setting  out  of  life.  In  order,  for  instance,  to 
answer  the  various  demands  of  civil  life,  there 
ought  to  be  amongst  the  members  of  every  civil 
society  a  diversity  of  education,  which  can  only 
belong  to  an  original  diversity  of  circumstances. 
As  this  sort  of  disparity,  which  ought  to  take 


place  from  the  beginning  of  life,  must,  ex  hyp>- 
ttiesi,  be  previous  to  the  merit  or  demerit  of  the 
persons  upon  whom  it  falls,  can  it  be  better  dis- 
posed of  than  by  chance  1  Parentage  is  that  sort 
of  chance:  yet  it  is  the  commanding  circumstance 
which  in  general  fixes  each  man's  place  in  civil 
life,  along  with  every  thing  which  appertains  to 
its  distinctions.  It  may  be  the  result  of  a  benefi- 
cial rule,  that  the  fortunes  or  honours  of  the  lather 
devolve  upon  the  son ;  and,  as  it  should  seem,  of  a 
still  more  necessary  rule,  that  the  low  or  laborious 
condition  of  the  parent  be  communicated  to  his 
family;  but  with  respect  to  the  successor  himsen, 
it  is  the  drawing  of  a  ticket  in  a  lottery.  Inequali- 
ties, therefore,  of  fortune,  at  least  the  greatest  part 
of  them,  viz.  those  which  attend  us  from  our  birth, 
and  depend  upon  our  birth,  may  be  left,  as  they 
are  left,  to  chance,  without  any  just  cause  for 
questioning  the  regency  of  a  supreme  Disposer  of 
events. 

But  not  only  the  donation,  when  by  the  neces- 
sity of  the  case  they  must  be  gifts,  but  even  the 
acquirability  of  civil  advantages,  ought,  perhaps, 
in  a  considerable  degree,  to  lie  at  the  mercy  of 
chance.  Some  would  have  all  the  virtuous  rich, 
or,  at  least,  removed  from  the  evils  of  poverty, 
without  perceiving,  I  suppose,  the  consequence, 
that  all  the  poor  must  be  wicked.  And  how  such 
a  society  could  be  kept  in  subjection  to  govern- 
ment has  not  been  shown:  for  the  poor,  that  is, 
they  who  seek  their  subsistence  by  constant  ma- 
nual labour,  must  still  form  the  mass  of  the  com- 
munity; otherwise  the  necessary  labour  of  life 
could  not  be  carried  on ;  the  work  would  not  be 
done,  which  the  wants  of  mankind  in  a  state  of 
civilization,  and  still  more  in  a  state  of  refinement, 
require  to  be  done. 

It  appears  to  be  also  true,  that  the  exigencies  of 
social  life  call  not  only  for  an  original  diversity  of 
external  circumstances,  but  for  a  mixture  of  dif- 
ferent faculties,  tastes,  and  tempers.  Activity  and 
contemplation,  restlessness  and  quiet,  courage  and 
timidity,  ambition  and  contentedness,  not  to  say 
even  indolence  and  dulness,  are  wanted  in  the 
world,  all  conduce  to  the  well  going  on  of  human 
aflairs,  just  as  the  rudder,  the  sails,  and  the  bal- 
last, of  a  ship,  all  perform  their  part  in  the  navi- 
gation. Now,  since  these  characters  require  for 
their  foundation  different  original  talents,  different 
dispositions,  perhaps  also  different  bodily  con  ^ti- 
tutions;  and  since,  likewise,  it  is  apparently  ex- 
pedient, that  they  be  promiscuously  scattered 
amongst  the  different  classes  of  society  :  can  the 
distribution  of  talents,  dispositions,  and  the  con- 
stitutions upon  which  they  depend,  be  better  made 
than  by  chance  7 

The  opposites  of  apparent  chance,  are  con- 
stancy and  sensible  interposition ;  every  degree  of 
secret  direction  being  consistent  with  it.  Now,  of 
constancy,  or  of  fixed  and  known  rules,  we  have 
seen  in  some  cases  the  inapplicability:  andincon- 
veniencies  which  we  do  not  see,  might  attend  their 
application  in  other  cases. 

Of  sensible  interposition,  we  may  be  permitted 
to  remark,  that  a  Providence,  always  and  certain- 
ly distinguishable,  would  be  neither  more  nor  less 
than  miracles  rendered  frequent  and  common.  It 
is  difficult  to  judge  of  the  State  into  which  this 
would  throw  us.  It  is  enough  to  say,  that  it  would 
cast  us  upon  a  quite  different  dispensation  from 
that  under  which  we  live.  It  would  be  a  total 
and  radical  change.  And  the  change  would  deeply 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


483 


affect,  or  perhaps  subvert,  the  whole  conduct  of 
human  aflairs.  I  can  readily  believe,  that,  other 
circumstances  being  adapted  to  it,  such  a  state 
might  be  better  than  our  present  state.  It  may 
be  the  state  of  other  beings ;  it  may  be  ours  here- 
after. But  the  question  with  which  we  are  now 
concerned  is,  how  far  it  would  be  consistent  with 
our  condition,  supposing  it  in  other  respects  to  re- 
main as  it  is  1  And  in  this  question  there  seem  to 
be  reasons  of  great  moment  on  the  negative  side. 
For  instance  :  so  long  as  bodily  labour  continues, 
on  so  many  accounts,  to  be  necessary  for  the  bulk 
of  mankind,  any  dependency  upon  supernatural 
aid,  by  unfixing  those  motives  which  promote  ex- 
ertion, or  by  relaxing  those  habits  which  engen- 
der patient  industry,  might  introduce  negligence, 
inactivity,  and  disorder,  into  the  most  useful  occu- 
pations of  human  life  ;  and  thereby  deteriorate  the 
condition  of  human  life  itself 

As  moral  agents,  we  should  experience  a  still 
greater  alteration ;  of  which  more  will  be  said  un- 
der the  next  article. 

Although  therefore  the  Deity,  who  possesses 
the  power  of  winding  and  turning,  as  he  pleases, 
the  course  of  causes  which  issue  from  himself,  do 
in  fact  interpose  to  alter  or  intercept  effects,  which 
without  such  interposition  would  have  taken  place  ; 
yet  it  is  by  no  means  incredible,  that  his  provi- 
dence, which  always  rests  upon  final  good,  may 
have  made  a  reserve  with  respect  to  the  manifest- 
ation of  his  interference,  a  part  of  the  very  plan 
which  he  has  appointed  for  our  terrestrial  exist- 
ence, and  a  part  conformable  with,  or,  in  some 
sort,  required  by,  other  parts  of  the  same  plan.  It 
is  at  any  rate  evident,  that  a  large  and  ample  pro- 
vince remains  for  the  exercise  of  Providence, 
without  its  being  naturally  perceptible  by  us  ;  be- 
cause obscurity,  when  applied  to  the  interruption 
of  laws,  bears  a  necessary  proportion  to  theimper- 
fectici  of  our  knowledge  when  applied  to  the  laws 
themselves,  or  rather  to  the  effects  which  these 
laws,  under  their  various  and  incalculable  combi- 
nations, would  of  their  own  accord  produce.  And 
if  it  be  said,  that  the  doctrine  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence, by  reason  of  the  ambiguity  under  which  its 
exertions  present  themselves,  can  be  attended 
with  no  practical  influence  upon  our  conduct ; 
that,  although  we  believe  ever  so  firmly  that  there 
is  a  Providence,  we  must  prepare,  and  provide, 
and  act,  as  if  there  were  none:  I  answer,  that  this 
is  admitted;  and  that  we  farther  allege,  that  so  to 
prepare,  and  so  to  provide,  is  consistent  w,ith  the 
most  perfect  assurance  of  the  reality  of  a  Provi- 
dence :  and  not  only  so,  but  that  it  is  probably,  one 
advantage  of  the  present  state  of  our  information, 
that  our  provisions  and  preparations  are  not  dis- 
turbed by  it.  Or  if  it  be  still  asked,  of  what  use 
at  all  then  is  the  doctrine,  if  it  neither  alter  our 
measures  nor  regulate  our  conduct  1  I  answer 
again,  that  it  is  of  the  greatest  use,  but  that  it  is  a 
doctrine  of  sentiment  and  piety,  not  (immediately 
at  least)  of  action  or  con-duct;  that  it  applies  to 
the  consolation  of  men's  minds,  to  their  devotions, 
to  the  excitement  of  gratitude,  the  support  of  pa- 
tience, the  keeping  alive  and  the  strengthening 
of  every  motive  for  endeavouring  to  please  our 
Maker;  and  that  these  are  great  uses. 

Of  af.l  vikws  under  which  human  life  has 
ever  been  considered,  the  most  reasonable  in  my 
judgment  is  that,  which  regards  it  as  a  state  of 
probation.  If  the  course  of  the  world  was  sepa- 
rated from  the  contrivances  of  nature,  1  do  not 


know  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  look  for  any 
other  account  of  it,  than  what,  if  it  may  be  called 
an  account,  is  contained  in  the  answer,  that  events 
rise  up  by  chance.  But  since  the  contrivances  of 
nature  decidedly  evince  intention  ;  and  since  the 
course  of  the  world  and  the  contrivances  of  nature 
have  the  same  author;  we  are,  by  the  force  of  this 
connexion,  led  to  believe,  that  the  appearance,  un- 
der which  events  take  place,  is  reconcilable  with 
the  supposition  of  design  on  the  part  of  the  Deity. 
It  is  enough  that  they  be  reconcilable  with  this 
supposition  ;  and  it  is  undoubtedly  true,  that  they 
may  be  reconcilable,  though  we  cannot  reconcile 
them.  The  mind,  however,  which  contemplates 
the  works  of  nature,  and,  in  those  works,  sees  so 
much  of  means  directed  to  ends,  of  beneficial  ef- 
fects brought  about  by  wise  expedients,  of  con- 
certed trains  of  causes  terminating  in  the  happiest 
results  ;  so  much,  in  a  word,  of  counsel,  intention, 
and  benevolence  ;  a  mind,  I  say,  drawn  into  the 
habit  of  thought  which  these  observations  excite, 
can  hardly  turn  its  view  to  the  condition  of  our 
own  species,  without  endeavouring  to  suggest  to 
itself  some  purpose,  some  design,  for  which  the 
state  in  which  we  are  placed  is  fitted,  and  which 
it  is  made  to  serve.  Now  we  assert  the  most  pro- 
bable supposition  to  be,  that  it  is  a  state  of  moral 
probation ;  and  that  many  things  in  it  suit  with 
this  hypothesis,  which  suit  no  other.  It  is  not  a 
state  of  unmixed  happiness,  or  of  happiness  sim- 
ply: it  is  not  a  state  of  designed  misery,  or  of 
misery  simply  :  it  is  not  a  state  of  retribution  :  it 
is  not  a  state  of  punishment.  It  suits  with  none 
of  these  suppositions.  It  accords  much  better  with 
the  idea  of  its  being  a  condition  calculated  for  the 
production,  exercise,  and  improvement  of  moral 
qualities,  with  a  view  to  a  future  state,  in  which 
these  qualities,  after  being  so  produced,  exercised, 
and  improved,  may,  by  a  new  and  more  favouring 
constitution  of  things,  receive  their  reward,  or 
become  their  own.  If  it  be  said,  that  this  is  to 
enter  upon  a  religious  rather  than  a  philosophical 
consideration ;  I  answer,  that  the  name  of  Reli- 
gion ought  to  form  no  objection,  if  it  shall  turn 
out  to  be  the  case,  that  the  more  religious  our 
views  are,  the  more  probability  they  contain.  The 
degree  of  beneficence,  of  benevolent  intention,  and 
of  power,  exercised  in  the  construction  of  sensitive 
beings,  goes  strongly  in  favour,  not  only  of  a  cre- 
ative, but  of  a  continuing  care,  that  is,  of  a  ruling 
Providence.  The  degree  of  chance  which  appears 
to  prevail  in  the  world,  requires  to  be  reconciled 
with  this  hypothesis.  Now  it  is  one  thing  to 
maintain  the  doctrine  of  Providence  along  with 
that  of  a  future  state,  and  another  thing  without 
it.  In  my  opinion  the  two  doctrines  must  stand 
or  fall  together.  For  although  more  of  this  ap- 
parent chance  may  perhaps,  upon  other  principles, 
be  accounted  for,  than  is  generally  supposed,  yet 
a  future  state  alone  rectifies  all  disorders :  and  if  it 
can  be  shown,  that  the  apjiearance  of  disorder  is 
consistent  with  the  uses  of  life  as  a  preparatory 
state,  or  that  in  some  respects  it  promotes  these 
uses,  then,  so  far  as  this  hypothesis  may  be  ac- 
cepted, the  ground  of  the  difficulty  is  done  away. 

In  the  wide  scale  of  human  condition  there  is 
not  perhaps  one  of  its  manifold  diversities,  which 
does  not  bear  upon  the  design  here  suggested. 
Virtue  is  infinitely  various.  There  is  no  situa- 
tion in  which  a  rational  being  is  placed,  from 
that  of  the  best  instructed  Christian,  down  to  the 
condition  of  the  rudest  barbarian,  which  affords 


484 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


not  room  for  moral  agency ;  for  the  acquisition, 
exercise,  and  display  of  voluntar}'  qualities,  good 
and  bad.  Health  and  sickness,  enjoyment  and 
suffering,  riches  and  poverty,  knowledge  and 
ignorance,  power  and  subjection,  liberty  and 
bondage,  civilization  and  barbarity,  have  all  their 
offices  and  duties,  all  serve  for  the  formation  of 
character  ;  for  when  we  speak  of  a  state  of  trial, 
it  must  be  remembered,  that  characters  are  not 
only  tried,  or  proved,  or  detected,  but  that  they 
are  generated  also,  a.v\d  formed,  by  circumstances. 
The  best  dispositions  may  subsist  under  the  most 
depressed,  the  most  afflicted  fortunes.  A  West- 
Indian  slave,  who,  amidst  his  wrongs,  retains  his 
benevolence,  I,  for  my  part,  look  upon  as  amongst 
the  foremost  of  human  candidates  for  the  rewards 
of  virtue.  The  kind  master  of  such  a  slave,  that 
is,  he  who,  in  the  exercise  of  an  inordinate  autho- 
rity, postpones,  in  any  degree,  his  own  interest  to 
his  slave's  comfort,  is  likewise  a  meritorious  cha- 
racter ;  but  still  he  is  inferior  to  his  slave.  All 
however  which  I  contend  for,  is,  that  these  desti- 
nies, opposite  as  they  may  be  in  every  other  view, 
are  both  trials ;  and  equally  such.  The  observa- 
tion may  be  applied  to  every  other  condition ;  to 
the  whole  range  of  the  scale,  not  excepting  even 
its  lowest  extremity.  Savages  appear  to  us  all 
alike  ;  but  it  is  owing  to  the  distance  at  which 
we  view  savage  life  that  we  perceive  in  it  no 
discrimination  of  character.  I  make  no  doubt, 
but  that  moral  qualities,  both  good  and  bad,  are 
called  into  action  as  much,  and  that  they  subsist 
in  as  great  variety,  in  these  inartificial  societies, 
as  they  are,  or  do,  in  polished  life.  Certain  at 
least  it  is,  that  the  good  and  ill  treatment  which 
each  individual  meets  with,  depends  more  upon 
the  choice  and  voluntary  conduct  of  those  about 
him,  than  it  does  or  ought  to  do,  under  regular 
civil  institutions,  and  the  coercion  of  public  laws. 
So  again,  to  turn  our  eyes  to  the  other  end  of  the 
scale ;  namely,  that  part  of  it  which  is  occupied  by 
mankind  enjoying  the  benefits  of  learning,  to- 
gether with  the  lights  of  revelation;  there  also, 
the  advantage  is  all  along  probationary.  Chris- 
tianity itself,  I  mean  the  revelation  of  Christianity, 
is  not  only  a  blessing,  but  a  trial.  It  is  one  of  the 
diversified  means  by  which  the  character  is  exer- 
cised :  and  they  who  require  of  Christianity, 
that  the  revelation  of  it  should  be  universal,  may 
possibly  be  found  to  require,  that  one  species  of 
probation  should  be  adopted,  if  not  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  others,  at  least  to  the  narrowing  of  that 
variety  which  the  wisdom  of  the  Deity  hath  ap- 
pointed to  this  part  of  his  moral  economy.* 

Now  if  this  supposition  be  well  founded  ;  that 
is,  if  it  be  true,  that  our  ultimate,  or  our  most  per- 
manent happiness,  will  depend,  not  upon  the 
temporary  condition  into  which  we  are  cast,  but 
upon  our  behaviour  in  it ;  then  is  it  a  much  more 
fit  subject  of  chance  than  we  usually  allow  or 
apprehend  it  to  be,  in  what  manner  the  variety  of 
external  circumstances,  which  subsist  in  the  hu- 


♦  The  reader  will  observe,  that  I  speak  of  the  revela- 
tion of  Christianity  as  distinct  from  Christianity  itself 
The  dispensation  may  already  be  universal.  That  part 
of  mankind  which  never  heard  of  Christ's  name,  may 
nevertheless  be  redeemed,  that  is,  be  placed  in  a  better 
condition,  with  respect  to  their  future  state,  by  his  in- 
tervention ;  may  be  the  objects  of  his  benignity  and 
intercession,  as  well  as  of  the  propitiatory  virtue  of  his 
passion.  But  this  is  not  "  natural  theology  ;"  therefore 
1  will  not  dwell  longer  upon  it. 


man  world,  is  distributed  amongst  the  individuals 
of  the  species.  "  This  life  being  a  state  of  pro- 
bation, it  is  immaterial,"  says  Rousseau,  "  what 
kind  of  trials  we  experience  in  it,  provided  they 
produce  their  effects."  Of  two  agents  who  stand 
indifferent  to  the  moral  Governor  of  the  universe, 
one  may  be  exercised  by  riches,  the  other  by 
poverty.  The  treatment  of  these  two  shall  ap- 
pear to  be  very  opposite,  whilst  in  truth  it  is  the 
same :  for  though,  in  many  respects,  there  be 
great  disparity  between  the  conditions  assigned, 
in  one  main  article  there  may  be  none,  riz.  in 
that  they  are  alike  trials ;  have  both  their  duties 
and  temptations,  not  less  arduous  or  less  danger- 
ous in  one  case  than  the  other ;  so  that  if  the  final 
award  follow  the  character,  the  original  distribu- 
tion of  the  circumstances  under  which  that  cha- 
racter is  formed,  may  be  defended  upon  principles 
not  only  of  justice  but  of  equality.  What  hin- 
ders, therefore,  but  that  mankind  may  draw  lots 
for  their  condition  1  They  take  their  portion  of 
faculties  and  opportunities,  as  any  unknown 
cause,  or  concourse  of  causes,  or  as  causes  acting 
for  other  purposes,  may  happen  to  set  them  out ; 
but  the  event  is  governed  by  that  which  depends 
upon  themselves,  the  application  of  what  they 
have  received.  In  dividing  the  talents,  no  ruk 
was  observed  ;  none  was  necessary  :  in  rewarding 
the  use  of  them,  that  of  the  most  correct  justice. 
The  chief  diflerence  at  last  appears  to  be  that 
the  right  use  of  more  talents,  i.  e.  of  a  greater  trust, 
will  be  more  highly  rewarded,  than  the  right  use 
of  fewer  talents,  i.  e.  of  a  less  trust  And  since, 
for  other  purposes,  it  is  expedient  that  there  be 
an  inequality  of  concredited  talents  here,  as  well, 
probably,  as  an  inequality  of  conditions  hereafter, 
though  all  remuneratory ;  can  any  rule,  adapted 
to  that  inequality,  be  more  agreeable,  even  to  our 
apprehensions  of  distributive  justice,  than  this  is  1 

We  have  said,  that  the  appearance  of  casualty, 
which  attends  the  occurrences  and  events  of  lifie, 
not  only  does  not  interfere  with  its  uses,  as  a 
state  of  probation,  but  that  it  promotes  these  uses. 

Passive  virtues,  of  all  others  the  severest  and 
the  most  sublime  ;  of  all  others,  perhaps,  the  most 
acceptable  to  the  Deity;  would,  it  is  evident,  be 
excluded  from  a  constitution,  in  which  happiness 
and  misery  regularly  followed  virtue  and  vice. 
Patience  and  composure  unr'er  distress,  affliction, 
and  pain  ;  a  steadfa.st  keeping  up  of  our  confi- 
dence in  God,  and  of  our  reliance  upon  his  final 
goodness,  at  the  time  when  every  thing  present  is 
adverse  and  discouraging;  and  (what  is  no  less 
difficult  to  retain)  a  cordial  desire  lor  the  happi- 
ness of  others,  even  when  we  are  deprived  ol'  our 
own  :  these  dispositions,  which  constitute,  per- 
haps, the  perfection  of  our  moral  nature,  would 
not  have  found  their  proper  office  and  object  in  a 
state  of  avowed  retribution  ;  and  in  which,  conse- 
quently, endurance  of  evil  would  be  only  submis- 
sion to  punishment. 

Again :  one  man's  sufferings  may  be  another 
man's  trial.  The  family  of  a  sick  parent  is  a 
school  of  filial  piety.  The  charities  of  domestic 
life,  and  not  only  these,  but  all  the  social  virtues, 
are  called  out  by  distress.  But  then,  misery,  to 
be  the  proper  object  of  mitigation,  or  of  that  be- 
nevolence which  endeavours  to  relieve,  must  be 
really  or  apparently  casual.  It  is  upon  such  suf- 
ferings alone  that  benevolence  can  operate.  For 
were  there  no  evils  in  the  world  but  what  were 
punishments,  properly  and  intelligibly  such,  be- 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


485 


nevolence  would  only  stand  in  the  way  of  justice. 
Such  evils,  consistently  with  the  administration 
of  moral  government,  could  not  be  prevented  or 
alleviated,  that  is  to  say,  could  not  be  remitted  in 
whole  or  in  part,  except  by  the  authority  which 
inflicted  them,  or  by  anappellate  or  superior  autho- 
rity. This  consideration,  which  is  founded  in  our 
most  acknowledged  apprehensions  of  the  nature 
of  penal  justice,  may  possess  its  weight  in  the 
di\iae  counsels.  Virtue  perhaps  is  the  greatest 
of  all  ends.  In  human  beings,  relative  virtues 
form  a  large  part  of  the  whole.  Now  relative 
virtue  presupi)oses,  not  only  the  existence  of  evil, 
without  which  it  could  have  no  object,  no  material, 
to  work  upon,  but  that  evils  be,  apparently  at 
least,  misfortunes  ;  that  is,  the  eifects  of  apparent 
chance.  It  may  be  in  pursuance,  therefore,  and 
in  furtherance  of  the  same  scheme  of  probation, 
that  the  evils  of  life  are  made  so  to  present  them- 
selves. 

I  have  already  observed,  that  when  we  let  in  re- 
ligious considerations,  we  often  let  in  light  upon 
the  difficulties  of  nature.  So  in  the  fact  now  to 
be  accounted  for,  the  degree  of  happiness,  which 
we  usually  enjoy  in  this  life,  may  be  better  suited 
to  a  state  of  trial  and  probation,  than  a  greater  de- 
gree would  be.  The  truth  is,  we  are  rather  too 
much  delighted  with  the  world,  than  too  little. 
Imperfect,  broken,  and  precarious,  as  our  plea- 
sures arc,  they  are  more  than  sufficient  to  attach 
us  to  the  eager  pursuit  of  them.  A  regard  to  a 
fidure  state  can  hardly  keep  its  place  as  it  is.  If 
we  were  designed,  therefore,  to  be  influenced  by 
that  regard,  might  not  a  more  indulgent  system, 
a  higher,  or  more  uninterrupted  state  of  gratilica- 
tion.  have  interfered  with  the  design  !  At  least  it 
seems  expedient,  that  mankind  should  be  suscepti- 
ble of  this  influence,  when  presented  to  them: 
that  the  condition  of  the  world  should  not  be  such 
as  to  exclude  its  operation,  or  even  to  weaken  it 
more  than  it  does.  In  a  religious  view,  (however 
we  may  complain  of  them  in  every  other,)  priva- 
tion, disappointment,  and  satiety,  are  not  without 
the  most  salutary  tendencies. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

Conclusion. 

In'  all  cases,  wherein  the  mind  feels  itself  in 
danger  of  being  confounded  by  variety,  it  is  sure 
to  rest  Ujion  a  few  strong  points,  or  perhaps  upon 
a  single  instance.  Amongst  a  multitude  of  proofs 
it  is  one  that  does  the  business.  If  we  observe  in 
any  argument,  that  hardly  two  minds  fix  upon 
the  same  instance,  the  diversity  of  choice  shows 
the  strength  of  the  argument,  because  it  shows 
the  number  and  competition  of  the  examples. 
There  is  no  subject  in  which  the  tendency  to 
dwell  upon  select  or  single  topics  is  so  usual,  be- 
cause there  is  no  subject,  of  which,  in  its  full  ex- 
tent, the  latitude  is  so  great,  as  that  of  natural 
history  applied  to  the  proof  of  an  intelligent  Cre- 
ator. For  my  part,  I  take  my  stand  iu  human 
anatomy ;  and  the  examples  of  mechanism  I 
should  be  apt  to  draw  out  from  the  copious  cata- 
logue which  it  supplies,  are  the  pivot  upon  which 
the  head  turns,  the  ligament  within  the  socket  of 
the  hip-joint,  the  pully  or  trochlear  muscles  of  the 
eye,  the  epiglottis,  the  bandages  which  tie  down 


the  tendons  of  the  wrist  and  instep,  the  slit  or  jjer- 
forated  muscles  at  the  hands  and  feet,  the  knitting 
of  the  intestines  to  the  mesentery,  the  course  of 
the  chyle  into  the  blood,  and  the  constitution  of 
the  sexes  as  extended  throughout  the  whole  of 
the  animal  creation.  To  these  instances,  the 
reader  s  memory  will  go  back,  as  they  are  several- 
ly set  forth  in  their  places ;  there  is  not  one  of  the 
number  which  I  do  not  think  decisive;  not  one 
which  is  not  strictly  mechanical :  nor  have  I  read 
or  heard  of  any  solution  of  these  appearances, 
which,  in  the  smallest  degree,  shakes  the  conclu- 
sion that  we  build  upon  them. 

But,  of  the  greatest  part  of  those,  who,  either 
in  this  book  or  any  other,  read  arguments  to  prove 
the  existence  of  a  God,  it  will  be  said,  that  they 
leave  oft'  only  where  they  began  ;  that  they  were 
never  ignorant  of  this  great  truth,  never  doubted 
of  it ;  that  it  does  not  therefore  appear,  what  is 
gained  by  researches  from  which  no  new  opinion 
is  learnt,  and  upon  the  subject  of  which  no  proofs 
were  wanted.  Now  I  answer  that,  by  investiga- 
tion, the  following  points  are  always  gained,  in 
favour  of  doctrines  even  the  most  generally  ac- 
knowledged, (supposing  them  to  be  true,)  viz. 
stability  and  impression.  Occasions  will  arise  to 
try  the  firmness  of  our  most  habitual  opinions. 
And  upon  these  occasions,  it  is  a  matter  of  incal- 
culable use  to  feel  our  foundation ;  to  find  a  support 
in  argument  for  what  we  had  taken  up  upon  au- 
thority. In  the  present  case,  the  arguments  upon 
which  the  conclusion  rests,  are  exactly  such,  as  a 
truth  of  universal  concern  ought  to  rest  upon. 
"  They  are  sufficiently  open  to  the  views,  and  ca- 
pacities of  the  unlearned,  at  the  same  time  that 
they  acquire  new  strength  and  lustre  from  the 
discoveries  of  the  learned."  If  the}'  had  been  alto- 
gether abstruse  and  recondite,  they  would  not 
have  found  their  way  to  the  understandings  of 
the  mass  of  mankind  ;  if  they  had  been  merely 
popular,  they  might  have  wanted  solidity. 

But,  secondly,  what  is  gained  by  research  in 
the  stability  of  our  conclusion,  is  also  gained  from 
it  in  impression.  Physicians  tell  us,  that  there  is 
a  great  deal  of  difference  between  taking  a  medi- 
cine, and  the  medicine  getting  into  the  constitu- 
tion. A  diflerence  not  unlike  which,  obtains  with 
respect  to  those  great  moral  propositions,  which 
ought  to  form  the  directing  principles  of  human 
conduct.  It  is  one  thing  to  assent  to  a  proposition 
of  this  sort ;  another,  and  a  very  diffijrent  thing, 
to  have  properly  imbibed  its  influence.  I  take  the 
case  to  be  this  :  perhaps  almost  every  man  living 
has  a  particular  train  of  thought,  into  which  his 
mind  glides  and  foils,  when  at  leisure  from  the 
impressions  and  ideas  that  occasionally  excite  it; 
perhaps,  also,  the  train  of  thought  here  spoken  of, 
more  than  any  other  thing,  determines  Hie  cha- 
racter. It  is  of  the  utmost  consequence,  therefore, 
that  this  property  of  our  constitution  be  well  regu- 
lated. Now  it  is  by  frequent  or  continued  medi- 
tation upon  a  subject,  by  placing  a  subject  in  dif- 
ferent points  of  view,  by  induction  of  particulars, 
by  variety  of  examples,  by  applying  principles  to 
the  solution  of  phenomena,  by  dwelling  upon 
proof's  and  consequences,  that  mental  exercise  is 
drawn  into  any  particular  channel.  It  is  by  these 
means,  at  least,  that  we  have  any  power  over  it. 
The  train  of  spontaneous  thouoht,  and  the  choice 
of  that  tr.iin,  may  be  directed  to  diflerent  ends, 
and  may  appear  to  be  more  or  less  judiciously  fix- 
ed, according  to  the  purpose,  in  respect  of  which 
41* 


486 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


we  consider  it:  but  in  a  moral  inew,  I  shall  not,  I 
believe,  be  contradicted  when  I  say,  that  if  one 
train  of  thinking  be  more  desirable  than  another, 
it  is  that  which  regards  the  phenomena  of  nature 
with  a  constant  rderence  to  a  supreme  inteUigent 
Author.     To  have  made  this  the  ruling,  the  ha- 
bitual sentiment  of  our  minds,  is  to  have  laid  the 
foundation  of  every  thing  which  is  religious.  The 
world  thenceforth  becomes  a  temple,  and  life  it- 
self one  continued  act  of  adoration.     The  change 
is  no  less  than  this :  that,  whereas  formerly  God 
was  seldom  in  our  thoughts,  we  can  now  scarcely 
look  upon  any  thing  without  perceiving  its  rela- 
tion to  him.   Every  organized  natural  body,  in  the 
provisions  which  it  contains  for  its  sustentation 
and  propagation,  testifies  a  care,  on  the  part  of 
the  Creator,  expressly  directed  to  these  purposes. 
We  are  on  all  sides  surrounded  by  such  bodies  ; 
examined   in   their  parts,   wonderfully  curious ; 
compared  with  one  another,  no  less  wonderfully 
diversified.     So  that  the  mind,  as  well  as  the  eye, 
may  either  expatiate  in  variety  and  multitude,  or 
fix  itself  down  to  the  investigation  of  particular 
divisions  of  the  science.     And  in  either  case  it 
will  rise  up  from  its  occupation,  po.ssessed  by  the 
subject  in  a  very  different  manner,  and  with  a 
very  different  degree  of  influence,  from  what  a 
mere  assent  to  any  verbal  proposition  which  can 
be  formed  concerning  the  existence  of  the  Deity, 
at  least  that  merely  complying  assent  with  which 
those  about  us  are  satisfied,  and  with  which  we 
are  too  apt  to  satisfy  ourselves,  will  or  can  produce 
upon  the  thoughts.   More  especially  may  this  dif- 
ference be  perceived,  in  the  degree  of  admiration 
and  of  awe,  with  which  the  Divinity  is  regarded, 
when  represented   to   the   understanding  by  its 
own  remarks,  its  own  reflections,  and  its  own 
reasonings,  compared  with  what  is  excited  by  any 
language  that  can  be  used  by  others.    The  works 
of  nature  want  only  to  be  contemplated.     When 
contemplated,  they    have   every   thing   in   them 
which  can  astonish  by  their  greatness ;  for  of  the 
vast  scale  of  operation  through  which  our  disco- 
veries carry  us,  at  one  end  we  see  an  intelligent 
Power  arranging  planetary  systems,  fixing,  for 
instance,  the  trajectory  of  Saturn,  or  constructing 
a  ring  of  two  hundred  thousand  miles  diameter,  to 
surround  his  body,  and  be  suspended  like  a  mag- 
nificent arch  over  the  heads  of  his  inhabitants ; 
and,  at  the  other,  bending  a  hooked  tooth,  con- 
certing and  providing  an  appropriate  mechanism, 
for  the  clasping  and  rerlasping  of  the  filaments  of 
the  feather  of  the  humming-bird.  We  have  proof, 
not  only  of  both  these  works  proceeding  from  an 
intelligent  agent,  but  of  their  proceeding  from  the 
same  agent :  for,  in  the  first  place,  we  can  trace 
an  identity  of  plan,  a  connexion  of  system,  from 
Saturn  to  our  own  globe :  and  when  arrived  upon 
our  globe,  we  can,  in  the  second  place,  pursue  the 
connexion  through  all  the  organized,  especially 
the  animated,  bodies  which  it  supports.    We  can 
observe  marks  of  a  common  relation,  as  well  to 
one  another,  as  to  the  elements  of  which  their  ha- 
t)itation  is  composed.     Therefore  one  mind  hath 
planned,  or  at  least  hath  prescribed,  a  general  plan 
for  all  these  productions.     One  Being  hath  been 
concerned  in  all. 

Under  this  stupendous  Being  we  live.  Our 
happiness,  our  existence,  is  in  his  hands.  All  we 
expect  must  come  from  him.  Nor  ought  we  to 
feel  our  situation  insecure.  In  every  nature,  and 
in  every  portion  of  nature  wliich  we  can  descry,  ^ 


we  find  attention  bestowed  upon  even  the  mi 
nutest  parts.  The  hinges  in  the  wings  of  an 
earwig,  and  the  joints  of  its  antennae,  are  as  high- 
ly wrought,  as  if  the  Creator  had  nothing  else  tc 
finish.  We  see  no  signs  of  diminution  of  care  bj 
multiplicity  of  objects,  or  of  distraction  of  thought 
by  variety.  We  have  no  I'eason  to  fear,  therefore, 
our  being  forgotten,  or  overlooked,  or  neglected. 

The  existence  and  character  of  the  Deity,  is  in 
every  view,  the  most  interesting  of  all  human 
speculations.  In  none,  however,  is  it  more  so, 
than  as  it  facilitates  the  belief  of  the  fundamental 
articles  of  Revelation.  It  is  a  step  to  have  it 
proved,  that  there  must  be  something  in  the  world 
more  than  what  we  see.  It  is  a  fiirther  step  to 
know,  that,  amongst  the  invisible  things  of  nature, 
there  must  be  an  intelligent  mind,  concerned  in 
its  production,  order,  and  support.  These  points 
being  assured  to  us  by  Natural  Theology,  we 
may  well  leave  to  Revelation  the  disclosure  of 
many  particular.?,  which  our  researches  cannot 
reach,  respecting  either  the  nature  of  this  Being, 
as  the  original  cause  of  all  things,  or  his  character 
and  designs  as  a  moral  governor :  and  not  only  so, 
but  the  more  full  confirmation  of  other  particulars, 
of  which,  though  they  do  not  lie  altogether  beyond 
our  reasonings  and  our  probabilities,  the  certainty 
is  by  no  means  equal  to  the  importance.  The 
true  theist  will  be  the  first  to  listen  to  any  credi- 
ble communication  of  Divine  knowledge.  No- 
thing which  he  has  learnt  from  Natural  I'heology, 
will  diminish  his  desire  of  farther  instruction,  or 
his  disposition  to  receive  it  with  humility  and 
thankfulness.  He  wishes  for  light :  he  rejoices  in 
light.  His  inward  veneration  of  this  great  Being 
will  incline  him  to  attend  with  the  utmost  serious- 
ness, not  only  to  all  that  can  be  discovered  con- 
cerning him  by  researches  into  nature,  but  to  all 
that  is  taught  by  a  revelation,  which  gives  reason- 
able proof  of  having  proceeded  from  him. 

But,  above  every  other  article  of  revealed  reli- 
gion, does  the  anterior  belief  of  a  Deit)'  bear  with 
the  strongest  force  upon  that  grand  point,  which 
gives  indeed  interest  and  importance  to  all  the  rest 
— the   resurrection   of    the   human  dead.      The 
thing   might  appear  hopeless,  did  we  not  see  a 
power  at  work,  adequate  to  the  effect,  a  power 
under  the  guidance  of  an  intelligent  will,  and  a 
power  penetrating  the  inmost  recesses  of  all  sub- 
stance.    I  am  far  from  justifying  the  opinion  of 
those,  who  '■  thought  it  a  thing  incredible,  that 
God  should  raise  the  dead : "    but  I  admit,  that  it 
is  first  necessary  to  be  persuaded  that  there  is  a 
God,  to  do  so.     This  being  thoroughly  settled  in 
our  minds,  there  seems  to  be  nothing  in  this  pro- 
cess (concealed   as  we    confess  it  to  be)  which 
need  to  shock  our  belief.      They  who  have  taken 
up  the  opinion,  that  the  acts  of  the  human  mind 
depend  upon  organisation,  that  the  mind  itself 
indeed  consists  in  organization,  are  supposed  to 
find  a  greater  difficulty  than  others  do,  in  admit- 
ting a  transition  by  death  to  a  new  state  of  sen- 
tient existence,  because  the  old  organization  is  ap- 
parently dissolved.     But  I  do  not  see  that  any  im- 
practicability need  be  apprehended  even  by  these ; 
or  that  the  change,  even  upon  their  hypothesis, 
is   far  removed  from  the  analogy  of  some  other 
operations,  which  we  know  with  certainty  that  the 
Deity  is  carrying  on.      In  the  ordinary  derivation 
of  plants  and  animals,  from  one  another,  a  particle, 
in  many  cases,  minuter  than  all  assi<inable,  all 
conceivable  dimension;  an  aura,  an  effluvium,  an 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY. 


487 


infinitesimal;  determines  the  organization  of  a 
future  body  :  does  no  less  than  fix,  whether  that 
which  is  about  to  be  produced,  shall  be  a  vegeta- 
ble, a  merely  sentient,  or  a  rational  being ;  an  oak, 
a  frog,  or  a  philospher ;  makes  all  these  ditJerences ; 
gives  to  the  future  body  its  qualities,  and  nature 
and  species.  And  this  particle,  from  which  springs, 
and  by  which  is  determined,  a  whole  future  na- 
ture, itself  proceeds  from,  and  owes  its  constitu- 
tion to,  a  prior  body :  nevertheless,  which  is  seen 
in  plants  most  decisively,  the  incepted  organiza- 
tion, though  formed  within,  and  through,  and  by, 
a  preceding  organization,  is  not  corrupted  by  its 
corruption,  or  destroyed  by  its  dissolution  :  but  on 
the  contrary,  is  sometimes  extricated  and  developed 
by  those  very  causes ;  survives  and  comes  into  ac- 
tion, when  the  purpose,  for  which  it  was  prepared, 
requires  its  use.  Now  an  economy  which  nature 
has  adopted,  when  the  purpose  was  to  transfer  an 
organization  from  one  individual  to  another,  may 
have  something  analogous  to  it,  when  the  purpose 
is  to  transmit  an  organization  from  one  state  of 
being  to  another  state:  and  they  who  found 
thought  in  organization,  may  see  something  in  this 
nalogy  applicable  to  their  difficulties ;  for  what- 
ever can  transmit  a  similarity  of  organization  will 
answer  their  purpose,  because,  according  even  to 
their  own  theory,  it  may  be  the  vehicle  of  conscious- 
ness ;  and  because  consciousness  carries  identity 
and  individuality  along  with  it  through  all  changes 
of  form  or  of  visible  qualities.  In  the  most  general 
case,  that,  as  we  have  said,  of  the  derivation  of 
plants  and  animals  from  one  another,  the  latent 
organization  is  either  itself  similar  to  the  old  or- 
ganization, or  has  the  power  of  communicating  to 
new  matter  the  old  organic  form.  But  it  is  not 
restricted  to  this  rule.  There  are  other  cases,  es- 
pecially in  the  progress  of  insect  life,  in  which  the 
dormant  organization  does  not  much  resemble  that 
which  encloses  it,  and  still  less  suits  with  the  situ- 
ation in  which  the  enclosing  body  is  placed,  but 
suits  with  a  different  situation  to  which  it  is  des- 
tined. In  the  larva  of  the  libellula,  which  lives 
constantly,  and  has  still  long  to  live  under  water, 
are  descried  the  wings  of  a  fly  which  two  years 
afterward  is  to  mount  into  the  air.  Is  there  no- 
thing in  this  analogy  1  It  serves  at  least  to  show 
that  even  in  the  observable  course  of  nature,  or- 
ganizations a.-e  formed  one  beneath  another;  and, 
amongst  a  thousand  other  instances,  it  shows 
completely,  that  the  Deity  can  mould  and  fa- 
shion the  parts  of  material  nature,  so  as  to  fulfil 
any  purpose  whatever  which  he  is  pleased  to 
appoint. 

They  who  refer  the  operations  of  mind  to  a  sub- 


stance totally  and  essentially  different  from  mat- 
ter, (as  most  certainly  these  operations,  though  ef- 
fected by  material  causes,  hold  very  little  affinity 
to  any  properties  of  matter  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted,) adopt  perhaps  a  juster  reasoning  and  a 
better  philosophy  :  and  by  these  the  considerations 
above  suggested  are  not  wanted,  at  least  in  the 
same  degree.  But  to  such  as  find,  which  some 
persons  do  find,  an  insuperable  difficulty  in  shak- 
ing off  an  adherence  to  those  analogies,  which  the 
corporeal  world  is  continually  suggesting  to  their 
thoughts ;  to  such,  I  say,  every  consideration  will 
be  a  relief,  which  manifests  the  extent  of  that  intel- 
ligent power  which  is  acting  in  nature,  the  fruit- 
fulness  of  its  resources,  the  variety,  and  aptness, 
and  success  of  its  means  ;  most  especially  every 
consideration,  which  tends  to  show  that,  in  the 
translation  of  a  conscious  existence,  there  is  not, 
even  in  their  own  way  of  regarding  it,  any  thing 
greatly  beyond,  or  totally  unlike,  what  takes  place 
in  such  parts  (probably  small  parts)  of  the  order 
of  nature,  as  are  accessible  to  our  observation. 

Again ;  if  there  be  those  who  think,  that  the 
contractedness  and  debility  of  the  human  faculties 
in  our  present  state,  seem  ill  to  accord  with  the 
high  destinies  which  the  expectations  of  religion 
point  out  to  us ;  I  would  only  ask  them,  whether 
any  one,  who  saw  a  child  two  hours  after  its  birth, 
could  suppose  that  it  would  ever  come  to  under- 
stand  Jluxions  ;*  or  who  then  shall  say,  what  far- 
ther amplification  of  intellectual  powers,  what  ac- 
cession of  knowledge,  what  advance  and  improve- 
ment, the  rational  iaculty,  be  its  constitution  what 
it  will,  may  not  admit  of,  when  placed  amidst  new 
objects,  and  endowed  with  a  sensorium  adapted, 
as  it  undoubtedly  will  be,  and  as  our  present  senses 
are,  to  the  perception  of  those  substances,  and  of 
those  properties  of  things,  with  which  our  concern 
may  lie. 

Upon  the  whole ;  in  every  thing  which  respects 
this  awful,  but,  as  we  trust,  glorious  change,  we 
have  a  wise  and  powerful  Being  (the  author,  in 
nature,  of  infinitely  various  expedients  for  infinitely 
various  ends,)  upon  whom  to  rely  for  the  choice 
and  appointment  of  means  adequate  to  the  exe- 
cution of  any  plan  which  his  goodness  or  his  jus- 
tice may  have  formed  for  the  moral  and  accounta- 
ble part  of  his  terrestrial  creation.  That  great 
office  rests  with  him;  be  it  ours  to  hope  and  to 
prepare,  under  a  firm  and  settled  persuasion,  that, 
living  and  dying,  we  are  his  :  that  life  is  passed  in 
his  constant  presence,  that  death  resigns  us  to  his 
merciful  disposal. 


*  See  Search's  Light  of  Nature,  passim. 


A   DEFENCE 


CONSIDERATIONS  ON  THE   PROPRIETY  OF  REQUIRING  A   SUBSCRIPTION  TO 
ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 

IN  REPLY  TO  A  LATE  ANSWER  FROM  THE  CLARENDON  PRESS. 


The  fair  way  of  conducting  a  dispute,  is  to  ex- 
hibit one  by  one  the  arguments  of  your  opponent, 
and  with  each  argument  the  precise  and  specific 
answer  you  are  able  to  give  it.  If  this  method  be 
not  so  common,  nor  found  so  convenient,  as  might 
be  expected,  the  reason  is,  because  it  suits  not 
always  with  the  designs  of  a  writer,  which  are  no 
more  perhaps  than  to  make  a  book ;  to  confound 
some  arguments,  and  to  keep  others  out  of  sight; 
to  leave  what  is  called  an  impression  upon  the 
reader,  without  any  care  to  inform  him  of  the 
proofs  or  principles  by  which  his  opinion  should 
be  governed.  With  such  views  it  may  be  consis- 
tent to  despatch  objections,  by  observing  of  some 
"  that  they  are  old,"  and  therefore,  like  certain 
drugs,  have  lost,  we  may  suppose,  their  strength; 
of  others,  that  "  they  have  long  since  received  an 
answer;"  which  implies,  to  be  sure,  a  confutation: 
to  attack  straggling  remarks,  and  decline  the  main 
reasoning,  as  "  mere  declamation  ;"  to  pass  by  one 
passage  because  it  is  "long  winded,"  another  be- 
cause the  answerer  "  has  neither  leisure  nor  incli- 
nation to  enter  into  the  discussion  of  it ;"  to  pro- 
duce extracts  and  quotations,  which,  taken  alone, 
imperfectly,  if  at  all,  express  their  author's  mean- 
ing ;  to  dismi-ss  a  stubborn  difficulty  with  a  "refer- 
ence," which  ten  to  one  the  feader  never  looks  at; 
and,  lastly,  in  order  to  give  the  whole  a  certain 
fashionable  air  of  candour  and  moderation,  to 
make  a  concession*  or  two  which  nobody  thanks 
him  for,  or  yield  up  a  few  points  which  it  is  no 
longer  any  credit  to  maintain. 

How  far  the  writer  with  v/hom  we  have  to  do 
is  concerned  in  this  description,  his  readers  will 
judge:  he  shall  receive,  however,  from  us,  that 
justice  which  he  has  not  shown  the  author  of  the 
"Considerations,"  to  have  his  arguments  fully 
and  distinctly  stated  and  examined. 

After  complaining,  as  is  usual  on  these  occa- 
sions, of  disappointment  and  dissatisfaction ;  the 
answerer  sets  out  with  an  argument  which  com- 
prises, we  are  told,  in  a  "  narrow  compass,"  the 
whole  merits  of  the  question  betwixt  us;  and 
which  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  this,  that  "  it 

*  Such  as,  that  "  if  people  keep  their  opinions  to  them- 
selves, no  man  will  hurt  them,"  and  the  like.— Answer, 
p.  45. 


is  necessary  that  those  who  are  to  be  ordained 
teachers  in  the  church  should  be  sound  in  the  faith, 
and  consequently  that  they  should  give  to  those 
who  ordain  them  some  proof  and  assurance  that 
they  are  so,  and  that  the  method  of  this  proof 
should  be  settled  by  public  authority."     Now  the 
perfection  of  this  sort  of  reasoning  is,  that  it  comes 
as  well  from  the  mouth  of  the  pope's  professor  of 
divinity  in  the  university  of  Bologna,  as  from  the 
Clarendon  press.     A  church  has  only,  with  our 
author,  to  call  her  creed  the  "faithful  word,"  and 
it  follows  from  Scripture  that  "  we  must  hold  it 
fast."     Her  dissatisfied  sons,  let  her  only  denomi- 
nate as  he  does.*  "  vain  talkers  and  deceivers," 
and  St.  Paul  himself  commands  us  to  "  stop  their 
mouths."     Every  one  that  questions  or  opposes 
her  decisions  she  pronounces,  with  him,  a  heretic, 
and  "  a  man  that  is  a  heretic,  after  the  first  and 
second  admonition,  reject."     In  like  manner,  call- 
ing her  tenets  "sound  doctrine,"  or  taking  it  for 
granted  that  the)'  arc  so,  (which  the  conclave  at 
Rome  can  do  as  well  as  the  convocation  at  London,) 
and  "  soundness  in  the  faith  being  a  necessary 
qualification  in  a  Christian  teacher,"  there  is  no 
avoiding  the  conclusion,   that  every   "  Christian 
teacher"  (in,  and  out  of  the  church  too,  if  you  can 
catch  him,  "soundness  in  the  faith"  being  alike 
"necessary"  in  all)  must  have  these  tenets  strap- 
ped about  his  neck  by  oaths  and  subscriptions. 
A  n  argument  which  thus  fights  in  any  cause,  or  on 
either  side,  deserves  no  quarter.     I  have  said,  that 
this  reasoning,  and  these  applications  of  Scripture, 
are  equally  competent  to  the  defenders  of  popery 
— they  are  more  so.     The  popes,  when  they  as- 
sumed the  power  of  the  apostles,  laid  claim  also  to 
their  infallibility ;  and  in  this  they  were  consistent. 
Protestant  churches  renounce  with  all  their  might 
this  infallibility,  whilst  they  apply  to  themselves 
every  expression  that  describes  it,  and  will  not 
part  with  a  jot  of  the  authority  which  is  built  upon 
it.     But  to  return  to  the  terms  of  the  argument. 
"  Is  it  necessary  that  a  Christian  teacher  should 
be  sound  in  the  faith  V 

1.  Not  in  nine  instances  out  of  ten  to  which  the 
test  is  now  extended.     Nor, 


*  Page  18. 


48S 


Jl 


OF  SUBSCRIPTION  TO  ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 


'iHn 


Q.  If  it  were,  is  this  the  way  to  make  him  so;  ] 
there  being  as  little  probability  that  the  detenni- 
nations  of  a  set  of  men  whose  good  fortune  had 
advanced  them  to  high  stations  in  the  chureh 
should  be  right,  as  the  conclusions  of  private  in- 
quirers.    Nor, 

3.  Were  they  actually  right,  is  it  possible  to 
conceive  how  they  can,  upon  this  author's  princi- 
ples, produce  the  effect  contended  for,  since  "  we 
set  them  not  up  as  a  rule  of  faith  ;"*  since  "  they 
do  not  decide  matters  for  us,  nor  bind  them  ujion 
us ;"  since  "they  tie  no  man  up  from  altering  his 
opinion,"  are  "  no  ways  inconsistent  with  the 
right  of  private  judgment,"  are,  in  a  word,  of  no 
more  authority  "than  an  old  sermon;  nor,  conse- 
quently, much  more  etTectual,  either  for  the  pro- 
ducing or  securing  of  "  soundness  in  the  faith." 

The  answerer,  not  trusting  altogether  to  the 
streno-th  of  his  "  argument,"  endeavours  next  to 
avail  himself  of  a  "  concession"  which  he  has 
gained,  he  imagines,  from  his  adversary,  and 
which  he  is  pleased  to  look  upon  "  as  in  a  manner 
giving  up  the  main  point."  Our  business,  there- 
fore, will  be  to  show  what  this  concession,  as  he 
calls  it,  amounts  to,  and  wherein  it  differs  from 
the  "main  point,"  the  requisition  of  subscrii)tion 
to  established  formularies.  It  is  objected  to  the 
Articles  of  the  Church  of  England,  that  they  are 
at  variance  with  the  actual  ojunions  both  of  the 
governors  and  members  of  that  church ;  so  much 
so,  that  the  men  who  most  faithfully  and  expli- 
citly maintain  these  articles,  get  persecuted  for 
their  singularity,  excluded  from  orders,  driven 
from  universities,  and  are  compelled  to  preach  the 
estabhshcd  religion  in  fields  and  conventicles. 
]Now  this  objection,  which  must  cleave  to  every 
fixed  formulary,  might,  we  conceive,  be  removed 
if  a  test  was  substituted,  supposing  any  test  to  be 
insisted  upon,  which  could  adapt  itself  to  the 
opinions,  and  keep  pace  with  the  improvements, 
of  each  succeeding  age.  This,  in  some  measure, 
would  be  the  case,  if  the  governors  of  the  church 
for  the  time  being,  were  authorized  to  receive 
from  candidates  for  orders  declarations  of  their  re- 
litrious  principles  in  their  own  words,  and  allowed, 
at  their  discretion,  to  admit  them  into  the  minis- 
try. Bishops  being  taken  out  of  the  lump  of  the 
community  will  generally  be  of  the  same  leaven, 
and  partake  both  of  the  opinions  and  moderation 
of  the  times  they  live  in.  This  is  the  most  that 
can  be  made  of  the  concession ;  and  how  this  gives 
up  the  "  main  point/'  or  indeed  any  thing,  it  is 
not  easy  to  discover. 

The  next  paragraph  of  the  Answer  attacks  the 
account  which  the  Considerations  have  given  of 
the  "  rise"  and  "  progress"  of  the  custom  in  ques- 
tion; "  the  reverse  of  which,"  the  answerer  tells 
us,  "  is  the  truth,"  and  by  way  of  proof  gives  his 
own  account  of  the  matter,  which,  so  far  from 
being  the  "  reverse,"  is  in  effect,  or  very  nearly,  the 
same. 

The  reader  shall  see  the  two  accounts  side  by 
side,  and  is  desired  to  judge  whether  the  author 
of  the  Considerations,  so  far  from  being  confuted 
in  this  point,  is  even  contradicted. 

"  The  protestants,  aware  "  As  some  who  set  up  for 
hnw greatly  they  were  mis-  reformershad  broached  ma- 
represented  and  abused,  be-  ny  erroneous  and  pestili/nt 
gan  to  think  it  necessary  to  doctrines  ;  the  Lutlierans, 
ri>p3l  the  various  caluraniesltiist,  and,  after  their  exani- 


that  had  been  cast  upon 
them,  by  .setting  forth  some 
public  Constitutions  or  Con- 
fession.*, as  a  declaration  of 
their  faith  and  worsliip 
And  to  make  such  dt'clnra- 
tion  still  more  aullientic, 
they  likevviseengaged  thum- 
selves  in  a  mutual  bond  of 
conformity  to  all  these  Con 

stitutions." Considera 

tions,  page  6. 


pie. other  protestant  chuich- 
s,  thouffht  fit  to  draw  up 
Confessions  of  faith.  Aiul 
this  they  <iid  partly  to  ac- 
ini t  themselves  of  t be  scan- 
lal  of  abetting  wild  and  sc- 
litious  enthusiasts,  aiul  de- 
claring what  were  their  real 
doctrines;  partly"  (observe 
how  tenderly  this  is  intro  - 
duced)  "  to  prevent  such  en- 
thusiasts on  the  one  hand, 
and  popish  emissaries  i  n 
the  other,  from  intruding 
themselves  into  the  minis- 
try.— Answer,  pages  (5,  7. 

Now,  were  the  "  origin"  of  a  custom  of  more 
consequence  than  it  is  to  a  question  concerning 
the  "  propriety"  of  it,  can  any  one  doubt,  who 
credits  even  the  answerer's  own  account,  but  that 
the  motive  assigned  in  the  considerations,  both 
did  exist,  and  was  the  principal  motive  1  There 
is  one  account,  indeed,  of  the  "  origin"  of  this  cus- 
tom, which,  were  it  true,  would  directly  concern 
the  question.  "This  practice,"  our  author  tells 
us  in  another  part  of  his  Answer,*  "is  said  to  be 
derived  from  the  apostles  themselves."  I  care 
not  what  "is  said."  It  is  impossible  that  the 
practice  complained  of,  the  imposition  of  articles 
of  faith  by  "fallible"  men,  could  originate  from 
the  "  apostles,"  who,  under  the  direction  by  which 
they  acted  were  infallible. "r 

But  this  practice,  from  whatever  "  root  of  bitter- 
ness" it  sprung,  has  been  one  of  the  chief  causes, 
we  assert,  of  the  divisions  and  distresses  which 
we  read  of  in  ecclesiastical  history.  The  matter 
of  fact  our  author  docs  not,  because  he  cannot, 
deny.  He  rather  chooses  to  insinuate  that  "  such 
divisions  and  disturbances  were  not  owing  to  the 
governors  of  the  church,  but  to  the  perverse  dis- 
putings  of  heretics  and  schismatics."  He  must 
know  that  there  is  oppression  as  well  as  resistance, 
provocation  as  well  as  resentment,  abuse  of  power 
as  well  as  opposition  to  it :  and  it  is  too  much  to 
take  for  granted,  without  one  syllable  of  proof, 
that  those  in  possession  of  power  have  been 
always  in  the  right,  and  those  who  withstood 
them  in  the  wrong.  "  Divisions"  and  "  disturli- 
ances"  have  in  fact,  and  in  all  ages,  arisen  on  this 
account,  and  it  is  a  poor  shift  to  s-ay,  because  it 
may  always  be  said,  that  such  only  are  charge- 
able with  these  mischiefs  as  refused  to   submit 


*  Pages  11.13.  19.29. 
3Q. 


*  Page  19. 

t  How  a  creed  is  to  be  made,  as  the  Considerations 
recommend,  in  which  all  parties  shall  agree,  our  author 
cannot  understand.  I  will  tell  him  how  ;  by  adhering 
to  Scripture  terms  :  and  this  will  suit  the  best  idea  of  a 
Creed  (a  summary  or  compendium  of  a  larger  volume,) 
and  the  only  fair  purpose  of  one,  instruction. 

It  is  observed  in  the  Considerations,  that  ttie  multi 
plicitv  of  the  propositions  contained  in  the  thirtv-ninc 
Articles  is  alone  sullicient  to  show  the  impossibility  of 
that  consent  which  the  Church  imposes  and  requires.— 
Now,  what  would  any  man  euess  is  the  answer  to  this? 
Why,  "  that  there  are  no  less  than  three  propositions  in 
the  'very  first  verse  of  St.  Johns  Gospel."  Had  there 
been  "  three  thousand"  it  would  have  been  nothing  to 
the  purpose  :  where  propositions  are  received  upon  the 
authority  of  the  proposer,  it  matters  not  how  many  of 
them  there  are  ;  the  doubt  is  not  increased  with  the 
number;  the  same  reason  which  establishes  one  esta- 
blishes all  But  is  this  the  case  with  a  system  of  proposi- 
tions which  derives  no  evidence  from  the  proposer? 
which  must  each  stand  upon  its  own  separate  and  in- 
trinsic proof?— We  thought  it  necessary  to  oppose  note 
to  note  in  the  place  in  which  we  found  it;  though 
neither  here  nor  in  the  Answer  is  it  much  connected 
with  the  text. 


490 


OF  SUBSCRIPTION  TO  ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 


to  whatever  their  superiors  thought  proper  to 
impose.* 

Nor  is  it  much  better  when  he  tells  us,  "that 
these  subtleties  of  metaphysical  debate,  which  we 
complain  of  in  our  Articles,  were  introduced  by 
the  several  heretics  of  those  times  ;"  especially  as 
it  IS  evident  that  whoever  first  introduced,  it  is  the 
jrovernors  of  the  church  who  still  continue  them. 

But  our  author  cannot  conceive  what  all  this, 
as  relating  to  "  creeds"  only  and  "  confessions,"  to 
the  "terms  of  communion"  rather  than  of  admis- 
sion into  the  ministry,  is  to  the  purpose.  Will  he 
then  give  up  "creeds''  and  "confessions  V  or  will 
his  church  thank  him  for  it  if  he  does  1  a  church 
which,  by  transfusing  the  substance  of  her  Arti- 
cles into  the  form  of  her  public  worship,  has  in 
efiect  made  the  "  terms  of  communion"  and  of  ad- 
mi.ssion  into  the  ministry  the  same.  This  ques- 
tion, like  every  other,  however  naked  you  may 
strip  it  by  abstraction,  must  always  be  considered 
with  a  reference  to  the  practice  you  wish  to 
reform. 

The  author  of  the  Considerations  contends 
very  properly,  that  it  is  one  of  the  first  duties  a 
Christian  owes  to  his  Master,  "  to  keep  his  mind 
open  and  unbiassed"  in  religious  inquiries.  Can 
a  man  be  said  to  do  this,  who  must  bring  himself 
to  assent  to  opinions  proposed  by  another  1  who 
enters  into  a  profession  where  both  his  subsistence 


all  who  continue  in  the  church  whilst  they  disseiit 
from  her  Articles,  one  would  not  suppose  there 
was  a  pardon  left  for  those,  who  "  keep  even  to 
themselves  an  opinion"  inconsistent  with  any  one 
proposition  they  have  subscribed.  The  fact  is, 
the  gentleman  has  either  shifted  his  opinion  in  the 
course  of  writing  the  Answer,  or  had  put  down 
these  assertions,  not  expecting  that  he  should  have 
occasion  afterwards  to  contradict  them. 

It  seemed  to  add  strength  to  this  objection,  that 
the  judgment  of  most  thinking  men  being  in  a 
progressive  state,  tlieir  opinions  of  course  must 
many  of  them  change ;  the  evil  and  iniquity  of 
which  the  answerer  sets  forth  with  great  plea- 
santry, but  has  forgot  at  the  same  time  to  give  us 
any  remedy  for  the  misfortune,  except  the  old 
womans  receipt,  to  leave  off  thinking  for  fear  of 
thinking  wrong. 

But  our  church  "  preaches,"  it  seems,  "  no 
other  Gospel  than  that  which  she  received,"  nor 
propounds  any  other  Articles  for  Gospel,"  nor 
"  fixes  any  standards  or  criterions  of  faith,  sepa- 
rate from  this  Gospel :  and  so  she  herself  fully  de- 
clares;"and  we  are  to  take  her  "  word"  for  it,  when 
the  very  complaint  is,  that  she  has  never  "acted"  up 
to  this  declaration,  but  in  direct  contradiction  to  it. 
When  she  puts  forth  a  system  of  propositions 
conceived  in  a  new  dialect,  and  in  unscriptural 
terms ;  when  she  ascribes  to  these  the  same  evi- 


and   success  depend  upon  his  continuance  in  a    dence  and  certainty  as  to  Scripture  itself,  or  de 


particular  persuasion  1  In  answer  to  this  we  are 
informed,  that  these  Articles  are  no  "rule  of  faith;" 
(what !  not  to  those  who  subscribe  them  1)  that 
"  the  church  deprives  no  man  of  his  right  of  private 
judgment;"(she  cannot — she  hangs,  however,  a 
dead  weight  upon  it;)  that  it  is  a  "  very  unfair 
state  of  the  case,  to  call  subscription  a  declaration 
of  our  full  and  final  persuasion  in  matters  of  faith  ;" 
though  if  it  be  not  a  "  full"  persuasion,  what  is  it  1 
and  ten  to  one  it  will  be  "final,"  when  such  con- 
sequences attend  a  change.  That  "  no  man  is 
lierehy  tied  up  from  impartially  examining  the 
word  of  God,"  i.  e.  with  the  "  impartiality"  of  a 
man  who  m\ist  "  eat"  or  "starve''  according  as 
the  examination  turns  out;  an  "  impartiality"  so 
suspected,  that  a  court  of  justice  would  not  receive 
his  evidence  under  half  of  the  same  influence: 
"  nor  from  altering  his  opinion  if  he  finds  reason 
so  to  do,  which  few,  I  conceive,  will  "  find,"  when 
the  alteration  must  co.st  them  so  dear.  If  one 
could  give  credit  to  our  author  in  what  he  says  here, 
and  in  some  other  passages  of  his  Answer,  one 
would  suppose  that,  in  his  judgment  at  least,  sub- 
scription restrained  no  man  from  adopting  what 
opinion  he  pleased,  provided  "  he  does  not  think 
himself  bound  openly  to  maintain  it;"  that  "men 
may  retain  their  preferments,  if  they  will  but  keep 
their  opinions  to  themselves."  [f  this  be  what  the 
church  of  England  means,  let  her  say  so.  This 
is  indeed  what  our  author  admits  here,  and  vet. 
from  the  outcry  he  has  afterwards  raised  against 


*  The  followinj;  sentiment  of  our  author  is  too  cu- 
rious to  be  omitted  :  "  Possibly  too  he  (the  author  of  the 
Considerations')  may  think  that  insurrections  and  re- 
bellions in  the  state  are  notowins;  to  the  unrulinepsof 
fartinus  subjects,  but  to  kinjs  and  rulers;  hut  most  rea- 
sonable men,  I  believe,  will  think  otherwise." — A  com- 
mon reader  may  think  this  observation  of  the  answerer 
a  little  beside  tile  question. — But  the  answerer  may  say, 
with  Cicero  and  Ilr.  Kin?,  "  Snsrepto  ne^otio  niajus 
niihi  quiddam  proposal,  in  quo  nieam  in  Rempublicam 
voluntatem  popuhis  perspiceri  posset."— Motto  to  Dr. 
K.'s  Oration  in  1749. 


crees  and  acts  as  if  they  were  equally  evident  and 
certain;  she  incurs,  we  apprehend,  the  charge 
which  these  expressions  imply.  She  claims  indeed 
"authority  in  controversies  of  faith,"  but  "only 
so  far,"  says  her  apologist,  as  "  to  judge  for  herself 
what  should  be  lier  own  terms  of  communion, 
and  what  qualifications,  she  shall  require  in  her 
own  ministers."  All  which,  in  plainer  English, 
comes  to  this;  that  two  or  three  men,  betwixt 
two  and  three  centuries  ago,  fixed  a  multitude  of 
obscure  and  dubious  propositions,  which  many 
millions  after  must  bring  themselves  to  believe, 
before  they  be  permitted  to  share  in  the  provision 
which  the  state  has  made  (and  to  which  all  of 
every  sect  contribute)  for  regular  opportunities  of 
public  worship,  and  the  giving  and  receiving  of 
public  instruction.  And  this  our  author  calls  the 
magistrate's  "judging  for  himself,"*  and  exercis- 
ing the  "  same  right  as  all  other  persons  have  to 
judge  for  themselves."  For  the  reasonableness  of 
it,  however,  he  has  nothing  to  offer,  but  that  it  "is 
no  more  than  what  other  churches,  popish"  too,  to 
strengthen  the  argument,  "as  well  as  protestant," 
have  done  before.  He  might  have  added,  seeing 
"custom"  is  to  determine  the  matter,  that  it  liad 
been  "  customary"  too  from  early  ages  for  Chris- 
tians to  anathematize  and  burn  each  other  for 
dilference  of  opinion  in  some  points  of  faith,  and 
for  dilierence  of  practice  in  some  points  of  cere- 
mony. 

We  now  accompany  the  learned  answerer  to 
what  he  is  pleased  to  call  the  "main  question," 
and  which  he  is  so  much  "  puzzled  to  keep  in 
sight."  The  argumentt  in  favour  of  subscri])tion 
and  the  arbitrary  exclusion  of  men  from  the  church 
or  ministry,  drawn  from  the  nature  of  a  society 


Paire  20. 

What  would  any  man  in  his  wits  think  of  this  ar- 
gument, if  upon  the  strength  of  it  they  were  to  make  a 
law,  that  none  but  red-haired  people  should  be  admitted 
into  orders,  or  even  into  churches. 


OF  SUBSCRIPTION  TO  ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 


49 


and  the  rights  incidental  to  society,  our  author 
resigns  to  its  fate,  and  to  the  answer  which  has 
been  given  it  in  the  Considerations.  He  contends 
only,  that  the  conduct  of  the  apostles  in  admitting 
the  eunuch  and  the  centurion  upon  a  general  pro- 
fession of  their  faith  in  Christ,  "  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  case  of  subscription, "  as  they  were 
admitted,  not  into  the  ministry,  but  only  the  com- 
munion of  the  church.  Now,  in  the  first  place, 
suppose  the  eunuch  or  centurion  had  taken  upon 
them,  as  probably  they  did,  to  teach  Christianity, 
would  they  have  been  inhibited  by  the  apostles  as 
not  having  given  sufficient  "proof  or  assurance  of 
their  soundness  in  the  faith  T'  And  if  not,  what  be- 
comes of  the  necessity  of  such  "  assurances  from  a 
Christian  teacher  V  In  the  second  place,  suppose 
you  consider  the  church  as  one  society,  and  its 
teachers  as  another,  is  it  probable  that  those  who 
were  so  tender  in  keeping  any  one  out  of  the  first, 
would  have  thought  the  argument  we  were  en- 
countering, or  any  thing  else,  a  pretence  for  a 
right  of  arbitrary  exclusion  from  the  latter  1  The 
case  of  Cornelius,  says  our  author,  is  "extraordi- 
nary ;  while  St.  Peter  was  preaching  to  him,  the 
Holy  Ghost  fell  upon  all  them  which  heard  the 
word."  And  is  not  this  author  ashamed  to  own, 
that  any  are  excluded  from  the  communion,  or 
even  ministry  of  the  church,  who  would  have 
been  entitled  by  their  faith  "to  the  gifts  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  T' 

The  answerer  in  the  next  paragraph  acknow- 
ledges, that  to  admit  converts  into  the  church 
upon  this  one  article  of  faith,  that  Jesus  is  the 
Messiah,  was  indeed  the  practice  of  the  apostles  ;* 
but  then  he  tells  us,  what  must  sound  a  little  odd 
to  a  Christian  ear,  and  comes  the  more  awkward- 
ly from  this  author,  whom,  if  you  turn  over  a 
page,  you  will  find  quoting  the  "  practice  of  the 
apostles"  with  a  vengeance ;  he  tells  us,  I  say, 
"  that  no  argument  can  be  drawn  from  the  prac- 
tice of  the  apostles. "t  Now,  with  regard  to  the 
"  practice  of  the  apostles,"  and  the  application  of 
it  to  ourselves,  the  case  seems  to  be  this  (the  very 
reverse,  observe,  of  our  author's  rule,)  that  we 
are  always  bound  not  "  to  go  beyond"  the  pre- 
cedent, though,  for  want  of  the  same  authority, 
we  may  not  always  "  advance  up  to  it."  It  surely 
at  least  becomes  us  to  be  cautious  of "  proceed- 
ing," where  they,  in  the  plenitude  of  their  com- 
mission, thought  proper  "  to  stop." 

It  is  alleged  in  the  Considerations,  that  annex- 
ing emoluments  to  the  profession  of  particular 
opinions,  is  a  strong  and  dangerous  inducement 
to  prevarication ;  and  the  danger  is  the  greater, 
as  prevarication  in  one  instance  has  a  tendency 
to  relax  the  most  sacred  obligations,  and  make 
way  for  perfidy  in  every  other.  But  "  this,"  it 
seems,  "  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question. "t 

*  Although  the  question,  whether  to  believe  that 
Jesus  is  the  .\Iessiah,  be  not  the  only  necessary  article  of 
faith,  is  a  question  in  which  we  have  no  concern  ;  our 
author,  with  the  best  inclination  in  the  world,  not  be- 
ing able  to  fix  such  an  opinion  upon  us;  yet  [  cannot 
help  observing,  that  he  has  put  two  of  the  oddest  con- 
structions upon  the  terms  of  the  propositions  that  ever 
entered  into  thefancy  of  man  to  conceive.  One  is,  which 
you  may  be  sure  he  inten<is  for  his  adversaries,  §  "  that 
it  is  necessary  to  believe  Jesus  to  be  a  true  prophet,  yet 
not  necessary  to  believe  one  doctrine  that  he  lias  taught." 
The  other,  which  he  means  for  himself,  is,  that  "  by  the 
Messiah  we  are  to  understand  the  only  begotten  Son  of 
God,  anointed,  and  sent  by  the  Father  to  make  propitia- 
tion for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world." 
t  Page  It).  I  rages  I'J,  20.  §  Page  16. 


Why,  it  is  the  very  question.  Whether  the  ma- 
gistrate ought  to  confine  the  provision  he  makes 
for  religion  to  those  who  assent,  or  declare  their 
assent,  to  a  particular  system  of  controverted 
divinity :  and  this  is  one  direct  objection  against 
it.  But  "  must  the  magistrate  then,"  exclaims 
our  alarmed  adversary,  "  establish  no  tithes,  no 
rich  benefices,  no  dignities,  or  bishoprics  V  As 
many  as  he  pleases,  only  let  him  not  convert  them 
into  snares  and  traps  by  idle  and  unnecessary 
conditions.  "  But  must  he  admit  all  persons 
iniliscriminately  to  these  advantages  V  The  au- 
thor of  the  Considerations  has  told  him,  that  he 
may  require  conformity  to  the  liturgy,  rites,  and 
ofiices  he  shall  prescribe ;  he  may  trust  his  offi- 
cers with  a  discretion  as  to  the  religious  princi- 
ples of  candidates  for  orders,  similar  to  what  they 
now  exercise  with  regard  to  their  qualifications  ; 
he  may  censure  extravagant  preaching  when  it 
"  appears  ;"  precautions  surely  sufiicient  either  to 
keep  the  "  wildest  sectaries"  out  of  the  church,  or 
prevent  their  doing  any  mischief  if  they  get  in. 
The  exclusion  of  papists  is  a  separate  considera- 
tion. The  laws  against  popery,  as  far  as  they 
are  justifiable,  proceed  upon  principles  with  which 
the  author  of  the  Considerations  has  nothing  to 
do.  Where,  from  the  particular  circumstances 
of  a  country,  attachments  and  dispositions  hostile 
and  dangerous  to  the  state,  are  accidentally  or 
otherwise  connected  with  certain  opinions  in  reli- 
gion, it  may  be  necessary  to  lay  encumbrances 
and  restraints  upon  the  profession  or  propagation 
of  such  opinions.  Where  a  great  part  of  any 
sect  or  religious  order  of  men  are  enemies  to  the 
constitution,  and  you  have  no  way  of  distinguish- 
ing those  who  are  not  so,  it  is  right  perhaps  to 
fence  the  whole  order  out  of  your  civil  and  reli- 
gious estabHshment :  it  is  the  right  at  least  of 
self-defence,  and  of  extreme  necessity.  But  even 
this  is  not  on  account  of  the  religious  opinions 
themselves,  but  as  they  are  probable  marks,  and 
the  only  marks  you  have,  of  designs  and  princi- 
ples which  it  is  necessary  to  disarm.  I  would 
observe,  however,  that  in  proportion  as  this  con- 
nexion between  the  civil  and  religious  princi))les 
of  the  papists  is  dissolved,  in  the  same  proportion 
ought  the  state  to  mitigate  the  hardships  and 
relax  the  restraints  to  which  they  are  made  sub- 
ject. 

If  we  complain  of  severities,  of  pains  and  pe- 
nalties, the  answerer  cannot  discover  "whom  or 
what  we  mean  :"  and  lest  his  reader  should,  by  a 
figure  extremely  well  known  in  the  craft  of  con- 
troversy, he  proposes  a  string  of  questions  in  the 
person,  of  his  adversary,  to  which  he  gives  his 
own  peremptory  and  definitive  no.*  We  will 
take  a  method,  not  altogether  so  compendious, 
but,  we  trust,  somewhat  more  satisfactory.  We 
will  repeat  the  same  questions,  and  let  the  church 
and  state  answer  for  themselves.     First,  then, 

"  Does  our  church  or  our  government  inflict 
any  corporal  punishment,  or  levy  any  fines  or 
penalties  on  those  who  will  not  comply  with  the 
terms  of  her  communion  V — "  Be  it  enacted,  that 
all  and  every  person  or  persons  that  shall  neglect 
or  refuse  to  receive  the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's 
Supper  according  to  the  usage  of  the  Church  of 
England,  and  yet,  after  such  neglect  or  refusal, 
shall  execute  any  ofiice  or  offices,  civil  or  military, 
after  the  times  be  expired  wherein  he   or  they 


492 


OF  SUBSCRIPTION  TO  ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 


ought  to  have  taken  the  same,  shall,  upon  con- 
viction thereof,  besides  the  loss  of  the  office,  for- 
feit the  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds:"*  Stat.  35 
Car.  II.  c.  2.  Now,  although  starving  be  no 
"  corporal  punishment,"  nor  the  loss  of  all  a  man 
has,  a  "  fine,"  or  "  penalty,"  yet  depriving  men 
of  the  common  beneiits  of  society,  and  rights  even 
of  lay  subjects,  because  "  they  will  not  comply 
with  the  terms  of  Church  communion,"  is  a  "  se- 
verity" that  might  have  deserved  from  our  author 
some  other  apology  besides  the  mere  suppression 
of  the  fact. 

2.  "  Doth  it  deny  them  the  right  or  privilege 
of  worshipping  God  in  their  own  way  T' — "  Who- 
ever shall  take  upon  him  to  preach  or  teach  in 
any  meeting,  assembly,  or  conventicle,  and  shall 
thereof  be  convicted,  shall  forfeit  for  the  first 
offence  twenty  pounds,  and  for  every  other  offence 
forty  pounds  :"  Stat.  22  Car.  II.  c.  1. — "  No  per- 
son shall  presume  to  consecrate  or  administer  the 
sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper  before  he  be 
ordained  priest,  after  the  manner  of  the  church 
of  England,  on  pain  of  forfeiting  one  hundred 
pounds  for  every  such  offence:"  Stat.  13  &  14 
Car.  II.  c.  4.  These  laws  are  in  full  force 
against  all  who  do  not  subscribe  to  the  39  Arti- 
cles of  the  Church  of  England,  except  the  34th, 
35th,  and  3()th,  and  part  of  the  20th  Article. 

3.  "  Are  men  denied  the  liberty  of  free  debate  1" 
— "If  any  person,  having  been  educated  in,  or  at 
any  time,  having  made  profession  of,  the  Chris- 
tian faith  within  the  realm,  shall  by  writing, 
printing,  teaching,  or  advised  speaking,  deny 
any  one  of  the  persons  of  the  Holy  Trinity  to  be 
God— he  sliall  for  the  first  offence  be  disabled  to 
hold  any  office  or  employment,  or  any  profit  ap- 
pertaining thereto;  for  the  second  offence  shall 
be  disabled  to  prosecute  any  action  or  information 
in  any  court  of  law  or  equity,  or  to  be  guardian  of 
any  child,  or  executor  or  administrator  of  any 
person,  or  capable  of  any  legacy  or  deed  of  gift, 
or  to  bear  any  office  for  ever  within  this  realm, 
and  shall  also  suffer  imprisonment  for  the  space 
of  three  years  from  the  time  of  such  conviction." 
Stat.  9v&  10  Will.  III.  c.  32. 

It  has  been  thought  to  detract  considerably  from 
the  pretended  use  of  these  subscriptions,  that  they 
excluded  none  but  the  conscientious ;  a  species  of 
men  more  wanted,  we  conceive,  than  formidable 
to  any  religious  establishment.  This  objection 
applies  equally,  says  our  answerer,t  to  the  "  oaths 
of  allegiance  and  supremacy;"  and  so  far  as  it 
does  apply,  it  ought  to  be  attended  to  ;  and  the 
truth  is,  these  oaths  might  in  many  instances  be 
spared  without  either  danger  or  detriment  to  the 
community.  There  is,  however,  an  essential 
difference  between  the  two  cases  :  a  scruple  con- 
cerning the  oath  of  allegiance  implies  principles 
which  may  excite  to  acts  of  hostility  against  the 
state :  a  scruple  about  the  truth  of  the  articles  im- 
plies no  such  thing. t 

Our   author,  good  man,    "  is  well  persuaded, 
that  the  generality  of  the  clergy,  when  they  offtjr 


*  This  and  the  Corporation  Act,  an  otherwise  excel- 
lent purson  calls  the  laws  which  secure  both  our  civil 
and  religious  liberties. — Blackstone's  Comm.  vol.  iv. 
V-  432. 

t  PaKe22. 

t  The  answerer  mipht  have  found  a  parallel  below 
in  some  other  oaths,  which  he  does  not  care  to  speak  of, 
viz  the  case  of  college  statutes,  page  34  of  the  Consi- 
derations 


themselves  for  ordination,  consider  seriously  what 
office  they  take  upon  them,  and  firmly  believe 
what  they  subscribe  to."  I  am  persuaded  much 
otherwise.  But  as  this  is  a  "  fact,"  the  reader,  if 
he  be  wise,  will  neither  take  the  answerer's  word 
for  it  nor  mine  ;  but  form  his  own  judgment  from 
his  own  observation.  Bishop  Burnet  complained 
above  60  years  ago,  that  "  the  greater  part,"  even 
then,  "  subscribed  the  Articles  without  ever  exa- 
mining them,*  and  others  did  it  because  thev  nmst 
do  it.  Is  it  probable,  that  in  point  either  of 
seriousness  or  orthodoxy,  the  clergy  are  much 
mended  since  1 

The  pleas  offered  in  support  of  this  practice  of 
subscription  come  next  to  be  considered.     "  One 
of  these  is  drawn  from  the  sacred  writings  being 
capable  of  such  a  variety  of  senses,  that  men  of 
widely  different   persuasions  shelter   themselves 
under  the  same  forms  of  expression."     Our  au- 
thor, after  quarrelhng  with  this  representation  of 
the  plea,  gives  his  readers  in  its  stead,  a  long  quo- 
tation from  the  archdeacon  of  Oxford's  charge."* 
What  he  is  to  gain  by  the  change,  or  the  quota- 
tion, I  cannot  perceive,  as  the  same  first  query 
still  recurs,  "  Is  it  true,  that  the  Scriptures  are  in 
reality  so  differently  interpreted  in  points  of  real 
consequence  V     In  answer  to  which,  the  arch- 
deacon of  Oxford,  we  are  told,  "  has  shown  that 
points  of  real  consequence  are  differently  inter- 
preted," and  "the  plainest  texts  explained  away," 
and  has  "  instanced  in  the  first  chapter   of  St. 
John's  Gospel."     The  plea,  we  conceive,  is  not 
much    indebted   to   the    archdeacon  of  Oxford. 
But  be  these  Scriptures  interpreted  as  they  will, 
each  man  has  still  a  right  to  interpret  them  for 
himself     The   Church   of  Rome,    who   always 
pushed  her  conclusions  with  a  courage  and  con- 
sistency unknown  to  the  timid  patrons  of  pro- 
testant  imposition,  saw,  immediately,  that  as  the 
laity  had  no  right  to  interpret  the  Scriptures,  they 
could  have  no  occasion  to  read  them,  and  there- 
fore very  properly  locked  them  up  from  the  in- 
trusion of  popular  curiosity.     Our  author  cites 
the  above-mentioned  query  from  the  Considera- 
tions as  the  Jirst  query,  which  would  lead  his 
reader  to  expect  a  second.    The  reader,  however, 
may  seek  that  second  for  himself,  the  answerer  is 
not  obliged  to  produce  it — it  stands  thus  :  Sup- 
pose  the    Scriptures  thus  variously  interpreted, 
does  subscription  mend  the  matter  !     The  reader 
too  is  left  to  find  an  answer  for  himself 

The  next,  the  strongest,  the  only  tolerable  plea 
for  subscription,  is,  "  that  all  sorts  of  pestilent 
heresies  might  be  taught  from  the  pulpit,  if  no 
such  restraint  as  this  was  laid  upon  the  preacher.'t 
How  far  it  is  probable  that  this  would  be  the  con- 
sequence of  removing  the  subscription,  and  by 
what  other  means  it  might  be  guarded  against, 
has  been  hinted  already,  and  will  again  be  con- 
sidered in  another  place.  We  will  here  only  take 
notice  of  one  particular  expedient  suggested  in 
the  Considerations,  and  which  has  often  indeed 
elsewhere  been  proposed,  namely,  "  that  the 
church,  instead  of  requiring  subscription  before- 
hand, to  the  present,  or  to  any  other  Articles  of 
faith,  might  censure  her  clergy  afterwards,  if  they 
opposed    or   vilified    them   in   their    preaching.'' 


*  Burnet's  History  of  his  Own  Times.    Conclusion. 

t  See  this  whole  Charse  answered  in  the  I^ondon 
Chronicle  by  Priscilla.  The  Lord  hath  sold  Siscra  into 
the  hand  of  a  woman  ! 

X  Page  2(5. 


OF  SUBSCRIPTION  TO  ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 


49^ 


The  advantage  of  which  scheme  above  the  pre- 
sent is  manifest,  if  it  was  only  for  this  reason,  that 
you  distress  and  corrupt  thousands  now,  for  one 
that  you  would  ever  have  occasion  to  punish. 
Our  author,  nevertheless,  "  is  humbly  of  opinion, 
that  it  is  much  better  to  take  proper  precautions 
beforehand ;"  he  must,  with  all  his  "  humility," 
know  that  when  it  has  been  proposed  to  take  pro- 
per precautions  of  the  press,  by  subjecting  authors 
to  an  imprimatur  before  publication,  instead  of 
punishment  after  it ;  the  proposal  has  been  re- 
sented, as  an  open  attack  upon  the  rights  and 
interests  of  mankind.  The  common  sense  and 
spirit  of  the  nation  could  see  and  feel  this  distinc- 
tion and  the  importance  of  it,  in  the  case  of  pub- 
lishers ;  and  why  preachers  should  be  left  in  a 
worse  situation,  it  is  not  very  easy  to  say. 

The  example  of  the  Arminian  confession  is, 
upon  this  occasion,  recommended  by  the  author 
of  the  Considerations;  a  confession  which  was 
compiled  for  the  ediiication  and  instruction  of  the 
members  of  that  church,  without  peremptorily  in- 
sisting upon  any  one's  assent  to  it.  But  it  is  the 
misfortune  of  the  Arminian  to  be  no  riiitional 
church — the  misfortune,  alas  I  of  Christianity  her- 
self in  her  purest  period ;  when  she  was  under 
the  government  of  the  apostles;  without  alliance 
with  the  states  of  this  world ;  when  she  composed, 
nevertheless,  a  church  as  real,  we  conceive,  and 
as  respectable,  as  any  national  church  that  has  ex- 
isted since. 

Our  author,  who  can  much  sooner  make  a  dis- 
tinction than  see  one,  does  not  comprehend,  it 
seems,  any  difference  between  confessions  of  laith 
and  preaching,  as  to  the  use  of  unscriptural  terms. 
Did  a  preacher,  when  he  had  finished  his  sermon, 
call  upon  his  congregation  to  subscribe  their  names 
and  assent  to  it,  or  never  to  come  more  within  the 
doors  of  his  church;  there  would,  indeed,  be  some 
sort  of  resemblance  betwixt  the  two  cases ;  but  as 
the  hearers  are  at  liberty  to  believe  preachers  or 
no,  as  they  see,  or  he  produces,  reasons  for  what 
he  says ;  there  can  be  no  harm,  and  there  is  a  ma- 
nifest utility,  in  trusting  him  with  the  liberty  of 
explaining  his  own  meaning  in  his  own  terms. 

We  now  come,  and  with  the  tenderest  regret, 
to  the  case  of  those  who  continue  in  the  church 
without  being  able  to  reconcile  to  their  belief  every 
proposition  imposed  upon  them  by  subscription  ; 
over  whose  distress  our  author  is  pleased  to  in- 
dulge a  wanton  and  ungenerous  triumph.  They 
had  presumed,  it  seems,  that  it  was  some  apology 
for  their  conduct,  that  they  sincerely  laboured  to 
render  to  religion  their  best  services,  and  thought 
their  present  stations  the  fairest  opportunities  of 
performing  it.  This  may  not,  perhaps,  amount 
to  a  complete  vindication;  it  certainly  does  not 
fully  satisfy  even  their  own  scruples :  else  where 
would  be  the  cause  of  complaint  7  What  need  of 
relief,  or  what  reason  for  their  petitions  1  It  might 
have  been  enough,  however,  to  have  exempted 
them  from  being  absurdly  and  indecently  compared 
With  faithless  hypocrites,  with  Papists  and  Jesuits, 
who,  for  other  purposes,  and  with  even  opposite 
designs,  are  supposed  to  creep  into  the  church 
thiough  the  same  door.  For  the  fullest  and  fairest 
representation  of  their  case,  I  refer  our  author  to 
the  excellent  Hoadly  ;  or,  as  Hoadly  possibly  may 
be  no  book  in  our  author's  library,  will  it  provoke 
his  "raillery"  to  ask,  what  he  thinks  might  be  the 
consequence,  if  all  were  at  once  to  withdraw 
themselves  from  the  church  who  were  dissatisfied 


with  her  doctrines?  Might  not  the  church  lose 
what  she  can  ill  spare,  the  service  of  many  able 
and  industrious  ministers  1  Would  those  she  re- 
tained, be  such  as  acquiesced  in  her  decisions  from 
inquiry  and  conviction  ]  Would  not  many,  or 
most  of  them,  be  those  who  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  religious  scruples  by  lives  of  secularity  and  vo- 
luptuousness ]  by  mixing  with  the  crowd  in  the 
most  eager  of  their  pursuits  alter  pleasure  or  ad- 
vantage? One  word  with  the  answerer  before 
we  part  upon  this  head.  Whence  all  this  great 
inquisitiveness,  this  solicitude  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  person,  the  opinions,  and  associates  of 
his  adversary  ]  W^hence  that  impertinent  wish 
that  he  had  been  "  more  explicit  in  particular  with 
regard  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  I"  Is  it  out 
of  a  pious  desire  to  fasten  some  heresy,  or  the  im- 
putation of  it,  upon  him  I  Is  he  "  called  out  of  the 
clouds"  to  be  committed  to  the  flames  ?  * 

The  40th  page  of  the  Answer  introduces  a  pa- 
ragraph of  considerable  length,  the  sum,  however, 
and  substance  of  which  is  this — that  if  subscrip- 
tion to  articles  of  faith  were  removed,  confusion 
would  ensue ;  the  people  would  be  distracted  with 
the  disputes  of  their  teachers,  and  the  pulpits  tilled 
with  controversy  and  contradiction.  Upon  this 
"  fact"  we  join  issue,  and  the  more  readily  as  this 
is  a  sort  of  reasoning  we  all  understand.  The 
extent  of  the  legislator's  right  may  be  an  abstruse 
inquiry;  but  whether  a  law  does  more  good  or 
harm,  is  a  plain  question  which  every  man  can 
ask.  Now,  that  distressing  many  of  the  clergy, 
and  corrupting  others;  that  keeping  out  of  churches 
good  Christians  and  faithful  citizens  ;  that  making 
parties  in  the  state,  by  giving  occasion  to  sects  and 
separations  in  religion ;  that  these  are  inconve- 
niences, no  man  in  his  senses  will  deny.  The 
question  therefore  is,  what  advantage  do  30U  llnd 
in  the  opposite  scale  to  balance  these  inconve- 
niences ]  The  simple  advantage  pretended  is,  that 
you  hereby  prevent  '■  wrangling"  and  contention 
in  the  pulpit.  Now,  in  the  first  place,  I  observe, 
that  allowing  this  evil  to  he  as  grievous  and  as 
certain  as  you  please,  the  most  that  can  be  neces- 
sary for  the  prevention  of  it  is,  to  enjoin  your 
preachers  as  to  such  points,  silence  and  neutrality. 
In  the  next  place,  I  am  convinced,  that  the  dan- 
ger is  greatly  magnified.  We  hear  little  of  these 
points  at  present  in  our  churches  and  public 
teaching,  and  it  is  not  probable  that  leaving  them 
at  large  would  elevate  them  into  more  importance, 
or  make  it  more  worth  men's  while  to  quarrel 
about  them.  They  would  sleep  in  the  same  grave 
with  many  other  questions,  of  equal  importance 
with  themselves,  or  sink  back  into  their  proper 
place,  into  topics  of  speculation,  or  matters  of  de- 
bate from  the  press.  None  but  men  of  some  re- 
flection would  be  forward  to  engage  in  such  sub- 
jects, and  the  least  reflection  would  teach  a  man 


*  We  were  unwilling  to  decline  the  defence  of  the  per- 
sons here  described,  tlioiish  the  expression  in  the  Cnn- 
siderations  which  brought  on  the  attack,  manifestly 
related  to  a  different  subject.  The  author  of  the  Con- 
siderations speaks  of"  being  bound"  to  "keep  up"  these 
forms  until  relieved  by  proper  authority  ;  of  "  ministe- 
rially" complying  with  what  we  are  not  able  to  remove ; 
alluding,  no  doubt,  to  the  case  of  Church  governors, 
who  are  the  instruments  of  imposing  a  subscription 
which  they  may  disapprove.  But  the  answerer,  taking 
it  for  granted,  that  "  ministerially  complying"  mcani 
the  compliance  of  ministers,  j.  e.  of  clergymen  officiating 
in  their  functions,  has,  by  a  quibble,  or  a  blunder, 
transferred  the  passage  to  a  sense  for  wliicli  it  was  not 
intended. 

42 


404 


OP  SUBSCRIPTION  TO  ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 


that  preaching  is  not  the  proper  vehicle  of  contro- 
versy. Even  at  present,  says  our  author,  "  we 
speiik  and  write  what  we  please  with  impunity." 
And  where  is  the  mischiefl  or  what  worse  could 
ensue  if  subscription  were  removed  1  Nor  can  I 
discover  any  thinir  in  the  disposition  of  the  peti- 
tioning clergy  that  need  alirni  our  apprehensions. 
If  they  are  im[)atient  undt^r  the  yoke,  it  is  not 
from  a  desire  to  hold  forth  their  opinions  to  their 
congregations,  but  that  they  may  be  at  liberty  to 
entertain  themselves,  without  offence  to  their  con- 
sciences, or  ruin  to  their  fortunes. 

Our  author  has  added,  by  way  of  make-weight 
to  his  argument,  "  that  many  common  Chris- 
tians," he  believes,  "woull  be  greatly  scandalized 
if  you  take  away  their  creeds  and  catechisms,  and 
strike  out  of  the  liturgy  such  things  as  they  have 
always  esteemed  essential."*  Whatever  reason 
there  may  be  for  this  belief  at  present,  there  cer- 
tainly was  much  greater  at  the  Reformation,  as 
the  Popish  ritual,  which  was  then  "  taken  away," 
had  a  fascination  and  antiquity  which  ours  cannot 
pretend  to.  Many  were  probably  "scandalized" 
at  parting  with  their  beads  and  their  mass-books, 
that  lived  afterwards  to  thank  those  who  taught 
them  better  things.  Reflection,  we  hope,  in  some, 
and  time,  we  are  sure,  in  all,  will  reconcile  men 
to  alterations  established  in  reason.  If  there  be 
any  danger,  it  is  from  some  of  the  clergy,  who, 
with  the  answerer,  would  rather  suffer  the  "vine- 
yard" to  be  overgrown  with  "weeds,"  than  "stir 
the  ground,"  or,  what  is  worse,  call  these  weeds 
"the  fairest  flowers  in  the  garden."  Such  might 
be  ready  enough  to  raise  a  hue  and  cry  against  all 
innovators  in  religion,  as  "  overturners  of  churches" 
and  spoilers  of  temples. 

But  the  cause  which  of  all  others  stood  most  in 
the  way  of  the  late  petitions  for  relief,  was  an  ap- 
prehension that  religious  institutions  cannot  be 
disturbed  without  awakening  animosities  and  dis- 
sensions in  the  state,  of  which  no  man  knows  the 
consequence.  Touch  but  religion,  we  are  told, 
and  it  bursts  forth  into  a  flame.  Civil  distractions 
may  be  composed  by  fortitude  and  perseverance ; 
but  neither  reason  nor  authority  can  controul, 
there  is  neither  charm  nor  drug  which  will  assuage, 
the  passions  of  mankind  when  called  forth  in  the 
cause  and  to  the  battles  of  religion.  We  were 
concerned  to  hear  this  language  from  some  who, 
in  other  instances,  have  manifested  a  constancy 
and  resolution  which  no  confusion  nor  ill  as- 
pect of  public  affairs,  could  intimidate.  After 
all,  is  there  any  real  foundation  for  these  ter- 
rors 1  Is  not  this  whole  danger,  like  the  lion  of 
the  slothful,  the  creature  of  our  fears,  and  the 
excuse  of  indolence  1  Was  it  proposed  to  make 
articles  instead  of  removing  them,  there  would 
be  room  for  the  objection.  But  it  is  obvious 
that  subscription  to  the  39  Articles  might  be 
altered  or  withdrawn  upon  general  principles  of 
justice  and  expediency,  without  reviving  one  reli- 
gious controversy,  or  calling  into  dispute  a  single 
proposition  they  contain.  Who  should  excite  dis- 
turbances 1  Those  who  are  relieved  will  not ;  and, 
unless  subscription  were  like  a  tax,  which,  being 
taken  from  one  must  be  laid  with  additional  weight 
upon  another,  is  it  probable  that  any  will  com- 
plain that  thev  are  oppressed,  because  their 
brethren  are  relieved  1  or  that  those  who  are  so 

♦Pages  41,42 


"  strong  in  the  faith"  will  refuse  to  "  bear  with  the 
infirmities  of  the  weakT'  The  few  who  upon 
principles  of  this  sort  opposed  the  application  of 
the  Dissenters,  were  repulsed  from  parliament 
with  disdain,  even  by  those  who  were  no  friends 
to  the  application  itself 

The  question  concerning  the  object  of  worship 
is  attended,  I  confess,  with  difficulty;  it  seems  al- 
most directly  to  divide  the  worshippers.  But  let 
the  Church  pare  down  her  excrescences  till  she 
comes  to  this  question ;  let  her  discharge  from  her 
liturgy  controversies  unconnected  with  devotion; 
let  her  try  what  may  be  done  for  all  sides,  by  wor- 
shipf)ing  God  in  that  generality*  of  expression  in 
which  he  himself  has  left  some  points  ;  let  her  dis- 
miss many  of  her  Articles,  and  convert  those  which 
she  retains  into  terms  of  peace  ;  let  her  recall  the 
terrors  she  suspended  over  freedom  of  inquiry  ;  let 
the  toleration  she  allows  to  dissenters  be  made 
"  absolute ;"  let  her  invite  men  to  search  the  Scrip- 
tures; let  her  governors  encourage  the  studious 
and  learned  of  all  persuasions: — Let  her  do  this — 
and  she  will  be  secure  of  the  thanks  of  her  own 
clergy,  and  what  is  more,  of  their  sincerity.  A 
greater  consent  may  grow  out  of  inquiry  than 
many  at  present  are  aware  of;  and  the  few,  who, 
after  all  shall  think  it  necessary  to  recede  from  our 
communion,  will  acknowledge  the  necessity  to  be 
inevitable ;  will  respect  the  equity  and  moderation 
of  the  established  church,  and  hve  in  peace  with 
all  its  members. 

I  know  not  whether  I  ought  to  mention,  among 
so  many  more  serious  reasons,  that  even  the  go- 
vernors of  the  church  themselves  would  find  their 
ease  and  account  in  consenting  to  an  alteration. — 
For  besides  the  difficulty  of  defending  those  de- 
cayed fortifications,  and  the  indecency  of  desert- 
ing them,  they  either  are  or  will  soon  find  them- 
selves in  the  situation  of  a  master  of  a  family, 
whose  servants  know  more  of  his  secrets  than  it 
is  proper  for  them  to  know,  and  whose  whispers 
and  whose  threats  must  be  bought  off  at  an  ex- 
pense which  will  drain  the  "  apostolic  chamber" 
dry. 

Having  thus  examined  in  their  order,  and,  as 
far  as  I  understood  them,  the  several  answerst 


♦  If  a  Christian  can  think  it  an  intolerable  thing  to 
worship  one  God  throueh  one  mediator  Jesus  Christ,  in 
company  with  any  such  as  differ  from  him  in  their  no- 
tions about  the  metaphysical  nature  of  Christ,  or  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  or  the  like;  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  remember 
the  like  objection  made  at  the  beginning  of  the  Refor- 
mation by  the  Lutherans  against  the  lawfulness  of 
communicating  with  Ziiinglius  and  his  followers,  be- 
cause they  had  not  the  same  notion  with  them  of  the 
elements  in  the  sacrament.  And  there  was  the  same 
objection  once  against  holding  communion  with  any 
such  as  had  nnt  the  same  notions  with  themselves  abmit 
the  secret  decrees  of  God  relating  to  the  predestination 
and  reprobation  of  particular  persons  But  whatever 
those  men  may  please  themselves  i<  ith  thinking  who 
are  sure  they  are  arrived  at  the  perfect  knowledge  of 
the  most  abstruse  points,  this  they  may  be  certain  of, 
that  in  the  present  stale  of  the  church,  even  supposing 
only  such  as  are  accounted  otthodo.x  to  be  joined  toge- 
ther in  one  visible  communion,  they  communicate  to- 
gether with  a  very  great  variety  and  confusion  of  no- 
tions.  eitlier  comprehending  nothing  plain  and  distinct, 
or  differing  from  one  another  as  truly  and  as  essentially 
as  others  differ  from  them  all ;  nay,  with  more  certain 
difference  with  relation  to  the  object  of  worship  than 
if  all  prayers  were  directed  (as  bishop  lull  says,  almost 
all  were  in  the  first  agesi  to  God  or  the  Father,  through 
the  Son, — Hoadly's  Answer  to  Dr.  Hare's  Sermon. 

t  In  his  last  note  our  author  breaks  forth  into  "  asto- 
nishment" and   indignation,  at  the  "folly,  injustice, 


OF  SUBSCRIPTIOxN'  TO  ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 


495 


givpn  hy  our  author  to  the  objections  against  the 
present  mode  of  subscription,  it  now  remains,  by 
Way  of  summing  up  the  evidence,  to  bring  "  for- 
ward "  certain  other  arguments  contained  in  the 
Considerations,  to  whicn  no  answer  has  been  at- 
tempted.    It  is  contended,  then, 

I.  That  stating  any  doctrine  in  a  confession  of 
faith  with  a  greater  degree  of  "  precision  "  than 
the  Scriptures  have  done,  is  in  effect  to  say, 
that  the  Scriptures  have  not  stated  it  "with 
"  precision"  enough ;  in  other  words,  that  the 
Scriptures  are  not  sufficient. — "Mere  declama- 
tion." 

II.  That  this  experiment  of  leaving  men  at  liber- 
ty, and  points  of  doctrine  at  large,  has  been  at- 
tended with  the  improvements  of  religious 
knowledge,  where  and  whenever  it  has  been 
tried.  And  to  this  cause,  so  far  as  we  can  see, 
is  owing  the  advantage  which  protestant  coun- 
tries in  this  respect  possess  above  their  popish 
neighbours. — No  answer. 

III.  That  keeping  people  out  of  churches  who 
might  be  admitted  consistently  with  every  end  of 
public  worship,  and  excluding  men  from  com- 
munion who  desire  to  embrace  it  upon  the  terms 
that  God  prescribes,  is  cei  tainly  not  encouraging, 


and  indecency"  of  comparing  our  church  to  the  Jewish 
in  our  Saviour's  time,  and  even  to  the  "  tower  of  Babel;" 
mistaking  the  church,  in  tliis  last  comparison,  for  one 
of  jier  monuments  (vvliich  indeed,  with  most  people  of 
his  complexion,  stands  for  the  same  thing)  erected  to 
prevent  our  dispersion  from  that  grand  centre  of  catho- 
lic dominion,  or,  in  the  words  of  a  late  celebrated  cas- 
tle-builder, "  to  keep  us  together,"  If  there  be  any  "in- 
decency" in  such  a  comparison,  it  must  be  chargeable 
on  those  who  lead  us  to  it,  by  making  use  of  the  same 
terms  with  the  original  architects,  and  to  which  the 
author  of  the  Considerations  evidently  alludes.  This 
detached  note  is  concluded  with  as  detached,  and  no 
less  curious,  an  observation,  which  the  writer  thinks 
may  be  a  "  sufficient  answer"  to  the  whole,  namely, 
that  the  author  of  the  Considerations  "  has  wrought  no 
miracles  for  the  conviction  of  the  answerer  and  his  as, 
soclati's."  For  what  purpose  this  observation  can  be 
'■  sufficient,"  it  is  not  easy  to  guess,  except  it  be  design- 
ed to  insinuate,  what  may  perhaps  really  be  the  case, 
that  no  less  than  a  miracle  will  serve  to  cast  out  that 
kind  of  spirit  which  has  taken  so  full  possession  of 
them,  or  ever  bring  them  to  a  sound  mind,  and  a  sin- 
rere  love  of  truth. 


but  rather  causing  men  to  forsake,  the  assem- 
bling of  themselves  together. — No  answer. 

IV.  That  men  arc  deterred  from  searching  the 
Scriptures  by  the  fear  of  finding  there  more  or 
less  than  they  look  for  ;  that  is,  something  in- 
consistent with  what  they  have  already  given 
their  assent  to,  and  must  at  their  peril  aiaide  by. 
— No  answer. 

V.  That  it  is  not  giving  truth  a  fair  chance,  to 
decide  pwints  at  one  certain  time,  and  by  one 
set  of  men,  which  had  much  better  be  left  to 
the  successive  inquiries  of  different  ages  and 
different  persons, — No  answer. 

VI.  That  it  tends  to  multiply  infidels  amongst 
us,  by  exhibiting  Christianity  under  a  form  aiid 
in  a  system  which  many  are  disgusted  with, 
who  yet  will  not  be  at  the  pains  to  inquire  alter 
any  other. — No  answer. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  pamphlet,  our  author 
is  pleased  to  acknowledge,  what  few,  I  find,  care 
any  longer  to  deny,  "that  there  are  some  things 
in  our  Articles  and  Liturgy  which  he  should  be 
glad  to  see  amended,  many  which  he  should  be 
willing  to  give  up  to  the  scruples  of  others,"  but 
that  the  heat  and  violence  with  which  redress  has 
been  pursued,  preclude  all  hope  of  accommodation 
and  tranquillity — that  "  we  had  better  wait,  there- 
fore, for  more  peaceable  times,  and  be  contented 
with  our  present  constitution  as  it  is,"  until  a  fairer 
prospect  shall  appear  of  changing  it  for  the  better. 
— After  returning  thanks,  in  the  name  of  the 
"  fraternity,"  to  him  and  to  all  who  touch  the  bur- 
den of  subscription  with  but  one  of  their  fingers, 
I  would  wish  to  leave  with  them  this  observation, 
— That  as  the  man  who  attacks  a  flourishing  es- 
tablishment writes  with  a  halter  round  his  neck, 
few  ever  will  be  found  to  attempt  alterations  but 
men  of  more  spirit  than  prudence,  of  more  sin- 
cerity than  caution,  of  warm,  eager,  and  impetu- 
ous tempers;  that,  consequently,  if  we  arc  to 
wait  for  improvement  till  the  cool,  the  calm,  the 
discreet  part  of  mankind  begin  it,  till  church  go- 
vernors solicit,  or  ministers  of  state  propose  it — I 
will  venture  to  pronounce,  that  (without  His  in- 
terposition with  whom  nothing  is  impossilile)  we 
may  remain  as  we  are  till  the  "  renovation  of  all 
things." 


REASONS  FOR  CONTENTMENT, 


ADDRESSED    TO    THE 


LABOURING   PART  OF   THE   BRITISH   COMMUNITY. 


Human  life  has  been  said  to  resemble  the  situa- 
tion of  spectators  in  a  theatre,  where,  whilst  each 
person  is  engaged  by  the  scene  which  passes  be- 
fore liiui,  no  one  thinks  about  the  place  in  which 
he  is  seated.  It  is  only  when  the  business  is  in- 
terrupted, or  when  the  spectator's  attention  to  it 
grows  idle  and  remiss,  that  he  begins  to  consider 
at  all,  who  is  before  him  or  who  is  behind  him, 
whether  others  are  better  accommodated  than 
himself,  or  whether  many  be  not  much  worse.  It 
is  thus  with  the  various  ranks  and  stations  of  so- 
ciety. So  long  as  a  man  is  intent  upon  the  du- 
ties and  concerns  of  his  own  condition,  he  never 
thinks  of  comparing  it  with  any  other;  he  is 
never  troubled  with  reflections  upon  the  different 
classes  and  orders  of  mankind,  the  advantages  and 
disadvantages  of  each,  the  necessity  or  non-ne- 
cessity of  civil  distinctions,  much  less  does  he  feel 
within  himself  a  disposition  to  covet  or  envy  any 
of  them.  He  is  too  much  taken  up  with  the  oc- 
cupations of  his  calling,  its  pursuits,  cares,  and 
business,  to  bestow  unprofitable  meditations  upon 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  sees  others  placed. 
And  by  this  means  a  man  of  a  sound  and  active 
mind  has,  in  his  very  constitution,  a  remedy  against 
the  disturbance  of  envy  and  discontent.  These 
passions  gain  no  admittance  into  his  breast,  be- 
cause there  is  no  leisure  there  or  vacancy  for  the 
trains  of  thought  which  generate  them.  He  en- 
joys, therefore,  ease  in  this  respect,  and  ease  result- 
ing from  the  best  cause,  the  power  of  keeping  his 
imagination  at  home ;  of  confining  it  to  what  be- 
longs to  himself,  instead  of  sending  it  forth  to 
wa  nder  amongst  speculations  which  have  neither 
limits  nor  use,  amidst  views  of  unattainable  gran- 
deur, fancied  happiness,  of  extolled,  because  un- 
experienced, privileges  and  delights. 

The  wisest  advice  that  can  be  given  is,  never  to 
allow  our  attention  to  dwell  upon  comparisons  be- 
tween our  own  condition  and  that  of  others, 
but  to  keep  it  fixed  upon  the  duties  and  con- 
cerns of  the  condition  itself  But  since  every 
man  has  not  this  power ;  since  the  minds  of 
some  men  will  be  busy  in  contemplating  the 
advantages  which  they  see  others  possess;  and 
since  persons  in  laborious  stations  of  life  are  wont 
to  view  the  higher  ranks  of  society,  with  senti- 
ments which  not  only  tend  to  make  themselves 
un!iii[)[)y,  but  which  are  very  different  from  the 
truth ;  it  may  be  an  useful  office  to  point  out  to 
them  some  of  those  considerations  which,  if  they 
will  turn  their  thoughts  to  the  subject,  they  should 
endeavour  to  take  fairly  into  the  account. 

And,  first ;  we  are  most  of  us  apt  to  murmur, 
496 


when  we  see  exorbitant  fortunes  placed  in  the 
hands  of  single  persons ;  larger,  we  are  sure,  than 
they  can  want,  or,  as  we  think,  than  they  can  use. 
This  is  so  common  a  reflection,  that  I  will  not  say 
it  is  not  natural.  But  whenever  the  complaint 
comes  into  our  minds,  we  ought  to  recollect,  that 
the  thing  happens  in  consequence  of  those  very 
rules  and  laws  which  secure  to  ourselves  our  pro- 
perty, be  it  ever  so  small.  The  laws  which  acci- 
dentally cast  enormous  estates  into  one  great 
man's  possession,  are,  after  all,  the  self-same  laws 
which  protect  and  guard  the  poor  man.  Fixed 
rules  of  property  are  established  for  one  as  well 
an  another,  vvithout  knowing,  before-hand,  whom 
they  may  effect.  If  these  rules  sometimes  throw 
an  excessive  or  disproportionate  share  to  one  man's 
lot,  who  can  help  itl  It  is  much  better  that  it 
should  be  so,  than  that  the  rules  themselves  should 
he  broken  up ;  and  you  can  only  have  one  side  of 
the  alternative  or  the  other.  To  abolish  riches, 
would  not  be  to  abolish  poverty ;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, to  leave  it  without  protection  or  resource. 
It  is  not  for  the  poor  man  to  repine  at  the  effects 
of  laws  and  rules,  by  which  he  himself  is  bene- 
fited every  hour  of  his  existence  ;  which  secures 
to  him  his  earnings,  his  habitation,  his  bread,  his 
life ;  without  which  lie,  no  more  than  the  rich  man, 
could  cither  eat  his  meal  in  quietness,  or  go  to  bed 
in  safety.  Of  the  two,  it  is  rather  more  the  con- 
cern of  the  poor  to  stand  up  for  the  laws,  than  of 
the  rich ;  for  it  is  the  law  which  defends  the  weak 
against  the  strong,  the  humble  against  the  power- 
ful, the  little  against  the  great;  and  weak  and 
strong,  humble  and  powerful,  little  and  great,  there 
would  be,  even  were  there  no  laws  whatever.  Be- 
side, what,  after  all,  is  the  mischief]  The  owner 
of  a  great  estate  does  not  eat  or  drink  more  than 
the  owner  of  a  small  one.  His  fields  do  not  pro- 
duce worse  crops,  nor  does  the  produce  maintain 
fewer  mouths.  If  estates  were  more  equally  di- 
vided, would  greater  numbers  be  fed,  or  clothed,  or 
employed  1  Either,  therefore,  large  fortunes  are 
not  a  public  evil,  or,  if  they  be  in  any  degree  an 
evil,  it  is  to  be  borne  with,  for  the  sake  of  those 
fixed  and  general  rules  concerning  property,  in 
the  preservation  and  steadiness  of  which  all  are 
interested. 

Fortunes,  however,  of  any  kind,  from  the  na- 
ture of  the  thing,  can  only  fall  to  the  lot  of  a  few. 
I  say,  ='  from  the  nature  of  the  thing."  The  very 
utmost  that  can  l)e  done  bylaws  and  government, 
is  to  enable  every  man,  who  hath  health,  to  pro- 
cure a  healthy  subsistence  for  himself  and  a  family. 
Where  this  is  the  case,  things  are  at  their  perfec- 


rid 


REASONS  FOR  CONTENTMENT. 


497 


tion.  They  have  reached  their  limit.  Were  the 
princes  and  nobility,  the  legislators  and  counsellors 
of  the  land,  all  of  them  the  best  and  wisest  men 
that  ever  lived,  their  united  virtue  and  wisdom 
could  do  no  more  than  this.  They,  if  any  such 
there  be,  who  would  teach  you  to  expect  more, 
give  you  no  instance  where  more  has  ever  been 
attained. 

But  Providence,  which  foresaw,  which  appoint- 
ed, indeed,  the  necessity  to  which  human  affairs 
are  subjected,  (and  against  which  it  were  impious 
to  complain,)  hath  contrived,  that,  whilst  fortunes 
are  only  for  a  few,  the  rest  of  mankind  may  be 
happy  without  them.  And  this  leads  me  to  con- 
sider the  comparative  advantages  and  comforts 
which  belong  to  the  condition  of  those  who  sub- 
sist, as  the  great  mass  of  every  people  do  and  must 
subsist,  by  personal  labour,  and  the  solid  reasons 
they  have  for  contentment  in  their  stations.  I  do 
not  now  use  the  terms  poor  and  rich  :  because  that 
man  is  to  be  accounted  poor,  of  whatever  rank  he 
be,  and  suffers  the  pains  of  poverty,  whose  ex- 
penses exceed  his  resources ;  and  no  man  is,  pro- 
perly speaking,  poor  but  he.  But  I,  at  present, 
consider  the  advantages  of  those  laborious  condi- 
tions of  life  which  compose  the  great  portion  of 
every  human  community. 

And,  first;  it  is  an  inestimable  blessing  of  such 
situations,  that  they  supply  a  constant  train  of 
employment  both  to  body  and  mind.  A  husband- 
man, or  a  manufacturer,  or  a  tradesman,  never  goes 
to  bed  at  night  without  having  his  business  to  rise 
up  to  in  the  morning.  He  would  understand  the 
value  of  this  advantage,  did  he  know  that  the 
want  of  it  composes  one  of  the  greatest  plagues  of 
t  he  hmiian  soul ;  a  plague  by  which  the  rich,  es- 
pecially those  who  inherit  riches,  are  exceedingly 
oppressed.  Indeed  it  is  to  get  rid  of  it,  that  is  to 
say,  it  is  to  have  something  to  do,  that  they  are 
driven  upon  those  strange  and  unaccountable  ways 
of  passing  their  time,  in  which  we  sometimes  see 
them,  to  our  surprise,  engaged.  A  poor  man's 
condition  supplies  him  with  that  which  no  man 
can  do  without,  and  with  which  a  rich  man,  with 
all  his  opportunities,  and  all  his  contrivance,  can 
hardly  supply  himself;  regular  engagement,  busi- 
ness to  look  forward  to,  something  to  be  done  for 
every  day,  some  employment  prepared  for  every 
morning.  A  few  of  better  judgment  can  seek  out 
for  themselves  constant  and  useful  occupation. 
There  is  not  one  of  you  takes  the  pains  in  his 
calling,  which  some  of  the  most  indejjendent  men 
in  the  nation  have  taken,  and  are  taking,  to  pro- 
mote what  they  deem  to  be  a  point  of  great  con- 
cern to  the  interests  of  humanity,  by  which  neither 
they  nor  theirs  can  ever  gain  a  shilhng,  and  in 
which  should  they  succeed,  those  who  are  to  be 
benefited  by  their  service,  will  neither  know  nor 
thank  them  for  it.  I  only  mention  this  to  show, 
in  conjunction  with  what  has  been  observed  above, 
that,  of  those  who  are  at  liberty  to  act  as  they 
please,  the  wise  prove,  and  the  foolish  confess,  by 
their  conduct,  that  a  life  of  employment  is  the 
only  life  worth  leading  ;  and  that  the  chief  differ- 
ence between  their  manner  of  passing  their  time 
and  yours,  is,  that  they  can  choose  the  objects  of 
their  activity,  which  you  cannot.  This  privilege 
may  be  an  advantage  to  some,  but  for  nine  out  of 
ten  it  is  fortunate  that  occupation  is  provided  to 
their  hands,  that  they  have  it  not  to  seek,  that  it  is 
imposed  upon  them  by  their  necessities  and  occa- 
sions ;  for  the  consequence  of  liberty  in  this  re- 
3R 


spect  would  be,  that,  lost  in  the  perplexity  of 
choosing,  they  would  sink  into  irrecoverable  indo- 
lence, inaction,  and  unconcern  ;  into  thut  vacancy 
and  tiresomeness  of  time  and  thought  which  are 
inseparable  from  such  a  situation.  A  man's 
thoughts  must  be  going.  Whilst  he  is  awake, 
the  working  of  his  mind  is  as  constant  as  the  beat- 
ing of  his  pulse.  He  can  no  more  stop  the  one 
than  the  other.  Hence  if  our  thoughts  have  no- 
thing to  act  upon,  they  act  upon  ourselves.  They 
acquire  a  corrosive  quality.  They  become  in  the 
last  degree  irksome  and  tormenting.  Wherefore 
that  sort  of  equitable  engagement,  which  takes  up 
the  thoughts  sufficiently,  yet  so  as  to  leave  them 
capable  of  turning  to  any  thing  more  important, 
as  occasions  offer  or  require,  is  a  mo.«t  invaluable 
blessing.  And  if  the  industrious  be  not  sensible 
of  the  blessing,  it  is  for  no  other  reason  than  be- 
cause they  have  never  experienced,  or  rather  suf- 
fered the  want  of  it. 

Again;  some  of  the  necessities  which  poverty 
(if  the  condition  of  the  labouring  part  of  mankind 
must  be  so  called)  imposes,  are  not  hardships  but 
pleasures.  Frugality  itself  is  a  pleasure.  It  is 
an  exercise  of  attention  and  contrivance,  which, 
whenever  it  is  successful,  produces  satisfaction. 
The  very  care  and  forecast  that  are  necessary  to 
keep  expenses  and  earnings  upon  a  level,  form, 
when  not  embarrassed  by  too  great  difficulties,  an 
agreeable  engagement  of  the  thoughts.  This  is 
lost  amidst  abundance.  There  is  no  pleasure  in 
taking  out  of  a  large  unmeasured  fund.  They 
who  do  that,  and  only  that,  arc  the  mere  convey- 
ers of  money  from  one  hand  to  another. 

A  yet  more  serious  advantage  which  persons  in 
inferior  stations  possess,  is  the  ease  with  which 
they  provide  for  their  children.  All  the  provision 
which  a  poor  man's  child  requires,  is  contained  in 
two  words,  "  industry  and  innocence."  With 
these  qualities,  though  without  a  shilling  to  set 
him  forwards,  he  goes  into  the  world  prepared  to 
become  an  useful,  virtuous,  and  happy  man.  Nor 
will  he  fail  to  meet  with  a  maintenance  adequate 
to  the  habits  with  which  he  has  been  brought  up, 
and  to  the  expectations  which  he  has  formed ;  a 
degree  of  success  sutlicient  for  a  person  of  any 
condition  whatever.  These  quahties  of  industry 
and  innocence,  which,  I  repeat  again,  are  all  that 
are  absolutely  necessary,  every  parent  can  give  to 
his  children  without  expense,  because  he  can 
give  them  by  his  own  authority  and  example; 
and  they  are  to  be  communicated,  I  believe,  and 
preserved,  in  no  other  way.  I  call  this  a  serious 
advantage  of  humble  stations ;  because  in  what  we 
reckon  superior  ranks  of  life,  there  is  a  real  diffi- 
culty in  placing  children  in  situations  which  may 
in  any  degree  support  them  in  the  class  and  in 
the  habits  in  which  they  have  been  brought  up  by 
their  parents :  from  which  great  and  oftentimes 
distressing  perplexity  the  poor  are  free.  With 
health  of  body,  innocence  of  mind,  and  habits  of 
industry,  a  poor  man's  child  has  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of,  nor  his  father  or  mother  any  thing  to  be 
afraid  of  for  him. 

The  labour  of  the  world  is  carried  on  by  service, 
that  is,  by  one  man  working  under  another  man's 
direction.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  this  is  the 
best  way  of  conducting  business,  because  all  na- 
tions and  ages  have  adopted  it.  Consequently 
service  is  the  relation  which,  of  all  others,  affects 
the  greatest  numbers  of  individuals,  and  in  thn 
most  sensible  manner.  In  whatever  country. 
42* 


498 


REASONS  FOR  CONTENTMENT. 


therefore,  this  relation  is  well  and  equitably  regu- 
lated, in  that  country  the  poor  will  be  happy. 
Now  how  is  the  matter  managed  with  us  1  Ex- 
cept apprenticeships,  the  necessity  of  which  every 
one,  at  least  every  father  and  mother,  will  ac- 
knowledge, as  the  best,  if  not  the  only  practicable, 
way  of  gaining  instruction  and  skill,  and  which 
have  their  foundation  in  nature,  because  they 
have  their  foundation  in  the  natural  ignorance 
and  imbecility  of  youth ;  except  these,  service  in 
England,  is,  as  it  ought  to  be,  voluntary  and  by 
contract ;  a  fair  exchange  of  work  for  wages ;  an 
equal  bargain,  in  which  each  party  has  his  rights 
and  his  redress ;  wherein  every  servant  chooses 
his  master.  Can  this  be  mended'?  I  will  add, 
that  a  continuance  of  this  connexion  is  frequently 
the  foundation  of  so  much  mutual  kindness  and 
attachment,  that  very  few  friendships  are  more 
cordial,  or  more  sincere;  that  it  leaves  oftentimes 
nothing  in  servitude  except  the  name ;  nor  any 
distinction  but  what  one  party  is  as  much  pleased 
with,  and  sometimes  also  as  proud  of,  as  the  other. 

What  then  (for  this  is  the  fair  way  of  calculat- 
ing) is  there  in  higher  stations  to  place  against 
these  advantages  1  What  does  the  poor  man  see 
in  the  life  or  condition  of  the  rich,  that  should 
render  him  dissatisfied  with  his  own '? 

Was  there  as  much  in  sensual  pleasures,  I 
mean  in  the  luxuries  of  eating  and  drinking,  and 
other  gratifications  of  that  sort,  as  some  men's 
imaginations  would  represent  them  to  be,  but 
which  no  man's  experience  finds  in  them,  I  con- 
tend, that  even  in  these  respects,  the  advantage  is 
on  the  side  of  the  poor  The  rich,  who  addict 
themselves  to  indulgence,  lose  their  relish.  Their 
desires  are  dead.  Their  sensibilities  are  worn 
and  tired.  Hence  they  lead  a  languid  satiated 
existence.  Hardly  any  thing  can  amuse,  or  rouse, 
or  gratify  them.  Whereas  the  poor  man,  if  some- 
thing extraordinary  fall  in  his  way,  comes  to  the 
repast  with  appetite ;  is  pleased  and  refreshed  ; 
derives  from  his  usual  course  of  moderation  and 
temperance  a  quickness  of  perception  and  delight 
which  the  unrestrained  voluptuary  knows  nothing 
of  Habits  of  all  kinds  are  much  the  same. 
Whatever  is  habitual,  becomes  smooth  and  indif- 
ferent, and  nothing  more.  The  luxurious  receive 
no  greater  pleasures  from  their  dainties,  than  the 
peasant  does  from  his  homely  fare. — But  here  is 
the  difference  :  The  peasant  whenever  he  goes 
abroad,  finds  a  feast,  whereas  the  epicure  must  be 
sumptuously  entertained  to  escape  disgust.  They 
who  spend  every  day  in  diversions,  and  they  who 
go  every  day  about  their  usual  business,  pass  their 
time  much  alike.  Attending  to  what  they  are 
about,  wanting  nothing,  regretting  nothing,  they 
are  both,  whilst  engaged,  in  a  state  of  ease;  but 
then,  whatever  suspends  the  pursuits  of  the  man 
of  diversion,  distresses  him,  whereas  to  the  la- 
Ijourer,  or  the  man  of  business,  every  pause  is  a 
recreation.  And  this  is  a  vast  advantage  which  they 
possess  who  are  trained  and  inured  to  a  life  of  oc- 
cupation, above  the  man  who  sets  up  for  a  life  of 
jileasure.  Variety  is  soon  exhausted.  Novelty 
itself  is  no  longer  new.  Amusements  are  become 
loo  familar  to  delight,  and  he  is  in  a  situation  in 
which  he  can  never  change  but  for  the  worse. 

Another  article  which  the  poor  are  apt  to  envy 
in  the  rich,  is  their  ease.  Nowhere  they  mistake 
the  matter  totally.  They  call  inaction  ease, 
whereas  nothing  is  farther  from  it.  Rest  is  ease. 
That  is  true ;  but  no  man  can  rest  who  has  not 


worked.  Rest  is  the  cessation  of  labour.  It  can- 
not therefore  be  enjoyed,  or  even  tasted,  except  by 
those  who  have  known  fatigue.  The  rich  see, 
and  not  without  envy,  the  refreshment  and  plea- 
sure which  rest  affords  to  the  poor,  and  choose  to 
wonder  that  they  cannot  find  the  same  enjoyment 
in  being  free  from  the  necessity  of  working  at  all. 
They  do  not  observe  that  this  enjoyment  must  be 
purchased  by  previous  labour,  and  that  he  who 
will  not  pay  the  price  cannot  have  the  gratifica- 
tion. Being  without  work  is  one  thing ;  reposing 
from  work  is  another.  The  one  is  as  tiresome  and 
insipid  as  the  other  is  sweet  and  soothing.  The 
one,  in  general,  is  the  fate  of  the  rich  man,  the 
other  is  the  fortune  of  the  poor.  I  have  heard  it 
said,  that  if  the  face  of  happiness  can  any  where 
be  seen,  it  is  in  the  summer  evening  of  a  country 
village ;  where,  after  the  labours  of  the  day,  each 
man  at  his  door,  with  his  children,  amongst  his 
neighbours,  feels  his  frame  and  his  heart  at  rest, 
every  thing  about  him  pleased  and  pleasing,  and 
a  delight  and  complacency  in  his  sensations  far 
beyond  what  either  luxury  or  diversion  can  afford. 
The  rich  want  this;  and  they  want  what  they 
must  never  have. 

As  to  some  other  things  which  the  poor  are  dis- 
posed to  envy  in  the  condition  of  the  rich,  such  as 
their  state,  their  appearance,  the  grandeur  of  their 
houses,  dress,  equipage,  and  attendance,  they  only 
envy  the  rich  these  things  because  they  do  not 
know  the  rich.  I'hey  have  not  opportunities  of 
observing  with  what  neglect  and  insensibility  the 
rich  possess  and  regard  these  things  themselves. 
If  they  could  see  the  great  man  in  his  retirement, 
and  in  his  actual  manner  of  life,  they  would  find 
him,  if  pleased  at  all,  taking  pleasure  in  some  of 
those  simple  enjoyments  which  they  can  command 
as  well  as  he.  They  would  find  him  amongst 
his  children,  in  his  husbandry,  in  his  garden,  pur- 
suing some  rural  diversion,  or  occupied  with  some 
trifling  exercise,  which  are  all  gratifications,  as 
much  within  the  power  and  reach  of  the  poor 
man  as  of  the  rich;  or  rather  more  so. 

To  learn  the  art  of  contentment,  is  only  to 
learn  what  happiness  actually  consists  in.  Sen- 
sual pleasures  add  little  to  its  substance.  Ease, 
if  by  that  be  meant  exemption  from  labour,  con- 
tributes nothing.  One,  however,  constant  spring 
of  satisfaction,  and  almost  infallible  support  of 
cheerfulness  and  spirits,  is  the  exercise  of  domes- 
tic affections ;  the  presence  of  objects  of  tenderness 
and  endearment  in  our  families,  our  kindred,  our 
friends.  Now,  have  the  poor  any  thing  to  com- 
plain of  here!  Are  they  not  surrounded  by  their 
relatives  as  generally  as  others  1  The  poor  man 
has  his  wife  and  children  about  him;  and  what 
has  the  rich  more "?  He  has  the  same  enjoyment 
of  their  society,  the  same  solicitude  for  their  wel- 
fare, the  same  pleasure  in  their  good  qualities, 
improvement,  and  success:  their  connexion  with 
him,  is  as  strict  and  intimate,  their  attachment  as 
strong,  their  gratitude  as  warm.  I  have  no  j)ro- 
pensity  to  envy  any  one,  least  of  all  the  rich  and 
great ;  but  if  1  were  disposed  to  this  weakness,  the 
subject  of  my  envy  would  be,  a  healthy  young 
man,  in  full  j^ossession  of  his  strength  and  facul- 
ties, going  forth  in  a  morning  to  work  for  his  will; 
and  children,  or  bringing  them  home  his  wages  at 
night. 

But  was  difference  of  rank  or  fortune  of  more 
importance  to  personal  happiness  than  it  is,  it 
would  be  ill  purchased  by  any  sudden  or  violent 


REASONS  FOR  CONTENTMENT. 


499 


change  of  condition.  An  alteration  of  circum- 
stances, which  breaks  up  a  man's  habits  of  Hfe, 
deprives  him  of  his  occupation,  removes  him  from 
his  acquaintance,  may  be  called  an  elevation  of 
fortune,  but  hardly  ever  brings  with  it  an  addition 
of  enjoyment.  They  to  whom  accidents  of  this 
sort  have  happened,  never  found  them  to  answer 
their  expectations.  After  the  first  hurry  of  the 
change  is  over,  they  are  surprised  to  feel  in  them- 
selves listlessness  and  dejection,  a  consciousness 
of  solitude,  vacancy,  and  restraint,  in  the  place  of 
cheerfulness,  liberty,  and  ease.  They  try  to 
make  up  for  what  they  have  lost,  sometimes  by  a 
beastly  sottishness,  sometimes  by  a  foolish  dissipa- 
tion, sometimes  by  a  stupid  sloth ;  all  which  effects 
are  only  so  many  confessions,  that  changes  of  this 
sort  were  not  made  for  man.  If  any  public  dis- 
turbance should  produce,  not  an  equality  (for  that 
is  not  the  proper  name  to  give  it,)  but  a  jumble  of 
ranks  and  professions  amongst  us,  it  is  not  only 
evident  what  the  rich  would  lose,  but  there  is  also 
this  further  misfortune,  that  what  the  rich  lost  the 
poor  would  not  gain.  I  (God  knows)  could  not 
get  my  livelihood  by  labour,  nor  would  the  labourer 
find  any  solace  or  enjoyment  in  my  studies.  If  we 
were  to  exchange  conditions  to-morrow,  all  the 
effect  would  be,  that  we  both  should  be  more 
miserable,  and  the  work  of  both  be  worse  done. 
Without  debating,  therefore,  what  might  be  very 
difficult  to  decide,  which  of  our  two  conditions 
was  better  to  begin  with,  one  point  is  certain,  that 
it  is  best  for  each  to  remain  in  his  own.  The 
change,  and  the  only  change,  to  be  desired,  is  that 
gradual  and  progressive  improvement  of  our  cir- 
cumstances which  is  the  natural  fruit  of  successful 
industry ;  when  each  year  is  something  better  than 
the  last ;  when  we  are  enabled  to  add  to  our  little 
household  one  article  after  another  of  new  comfort 
or  conveniency,  as  our  profits  increase,  or  our 
burden  becomes  less ;  and,  what  is  best  of  all,  when 
we  can  afford,  as  our  strength  declines,  to  relax 
our  labours,  or  divide  our  cares  This  may  be 
looked  forward  to,  and  is  practicable,  by  great 
numbers  in  a  state  of  public  order  and  quiet ;  it  is 
absolutely  impossible  in  any  other. 


If,  in  comparing  the  different  conditions  of  so- 
cial life,  we  bring  religion  into  the  account,  the 
argument  is  still  easier.  Religion  smooths  all  in- 
equalities, because  it  unfolds  a  prospect  which 
makes  all  earthly  distinctions  nothing.  And  I  do 
allow  that  there  are  many  cases  of  sickness,  af 
fliction,  and  distress,  which  Christianity  alone  can 
comfort.  But  in  estimating  the  mere  diversities 
of  station  and  civil  condition,  I  have  not  thought 
it  necessary  to  introduce  religion  into  the  inquiry 
at  all :  because  I  contend,  that  the  man  who  mur- 
murs and  repines,  when  he  has  nothing  to  murmur 
and  repine  about,  but  the  mere  want  of  independ- 
ent property,  is  not  only  irreligious,  but  unreason- 
able, in  his  complaint;  and  that  he  would  find, 
did  he  know  the  truth,  and  consider  his  c^se  fairly, 
that  a  life  of  labour,  such,  I  mean,  as  is  led  by  the 
labouring  part  of  mankind  in  this  country,  has 
advantages  in  it  which  compensate  all  its  incon- 
veniences. "When  compared  with  the  life  of  the 
rich,  it  is  better  in  these  important  respects :  It 
supplies  employment,  it  promotes  activity.  It 
keeps  the  body  in  better  health,  the  mind  more 
engaged,  and,  of  course,  more  quiet.  It  is  more 
sensible  of  ease,  more  susceptible  of  pleasure.  It 
is  attended  with  greater  alacrity  of  spirits,  a  more 
constant  cheerfulness  and  serenity  of  temper.  It 
affords  easier  and  more  certain  methods  of  send- 
ing children  into  the  world  in  situations  suited  to 
their  habits  and  expectations.  It  is  free  from  many 
heavy  anxieties  which  rich  men  feel ;  it  is  fraught 
with  many  sources  of  delight  which  they  want. 

If  to  these  reasons  for  contentment,  the  reflect- 
ing husbandman  or  artificer  adds  another  very 
material  one,  that  changes  of  condition,  which  are 
attended  with  a  breaking  up  and  sacrifice  of  our 
ancient  course  and  habit  of  living,  never  can  be 
productive  of  happiness,  he  will  perceive.  I  trust, 
that  to  covet  the  stations  or  fortunes  of  the  rich, 
or  so,  however,  to  covet  them,  as  to  wi.sh  to  seize 
them  by  force,  or  through  the  medium  of  public 
uproar  and  confusion,  is  not  only  wickedness,  but 
folly,  as  mistaken  in  the  end  as  in  the  means,  that 
it  is  not  only  to  venture  out  to  sea  in  a  storm,  but  ta 
venture  for  nothing. 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


SERMON  I. 

CAUTION  RECOMMENDED  IN  THE  USE  AND  APPLICATION  OF  SCRIPTURE 

LANGUAGE : 

A  SERMON,  PREACHED,  JULY    17,  1777,  IN  THE  CATHEDRAL  CHURCH  OF  CARLISLE,  AT   THE  VISITATION 
OF  THE  RIGHT  REVEREND    LORD  BISHOP    OF  CARLISLE. 


To  the  Right  Reverend  Edmund,  Lord  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  this  discourse  is  inscribed,  with  sen 
timents  of  great  respect  and  gratitude,  by  his  Lordship'' s  most  dutiful,  artd  tnost  obliged  servant 
and  chaplain,  W.  PALEY. 


Even  as  our  beloved  brother  Paul  also,  according  to  the  ■wisdom  given  unto  him,  hath  written  unto 
yuu  ;  as  also  in  all  his  epistles,  speaking  in  them  of  these  things  ;  in  which  arc  some  things  hard 
to  be  understood,  which  they  that  are  unlearned  and  unstable  wrest,  as  they  do  also  the  other 
Scriptures,  unto  their  own  destruction. — 2  Peter  iii.  15,  16. 


It  must  not  be  dissembled  that  there  are  many 
real  difficulties  in  the  Christian  Scriptures ;  whilst, 
at  the  same  time,  more,  1  believe,  and  greater, 
may  justly  be  imputed  to  certain  maxims  of  inter- 
pretation, which  have  obtained  authority  without 
reason,  and  are  received  without  inquiry.  One  of 
these,  as  I  apprehend,  is  the  expecting  to  find,  in  the 
present  circumstances  of  Christianity,  a  meaning 
for,  or  something  answering  to,  every  appellation 
and  expression  which  occurs  in  Scripture ;  or,  in 
other  words,  the  applying  to  the  personal  condition 
of  Christians  at  this  day,  those  titles,  phrases,  pro- 
positions, and  arguments,  which  belong  solely  to 
the  situation  of  Christianity  at  its  first  institution. 

I  am  aware  of  an  objection  which  weighs  much 
with  many  serious  tempers,  namely,  that  to  sup- 
pose any  part  of  Scripture  to  be  inapplicable  tons, 
is  to  suppose  a  part  of  Scripture  to  be  useless ; 
which  seems  to  detract  from  the  perfection  we 
attribute  to  these  oracles  of  our  salvation.  To 
this  I  can  only  answer,  that  it  would  have  been 
one  of  the  strangest  things  in  the  world,  if  the 
writings  of  the  New  Testament  had  not,  like  all 
other  books,  been  composed  for  the  apprehension, 
and  consequently  adapted  to  the  circumstances,  of 
the  persons  they  were  addressed  to;  and  that  it 
would  have  been  equally  strange,  if  the  great, 
and  in  many  respects,  the  inevitable  alterations, 
which  have  taken  place  in  those  circumstances, 
did  not  vary  the  application  of  Scripture  lan- 
guage. 

I  design,  in  the  following  discourse,  to  pro- 
pose some  examples  of  this  variation,  from  which 
you  will  judge,  as  I  proceed,  of  the  truth  and  im- 
portance of  our  general  observation. 

First;  At  the  time  the  Scriptures  were  writ- 
ten, none  were  baptized  but  converts,  and  none 
500 


were  converted  but  from  conviction ;  and  convic- 
tion produced,  lor  the  most  part,  a  corresponding 
reformation  of  life  and  manners.  Hence  baptism 
was  only  another  name  for  conversion,  and  con- 
version was  supposed  to  be  sincere :  in  this  senSe 
was  our  Saviour's  promise,  "  he  that  believeth,  and 
is  baptized,  shall  be  saved  ;"*  and  in  the  same  his 
command  to  St.  Paul,  "arise,  and  be  baptized, 
and  wash  away  thy  siris:"t  this  was  that  baptism, 
"  for  the  remission  of  sins,"  to  which  St.  Peter  in- 
vited the  Jews  upon  the  day  of  Pentecost  ;t  that 
"  washing  of  regeneration,"  by  which,  as  St.  Paul 
writes  to  Titus,  "he  saved  us."§  Now,  when 
we  come  to  speak  of  the  baptism  which  obtains 
in  most  Christian  churches  at  present,  where  no 
conversion  is  supposed,  or  possible,  it  is  manifest, 
that,  if  these  expre.ssions  be  applied  at  all,  they 
must  be  applied  with  extreme  qualification  and  re- 
serve. 

Secondly  ;  The  community  of  Christians  were 
at  first  a  handful  of  men,  connected  amongst 
themselves  by  the  strictest  union,  and  divided 
from  the  rest  of  the  world  by  a  real  difference  of 
principle  and  persuasion,  and,  what  was  more  ob- 
servable, by  many  outward  peculiarities  of  worship 
and  behaviour.  This  society,  considered  collect- 
ively, and  as  a  body,  were  set  apart  from  the  rest 
of  mankind  for  a  more  gracious  dispensation,  as 
well  as  actually  distinguished  by  a  superior  purity 
of  life  and  conversation.  In  this  view,  and  in  op- 
position to  the  unbelieving  world,  they  were  de- 
nominated in  Scripture  by  titles  of  great  seeming 
dignity  and  import;  they  were  "elect,"  "called, 
" saints ;"ll  they  were  "in  Christ ;"1I  they  were 


*  Mark  xvi.  m. 

t  Acts  ii.  38. 

|j  Kom.  viii.  33 ;  i.  6, 7. 


t  Acts  xxii.  10. 
§  Titus  iii.  5. 
IT  Kom.  viii.  1. 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


501 


'  a  chosen  generation,  a  royal  priesthood,  a  holy 
nation,  a  peculiar  people."*     That  is,  these  terms 
were  employed  to  distinguish  the  professors   of 
Christianity  from   the   rest  of  mankind,  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  names  of  Greek  and  Barba- 
rian, Jew  and  GentUe,  distinguished  the  people 
of  Greece  and  Israel  from  other  nations.     The 
application  of  such  phrases  to  the  whole  body  of 
Christians  is  become  now  obscure  ;  partly  because 
it  is  not  easy  to  conceive  of  Christians  as  a  body  at 
all,  by  reason  of  the  extent  of  their  name  and 
numbers,  and  the  little  \isible  union  that  subsists 
among  tliem ;  and  partly,  because  the  heathen 
world,  with  whom  they  were  compared,   and  to 
which  comparison  these  phrases  relate,  is  now 
ceased,  or  is  removed  from  our  observation.     Sup- 
posing,   therefore,   these   expressions   to   have  a 
perpetual    meaning,   and,   either    forgetting   the 
original  use  of  them,  or  finding  that,  at  this  time, 
in  a  great  measure  exhausted  and  insignificant, 
we  resort  to  a  sense  and  an  application  of  them, 
easier,  it  may  be,  to  our  comprehension,  but  ex- 
tremely foreign  from  the  design  of  their  authors, 
namely,   to  distinguish  individuals   amongst  us, 
the  professors  of  Christianity,  from  one  another  : 
agreeably  to  which  idea,  the  most  flattering  of 
these  names,  the  "  elect,"  "called,"  "  saints,"  have, 
by  bold  and  unlearned  men,  been  appropriated  to 
themselves  and  their  own  party  with  a  presump- 
tion and  conceit  injurious  to  the  reputation  of  our 
religion  amongst  "  them  that  are  without,"  and 
extremely  disgusting  to  the  sober  part  of  its  pro- 
fessors ;   whereas,  that  such  titles  were  intended 
in  a  sense  common  to  all  Christian  converts,  is 
well  argued  from  many  places  in  which  they  oc- 
cur, in  which  places  you  may  plainly  substitute  the 
terms  convert,  or  converted,  for  the  strongest  of 
these  phrases,  without  any  alteration  of  the  au- 
thor's meaning,  e.  g.  "  dare  any  of  you  go  to  law 
before   the   unjust   and   not  before  the  sai7?fo?"t 
'  Is  any  man  called  being  circumcised,  let  him 
not  become  uncircumcised  :"t  "  The  church  that 
is  at  Babylon  elected  together  with  you,  saluteth 
you  :"§    "  Salute   Andronicus    and  Junia,   who 
were  in  Christ  before  me. "II 

Thirdly ;  In  opposition  to  the  Jews,  who  were 
so  much  ofl^ended  by  the  preaching  of  the  Gospel 
to  the  Gentiles,  St.  Paul  maintains,  with  great  in- 
dustry, that  it  was  God  Almighty's  intention 
from  the  first,  to  substitute,  at  a  fit  season,  into 
the  place  of  the  rejected  Israelites,  a  society  of 
men  taken  indiflerently  out  of  all  nations  under 
heaven,  and  admitted  to  be  the  people  of  God  upon 
easier  and  more  comprehensive  terms.  This  is 
expressed  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  as  fol- 
lows:— "Haying  made  known  unto  us  the  mys- 
tery of  his  will,  according  to  his  good  pleasure 
which  he  hath  purposed  in  himself,  that,  in  the 
dispensation  of  the  fulness  of  times,  he  might 
gather  together  in  one  all  things  in  Christ."1T 
Phis  scheme  of  collecting  such  a  society  was 
what  God  foreknew  before  the  foundation  of  the 
world ;  was  what  he  did  predestinate ;  was  the 
eternal  purpose  which  he  purposed  in  Christ  Je- 
sus ;  and,  by  consequence,  this  society,  in  their 
collective  capacity,  were  the  objects  of  this  fore- 
knowledge, predestination,  and  purpose  ;  that  is, 
in  the  language  of  the  apostles,  they  were  they 


"  whom  he  did  foreknow,"  they  "  whom  he  did 
predestinate  ;"*  they  were  "  chosen  in  Christ 
before  the  foundation  of  the  world  ;"t  they  were 
elect  according  to  the  foreknowledge  of  God  the 
Pather."t  This  doctrine  has  nothing  in  it 
harsh  or  ob.scure.  But  what  have  we  made  of  it  1 
The  rejection  of  the  Jews,  and  the  adopting 
another  community  into  their  place,  composed^ 
whilst  it  was  carrying  on,  an  object  of  great  macr- 
nitude  in  the  attention  of  the  inspired  writers  who 
understood  and  observed  it.  This  event,  which 
engaged  so  much  the  thoughts  of  the  apostle,  is 
now  only  read  of,  and  hardly  that — the  reality 
and  the  importance  of  it  are  iitlle  known  or  at- 
tended to.  Losing  sight,  therefore,  of  the  proper 
occasion  of  these  expressions,  yet  willing,  alter 
our  fa.shion,  to  adapt  them  to  ourselves,  and  find- 
ing nothing  else  in  our  circumstances  that  suited 
with  them,  we  have  Icarst  at  length  to  apply 
them  to  the  final  destiny  of  individuals  at  the  day 
of  judgment;  and  upon  this  foundation,  has  lieen 
erected  a  doctrine  which  lays  the  axe  at  once  to 
the  root  of  all  religion,  that  of  an  absolute  appoint- 
ment to  salvation  or  perdition  independent  of  our- 
selves or  any  thing  we  can  do ;  and  what  is  ex- 
traordinary, those  very  arguments  and  expres- 
sions (Rom.  chap,  ix,  x,  xi.)  which  the  apostle 
employed  to  vindicate  the  impartial  mercies  of  God, 
against  the  narrow  and  excluding  claims  of 
Jewish  prejudice,  have  been  interpreted  to  esta- 
blish a  dispensation  the  most  arbitrary  and  partial 
that  could  be  devised. 

Fourthly  ;  The  conversion  of  a  grown  person 
from  Heathenism  to  Christianity,  which  is  the 
case  of  conversion  commonly  intended  in  the  Epis- 
tles, was  a  change  of  which  we  have  now  no  just 
conception  :  it  was  a  new  name,  a  new  language, 
a  new  society ;  a  new  faith,  a  new  hope ;  a  new 
object  of  worship,  a  new  rule  of  hfe :  a  history 
was  disclosed  full  of  discovery  and  surprise  ;    a 
prospect  of  futurity  was  unfolded,  beyond  imagi- 
nation awful  and  august;    the  same  description 
apphes  in  a  great  part,  though  not  entirely,  to  the 
conversion  of  a  Jew.     This,  accompanied  as  it 
was  with  the  pardon  of  every  former  sin,  (Romans 
iii.  25,)  was  such  an  era  in  a  man's  life,  so  remark- 
able a  period  in  his  recollection,  such  a  revolution 
of  every  thing  that  was  most  important  to  him,  as 
might  well  admit  of  those  strong  figures  and  sig- 
nificant allusions  by  which  it  is  described  in  Scrip- 
ture :  it  was  a  "regeneration'!  or  a  new  birth; 
it  was  to  be  "  born  again  of  God,  and  of  the  Spi- 
rit ;"ll  it  was  to  be  "dead  to  sin,"  and  "  alive  from 
the  dead  ;"ir  it  was  to  be  buried  with  Christ  in 
baptism,  and  raised  together  with  him  ;"♦*  it  was 
"  a  new  creature,"tt  and  a  new  creation  ;"tt  it  was 
a  translation  from  the  condition  of  "  slaves  to  that 
ofsons;"§§  from  "  strangers  and  foreigners,  to  be 
fellow-citizens  with  the  saints,  and  of  the  house- 
hold of  God. "nil    It  is  manifest  that  no  change 
equal  or  similar  to  the  conversion  of  a  Heathen 
can  be  experienced  by  us,  or  by  any  one  educated 
in  a  Christian  country,  and  to  whom  the  facts, 
precepts,  and  hopes  of  Chrisrianity,  have  been 
from  his  infancy  familiar:  yet  we  will  retain  the 
same  language ;  and  what  has  been  the  conse- 
quence 1     One  sort  of  men,  observing  nothing  in 


IPet.  ii.  9.        tlCor.  vi.  1.        .t  1  Cor.  vii.  18. 

§  1  Pet.  V.  13.  II  Rom.  xvi.  7. 

IT  Eph.  i.  9,  10 ;  also  see  Eph.  iii.  5,  (>. 


*  Rom.  viii.  29.  t  Eph.  i.  4.  11  Pet.  i.  2. 

§  Tit.  iii.  .5.  II  Jolin  i.  13;iii.  5.  IT  Rom.  vi.  2. 13. 

**  Col.  ii.  12.        ft  2  Cor.  v.  17.  tt  Eph.  iv.  24. 
§§Gal.  iv.7.                   tl'Eph.  ii.  19. 


50-2 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


the  lives  of  Christians  corresponding  to  the  mag- 
nificence, if  I  may  so  say,  of  these  expressions, 
have  been  tempted  to  conclude,  that  the  expres- 
sions themselves  had  no  foundation  in  truth  and 
nature,  or  in  any  thing  but  the  enthusiasm  of 
their  authors.  Others  again,  understand  these 
phrases  to  signify  nothing  more,  than  that  gra- 
dual amendment  of  life  and  conversation,  which 
reason  and  religion  sometimes  produce  in  particu- 
lar Christians :  of  which  interpretation  it  is  truly 
said,  that  it  degrades  too  much  the  proper  force 
of  language,  to  apply  expressions  of  such  energy 
and  import  to  an  event  so  ordinary  in  its  own  na- 
ture, and  which  is  common  to  Christianity  with 
every  other  moral  institution.  Lastly,  a  third 
sort,  in  order  to  satisfy  these  expressions  to  their 
full  extent,  have  imagined  to  themselves  certain 
perceptible  impulses  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  by  which, 
m  an  instant,  and  in  a  manner,  no  doubt,  suffi- 
ciently extraordinary,  they  are  "  regenerate  and 
born  of  the  Spirit ;"  they  become  "  new  crea- 
tures :"  they  are  made  the  "  sons  of  God,"  who 
were  before  the  "children  of  wrath;"  they  are 
"freed  from  sin,"  and  "from  death;"  they  are 
chosen,  that  is,  and  sealed,  without  a  possibility 
of  fall,  unto  final  salvation.  Whilst  the  patrons 
of  a  more  sober  exposition  have  been  often  chal- 


lenged, and  sometimes  confounded,  with  the  ques- 
tion— If  such  expressions  of  Scripture  do  not  mean 
this,  what  do  they  mean  1  To  which  we  answer, 
Nothing :  nothing,  that  is,  to  us ;  nothing  to  be 
found,  or  sought  for,  in  the  present  circumstances 
of  Christianity. 

More  examples  might  be  produced,  in  which 
the  unwary  use  of  Scripture  language  has  been 
the  occasion  of  difficulties  and  mistakes — but  I 
forbear — the  present  are  sufficient  to  show,  that 
it  behoves  every  one  who  undertakes  to  explain 
the  Scriptures,  before  he  determine  to  whom  or 
what  an  expression  is  now-a-days  to  be  applied, 
to  consider  diligently  whether  it  admit  of  any 
such  application  at  all;  or  whether  it  is  not  rather 
to  be  restrained  to  the  precise  circumstances  and 
occasion  for  which  it  was  originally  composed. 

I  make  no  apology  for  addressing  this  subject 
to  this  audience ;  because  whatever  relates  to  the 
interpretation  of  Scripture,  relates,  as  I  conceive, 
to  us ;  for  if,  by  any  light  we  may  cast  upon  these 
ancient  books,  we  can  enable  and  invite  the  peo- 
ple to  read  the  Bible  for  themselves,  we  discharge, 
in  my  judgment,  the  first  duty  of  our  function; 
ever  bearing  in  mind,  that  we  are  the  ministers 
not  of  our  own  fame  or  fancies,  but  of  the  sincere 
Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ. 


SERMON  II. 


ADVICE,  ADDRESSED  TO  TELE  YOUNG  CLERGY  OF  THE  DIOCESE  OF  CARLISLE, 

IN    A    SERMON,    PREACHED    AT    A   GENERAL    ORDINATION,    HOLDEN    AT    ROSE    CASTLE, 
ON    SUNDAY,  JULY   29,    1781. 


AD  VER  TISEMENT. 

It  is  recommended  to  those  who  are  preparing  for  holy  orders,  within  the  diocese  of  Carlisle,  to 
read  Collier's  Sacred  Interpreter,  and  the  Four  Gospels  with  Clark's  Paraphrase  ;  and  to  candi- 
dates for  Priest's  orders,  carefully  to  peruse  Taylor's  Paraphrase  on  the  Romans,  > 


Let  no  man  despise  thy  youth. — 1  Tim.  iv.  12. 


The  author  of  this  Epistle,  with  many  better 
qualities,  possessed  in  a  great  degree  what  we  at 
this  day  call  a  knowledge  of  the  world.  He 
knew,  that  although  age  and  honours,  authority 
of  station  and  splendour  of  appearance,  usually 
command  the  veneration  of  mankind,  unless 
counteracted  by  some  degrading  vice,  or  egregious 
imi)ropriety  of  behaviour ;  yet,  that  where  these 
advantages  are  wanting,  where  no  distinction  can 
be  claimed  from  rank,  importance  from  power,  or 
dignity  from  years;  in  such  circumstances,  and 
under  the  inevitable  depression  of  narrow  fortunes, 
to  procure  and  preserve  respect  requires  both  care 
and  merit.  The  apostle  also  knew,  and  in  the 
text  taught  his  beloved  convert,  that  to  obtain  the 
respect  of  those  amongst  whom  he  exercised  his 
ministry,  was  an  object  deserving  the  ambition  of 
a  Christian  teacher,  not  indeed  for  his  own  sake, 
but  for  theirs,  there  being  little  reason  to  hope  that 
any  would  profit  by  his  mstruction  who  despised 
his  person. 

If  8t.  Paul  thought  an  admonition  of  this  sort 
worthy  of  a  place  in  his  Epistle  to  Timothy,  it 
cannot  surely  be  deemed  either  beside  or  beneath 
the  solemnity  of  this  occasion,  to  deliver  a  few 
practicable  rules  of  life  and  behaviour,  which  may 
recommend  you  to  the  esteem  of  the  people,  to 
whose  service  and  salvation  you  are  now  about  to 
dedicate  your  lives  and  labours. 

In  the  first  place,  the  stations  which  you  are 
likely,  for  some  time  at  least,  to  occupy  in  the 
church,  although  not  capable  of  all  the  means  of 
rendering  service  and  challenging  respect,  which 
fall  within  the  power  of  your  superiors,  are  free 
from  many  prejudices  that  attend  upon  higher 
preferments.  Interfering  interests  and  disputed 
rights ;  or,  where  there  is  no  place  for  dispute,  the 
very  claim  and  reception  of  legal  dues,  so  long  as 
what  is  received  by  the  minister  is  taken  from  the 
parishioner,  form  oftentimes  an  almost  insuper- 
able obstruction  to  the  best  endeavours  that  can 
be  used  to  conciliate  the  good-will  of  a  neighbour- 


hood. These  difficulties  perplex  not  you.  In 
whatever  contest  with  his  parishioners  the  prin- 
cipal may  be  engaged,  the  curate  has  neither  dis- 
pute nor  demand  to  stand  between  him  and  the 
affections  of  his  congregation. 

Another  and  a  still  more  favourable  circum- 
stance in  your  situation  is  this ;  being  upon  a  level 
with  the  greatest  part  of  your  parishioners,  you 
gain  an  access  to  their  conversation  and  confi- 
dence, which  is  rarely  granted  to  the  superior 
clergy,  without  extraordinary  address  and  the 
most  insinuating  advances  on  their  parts.  And 
this  is  a  valuable  privilege :  for  it  enables  you  to 
inform  yourselves  of  the  moral  and  religious  state 
of  your  flocks,  of  their  wants  and  weaknesses, 
their  habits  and  opinions,  of  the  vices  which  pre- 
vail, and  the  principles  from  which  they  proceed ; 
in  a  word,  it  enables  you  to  study  the  distemper 
before  you  apply  the  remedy ;  and  not  only  so, 
but  to  apply  the  remedy  in  the  most  commodious 
form,  and  with  the  best  effect ;  by  private  persua- 
sion and  reproof,  by  gentle  and  unsuspected  con- 
veyances in  the  intimacy  of  friendship  and  oppor- 
tunities of  conversation.  To  this  must  be  added 
the  many  occasions,  which  the  living  in  habits  of 
society  with  your  parishioners  affords  you  of  re- 
conciling dissensions,  healing  animosities,  admi- 
nistering advice  to  the  young  and  inexperienced, 
and  consolation  to  age  and  misery.  1  put  you  in 
mind  of  this  advantage,  because  the  right  use  of 
it  constitutes  one  of  the  most  respectable  employ- 
ments not  only  of  our  order,  but  of  human  na- 
ture ;  and  leaves  you,  believe  me,  Uttle  to  envy  in 
the  condition  of  your  superiors,  or  to  regret  in 
your  own.  It  is  true,  that  this  description  sup- 
poses you  to  reside  so  constantly,  and  to  continue 
so  long  in  the  same  parish,  as  to  have  formed 
some  acquaintance  with  the  persons  and  charac- 
ters of  your  parishioners ;  and  what  scheme  of 
doing  good  in  your  profession,  or  even  of  doing 
your  duty,  does  not  suppose  this  ] 

But  whilst  I  recommend  a  just  concern  for  our 
503 


504 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


reputation,  and  a  proper  desire  of  public  esteem, 
I  would  by  no  means  Hatter  that  passion  for  praise 
and  popularity,  which  seizes  oftentimes  the  minds 
of  young  clergymen,  especially  when  their  first 
appearance  in  tlieir  profession  has  been  received 
with  more  than  common  approbation.  Unfortu- 
nate success !  if  it  incite  them  to  seek  fame  by  af- 
fectation and  hypocrisy,  or  lead,  as  vanity  some- 
times does,  to  enthusiasm  and  extravagance.  This 
is  not  the  taste  or  character  I  am  holding  out  to 
your  imitation.  The  popular  preacher  courts 
fame  for  its  own  sake,  or  lor  what  he  can  make 
of  it ;  the  sincerely  pious  minister  of  Christ  mo- 
destly invites  esteem,  only  or  principally,  that  it 
may  lend  efficacy  to  his  instruction,  and  weight 
to  his  reproofs ;  the  one  seeks  to  be  known  and 
proclaimed  abroad,  the  other  is  content  with  the 
silent  respect  of  his  neighbourhood,  sensible  that 
that  is  the  theatre  upon  which  alone  his  good 
name  can  assist  him  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty. 

It  may  be  necessary  likewise  to  caution  you 
against  some  awkward  endeavours  to  lift  them- 
selves into  importance,  which  young  clergymen 
not  unfrequently  fall  upon ;  such  as  a  conceited 
way  of  speaking,  new  airs  and  gestures,  aflected 
manners,  a  mimicry  of  the  fashions,  language, 
and  diversions,  or  even  of  the  follies  and  vices,  of 
higher  life  ;  a  hunting  after  the  acquaintance  of 
the  great,  a  cold  and  distant  behaviour  towards 
their  former  equals,  and  a  contemptuous  neglect 
of  their  society.  Nothing  was  ever  gained  by 
these  arts,  if  they  deserve  the  name  of  arts,  but 
derision  and  dislike.  Possibly  they  may  not  of- 
fend against  any  rule  of  moral  probity ;  but  if 
they  disgust  those  with  whom  you  are  to  live,  and 
upon  whom  the  good  you  do  must  be  done,  they 
defeat  not  only  their  own  end,  but,  in  a  great 
measure,  the  very  design  and  use  of  your  vocation. 

Having  premised  these  few  observations,  I  pro- 
ceed to  describe  the  qualities  which  principally 
conduce  to  the  end  we  have  at  present  in  view, 
the  possession  of  a  fair  and  respected  character. 

And  the  first  virtue  (for  so  I  will  call  it)  which 
appears  to  me  of  importance  for  this  purpose,  is 
frugality.  If  there  be  a  situation  in  the  world 
in  which  profusion  is  without  excuse,  it  is  in  that 
of  a  young  clergyman  who  has  little  beside  his 
profession  to  depend  upon  for  his  support.  It  is 
folly — it  is  ruin. — Folly,  for  whether  it  aim  at 
luxury  or  show,  it  must  fall  miserably  short  of  its 
design.  In  these  competitions  we  are  outdone  by 
every  rival.  The  provision  which  clergymen 
meet  with  upon  their  entrance  into  the  church,  is 
adequate,  in  most  cases,  to  the  wants  and  decen- 
cies of  their  situation,  but  to  nothing  more.  To 
pretend  to  more,  is  to  set  up  our  poverty,  not  only 
as  the  subject  of  constant  observation,  but  as  a 
laughing-stock  to  every  observer.  Profusion  is 
ruin;  for  it  ends,  and  soon  too,  in  debt,  in  injus- 
tice, and  insolvency.  You  well  know  how  mean- 
ly, in  the  country  more  especially,  every  man  is 
thought  of  who  cannot  pay  his  credit;  in  what 
terms  he  is  spoken  of — in  what  light  he  is  viewed 
— what  a  deduction  this  is  from  his  good  qualities 
— what  an  aggravation  of  his  bad  ones — what  in- 
sults he  is  exposed  to  from  his  creditors,  what 
contempt  from  all.  Nor  is  this  judgment  far 
amiss.  Let  him  not  speak  of  honesty,  who  is 
daily  practising  deceit ;  for  every  man  who  is  not 
paid  is  deceived.  Let  him  not  talk  of  liberality, 
who  puts  it  out  of  his  power  to  perform  one  act 
of  it.     Let  him  not  boast  of  spirit,  of  honour,  of  , 


independence,  who  fears  the  face  of  his  creditors, 
and  who  meets  a  creditor  in  every  street.  There 
is  no  meanness  in  frugaUty:  the  meanness  is  in 
those  shifts  and  expedients,  to  which  extrava- 
gance is  sure  to  bring  men.  Profusion  is  a  verj' 
equivocal  proof  of  generosity.  The  proper  dis- 
tinction is  not  between  him  who  spends  and  him 
who  saves ;  for  they  may  be  equally  selfish ;  but 
between  him  who  spends  upon  himself,  and  him 
who  spends  upon  others.  When  I  extol  frugality, 
it  is  not  to  praise  that  minute  parsimony  which 
serves  for  little  but  to  vex  ourselves  and  tease 
those  about  us,  but  to  persuade  you  to  economy 
upon  apian,  and  that  plan  deliberately  adjusted 
to  your  circumstances  and  expectations.  Set  out 
with  it,  and  it  is  easy  ;  to  retrieve,  out  of  a  small 
income,  is  only  not  impossible.  Frugality  in  this 
sense,  we  preach  not  only  as  an  article  of  pru- 
dence, but  as  a  lesson  of  virtue.  Of  this  frugality 
it  has  been  truly  said,  that  it  is  the  parent  of  li- 
berty, of  independence,  of  generosity. 

A  second  essential  part  of  a  clergyman's  cha- 
racter, is  sobriety.  In  the  scale  of  human  vices 
there  may  be  some  more  criminal  than  drunken- 
ness, but  none  so  humiliating.  A  clergyman 
cannot,  without  infinite  confusion,  produce  him- 
self in  the  pulpit  before  those  who  have  been 
witnesses  to  his  intemperance.  The  folly  and 
extravagance,  the  rage  and  ribaldry,  the  boasts 
and  quarrels,  the  idiotism  and  brutality  of  that 
condition,  will  rise  up  in  their  imaginations  in 
full  colours.  To  discourse  of  temperance,  to 
touch  in  the  remotest  degree  upon  the  subject,  is 
but  to  revive  his  own  shame.  For  you  will  soon 
have  occasion  to  observe,  that  those  who  are  the 
slowest  in  taking  any  part  of  a  sermon  to  tliem- 
selves,  are  surprisingly  acute  in  applying  it  to  the 
preacher. 

Another  vice,  which  there  is  the  same,  together 
with  many  additional,  reasons  for  guarding  you 
against,  is  dissoluteness.  In  my  judgment,  the 
crying  sin  and  calamity  of  this  country  at  present, 
is  hcentiousness  in  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes. 
It  is  a  vice  which  hardly  admits  of  argument  or 
dissuasion.  It  can  only  be  encountered  by  the 
censures  of  the  good,  and  the  discouragement  it 
receives  from  the  most  respected  orders  of  the 
community.  What  then  shall  we  say,  when 
they  who  ought  to  cure  the  malady,  propagate  the 
contagion  1  Upon  this  subject  bear  away  one 
observation,  that  when  you  sufier  yourselves  to  be 
engaged  in  any  unchaste  connexion,  you  not  only 
corrupt  an  individual  by  your  solicitations,  but 
debauch  a  whole  neighbourhood  by  the  profligacy 
of  your  example. 

The  habit  I  will  next  recommend  as  the  foun- 
dation of  almost  all  other  good  ones,  is  retirement. 
Were  I  required  to  comprise  my  advice  to  young 
clergymen  in  one  sentence,  it  should  be  in  this. 
Learn  to  live  alone.  Half  of  your  faults  originate 
from  the  want  of  this  faculty.  It  is  impatience 
of  solitude  which  carries  you  continually  from 
your  parishes,  your  home,  and  your  duty;  makes 
you  foremost  in  every  party  of  pleasure  and  place 
of  diversion ;  dissipates  your  thoughts,  distracts 
your  studies,  leads  you  into  expense,  keeps  you 
in  distress,  puts  you  out  of  humour  with  your 
profession,  causes  you  to  place  yourselves  at  the 
head  of  some  low  company,  or  to  fasten  your- 
selves as  despicable  retainers  to  the  houses  and 
society  of  the  rich.  Whatever  may  be  the  case 
with  those,  whose  fortunes  and  opportunities  can 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


505 


command  a  constant  succession  of  company ;  in 
situations  like  ours  to  be  able  to  pass  our  time 
with  satisfaction  alone,  and  at  home,  is  not  only 
a  preservative  of  character,  but  the  very  secret  of 
happiness.  Do  what  we  will,  we  must  be  much 
and  often  by  ourselves ;  if  this  be  irksome,  the 
main  portions  of  life  will  be  unhappy.  Besides 
which,  we  are  not  the  less  qualified  for  society, 
because  we  are  able  to  hve  without  it.  Our  com- 
pany will  be  the  more  welcome  for  being  never 
obtruded.  It  is  with  this,  as  with  many  plea- 
sures :  he  meets  with  it  the  oftenest,  and  enjoys 
it  the  best,  who  can  most  easily  dispense  with  the 
want  of  it. 

But  what,  you  say,  shall  I  do  alone  1  reading 
is  my  proper  occupation  and  my  pleasure,  but 
liooks  are  out  of  my  reach,  and  beyond  my  pur- 
chase. They  who  make  this  complaint  are  such 
as  seek  nothing  from  books  but  amusement,  and 
find  amusement  from  none  but  works  of  narrative 
or  imagination.  This  taste,  I  allow,  cannot  be 
supplied  by  any  moderate  expense  or  ordinary 
opportunities :  but  apply  yourselves  to  study : 
take  in  hand  any  branch  of  useful  science,  espe- 
cially of  those  parts  of  it  which  are  subsidiary  to 
the  knowledge  of  religion,  and  a  few  books  will 
suffice ;  for  instance,  a  commentary  upon  the 
New  Testament,  read  so  as  to  be  remembered, 
will  employ  a  great  deal  of  leisure  very  profita- 
bly. There  is  likewise  another  resource  which 
you  have  forgot,  I  mean  the  composition  of  ser- 
mons. I  am  far  from  refusing  you  the  benefit 
of  other  men's  labours ;  I  only  require  that 
they  be  called  in  not  to  flatter  laziness,  but  to 
assist  industry.  You  find  yourself  unable  to 
furnish  a  sermon  every  week ;  try  to  compose 
one  every  month :  depend  upon  it  you  will  con- 
sult your  own  satisfaction,  as  well  as  the  edifica- 
tion of  your  hearers ;  and  that  however  inferior 
your  compositions  may  be  to  those  of  others  in 
some  respects,  they  will  be  better  delivered,  and 
better  received  ;  they  will  compensate  for  many 
defects  by  a  closer  application  to  the  ways  and 
manners,  the  actual  thoughts,  reasoning,  and 
language,  the  errors,  doubts,  prejudices,  and 
vices,  the  habits,  characters,  and  propensities  of 
your  congregation,  than  can  be  expected  from 
borrowed  discourses — at  any  rate,  you  are  passing 
your  time  virtuously  and  honourably. 

With  retirement,  I  connect  reserve ;  by  which 
I  mean,  in  the  first  place,  some  degree  of  delicacy 
in  the  choice  of  your  company,  and  of  refinement 
in  your  pleasures.  Above  all  things,  keep  out  of 
public-houses — you  have  no  business  there — your 
lieing  seen  to  go  in  and  out  of  them  is  disgraceful 
— your  presence  in  these  places  entitles  every 
man  who  meets  you  there,  to  affront  you  by  coarse 
jests,  by  indecent  or  opprobrious  topics  of  con- 
versation— neither  be  seen  at  drunken  feasts, 
boisterous  sports,  late  hours,  or  barbarous  diver- 
sions— let  your  amusements,  like  every  thing 
about  you,  be  still  and  quiet  and  unoffending. 
Carry  the  same  reserve  into  your  correspondence 
with  your  superiors      Pursue  preferment,  if  any 

Erospects  of  it  present  themselves,  not  only  by 
onourahle  means,  but  with  moderate  anxiety. 
It  is  not  essential  to  happiness,  perhaps  not  very 
conducive — were  it  of  greater  importance  than  it 
is,  ao  more  successl'ul  rule  could  be  given  you, 
than  to  do  your  duty  quietly  and  contentedly, 
and  to  let  things  take  their  course.  You  may 
have  been  broui'ht  up  with  different  notions,  but 
3S 


be  assured,  that  for  once  that  preferment  is  for- 
feited by  modesty,  it  is  ten  times  lost  by  intrusion 
and  importunity.  Every  one  sympathises  with 
neglected  merit,  but  who  shall  lament  over  re- 
pulsed impudence '? 

The  last  expedient  I  shall  mention,  and,  in 
conjunction  with  the  others,  a  very  efficacious 
one  towards  engaging  respect,  is  seriousness  in 
your  deportment,  especially  in  discharging  the 
offices  of  your  profession.  Salvation  is  so  awful 
a  concern,  that  no  human  being,  one  would  think, 
could  be  pleased  with  seeing  it,  or  any  thing  be- 
longing to  it,  treated  with  levity.  For  a  moment, 
in  a  certain  state  of  the  spirits,  men  may  divert 
themselves,  or  affect  to  be  di^'erted,  by  sporting 
with  their  most  sacred  interests ;  but  no  one  in 
his  heart  derides  religion  long — What  are  we— 
any  of  us  1 — religion  soon  will  be  our  only  care 
and  friend.  Seriousness,  therefore,  in  a  clergy- 
man, is  agreeable,  not  only  to  the  serious,  but 
to  men  of  all  tempers  and  descriptions.  And 
seriousness  is  enough;  a  prepossessing  appear- 
ance, a  melodious  voice,  a  graceful  delivery,  are 
indeed  enviable  accomplishments ;  but  much,  we 
apprehend,  may  be  done  without  them.  The 
great  point  is,  to  be  thought  in  earnest.  Seem 
not  then  to  be  brought  to  any  part  of  your  duty 
by  constraint,  to  perform  it  with  reluctance,  to  go 
through  it  in  haste,  or  to  quit  it  with  symptoms 
of  delight.  In  reading  the  services  of  the  church, 
provided  you  manifest  a  conscientiousness  of  the 
meaning  and  importance  of  what  you  are  about, 
and  betray  no  contempt  of  your  duty,  or  of  your 
congregation,  your  manner  cannot  be  too  plain 
and  simple.  Your  conjmon  method  of  speaking, 
if  it  be  not  too  low,  or  too  rapid,  do  not  alter,  or 
only  so  much  as  to  be  heard  distinctly.  I  men- 
tion this,  because  your  elocution  is  more  apt  to 
offend  by  straining  and  stiffness,  than  on  the  side 
of  ease  and  familiarity.  The  same  plainness  and 
simplicity  which  I  recommend  in  the  delivery, 
prefer  also  in  the  style  and  composition  of  your 
sermons.  Ornaments,  or  even  accuracy  of  lan- 
guage, cost  the  writer  much  trouble,  and  produce 
small  advantage  to  the  hearer.  Let  the  character 
of  your  sermons  be  truth  and  information,  and  a 
decent  particularity.  Propose  one  point  in  one 
discourse,  and  stick  to  it ;  a  hearer  never  carries 
away  more  than  one  impression — disdain  not  the 
old  fashion  of  dividing  your  sermons  into  heads — 
in  the  hands  of  a  master  this  may  be  dispensed 
with  ;  in  yours,  a  sermon  which  rejects  these 
helps  to  perspicuity,  will  turn  out  a  bewildered 
rhapsody,  without  aim  or  eflect,  order  or  conclu- 
sion. In  a  word,  strive  to  make  your  discourses 
useful,  and  they  who  profit  by  your  preaching, 
will  soon  learn,  and  long  continue,  to  be  pleased 
with  it. 

I  have  now  finished  the  enumeration  of  those 
qualities  which  are  required  in  the  clerical  cha- 
racter, and  which,  wherever  they  meet,  make 
even  youth  venerable,  and  poverty  respected; 
which  will  secure  esteem  under  every  disadvan- 
tage of  fortune,  person,  and  situation,  and  not- 
withstanding great  defects  of  abilities  and  attain- 
ments. But  I  must  not  stop  here ;  a  good  name, 
fragrant  and  precious  as  it  is,  is  by  us  only  valued 
in  subserviency  to  our  duty,  in  subordination  to 
a  higher  reward.  If  we  are  more  tender  of  our 
reputation,  if  we  are  more  studious  of  esteem  than 
others,  it  is  from  a  persuasion,  that  by  first  ob- 
taining the  respect  of  our  congregation,  and  next 
43 


506 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


b)'  availing  ourselves  of  that  respect,  to  promote 
amongst  them  peace  and  virtue,  useful  knowledge 
and  benevolent  dispositions,  we  are  purchasing  to 
ourselves  a  reversion  and  inheritance  valuable 
alx)ve  all  price,  important  beyond  every  other  in- 
terest or  success. 

Go,  then,  into  the  vineyard  of  the  Gospel,  and 
may  the  grace  of  God  go  with  you !  The  religion 
you  preach  is  true.  Dispense  its  ordinances  with 
seriousness,  its  doctrines  with  sincerity — urge  its 
precepts,  display  its  hopes,  produce  its  terrors — 
"  be  sober,  be  vigilant" — "  have  a  good  report" — 
confirm  the  faith  of  others,  testSy  and  adorn 
your  own.  by  the  virtues  of  your  Hfe  and  the  sancti- 
ty of  your  reputation — be  peaceable,  be  courteous ; 
condescending  to  men  of  the  lowest  condition — 
"  apt  to  teach,  willing  to  communicate ;"  so  far  as 
the  immutable  laws  of  truth  and  probity  will  per- 


mit, "  be  every  thing  unto  all  men,  that  ye  may 
gain  some." 

The  world  will  requite  you  with  its  esteem. 
The  awakened  sinner,  the  enlightened  saint,  the 
young  whom  you  have  trained  to  virtue,  the  old 
whom  you  have  visited  with  the  consolations  of 
Christianity,  shall  pursue  you  with  prevailing 
blessings  and  effectual  prayers.  You  will  close 
your  lives  and  ministry  with  consciences  void  of 
offence,  and  full  of  hope. — To  present  at  the  last 
day  even  one  recovered  soul,  reflect  how  grateful 
an  offering  it  will  be  to  Him,  whose  commission 
was  to  save  a  world — infinitely,  no  doubt,  but  still 
only  in  degree,  does  our  office  differ  from  his — 
himself  the  first-born  ;  it  was  the  business  of  his 
life,  the  merit  of  his  death,  the  counsel  of  his 
Father's  love,  the  exercise  and  consummation 
of  his  own,  "  to  bring  many  brethren  unto  glory." 


SERMON    III. 


A    DISTINCTION    OF    ORDERS    IN    THE    CHURCH    DEFENDED 
UPON    PRINCIPLES   OF    PUBLIC    UTILITY, 

:N  a  sermon,  preached  in  the  castle-chapel,  DUBLIN,  AT  THE  CONSECRATION  OP  JOHN  LAW,  D.  D. 
LORD  BISHOP   OF   CLONFERT   AND   KILMACDUAGH,   SEPTEMBER  21,    1782. 


And  he  gave  some,  apostles ;  and  some,  prophets ;  and  some,  evangelists ;  and  some,  pastors  and 
teachers ;  for  the  perfecting  of  the  saints,  for  the  work  of  the  ministry,  for  the  edfying  cf  the 
body  qf  C/irisi.— Ephesiana  iv.  11,  12. 


In  our  reasoning  and  discourses  upon  the  rules 
and  nature  of  the  Christian  dispensation,  there  is 
no  distinction  which  ought  to  be  preserved  with 
greater  care,  than  that  which  exists  between  the 
institution,  as  it  addresses  the  conscience  and  re- 
gulates the  duty  of  particular  Christians,  and  as 
It  regards  the  discipline  and  government  of  the 
Christian  church.  It  was  our  Saviour's  design, 
and  the  first  object  of  his  ministry,  to  aflbrd  to  a 
lost  and  ignorant  world,  such  discoveries  of  their 
Creator's  will,  of  their  own  interest,  and  future 
destination ;  such  assured  principles  of  faith,  and 
rules  of  practice ;  such  new  motives,  terms,  and 
means  of  obedience ;  as  might  enable  all,  and  en- 
gage many,  to  enter  upon  a  course  of  life,  which, 
by  rendering  the  person  who  pursued  it  acceptable 
to  God,  would  conduct  him  to  happiness,  in  ano- 
ther stage  of  his  existence. 

It  was  a  second  intention  of  the  Founder  of 
Christianity,  but  subservient  to  the  former,  to  asso- 
ciate those  who  consented  to  take  upon  them  the 
profession  of  his  faith  and  service,  into  a  separate 
community,  for  the  purpose  of  united  worship  and 
mutual  edification,  for  the  better  transmission  and 
manifestation  of  the  faith  that  was  delivered  to 
them,  but  principally  to  promote  the  exercise  of 
that  fraternal  disposition  which  their  new  relation 
to  each  other,  which  the  visible  participation  of 
the  same  name  and  hope  and  calling,  was  calcu- 
lated to  excite. 

From  a  view  of  these  distinct  parts  of  the  evan- 
gelic dispensation,  we  are  led  to  place  a  real  differ- 
ence between  the  religion  of  particular  Christians, 
and  the  polity  of  Christ's  church.  The  one  is 
personal  and  individual — acknowledges  no  subjec- 
tion to  human  authority — is  transacted  in  the 
heart — is  an  account  between  God  and  our  own 
consciences  alone  :  the  other,  appertaining  to  so- 
ciety, (like  every  thing  which  relates  to  the  joint 
interest  and  requires  the  co-operation  of  many 
persons,)  is  visible  and  external — prescribes  rules 
of  common  order,  for  the  observation  of  which, 
we  are  responsible  not  only  to  God,  but  to  the  so- 
ciety of  which  we  are  members,  or,  what  is  the 
same  thing,  to  those  with  whom  the  public  autho- 
rity of  the  society  is  deposited. 

But  the  diflference  which  I  am  principally  con- 


cerned to  establish  consists  in  this,  that  whilst  the 
precepts  of  Christian  morality  and  the  fundamen- 
tal articles  of  the  faith,  are  for  the  most  part,  pre- 
cise and  absolute,  are  of  perpetual,  universal,  and 
unalterable  obligation ;  the  laws  which  respect  the 
discipline,  instruction,  and  government  of  the 
community,  are  delivered  in  terms  so  general  and 
indefinite  as  to  admit  of  an  application  adapted  to 
the  mutable  condition  and  varying  exigencies  of 
the  Christian  chu:ch.  "  As  my  lather  hath  sent 
me,  so  send  I  you."  "  Let  every  thing  be  done 
decently  and  in  order."  "  Lay  hands  suddenly  on 
no  man."  "  Let  him  that  ruleth  do  it  with  dili- 
gence." "  The  things  which  thou  hast  heard  of 
me,  the  same  commit  thou  to  faithful  men,  who 
shall  be  able  to  teach  others  also."  "For  this 
cause  left  I  thee,  that  thou  shouldest  set  in  order 
the  things  that  are  wanting,  and  ordain  elders  in 
every  city." 

These  are  all  general  directions,  supposing,  in- 
deed, the  existence  of  a  regular  ministry  in  the 
church,  but  describing  no  specific  order  of  pre 
eminence  or  distribution  of  office  and  authority . 
If  any  other  instances  can  be  adduced  more  cir- 
cumstantial than  these,  they  will  be  found,  like  the 
appointment  of  the  seven  deacons,  the  collections 
for  the  saints,  the  laying  by  in  store  upon  the  first 
day  of  the  week,  to  be  rules  of  the  society,  rather 
than  laws  of  the  religion — recommendations  and 
expedients  fitted  to  the  state  of  the  several 
churches  by  those  who  then  administered  the 
affairs  of  them,  rather  than  precepts  delivered  with 
a  solemn  design  of  fixing  a  constitution  for  suc- 
ceeding ages.  The  just  ends  of  religious  as  of 
civil  union  are  eternally  the  same ;  but  the  means 
by  which  these  ends  may  be  best  promoted  and 
secured,  will  vary  with  the  vicissitudes  of  time 
and  occasion,  will  differ  according  to  the  local  cir- 
cumstances, the  peculiar  situation,  the  improve- 
ment, character,  or  even  the  prejudices  and  pas- 
sions, of  the  several  communities  upon  whose  con- 
duct and  edification  they  are  intended  to  operate. 

The  apostolic  directions  which  are  preserved  in 
the  writings  of  the  New  T^jst^ment,  seem  to  ex- 
clude no  ecclesiastical  constitution  which  the  ex- 
perience and  more  instructed  judgment  of  future 
ages  might  find  it  expedient  to  adopt.     And  this 

507 


508 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


reserve,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  in  the  legislature  of 
the  Christian  church,  was  wisely  suited  to  its  pri- 
mitive condition,  compared  with  its  expected  pro- 
gress and  extent.  I'he  circumstances  of  Chris- 
tianity in  the  early  period  of  its  propagation  were 
necessarily  very  unlike  those  which  would  take 
place  when  it  became  the  established  religion  of 
great  nations.  The  rudiments,  indeed,  of  the  fu- 
ture plant,  were  involved  within  the  grain  of  mus- 
tard-seed, but  still  a  different  treatment  was  re- 
quired for  its  sustentation  when  the  birds  of  the 
air  lodged  amongst  its  branches.  A  small  select 
society  under  the  guidance  of  inspired  teachers, 
without  temporal  rights  and  without  property, 
founded  in  the  midst  of  enemies,  and  living  m 
subjection  to  unbelieving  rulers,  divided  from  the 
rest  of  the  world  by  many  singularities  of  conduct 
and  persuasion,  and  adverse  to  the  idolatry  which 
public  authority  every  where  supported,  differed 
so  much  from  the  Christian  church  after  Chris- 
tianity prevailed  as  the  religion  of  the  state; 
when  its  economy  became  gradually  interwoven 
with  the  civil  government  ot  the  country ;  when 
the  purity  and  propagation  of  its  faith  were  left  to 
the  ordinary  expedients  of  human  instruction  and 
an  authentic  Scripture  ;  when  persecution  and  in- 
digence were  to  be  succeeded  by  legal  security  and 
public  provision — clandestine  and  precarious  op- 
portunities of  hearing  the  word  and  communica- 
ting in  the  rites  of  Christianity,  by  stationary  pas- 
tors and  appropriated  seasons,  as  well  as  places, 
of  religious  worship  and  resort :  I  say,  the  situa- 
tion of  the  Christian  community  was  so  different 
in  the  infant  and  adult  state  of  Christianity,  that 
the  highest  inconvenience  would  have  followed 
from  establishing  a  precise  constitution  which  was 
to  be  obligatory  upon  both :  the  same  disposition 
of  affairs  which  was  most  commodious  and  con- 
ducive to  edification  in  the  one,  becoming  probably 
impracticable  under  the  circumstances,  or  alto- 
gether inadequate  to  the  wants  of  the  other. 

What  farther  recommends  the  forbearance  ob- 
servable in  this  part  of  the  Christian  institution, 
is  the  consideration,  that  as  Christianity  solicited 
admission  into  every  country  in  the  world,  it  cau- 
tiously refrained  from  interfering  with  the  muni- 
cipal regulations  or  civil  condition  of  any.  Negli- 
gent of  every  view,  but  what  related  to  the  deli- 
verance of  mankind  from  spiritual  perdition,  the 
Saviour  of  the  world  advanced  no  pretensions 
which,  by  disturbing  the  arrangements  of  human 
polity,  might  present  an  obstacle  to  the  reception 
of  his  faith.  We  may  ascribe  it  to  this  design, 
that  he  left  the  laws  of  his  church  so  open  and  in- 
determinate, that  whilst  the  ends  of  religious  com- 
munion were  sufficiently  declared,  the  form  of  the 
society  might  be  assimilated  to  the  civil  constitu- 
tion of  each  country,  to  which  it  should  always 
communicate  strength  and  support  in  return  for 
the  protection  it  received,  If  there  be  any  truth  in 
these  observations,  they  lead  to  this  temperate  and 
charitable  conclusion,  "  that  Christianity  may  be 
professed  under  any  form  of  church  government." 

But  though  all  things  are  lawful,  all  things  are 
not  expedient.  If  we  concede  to  other  churches 
the  Christian  legality  of  their  constitution,  so  long 
as  Christian  worship  and  instruction  are  compe- 
tently provided  for,  we  may  be  allowed  to  maintain 
the  advantage  of  our  own,  upon  principles  which 
all  parties  acknowledge — considerations  of  public 
utility.  We  may  be  allowed  to  contend,  that 
whilst  we  imitate,  so  far  as  a  great  disparity  of 


circumstances  permits,  the  example,  and  what  we 
apprehend  to  be  the  order,  of  the  apostolic  age, 
our  church  and  ministry  are  inferior  to  none  in 
the  great  object  of  their  institution,  their  suitable- 
ness to  promote  and  uphold  the  profession,  know- 
ledge, and  influence,  of  pure  Christianity.  The 
separation  of  a  particular  order  of  men  for  the 
work  of  the  ministry — the  reserving  to  these  ex- 
clusively, the  conduct  of  public  worship  arjd  the 
preaching  of  the  word — the  distribution  of  the 
country  into  districts,  and  the  assigning  of  each 
district  to  the  care  and  charge  of  its  proper  pastor 
— lastly,  the  appointment  to  the  clergy  of  a  main- 
tenance independent  of  the  caprice  of  their  congre- 
gation, are  measures  of  ecclesiastical  policy  which 
have  been  adopted  by  every  national  establishment 
of  Christianity  in  the  worid.  Concerning  these 
points  there  exists  no  controversy.  The  chief  ar- 
ticle of  regulation  upon  which  the  judgment  of 
some  protestant  churches  dissents  from  ours  is,  that 
whilst  they  have  established  a  perfect  parity  among 
their  clergy,  we  prefer  a  distinction  of  orders  in 
the  church,  not  only  as  recommended  by  the  usage 
of  the  purest  times,  but  as  better  calculated  to 
promote,  what  all  churches  must  desire,  the  credit 
and  efficacy  of  the  sacerdotal  office. 

The  force  and  truth  of  this  last  consideration  I 
will  endeavour  to  evince. 

First,  the  body  of  the  clergy,  in  common  with 
every  regular  society,  must  necessarily  contain 
some  internal  provision  for  the  government  and 
correction  of  its  members.  Where  a  distinction 
of  orders  is  not  acknowledged,  this  government 
can  only  be  administered  by  synods  and  assem- 
blies, because  the  supposition  of  equality  forbids 
the  delegation  of  authority  to  single  persons. 
Now,  although  it  may  be  requisite  to  consult  and 
collect  the  opinions  of  a  community,  in  the  mo- 
mentous deliberations  which  ought  to  precede  the 
establishment  of  those  public  laws  by  which  it  is 
to  be  bound ;  yet  in  every  society  the  execution 
of  these  laws,  the  current  and  ordinary  affairs  of 
its  government,  are  better  managed  by  fewer 
hands.  To  commit  personal  questions  to  public 
debate,  to  refer  every  case  and  character  which 
requires  animadversion,  to  the  suffrages  and  exa- 
mination of  a  numerous  assembly,  what  is  it,  but 
to  feed  and  perpetuate  contention,  to  supply  mate- 
rials for  endless  altercation,  and  opportunities  for 
the  indulgence  of  concealed  enmity  and  private 
prejudices'?  The  complaint  of  ages  testifies, 
with  how  much  inflammation,  and  how  little 
equity,  ecclesiastical  conventions  have  conducted 
their  proceedings;  how  apt  intrigue  has  ever  been 
to  pervert  inquiry,  and  clamour  to  confound  dis- 
cussion. Whatever  may  be  the  other  benefits  of 
equality  peace  is  best  secured  by  subordination. 
And  if  this  be  a  consideration  of  moment  in  every 
society,  it  is  of  peculiar  importance  to  the  clergy. 
Preachers  of  peace,  ministers  of  charity  and  of 
reconciliation  to  the  world,  that  constitution  sure- 
ly ill  befits  their  office  and  character  which  has  a 
tendency  to  engage  them  in  contests  and  disputes 
with  one  another. 

Secondly,  the  appointment  of  various  orders  in 
the  church,  may  be  considered  as  the  stationing 
of  ministers  of  religion  in  the  various  ranks  of 
civil  life.  The  distinctions  of  the  clergy  ought, 
in  some  measure,  to  correspond  with  the  distinc- 
tions of  lay-society,  in  order  to  supply  each  class 
of  the  people  with  a  clergy  of  their  own  level 
and  description,  with  whom  they  may  live  and 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


509 


associate  upon  terms  of  equality.  This  reason  is 
not  imaginary  nor  insignificant.  The  usefuhicss 
of  a  virtuous  and  well-informed  clergy  consists 
neither  wholly  nor  principally  in  their  public 
preaching,  or  the  stated  functions  of  their  order, 
it  is  from  the  example  and  in  the  society  of  such 
persons,  that  the  requisites  which  prepare  the 
mind  for  the  reception  of  virtue  and  knowledge, 
a  taste  for  serious  reflection  and  discourse,  habits 
of  thought  and  reasoning,  a  veneration  for  the 
laws  and  awful  truths  of  Christianity,  a  disposi- 
tion to  inquire,  and  a  solicitude  to  learn,  are  best 
gained  :  at  least,  the  decency  of  deportment,  the 
sobriety  of  manners  and  conversation,  the  learn- 
ing, the  gravity,  which  usually  accompany  the 
clerical  character,  insensibly  diffuse  their  influ- 
ence over  every  company  into  which  they  are 
admitted.  Is  it  of  no  importance  to  provide  friends 
and  companions  of  this  character  for  the  superior 
as  well  as  for  the  middle  orders  of  the  commu- 
nity 1  Is  it  flattery  to  say,  that  the  manners  and 
societ}^  of  higher  life  would  suflTer  some  deprava- 
tion, from  the  loss  of  so  many  men  of  liberal 
habits  and  education,  as  at  present,  by  occupying 
elevated  stations  in  the  church,  are  entitled  to  be 
received  into  its  number  1  This  intercourse 
would  cease,  if  the  clergy  were  reduced  to  a  level 
with  one  another,  and,  of  consequence,  with  the 
inferior  part  of  the  community.  These  distinc- 
tions, whilst  they  prevail,  must  be  complied  with. 
How  much  soever  the  moralist  may  despise,  or 
the  divine  overlook,  the  discriminations  of  rank, 
which  the  rules  or  prejudices  of  modern  life  have 
introduced  into  society  ;  when  we  have  the  world 
to  instruct  and  to  deal  with,  we  must  take  and 
treat  it  as  it  is,  not  as  the  wishes  or  the  specula- 
tions of  philosophy  would  represent  it  to  our 
view.  When  we  describe  the  public  as  peculiarly 
interested  in  every  thing  which  affects,  though  but 
remotely,  the  character  of  the  great  and  powerful, 
it  is  not  that  the  soul  of  the  rich  man  is  more  pre- 
cious than  the  salvation  of  the  poor,  but  because 
his  virtues  and  his  vices  have  a  more  considerable 
and  extensive  effect. 

Thirdlj',  they  who  behold  the  privileges  and 
emoluments  of  the  superior  clergy  with  the  most 
unfriendly  inclination,  profess  nevertheless  to 
wish,  that  the  order  itself  should  he  respected ; 
but  how  is  this  respect  to  be  procured  1  It  is 
equally  impossible,  to  invest  every  clergyman 
with  the  decorations  of  affluence  and  rank,  and  to 
maintain  the  credit  and  reputation  of  an  order 
which  is  altogether  destitute  of  these  distinctions. 
Individuals,  by  the  singularity  of  their  virtue  or 
their  talents,  may  surmount  all  disadvantages ; 
but  the  order  will  be  contemned.  At  present, 
every  member  of  our  ecclesiastical  establishment 
communicates  in  the  dignity  which  is  conferred 
upon  a  few — every  clergyman  shares  in  the  re- 
spect which  is  paid  to  his  superiors — the  ministry 
is  honoured  in  the  persons  of  prelates.  Nor  is 
this  economy  peculiar  to  our  order.  The  profes- 
sions of  arms  and  of  the  law  derive  their  lustre 
and  esteem,  not  merely  from  their  utility  (which 
is  a  reason  only  to  the  few,)  but  from  the  exalted 
place  in  the  scale  of  civil  life,  which  hath  been 
wisely  assigned  to  those  who  fill  stations  of  power 
and  eminence  in  these  great  departments.  And 
if  this  disposition  of  honours  be  approved  in  other 
kinds  of  public  employment,  why  should  not  the 
credit  and  liberality  of  ours  be  upheld  by  the  same 
expedient  1 


Fourthly,  rich  and  splendid  situations  in  the 
church  have  been  justly  regarded  as  prizes  held 
out  to  invite  persons  of  good  hopes  and  ingenuous 
attainments  to  enter  into  its  service.  The  value 
of  the  prospect  may  be  the  same,  but  the  allure- 
ment is  much  greater,  where  opulent  shares  are 
reserved  to  reward  the  success  of  a  few,  than 
where,  by  a  more  equal  partition  of  the  fund,  all 
indeed  are  competently  provided  for,  but  no  one 
can  raise  even  his  hopes  beyond  a  penurious  me- 
diocrity of  subsistence  and  situation.  It  is  cer- 
tainly of  consequence  that  young  men  of  promising 
abilities  be  encouraged  to  engage  in  the  ministry 
of  the  church  ;  otherwise,  our  profession  will  he 
composed  of  the  refuse  of  every  other.  None 
will  be  found  content  to  stake  the  fortune  of  their 
lives  in  this  caUing,  but  they  whom  slow  parts, 
personal  defects,  or  a  depressed  condition  of  birth 
and  education,  preclude  from  advancement  in  any 
other.  The  vocation  in  time  comes  to  be  thought 
mean  and  uncreditable — study  languishes — sacred 
erudition  declines — not  only  the  order  is  disgraced, 
but  religion  itself  disparaged  in  such  hands.  Some 
of  the  most  judicious  and  moderate  of  the  presby- 
terian  clergy  have  been  known  to  lament  this 
defect  in  their  constitution.  They  see  and  de- 
plore the  backwardness  in  youth  of  active  and 
well  cultivated  faculties,  to  enter  into  the  church, 
and  their  frequent  resolutions  to  quit  it.  Again, 
if  a  gradation  of  orders  be  necessary  to  invite  can- 
didates into  the  profession,  it  is  still  more  so  to 
excite  diligence  and  emulation,  to  promote  an 
attention  to  character  and  public  opinion  when 
they  are  in  it ;  especially  to  guard  against  that 
sloth  and  negligence,  into  which  men  are  apt  to 
fall,  who  are  arrived  too  soon  at  the  limits  of  their 
expectations.  We  will  not  say,  that  the  race  is 
always  to  the  swift,  or  the  prize  to  the  deserving  ; 
but  we  have  never  known  that  age  of  the  church 
in  which  the  advantage  was  not  on  the  side  of 
learning  and  decency. 

These  reasons  appear  to  me  to  be  well  founded, 
and  they  have  this  in  their  favour,  that  they  do  not 
suppose  too  much ;  they  suppose  not  any  impracti- 
cable precision  in  the  reward  of  merit,  or  any 
greater  degree  of  disinterestedness,  circumspection, 
and  propriety  in  the  bestowing  of  ecclesiastical 
preferment,  than  what  actually  takes  place.  They 
are,  however,  much  strengthened,  and  our  eccle- 
siastical constitution  defended  with  yet  greater 
success,  when  men  of  conspicuous  and  acknow- 
ledged merit  are  called  to  its  superior  stations : 
"  when  it  goeth  well  with  the  righteous,  the  city 
rejoiceth."  When  pious  labours  and  exemplary 
virtue,  when  distinguished  learning,  or  eminent 
utility,  when  long  or  arduous  services  are  repaid 
with  affluence  and  dignity,  when  a  life  of  severe 
and  well-directed  application  to  the  studies  of  re- 
ligion, when  wasted  spirits  and  declining  health, 
are  suffered  to  repose  in  honourable  leisure,  the 
good  and  wise  applaud  a  constitution  which  has 
provided  such  things  for  such  men. 

Finally,  let  us  reflect  that  these,  after  all,  are 
but  secondary  objects.  Christ  came  not  to  found 
an  empire  upon  earth,  or  to  invest  his  church  with 
temporal  immunities.  He  came  "to  seek  and  to 
save  that  which  was  lost;"  to  purify  to  himself 
from  amidst  the  pollutions  of  a  corrupt  world,  "  a 
peculiar  people,  zealous  of  good  works."  As  far 
as  our  establishment  conduces  to  forward  and 
facilitate  these  ends,  so  far  we  are  sure  it  falls  in 
with  his  design,  and  is  sanctified  by  his  authority. 
43* 


510 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


And  whilst  they  who  are  intrusted  with  its  go- 
vernment employ  their  cares,  and  the  influence 
of  their  stations,  in  judicious  and  unremitting 
endeavours  to  enlarge  the  dominion  of  virtue  and 
of  Christianity  over  the  hearts  and  affections  of 
mankind,  whilst  "  by  pureness,  by  knowledge," 
by  the  aids  of  learning,  by  the  piety  of  their 
example,  they  labour  to  inform  the  consciences 
and  improve  the  morals  of  the  people  committed 
to  their  charge,  they  secure  to  themselves,  and  tQ 


the  church  in  which  they  preside,  peace  and  per- 
manency, reverence  and  support — what  is  infi- 
nitely more,  they  "  save  their  own  souls ;"  they 
prepare  for  the  approach  of  that  tremendous  day, 
when  Jesus  Christ  shall  return  again  to  the  world 
and  to  his  church,  at  once  the  gracious  rewarder 
of  the  toils,  and  patience,  and  fidelity  of  his  ser- 
vants, and  the  strict  avenger  of  abused  power  and 
neglected  duty. 


SERMON   IV. 


THE  USE  AND  PROPRIETY  OF  LOCAL  AND  OCCASIONAL  PREACHING  i 
A  CHARGE, 

DELIVERED  TO  THE  CLERGY  OF  THE  DIOCESE  OP  CARLISLE,  IN  THE  YEAR  1790. 


Rfverend  Brethren, — The  late  Archbishop 
Seeker,  whose  memory  is  entitled  to  public  respect, 
as  on  many  accounts,  so  especially  for  the  judg- 
ment with  which  he  described,  and  the  affecting 
seriousness  with  which  he  recommended  the  du- 
ties of  his  profession,  in  one  of  his  charges  to  the 
clergy  of  his  diocese,*  exhorts  them  "to  make 
their  sermons  local."  I  have  always  considered 
this  advice  as  founded  in  a  knowledge  of  human 
hfe,  but  as  requiring,  in  its  application,  a  more 
than  ordinary  exercise  of  Christian  prudence. 
Whilst  I  repeat  therefore  the  rule  itself,  with 
great  veneration  for  the  authority  by  which  it  was 
delivered,  I  think  it  no  unfit  employment  of  the 
present  opportunity,  to  enlarge  so  far  upon  its 
use  and  meaning,  as  to  point  out  some  of  the  in- 
stances in  which  it  may  be  adopted,  with  the  pro- 
bability of  making  salutary  impressions  upon  the 
minds  of  our  hearers. 

But,  before  I  proceed,  I  would  warn  you,  and 
that  with  all  the  solemnity  that  can  belong  to  any 
admonition  of  mine,  against  rendering  your  dis- 
courses, so  local,  as  to  be  pointed  and  levelled  at 
particular  persons  in  your  congregation.  This 
species  of  address  may  produce  in  the  party  for 
whom  it  is  intended,  confusion  perhaps  and  shame, 
but  not  with  their  proper  fruits  of  penitence  and 
humility.  Instead  of  which,  these  sensations  wiU 
be  accompanied  with  bitter  resentment  against  the 
preacher,  and  a  kind  of  obstinate  and  determined 
opposition  to  his  reproof.  He  will  impute  your 
officiousness  to  personal  enmity,  to  party  spirit,  to 
the  pleasure  of  triumphing  over  an  adversary 
without  interruption  or  reply,  to  insult  assuming 
the  form  of  advice,  or  to  any  motive  rather  than  a 
conscientious  solicitude  for  the  amendment  and 
salvation  of  your  flock.  And  as  the  person  him- 
self seldom  profits  by  admonitions  conveyed  in  this 
way,  so  are  they  equally  useless,  or  perhaps  nox- 
ious, to  the  rest  of  the  assembly ;  for  the  moment 
the  congregation  discover  to  whom  the  chastise- 
ment is  directed,  from  that  moment  they  cease  to 
apply  any  part  of  it  to  themselves.  They  are  not 
edified,  they  are  not  affected  ;  on  the  contrary,  they 
are  diverted,  by  descriptions  of  which  they  seethe 
design,  and  by  invectives  of  which  they  think  they 
comprehend  the  aim.  Some  who  would  feel 
strongly  the  impropriety  of  gross  and  evident  per- 
sonalities, may  yet  hope  to  hit  their  mark  by  covert 

*  Arrnbishop  of  Canterbury's  Third  Charge  to  his 
Clergy. — Abp.  Seeker's  Works,  vol.  iv. 


and  oblique  allusions.  Now  of  this  scheme,  even 
when  conducted  with  the  greatest  skill,  it  may  be 
observed,  that  the  allusions  must  either  be  perceived, 
or  not.  If  they  be  not  perceived,  they  fail  of  the 
effect  intended  by  them  ;  if  they  be,  they  are  open 
to  the  objections  which  lie  against  more  explicit 
and  undissembled  attacks.  Whenever  we  are 
conscious,  in  the  composition  of  our  discourses,  of 
a  view  to  particular  characters  in  our  congrega- 
tion or  parish,  we  ought  to  take  for  granted  that 
our  view  will  be  understood.  Those  applications 
therefore,  which,  if  they  were  direct,  would  pro- 
duce more  bad  emotions  than  good  ones,  it  is  bet- 
ter to  discard  entirely  from  our  sermons ;  that  is  to 
say,  it  is  better  to  lay  aside  the  design  altogether, 
than  to  attempt  to  disguise  it  by  a  management 
which  is  generally  detected,  and  which,  if  not  seen 
through,  defeats  its  purpose  by  its  obscurity.  The 
crimes  then  of  individuals  let  us  reserve  for  oppor- 
tunities of  private  and  seasonable  expostulation. 
Happy  is  the  clergyman  who  has  the  faculty  of 
communicating  advice  and  remonstrance  with 
persuasion  and  effect,  and  the  virtue  to  seize  and 
improve  every  proper  occasion  of  doing  it ;  but  in 
the  pulpit,  let  private  characters  be  no  otherwise 
adverted  to,  than  as  they  fall  in  with  the  delinea- 
tions of  sins  and  duties  which  our  discourses  must 
necessarily  contain,  and  which,  whilst  they  avoid 
personalities,  can  never  be  too  close  or  circumstan- 
tial. For  the  same  reason  that  1  think  personal 
allusions  reprehensible,  I  should  condemn  any, 
even  the  remotest,  reference  to  party  or  political 
transactions  and  disputes.  These  are  at  all  times 
unfit  subjects  not  only  of  discussion  in  the  pulpit, 
but  of  hints  and  surmises.  The  Christian  preacher 
has  no  other  province  than  that  of  religion  and 
morality.  He  is  seldom  led  out  of  his  way  by 
honourable  motives,  and,  I  think,  never  with  a 
beneficial  effect. 

Having  premised  this  necessary  caution,  1 
return  to  the  rule  itself.  By  "  local"  sermons  I 
would  understand,  what  the  reverend  prelate  who 
used  the  expression  seems  principally  to  have 
meant  by  it,  sermons  adapted  to  the  particular  state 
of  thought  and  opinion  which  we  perceive  to  pre- 
vail in  our  congregation.  A  careful  attention  to 
this  circumstance  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  be- 
cause, as  it  varies,  the  same  sermon  may  do  a 
great  deal  of  good,  none  at  all,  or  much  harm.  So 
that  it  is  not  the  truth  of  what  we  are  about  to 
offer  which  alone  we  ought  to  consider,  but  whe- 
ther the  argument  itself  be  likely  to  correct  or  to 
51] 


512 


SERMONS  ON  PUBIJC  OCCASIONS. 


promote  the  turn  and  bias  of  opinion  to  whicli  we  I  as  they  were  ordained  by  the  divine  Founder  ot 


already  perceive  too  strong  a  tendency  and  incli 
nation.  Without  this  circumspection,  we  may  be 
found  to  have  imitated  the  folly  of  the  architect 
who  placed  his  buttress  on  tlie  wrong  side.  The 
more  the  column  pressed,  the  more  firm  was  its 
constructi(jn ;  and  the  deeper  its  foundation,  the 
more  certainly  it  hastened  the  ruin  of  the  fabric. 
I  do  not  mean  that  we  should,  upon  any  emer- 
gency, advance  what  is  not  true ;  but  that,  out  of 
many  truths,  we  should  select  those,  the  consider- 
ation of  which  seems  best  suited  to  rectify  the  dis- 
positions of  thought,  that  were  previously  declin- 
ing into  error  or  extravagancy.  For  this  model 
of  preaching  we  may  allege  the  highest  of  all 
jwssible  authorities,  the  exami)le  of  our  blessed 
.Saviour  him.self  He  always  had  in  view  the  pos- 
ture of  mind  of  the  persons  whom  he  addressed. 
He  did  not  entertain  the  Pharisees  with  invectives 
against  the  o[\vi\  impiety  oftheir  Sadducean  rivals; 
nor,  on  the  other  hand,  did  he  sooth  the  Saddu- 
cee's  ear  with  descriptions  of  Pharisaical  pomp 
and  folly.  In  the  presence  of  the  Pharisee  he 
preached  against  hypocrisy:  to  the  Sadducees  he 
proved  the  resurrection  of  the  dead.  In  like  man- 
ner, of  that  known  enmity  which  subsisted  be 
tween  the  Jews  and  Samaritans,  this  faithful 
Teacher  took  no  undue  advantage,  to  make  friends 
or  proselytes  of  eitlicr.  Upon  the  Jews  he  incul- 
cated a  more  comprehensive  benevolence:  with 
the  Samaritan  he  defended  the  orthodoxy  of  the 
Jewish  creed. 

But  I  apprehend  that  I  shall  render  my  advice 
more  intelligible,  by  exemplifying  it  in  two  or 
three  instances,  drawn  from  what  appears  to  be 
tile  predominant  disposition  and  religious  charac- 
ter of  tins  country,  and  of  the  present  times. 

In  many  former  ages  of  religion,  the  strono' 
propensity  of  men's  minds  was  to  overvalue  posi- 
tive duties ;  which  temper,  when  carried  to  excess, 
not  only  multiplied  unauthorized  rites  and  observ- 
ances, not  only  laid  an  unwarrantable  stress  upon 
those  which  were  prescribed  ;  but,  what  was  worst 
of  all,  led  men  to  expect,  that,  by  a  punctual  at- 
tention to  the  ordinances  of  religion,  they  could 
compound  for  a  relaxation  of  its  weighty  and  dif- 
ficult duties  of  personal  purity  and  relative  justice. 
This  was  the  depraved  state  of  religion  amongst 
the  Jews  when  our  Saviour  appeared;  and  it  was 
the  degeneracy,  against  which  some  of  the  most 
forcible  of  his  admonitions,  and  the  severest  of  his 
reproofs,  were  directed.  Yet,  notwith.standing 
that  Christ's  own  preaching,  as  well  as  the  plan 
and  spirit  of  his  religion,  were  as  adverse  as  pos- 
sible to  the  exalting  or  overvaluing  of  positive  in- 
stitutions, the  error  which  had  corrupted  the  old 
dispensation,  revived  under  the  new ;  and  revived 
with  double  force,  insomuch  as  to  transform  Chris- 
tianity into  a  service  more  prolix  and  burdensome 
than  the  Jewish,  and  to  ascribe  an  efficacy  to  cer- 
tain religious  performances,  which,  in  a  great 
measure,  superseded  the  obligations  of  substantial 
virtue.  That  age,  however,  with  us,  is  long  since 
past.  I  fear  there  is  room  to  apprehend  that  we 
are  falling  into  mistakes  of  a  contrary  kind.  Sad- 
ducees are  more  common  amongst  us  than  Phari- 
sees. We  seem  disposed,  not  only  to  cast  ofl^the 
decent  offices,  which  the  temperate  piety  of  our 
church  hath  enjoined,  as  aids  of  devotion,  calls  to 
repentance,  or  instruments  of  improvement,  but 


our  religion,  or  by  his  inspired  messengers,  and 
ordained  with  a  view  of  their  continuing  in  force 
through  future  generations,  are  entitled  to  be  ac- 
counted parts  of  Christianity  itself  In  this  situa- 
tion of  religion,  and  of  men's  thoughts  with  re- 
spect of  it,  he  makes  a  bad  choice  of  his  snl>ject. 
who  discourses  upon  the  futility  of  rites  and  ordi- 
nances, upon  their  insignificancy  when  taken  by 
themselves,  or  even  who  insists  too  frequently, 
and  in  terms  too  strong,  upon  their  inferiority  to 
moral  precepts.  We  are  rather  called  upon  to 
sustain  the  authority  of  those  institutions  which 
proceed  from  Christ  or  his  apostles,  and  the  rea- 
sonableness and  credit  of  those  whicji  claim  no 
higher  original  than  public  appointment.  Wo 
are  called  upon  to  contend  with  respect  to  the 
first,  that  they  cannot  be  omitted  with  safety  any 
more  than  other  duties ;  that  the  will  of  God  once 
ascertained,  is  the  immediate  foundation  of  every 
duty ;  that,  when  this  will  is  known,  it  makes 
little  difference  to  us  what  is  the  subject  of  it, 
still  less  by  what  denomination  the  precept  is  call- 
ed, under  what  class  or  division  the  duty  is  ar- 
ranged. If  it  be  commanded,  and  we  have  suf- 
ficient reason  to  believe  that  it  is  so,  it  matters 
nothing  whether  the  obligation  be  moral  or  natu- 
ral, or  positive  or  instituted.  He  who  places  before 
him  the  will  of  God  as  the  rule  of  his  lite,  will  not 
refine,  or  even  dwell  much,  upon  these  distinc- 
tions. The  ordinances  of  Christianity,  it  is  true, 
are  all  of  them  significant.  Their  meaning  and 
even  their  use,  is  not  obscure.  But  were  it 
otherwise ;  was  the  design  of  any  positive  institu- 
tion inexplicable ;  did  it  appear  to  have  been  pro- 
posed only  as  an  exercise  of  obedience  ;  it  was  not 
for  us  to  hesitate  in  our  compliance.  Even  to  in- 
quire, with  too  much  curiosity  and  impatience, 
into  the  cause  and  reason  of  a  religious  command, 
is  no  evidence  of  an  humble  and  submissive  dispo- 
sition ;  of  a  disposition,  I  mean,  humble  under 
the  Deity's  government  of  his  creation,  and  sub- 
missive to  his  will  however  signified. 

It  may  be  seasonable  also  to  maintain,  what 
I  am  convinced  is  true,  that  the  principle  of 
general  utility,  which  upholds  moral  obligation 
itself,  may,  in  various  instances,  be  applied  to 
evince  the  duty  of  attending  upon  positive  institu- 
tions ;  in  other  words,  that  the  difference  between 
natural  and  positive  duties  is  often  more  in  the 
name  than  in  the  thing.  The  precepts  of  natural 
justice  are  therefore  only  binding  upon  the  con- 
science, because  the  observation  of  them  is  neces- 
.sary  or  conducive  to  the  prosperity  and  happiness 
of  social  life.  If  there  be,  as  there  certainly  are, 
religious  institutions  which  contribute  greatly  to 
form  and  support  impressions  upon  the  mind,  that 
render  men  better  members  of  civilized  communi- 
ty ;  if  these  institutions  can  only  be  preserved  in 
their  reputation  and  influence  by  the  general  res- 
pect which  is  paid  to  them;  there  is  the  same 
reason  to  each  of  us  for  bearing  our  part  in  these 
observances,  that  there  is  for  discharging  the  most 
acknowledged  duties  of  natural  religion.  When 
I  say,  "  the  reason  is  the  same,"  I  mean  that  it  is 
the  same  in  kind.  The  degree  of  strength  and 
cogency  which  this  reason  possesses  in  any  par- 
ticular case,  must  always  depend  upon  the  value 
and  importance  of  the  particular  duty  ;  which  ad- 
mits of  great  variety.     But  moral  and  positive 


to  contemn  and  neglect,  under  the  name  of  forms    duties   do   not  in   this   respect  differ  more  than 
andceremonies,  even  those  rites,  which,  forasmuch  I  moral   duties  difler  from  one  another.     So  that 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCIASIONS. 


513 


when  men  accuBtom  themselves  to  look  upon  posi- 
tive duties  as  universally  and  necessarily  inferior 
to  moral  ones,  as  of  a  subordinate  species,  as 
placed  upon  a  different  foundation,  or  deduced 
from  a  diiferent  original ;  and  consequently  to  re- 
gard them  as  unworthy  of  being  made  a  part  of 
their  plan  of  life,  or  of  entering  into  their  sense  of 
obligation,  they  appear  to  be  egregiously  misled 
by  names.  It  is  our  business,  not  to  aid,  but  to 
correct,  the  deception.  Still  nevertheless,  is  it  as 
true  as  ever  it  was,  that  "except  we  exceed  the 
righteousness  of  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  we 
cannot  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ;"  that 
"the  sabbath  was  made  lor  man,  and  not  man 
for  the  sabbath;"  that  "  the  weightier  matters  of 
the  law  are  faith,  justice,  and  mercy ;"  but  to  in- 
sist strenuously,  and,  as  some  do,  almost  ex- 
clusively, upon  these  points  at  present,  tends  to 
diminish  the  respect  for  religious  ordinances, 
which  is  already  too  little;  and  whilst  it  guards 
against  dangers  that  have  ceased  to  exist,  aug- 
ments those  which  are  really  formidable. 

Again  :  Upon  the  first  reformation  from  Pope- 
ry, a  method  very  much  prevailed  in  the  seceding 
churches,  of  resolving  the  whole  of  religion  into 
faith ;  good  works,  as  they  were  called,  or  the 
practice  of  virtue,  holding  not  only  a  secondary 
but  even  distant  place  in  value  and  esteem,  being 
represented,  indeed,  as  possessing  no  share  or  ef- 
ficacy in  the  attainment  of  human  salvation.  This 
doctrine  we  have  seen  revived  in  our  own  times, 
and  carried  to  still  greater  lengths.  And  it  is  a 
theory,  or  rather  perhaps  a  language,  which  re- 
quired, whilst  it  lasted,  very  serious  animadver- 
sion ;  not  only  because  it  disposed  men  to  rest  in 
an  unproductive  faith,  without  endeavours  to 
render  themselves  useful  by  exertion  and  activity ; 
not  only  because  it  was  naturally  capable  of  being 
converted  to  the  encouragement  of  licentiousness; 
but  because  it  misrepresented  Christianity  as 
a  moral  institution,  by  making  it  place  little  stress 
upon  the  distinction  of  virtue  and  vice,  and  by 
making  it  require  the  practice  of  external  duties, 
if  it  require  them  at  all,  only  as  casual,  neglected, 
and  almost  unthought  of  consequences,  of  that 
faith  which  it  extolled,  instead  of  directing  men's 
attention  to  them,  as  to  those  things  which  alone 
compose  an  unquestionable  and  effective  obedience 
to  the  divine  will.  So  long  as  this  turn  of  mind 
prevailed,  we  could  not  be  too  industrious  in 
bringing  together  and  exhibiting  to  our  hearers 
those  many  and  positive  declarations  of  Scripture, 
which  enforce,  and  insist  upon,  practical  religion  ; 
which  divide  mankind  into  those  who  do  good, 
and  those  who  do  evil ;  which  hold  out  to  the  one, 
favour  and  happiness,  to  the  other,  repulse  and 
condemnation.  The  danger,  howevei,  from  this 
quarter,  is  nearly  overpast.  We  are,  on  the  con- 
trary, setting  up  a  kind  of  philosophical  morality, 
detached  from  reUgion,  and  independent  of  its  in- 
fluence, which  may  be  cultivated,  it  is  said,  as 
well  without  Christianity  as  with  it ;  and  which, 
if  cultivated,  renders  religion  and  religious  institu- 
tions superfluous.  A  mode  of  thought  so  contrary 
to  truth,  and  so  derogatory  from  the  value  of  reve- 
lation, cannot  escape  the  vigilance  of  a  Christian 
ministry.  We  are  entitled  to  ask  upon  what 
foundation  this  morality  rests.  If  it  refer  to  the 
divine  will,  (and,  without  that,  where  will  it  find 
its  sanctions,  or  how  support  its  authority  1)  there 
cannot  be  a  conduct  of  the  understanding  more 
irrational,  than  to  appeal  to  those  intimations  of 
3T 


the  Deity's  character  which  the  light  and  order  ol 
nature  afford,  as  to  the  rule  and  measure  of  our 
duty,  yet  to  disregard,  and  affect  to  overlook,  the 
declarations  of  his  pleasure  which  Christianhy 
communicates.  It  is  impossible  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  authority  of  natural  and  revealed  reli- 
gion. "We  arc  bound  to  receive  the  precepts  of 
revelation  for  the  same  reason  that  we  comply 
with  the  dictates  of  nature.  He  who  despises  a 
command  which  proceeds  from  his  Maker,  no 
matter  by  what  means,  or  through  what  medium, 
instead  of  advancing,  as  he  pretends  to  do,  the  do- 
minion of  reason,  and  the  authority  of  natural  re- 
ligion, disobeys  the  first  injunction  of  both.  Al- 
though it  be  true  what  the  apostle  affirms — that, 
"when  the  Gentiles,  which  have  not  the  law,  do 
by  nature  the  things  contained  in  the  law,  they 
are  a  law  unto  themselves  f  that  is,  they  will  be 
accepted  together  with  those  who  are  instructed 
in  the  law  and  obey  it :  yet  is  this  truth  not  appli- 
cable to  such,  as,  having  a  law,  contemn  it,  and, 
with  the  means  of  access  to  the  word  of  God, 
keep  themselves  at  a  voluntary  distince  from  it. 
This  temper,  whilst  it  continues,  makes  it  neces- 
sary for  us  to  assert  the  superiority  of  a  religious 
principle  above  every  other  by  which  human  con- 
duct can  be  regulated  :  more  especially  above  that 
fashionable  system,  which  recommends  virtue  only 
as  a  true  and  refined  policy,  which  policy  in  efiect 
is,  and  in  the  end  commonly  proves  itself  to  be, 
nothing  else  than  a  more  exquisite  cunning,  which 
by  a  specious  behaviour  in  the  easy  and  visible 
concerns  of  life,  collects  a  fund  of  reputation,  in 
order  either  to  cherish  more  securely  concealed 
vices,  or  to  reserve  itself  for  some  great  stroke  of 
selfishness,  perfidy,  and  desertion,  in  a  pressing 
conjuncture  of  fortunes.  Nor  less  justly  may  we 
superinduce  the  guidance  of  Christianity  to  the 
direction  of  sentiment ;  which  depends  so  much 
upon  constitution,  upon  early  impressions,  upon 
habit  and  imitation,  that  unless  it  be  compared 
with,  and  adjusted  by,  some  safer  rule,  it  can  in 
no  wise  be  trusted.  Least  of  all  ought  we  to 
yield  the  authority  of  religion  to  the  law  of  honour, 
a  law  (if  it  deserve  that  name,)  which,  beside  its 
continual  mutability,  is  at  best  but  a  system  of 
manners  suited  to  the  intercourse  and  accommo- 
dation of  higher  life;  and  which  consequently 
neglects  every  duty,  and  permits  every  vice,  that 
has  no  relation  to  these  purposes.  Amongst  the 
rules  which  contend  with  religion  for  the  govern- 
ment of  life,  the  law  of  the  land  also  has  not  a  few, 
who  think  it  very  sufficient  to  act  up  to  its  direc- 
tion, and  to  keep  within  the  Hmits  which  it  pre- 
scribes :  and  this  sort  of  character  is  common  in 
our  congregations.  We  are  not  to  omit,  therefore, 
to  apprise  those  who  make  the  statutes  of  the 
realm  the  standard  of  their  duty,  that  they  pro- 
pose to  themselves  a  measure  of  conduct  totally 
inadequate  to  the  purpose.  The  boundaries  which 
nature  has  assigned  to  human  authority  and  con- 
trol, the  partial  ends  to  which  every  legislator  is 
obliged  to  confine  his  views,  prevent  human  laws, 
even  were  they,  what  they  never  are.  as  perfect 
as  they  might  be  made,  from  becoming  compe- 
tent rules  of  life  to  any  one  who  advances  his 
hopes  to  the  attainment  of  God  Almighty's  favour. 
In  contradistinction,  then,  to  these  several  sys- 
tems which  divide  a  great  f)ortion  of  mankind 
amongst  them,  we  preach  "faith  which  worketh 
by  love,"  that  principle  of  action  and  restraint 
which  is  found  in  a  Christian  alone.     It] 


\r 


514 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


qualities  to  which  none  of  them  can  make  preten- 
sions. It  operates  where  they  fail ;  is  present 
upon  all  occasions,  firm  upon  the  greatest;  pure 
as  under  the  inspection  of  a  vigilant  omniscience; 
innocent  where  guilt  could  not  be  discovered ; 
just,  exact,  and  upright,  without  a  witness  to 
its  proceedings ;  uniform  amidst  the  caprices  of 
fashion,  unchanged  by  the  vicissitudes  of  popular 
opinion  ;  often  applauded,  not  seldom  misunder- 
stood, it  holds  on  its  straight  and  equal  course, 
through  "good  report  and  evil  report,"  through 
encouragement  and  neglect,  approbation  and  dis- 
grace. If  the  philosopher  or  the  politician  can 
point  out  to  us  any  influence  but  that  of  Christi- 
anity which  has  these  properties,  1  had  almost 
said  which  does  not  want  them  all,  we  will 
listen  with  reverence  to  his  instruction.  But  un- 
til this  be  done,  we  may  be  permitted  to  resist 
every  plan  which  would  place  virtue  upon  any 
other  foundation,  or  seek  final  happiness  through 
any  other  medium,  than  faith  in  Jesus  Christ. 
At  least  whilst  an  inclination  to  these  rival  sys- 
tejns  remains,  no  good  end,  I  am  apt  to  think,  is 
attained  by  decrying  faith  under  any  form,  by 
stating  the  competition  between  faith  and  good 
works,  or  by  pointing  out,  with  too  much  anxiety, 
even  the  abuses  and  extravagances  into  which  the 
doctrine  of  salvation  by  faith  alone  has  sometimes 
been  carried.  The  truth  is,  that,  in  the  two  sub- 
jects which  T  have  considered,  we  are  in  such 
haste  to  fly  from  enthusiasm  and  superstition,  that 
we  are  approaching  towards  an  insensibility  to  all 
religious  influence.  I  certainly  do  not  mean  to 
advise  you  to  endeavour  to  bring  men  back  to  en- 
thusiasm and  superstition,  but  to  retard,  if  you 
can,  their  progress  towards  an  opposite  and  a 
worse  extreme ;  and  both  in  these,  and  in  all  other 
instances,  to  regulate  the  choice  of  your  subjects, 
by  the  particular  bias  and  tendency  of  opinion 
which  you  perceive  already  to  prevail  amongst 
your  hearers,  and  by  a  consideration,  not  of  the 
truth  only  of  what  you  deliver,  which,  however, 
must  always  be  an  indispensable  condition,  but  of 
its  effects,  and  those  not  the  effects  which  it  would 
produce  upon  sound,  enlightened,  and  impartial 
judgments,  but  what  are  likely  to  take  place  in 
the  weak  and  pre-occupied  understandings  with 
which  we  have  to  do. 

Having  thus  considered  the  rule  as  it  applies  to 
the  argument  of  our  discourses,  in  which  its  prin- 
cipal importance  consists,  I  proceed  to  illustrate 
its  use  as  it  relates  to  another  object — the  means 
of  exciting  attention.  The  transition  from  local 
to  ot^casional  sermons  is  so  easy,  and  the  reason 
for  both  is  so  much  the  same,  that  what  I  have 
further  to  add  will  include  the  one  as  well  as  the 
other.  And  though  nothing  more  be  proposed  in 
the  few  directions  which  I  am  about  to  offer,  than 
to  move  and  awaken  the  attention  of  our  audience, 
yet  is  this  a  purpose  of  no  inconsiderable  magni- 
tude. We  have  great  reason  to  complain  of  Tist- 
lessness  in  our  congregations.  Whether  this  be 
their  foult  or  ours,  the  fault  of  neither  or  of  both, 
it  is  much  to  be  desired  that  it  could  by  any  means 
be  removed.  Our  sermons  are  in  general  more 
informing,  as  well  as  more  correct  and  chastised 
both  in  matter  and  composition,  than  those  of  any 
denomination  of  dissenting  teachers.  I  wish  it 
were  in  our  power  to  render  them  as  impressive 
as  some  of  theirs  seem  to  be.  Now  I  think  we 
may  observe  that  we  are  heard  with  somewhat 
more  than  ordinary  advertency,  whenever  our  dis- 


courses are  recommended  by  any  occasional  pro 
priety.  The  more,  therefore,  of  these  proprieties 
we  contrive  to  weave  into  our  preaching,  the  bet- 
ter. One  which  is  very  obvious,  and  which  should 
never  be  neglected,  is  that  of  making  our  sermons 
as  suitable  as  we  can  to  the  service  of  the  day. 
On  the  principal  fasts  and  festivals  of  the  church, 
the  subjects  which  they  are  designed  to  commemo- 
rate, ought  invaiiably  to  be  made  the  subjects  of 
our  discourses.  Indeed,  the  best  sermon,  if  it  do 
not  treat  of  the  argument  which  the  congregation 
come  prepared  to  hear,  is  received  with  coldness, 
and  with  a  sense  of  disappointment.  This  respect 
to  the  order  of  public  worship  almost  every  one 
pays.  But  the  adaptation,  I  apprehend,  may  he 
carried  much  farther.  Whenever  any  thing  like 
a  unity  of  subject  is  pursued  throughout  the  col- 
lect, the  epistle,  and  gospel  of  the  day,  that  subject 
is  with  great  advantage  revived  in  the  pulpit.  It 
is  perhaps  to  be  wished  that  this  unity  had  been 
more  consulted  in  the  compilation  of  this  part  of 
the  liturgy  than  it  has  been.  When  from  the 
want  of  it  a  subject  is  not  distinctly  presented  to 
us,  there  may,  however,  be  some  portion  of  the 
service  more  striking  than  the  rest,  some  instruct- 
ive parable,  some  interesting  narration,  some  con- 
cise but  forcible  precept,  some  pregnant  sentence, 
which  may  be  recalled  to  the  hearer's  attention 
with  peculiar  effect.  I  think  it  no  contemptible 
advantage  if  we  even  draw  our  text  from  the  epis- 
tle or  gospel,  or  the  p.salms  or  lessons.  Our  con- 
gregation will  be  more  likely  to  retain  what  they 
hear  from  us,  when  it,  in  any  manner,  falls  in  with 
what  they  have  been  reading  in  their  prayer- 
books,  or  when  they  are  afterwards  reminded  of  it 
by  reading  the  psalms  and  lessons  at  home.  But 
there  is  another  species  of  accommodation  of  more 
importance,  and  that  is  the  choice  of  such  disqui- 
sitions, as  may  either  meet  the  difliculties  or  assist 
the  reflections,  which  are  suggested  by  the  por- 
tions of  Scripture  that  are  delivered  from  the  read- 
ing-desk. Thus,  whilst  the  wars  of  Joshua  and 
the  Judges  are  related  in  the  course  of  the  lessons 
which  occupy  some  of  the  first  Sundaj's  after 
Trinity,  it  will  be  very  seasonable  to  exjflain  the 
reasons  upon  which  that  dispensation  was  founded, 
the  moral  and  beneficial  purposes  which  are  de- 
clared to  have  been  designed,  and  which  were 
probably  accomplished,  by  its  execution ;  because 
such  an  explanation  will  obviate  the  doubts  con- 
cerning either  the  divine  goodness  or  the  credibi- 
lity of  the  narrative  which  may  arise  in  the  mind 
of  a  hearer,  who  is  not  instructed  to  regard  the 
transaction  as  a  method  of  inflicting  an  exemplary, 
just,  and  necessary  punishment.  In  like  manner, 
whilst  the  history  of  the  delivery  of  the  law  from 
mount  Sinai,  or  rather  the  recapitulation  of  that 
history  by  Moses,  in  the  book  of  Deuteronomy,  is 
carried  on  in  the  Sunday  lessons  which  are  read 
between  Easter  and  Whitsunday,  we  shall  be 
well  engaged  in  discourses  upon  the  command- 
ments which  stand  at  the  head  of  that  institution, 
in  showing  from  the  history  their  high  original 
and  authority,  and  in  explaining  their  reasonable- 
ness, application,  and  extent.  Whilst  the  history 
of  Joseph  is  successively  presented  to  the  congre- 
gation during  the  Sundays  in  Lent,  we  shall  be 
very  negligent  of  the  opportunity,  if  we  do  not 
take  occasion  to  point  out  to  our  hearers,  those 
observations  upon  the  benevolent  but  secret  direc- 
tion, the  wise  though  circuitous  measures,  of  Pro- 
vidence, of  which  this  beautiful  passage  of  Scrip- 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


515 


ture  supplies  a  train  of  apposite  examples.  There 
are^  I  doubt  not,  other  series  of  subjects  dictated 
by  the  service  as  edifj'ing  as  these;  but  these  I 
propose  as  illustrations  of  the  rule. 

Next  to  the  service  of  the  church,  the  season 
of  the  year  may  be  made  to  suggest  useful  and 
appropriate  topics  of  meditation.  The  beginning 
of  a  new  year  has  belonging  to  it  a  train  of  very 
solemn  reflections.  In  the  devotional  pieces  of  the 
late  Dr.  Johnson,  this  occasion  was  never  passed 
by.  We  may  learn  from  these  writings  the  pro- 
per use  to  be  made  of  it;  and  by  the  example  of 
that  excellent  person,  how  much  a  pious  mind  is 
wont  to  be  affected  by  this  memorial  of  the  lapse 
of  life.  There  are  also  certain  proprieties  which 
correspond  with  the  different  parts  of  the  year. 
For  example,  the  wisdom  of  God  in  the  work  of 
the  creation  is  a  theme  which  ought  to  be  reserved 
lor  the  return  of  the  spring,  when  nature  renews, 
as  it  were,  her  activity;  when  every  animal  is 
cheerful  and  busy,  and  seems  to  feel  the  influence 
of  its  Makers  kindness;  when  our  senses  and 
spirits,  the  objects  and  enjoyments  that  surround 
us,  accord  and  harmonize  with  those  sentiments 
of  delight  and  gratitude,  which  this  subject,  above 
all  others,  is  calculated  to  inspire.  There  is  no 
devotion  so  genuine  as  that  which  flows  from 
these  meditations,  because  it  is  unforced  and  self- 
excited.  There  is  no  frame  of  mind  more  desira- 
ble, and,  consequently,  no  preaching  more  useful, 
than  that  which  leads  the  thought  to  this  exercise. 
It  is  laying  a  foundation  for  Christianity  itself 
If  it  be  not  to  sow  the  seed,  it  is  at  least  to  pre- 
pare the  soil.  The  evidence  of  revelation  arrives 
with  much  greater  ease  at  an  understanding, which 
is  already  possessed  by  the  persuasion,  that  an 
unseen  intelligence  framed  and  conducts  the  uni- 
verse ;  and  which  is  accustomed  to  refer  the  order 
and  operations  of  nature  to  the  agency  of  a  su- 
preme will.  The  influence  also  of  religion  is  al- 
most always  in  proportion  to  the  degree  and 
strength  of  this  conviction.  It  is,  moreover,  a 
species  of  instruction  of  which  our  hearers  are 
more  capable  than  we  may  at  first  sight  suppose. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  be  a  philosopher,  or  to  be 
skilled  in  the  names  and  distinctions  of  natural 
history,  in  order  to  perceive  marks  of  contrivance 
and  design  in  the  creation.  It  is  only  to  turn  our 
observation  to  them.  Now,  beside  that  this  re- 
quires neither  more  ability  nor  leisure  than  every 
man  can  command,  there  are  many  things  in  the 
life  of  a  country  parishioner  which  will  dispose 
his  thoughts  to  the  employment.  In  his  fields, 
amidst  his  flocks,  in  the  progress  of  vegetation, 
the  structure,  faculties,  and  manners,  of  domestic 
animals,  he  has  constant  occasion  to  remark  proofs 
of  intention  and  of  consummate  wisdom.  The 
minister  of  a  country  parish  is  never,  therefore, 
better  engaged,  than  when  he  is  assisting  this  turn 
of  contemplation.  Nor  will  he  ever  do  it  with  so 
much  effect,  as  when  the  appearance  and  face  of  ex- 
ternal nature  conspire  with  the  sentiments  which 
he  wishes  to  excite. 

Again :  if  we  would  enlarge  upon  the  various 
bounty  of  Providence,  in  furnishing  a  regular  sup- 
ply for  animal,  and  especially  for  human  subsist- 
ence, not  by  one,  but  by  numerous  and  diversified 
species  of  food  and  clothing,  we  shall  behest  heard 
in  the  time  and  amidst  the  occupations  of  harvest, 
when  our  hearers  are  reaping  the  effects  of  those 
contrivances  for  their  support,  and  of  that  care  for 
their  preservation,  which  their  Father  which  is  in 


heaven  hath  exercised  for  them.  If  the  year  has 
been  favourable,  we  rejoice  with  them  in  the  plen- 
ty which  fills  their  granaries,  covers  their  tables, 
and  feeds  their  families.  If  otherwise,  or  less  so, 
we  have  .still  to  remark,  how  through  all  the  hus- 
bandman's disappointments,  through  the  dangers 
and  inclemencies  of  precarious  seasons,  a  compe- 
tent proportion  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth  is  con- 
ducted to  its  destined  purpose.  We  may  observe 
also  to  the  repining  farmer,  that  the  value,  if  not 
the  existence,  of  his  own  occupation,  depends 
upon  the  very  uncertainty  of  which  he  complains. 
It  is  found  to  be  almost  universally  true,  that  tiie 
partition  of  the  profits  between  the  owner  and  the 
occupier  of  the  soil,  is  in  favour  of  the  latter,  in 
proportion  to  the  risk  which  he  incurs  by  the  dis- 
advantage of  the  climate.  This  is  a  very  just  re- 
flection, and  particularly  intelligible  to  a  rural 
audience.  We  may  add,  when  the  occasion  re- 
quires it,  that  scarcity  itself  hath  its  use.  By  act- 
ing as  a  stimulus  to  new  exertions  and  to  farther 
improvements,  it  often  produces,  through  a  tem- 
porary distress,  a  permanent  benefit. 

Lastly ;  sudden,  violent,  or  untimely  deaths,  or 
death  accompanied  by  any  circumstances  of  sur- 
prise or  singularity,  usually  leave  an  impression 
upon  a  whole  neighbourhood.  A  Christian  teach- 
er is  wanting  in  attention  to  opportunities  who 
does  not  avail  himself  of  this  impression.  The 
uncertainty  of  life  requires  no  proof  But  the 
power  and  influence  which  this  consideration  shall 
obtain  over  the  decisions  of  the  mind,  will  depend 
greatly  upon  the  circumstances  under  which  it  is 
presented  to  the  imagination.  Discourses  upon 
the  subject  come  with  tenfold  force,  when  they 
are  directed  to  a  heart  already  touched  by  some 
near,  recent,  and  afiecting  example  of  human  mor 
tality.  I  do  not  lament  that  funeral  sermons  are 
discontinued  amongst  us.  They  generally  con- 
tained so  much  of  unseasonable  and  oftentimes 
undeserved  panegyric,  that  the  hearers  came  away 
from  them,  rather  with  remarks  in  their  mouths 
upon  what  was  said  of  the  deceased,  than  with 
any  internal  reflections  upon  the  solenniity  which 
they  had  left,  or  how  nearly  it  related  to  their  own 
condition.  But  by  decent  allusions  in  the  stated 
course  of  our  preaching  to  events  of  this  sort,  or 
by,  what  is  better,  such  a  well-timed  choice  of  our 
subject,  as  may  lead  our  audience  to  make  the  al- 
lusion for  themselves,  it  is  possible,  1  think,  to  re- 
tain much  of  the  good  effect  of  funeral  discourses, 
without  their  adulation,  and  without  exciting  vain 
curiosity. 

If  other  occurrences  have  arisen  within  our 
neighbourhood,  which  serve  to  exemplify  the  pro- 
gress and  fate  of  vice,  the  solid  advantages  and 
ultimate  success  of  virtue,  the  providential  disco- 
very of  guilt  or  protection  of  innocence,  the  tolly 
of  avarice,  the  disappointments  of  ambition,  the 
vanity  of  worldly  schemes,  the  fallaciousness  of 
human  foresight;  in  a  word,  which  may  remind 
us,  "  what  shadows  we  are,  and  what  shadows  we 
pursue,"  and  thereby  induce  us  to  collect  our 
views  and  endeavours  to  one  point,  the  attainment 
of  final  salvation  ;  such  occurrences  may  be  made 
to  introduce  topics  of  serious  and  useful  medita- 
tion. I  have  heard  popular  preachers  amongst  the 
methodists  avail  themselves  of  these  occasions 
with  very  powerful  effect.  It  must  be  acknow- 
ledged that  they  frequently  transgress  the  limits 
of  decorum  and  propriety,  and  that  these  trans- 
gressions wound  the  modesty  of  a  cultivated  ear. 


516 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


But  the  method  itself  is  not  to  be  blamed.  Under 
the  correction  of  a  sounder  judgment  it  might  be 
rendered  very  beneficial.  Perhaps,  as  hath  been 
already  intimated,  the  safest  way  is,  not  to  refer 
to  these  incidents  by  any  direct  allusion,  but  mere- 
ly to  discourse  at  the  time  upon  subjects  which 
are  allied  to,  and  connected  with  them. 

The  sum  of  what  I  have  been  recommending 
amounts  to  this :  that  we  consider  diligently  the 
probable  effects  of  our  discourses,  upon  the  parti- 
cular characters  and  dispositions  of  those  who  are 
to  hear  them ;  but  that  we  apply  this  considera- 
tion solely  to  the  choice  of  truths,  by  no  means  to 
the  admission  of  falsehood  or  insincerity:*  Se- 
condly, that  we  endeavour  to  profit  by  circum- 
stances, that  is,  to  assist,  not  the  reasoning,  but 


*  This  distinction  fixes  the  limits  of  exoteric  doctrine, 
as  far  as  any  thing  called  by  that  name  is  allowable  to 
a  Christian  teacher. 


the  efficacy  of  our  discourses,  by  an  opportune  anr. 
skilful  use  of  the  service  of  the  church,  the  season 
of  the  year,  and  of  all  such  occurrences  and  situa- 
tions as  are  capable  of  receiving  a  religious  turn, 
and  such  as,  being  yet  recent  in  the  memory  of 
our  hearers,  may  dispose  their  minds  for  the  ad- 
mission and  influence  of  salutary  reflections. 

My  Reverend  Brethren,  I  am  sensible  that  the 
discourse  with  which  I  have  now  detained  you,  is 
not  of  that  kind  which  is  usually  delivered  at  a 
Chancellor's  visitation.  But  since  (by  the  favour 
of  that  excellent  prelate,  who  by  me  must  long  be 
remembered  with  gratitude  and  affection)  I  hold 
another  public  station  in  the  diocese,  I  embrace 
the  only  opportunity  afforded  me  of  submitting  to 
you  that  species  of  counsel  and  exhortation,  which, 
with  more  propriety  perhaps,  you  would  have  re- 
ceived from  me  in  the  character  of  your  archdea- 
con, if  the  functions  of  that  office  had  remained 
entire. 


SERMON   V. 

DANGERS  INCIDENTAL  TO  THE  CLERICAL  CHARACTER,  STATED, 

IN  A  SERMON  PREACHED  BEFORE  THE  UNIVERSITY  OP  CAMBRIDGE,   AT  GREAT   ST.  MARY's  CHURCH,  ON 
SUNDAY,  JULY  5,  BEING  COMMENCEMENT  SUNDAY. 


To  Lowther  Yates,  D.  D.  Vice  Chancellor,  and  the  Heads  of  Colleges  in  the  University  of 
Cambridge,  as  a  testimony  to  many  of  them,  of  the  affection  with  which  the  Author  retains  his 
academical  friendships ;  and  to  all,  of  the  respect  with  which  he  regards  their  stations ;  the 
following  discourse  is  inscribed  by  their  faithful  servant,  W.  PALEY. 


Lest  that,  by  any  means,  when  I  have  preached  to  others,  I  myself  should  be  a  cast-away. — 
1  Corinthians  ix. — Part  of  the  27th  verse. 


These  words  discover  the  anxiety,  not  to  say 
the  fears,  of  the  writer,  concerning  the  event  of 
his  personal  salvation ;  and,  when  interpreted  by 
the  words  which  precede  them,  strictly  connect 
that  event  with  the  purity  of  his  personal  character. 

It  is  extremely  material  to  remember  who  it  was 
that  felt  this  deep  solicitude  for  the  fate  of  his 
spiritual  interests,  and  the  persuasion  that  his 
acceptance  (in  so  far  as  it  is  procured  by  human 
endeavours)  would  depend  upon  the  care  and 
exactness  v.'ith  which  he  regulated  his  own  pas- 
sions, and  his  own  conduct ;  because,  if  a  man 
ever  existed,  who,  in  the  zeal  and  labour  with 
which  he  served  the  cause  of  religion,  in  the  ar- 
dour or  the  efficacy  of  his  preaching,  in  his  suf- 
ferings, or  his  success,  might  hope  for  some  excuse 
to  indulgence,  some  licence  for  gratifications  which 
were  forbidden  to  others,  it  was  the  author  of  the 
text  which  has  been  now  read  to  you.  Yet  the 
apostle  appears  to  have  known,  and  by  his  know- 
ledge teaches  us,  that  no  exertion  of  industry,  no 
display  of  talents,  no  public  merit,  however  great, 
or  however  good  and  sacred  be  the  cause  in  which 
it  is  acquired,  will  compensate  for  the  neglect  of 
personal  self-government. 

This,  in  my  opinion,  is  an  important  lesson  to 
all :  to  none,  certainly,  can  it  be  more  applicable, 
than  it  is  in  every  age  to  the  teachers  of  religion ; 
for  a  little  observation  of  the  world  must  have 
informed  us,  that  the  human  mind  is  prone,  almost 
beyond  resistance,  to  sink  the  weakness  or  the 
irregularities  of  private  character  in  the  view  of 
public  services ;  that  this  propensity  is  the  strongest 
ill  a  man's  own  case ;  that  it  prevails  more  power- 
fully in  religion  than  in  other  subjects,  inasmuch 
as  the  teachers  of  religion  consider  themselves 
(and  rightly  do  so)  as  ministering  to  the  higher 
interests  of  human  existence. 


Still  farther,  if  there  be  causes,  as  I  believe 
there  are,  which  raise  extraordinary  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  offices 
of  religion ;  circumstances  even  of  disadvantage  in 
the  profession  and  character,  as  far  as  relates  to 
the  conservation  of  their  own  virtue  ;  it  behoves 
them  to  adopt  the  apostle's  caution  with  more  than 
common  care,  because  it  is  only  to  prepare  them- 
selves for  dangers  to  which  they  are  more  than 
commonly  exposed. 

Nor  is  there  good  reason  for  concealing,  either 
from  ourselves  or  others,  any  unfavourable  dispo- 
sitions which  the  nature  of  our  employment  or 
situation  may  tend  to  generate  :  for.  be  they  what 
they  will,  they  only  prove,  that  it  happens  to  us 
according  to  the  condition  of  human  life,  with 
many  benefits  to  receive  some  inconveniences; 
with  many  helps  to  experience  some  trials :  that, 
with  many  peculiar  motives  to  virtue,  and  means 
of  improvement  in  it,  some  obstacles  are  pre- 
sented to  our  progress,  which  it  may  require  a 
distinct  and  positive  effort  of  the  mind  to  sur- 
mount. 

I  apprehend  that  I  am  stating  a  cause  of  no 
inconsiderable  importance,  when  amongst  these 
impediments  I  mention,  in  the  first  place,  the 
insensibility  to  reUgious  impression,  which  a  con- 
stant conversation  with  religious  subjects,  and, 
still  more,  a  constant  intermixture  with  religious 
offices,  is  wont  to  induce.  Such  is  the  frame  of 
the  human  constitution,  (and  calculated  also  for 
the  wisest  purposes,)  that  whilst  all  active  habits 
are  facilitated  and  strengthened  by  repetition, 
impressions  under  which  we  are  passive,  are 
weakened  and  diminished.  Upon  the  first  of 
these  properties  depends,  in  a  great  measure,  the 
exercise  of  the  arts  of  life :  upon  the  second,  the 
capacity  which  the  mind  possesses  of  adapting 
44  517 


518 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


itself  to  almost  every  situation.  This  quality  is 
perceived  in  numerous,  and  for  the  most  part 
beneiicial  examples.  Scenes  of  terror,  spectacles 
of  pain,  objects  of  loathing  and  disgust,  so  far  lose 
tiieir  effect  with  their  novelty,  as  to  permit  pro- 
fessions to  be  carried  on,  and  conditions  of  life  to 
be  endured,  which  otherwise,  although  necessary, 
would  be  insupportable.  It  is  a  quality,  however, 
which  acts,  as  other  parts  of  our  frame  do,  by  an 
operation  which  is  general ;  hence  it  acts  also  in 
instances  in  which  its  influence  is  to  be  corrected  ; 
and,  amongst  these,  in  religion.  Every  attentive 
Christian  will  have  observed  how  much  more 
powerfully  he  is  affected  by  any  form  of  worship 
which  is  uncommon,  than  with  the  familiar  re- 
turns of  his  own  religious  offices.  He  will  be 
sensible  of  the  difference  when  he  approaches,  a 
few  times  in  the  year,  the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's 
Supper;  if  he  should  be  present  at  the  visitation 
of  the  sick;  or  even,  if  that  were  unusual  to  him, 
at  the  sight  of  a  family  assembled  in  prayer.  He 
will  perceive  it  also  upon  entering  the  doors  of  a 
dissenting  congregation ;  a  circumstance  which 
has  misled  many,  by  causing  them  to  ascribe  to 
some  advantage  in  the  conduct  of  public  worship, 
what,  in  truth,  is  only  the  effect  of  new  impres- 
sions. Now,  by  how  much  a  lay  frequenter  of 
religious  worship  finds  himself  less  warmed  and 
stimulated  by  ordinary,  than  by  extraordinary 
acts  of  devotion,  by  so  much,  it  may  be  expected, 
that  a  clergyman,  habitually  conversant  with  the 
offices  of  religion,  will  be  less  moved  and  stimu- 
lated than  he  is.  What  then  is  to  be  done  1  It 
is  by  an  effort  of  reflection  ;  by  a  positive  exertion 
of  the  mind ;  by  knowing  this  tendency,  and  by 
setting  ourselves  expressly  to  resist  it;  that  we 
are  to  repair  the  decays  of  spontaneous  piety. 
We  are  no  more  to  surrender  ourselves  to  the 
mechanism  of  our  frame,  than  to  the  impulse  of 
our  passions.  We  arc  to  assist  our  sensitive  by 
our  rational  nature.  We  are  to  supply  this  infir- 
mity (for  so  it  may  be  called,  although,  like  many 
other  properties  which  bear  the  name  of  vices  in 
our  constitution,  it  be,  in  truth,  a  beneficial  prin- 
ciple acting  according  to  a  general  law)— -we  are 
to  supply  it  by  a  deeper  sense  of  the  obligations 
under  which  we  lie ;  by  a  more  frequent  and  a 
more  distinct  recollection  of  the  reasons  upon 
which  that  obligation  is  founded.  We  are  not  to 
wonder  at  the  pains  which  this  may  cost  us  ;  still 
less  are  we  to  imitate  the  despondency  of  some 
serious  Christians,  who,  in  the  impaired  sensibi- 
lity that  habit  hath  induced,  bewail  the  coldness 
of  a  deserted  soul. 

Hitherto  our  observation  will  not  be  questioned ; 
but  I  think  that  this  principle  goes  farther  than 
is  generally  known  or  acknowledged.  I  think 
„hat  it  extends  to  the  influence  which  argument 
itself  possesses  upon  our  understanding ;  or,  at 
least,  to  the  influence  which  it  possesses  in  deter- 
mining our  will.  I  will  not  say,  that,  in  a  subject 
strictly  intellectual,  and  in  science  properly  so 
called,  a  demonstration  is  the  less  convincing  for 
being  old :  but  I  am  not  sure  that  this  is  not,  in 
some  measure,  true  of  moral  evidence  and  proba- 
ble proofs.  In  practical  subjects,  however,  where 
two  things  are  to  be  done,  the  understanding  to 
be  convinced,  and  the  will  to  be  persuaded,  I  be- 
lieve that  the  force  of  every  argument  is  diminished 
by  triteness  and  familiarity.  The  intrinsic  value 
of  the  argument  must  be  the  same ;  the  impres- 
sion may  be  very  different. 


But  we  have  a  disadvantage  to  contend  with 
additional  to  this.  The  consequence  of  repetition 
will  be  felt  more  sensibly  by  us,  who  are  in  the 
habit  of  directing  our  arguments  to  others  :  for  it 
always  requires  a  second,  a  separate,  and  ai 
unusual  effort  of  the  mind,  to  bring  back  the  con- 
clusion upon  ourselves.  In  constructing,  in  cx- 
jiressing,  in  delivering  our  arguments  ;  in  all  the 
thoughts  and  study  which  we  employ  upon  them  ; 
what  we  are  apt  to  hold  continually  in  our  view, 
is  the  effect  which  they  may  produce  upon  those 
who  hear  or  read  them.  The  further  and  best  use 
of  our  meditations,  their  influence  upon  our  own 
hearts  and  consciences,  is  lost  in  the  presence  of 
the  other.  In  philosophy  itself,  it  is  not  always 
the  same  thing,  to  study  a  subject,  in  order  to 
understand,  and  in  order  only  to  teach  it.  In 
morals  and  religion,  the  powers  of  persuasion 
are  cultivated  by  those  whose  employment  is  pub- 
lic instruction  ;  but  their  wishes  are  fulfilled,  and 
their  care  exhausted,  in  promoting  the  success  of 
their  endeavours  upon  others.  The  secret  duty 
of  turning  truly  and  in  earnest  their  attention 
upon  themselves,  is  suspended,  not  to  say  forgot- 
ten, amidst  the  labours,  the  engagements,  the 
popularity,  of  their  public  ministry ;  and  in  the 
best  disposed  minds,  is  interrupted,  by  the  anxiety, 
or  even  by  the  satisfaction,  with  which  their  pub- 
lic services  are  performed. 

These  are  dangers  adhering  to  the  very  nature 
of  our  profession  :  but  the  evil  is  often  also  aug- 
mented by  our  imprudence.  In  our  wishes  to 
convince,  we  are  extremely  apt  to  overstate  our 
arguments.  We  think  no  confidence  with  which 
we  speak  of  them  can  be  too  great,  when  our 
intention  is  to  urge  them  upon  our  hearers.  This 
zeal,  not  seldom,  1  believe,  defeats  its  own  purpose, 
even  with  those  whom  we  address  ;  but  it  always 
destroys  the  efficacy  of  the  argument  uj)on  our- 
selves. We  are  conscious  of  the  exaggeration, 
whether  our  hearers  perceive  it  or  not ;  and  this 
consciousness  corrupts  to  us  the  whole  influence 
of  the  conclusion ;  robs  it  even  of  its  just  value. 
Demonstration  admits  of  no  degrees  :  but  real  life 
knows  nothing  of  demonstration.  It  converses 
only  with  moral  evidence  and  moral  reasoning. 
In  these  the  scale  of  probability  is  extensive;  and 
every  argument  hath  its  place  in  it.  It  may  not 
be  quite  the  same  thing  to  overstate  a  true  reason, 
and  to  advance  a  false  one  :  but  since  two  ques- 
tions present  themselves  to  the  judgment,  usually 
joined  together  by  their  nature  and  importance, 
viz.  on  which  side  probability  lies,  and  how  much 
it  preponderates ;  to  transgress  the  rules  of  fair 
reasoning  in  either  question,  in  either  to  go  be- 
yond our  own  perception  of  the  subject,  is  a  simi- 
lar, if  not  an  equal  fault.  In  both  cases  it  is  a 
want  of  candour,  which  approaches  to  a  want  of 
veracity.  But  that  in  which  its  worst  effect  is 
seen ;  that,  at  least,  which  it  belongs  to  this  dis- 
course to  notice ;  is  in  its  so  undermining  the 
solidity  of  our  proofs,  that  our  own  understand- 
ings refuse  to  rest  upon  them ;  in  vitiating  the 
integrity  of  our  own  judgments;  in  rendering 
our  minds  as  well  incapable  of  estimating  the  pro- 
per strength  of  moral  and  religious  arguments,  as 
unreasonably  suspicious  of  their  truth,  and  dull 
and  insensible  to  their  impression. 

If  dangers  to  our  character  accompany  the  ex- 
ercise of  our  public  ministry,  they  no  less  attend 
upon  the  nature  of  our  professional  studies.  It 
has  been  said,  that  literary  trifling  upon  the  Scrip- 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


519 


tares  has  a  tendency,  above  all  other  employments, 
to  harden  the  heart.  If  hy  this  maxim  it  be  de- 
signed to  reprove  the  exercise,  to  check  the  free- 
dom, or  to  question  the  utility,  of  critical  re- 
searches, when  employed  upon  tiie  sacred  volume, 
it  is  not  by  me  to  be  defended.  If  it  mean  simply 
to  guard  against  an  existing  danger,  to  state  a 
usual  and  natural  consequence,  the  maxim  wants 
neither  truth  nor  use.  It  is  founded  in  this  obser- 
vation :  when  any  one,  by  the  command  of  learn- 
ing and  talents,  has  been  fortunate  enough  to  clear 
up  an  obscurity,  or  to  settle  a  doubt,  in  the  inter- 
pretation of  Scripture ;  pleased  (and  justly  pleased) 
with  the  result  of  his  endeavours,  his  thoughts  are 
wont  to  indulge  this  complacency,  and  there  to 
stop ;  or  when  another,  by  a  patient  application 
of  inferior  faculties,  has  made,  as  he  thinks,  some 
progress  in  theological  studies ;  or  even  has  with 
much  attention  engaged  in  them  ;  he  is  apt  to  rest 
and  stay  in  what  he  deems  a  religious  and  merito- 
rious service.  The  critic  and  the  commentator  do 
not  always  proceed  with  the  reflection,  that  if 
these  things  be  true,  if  this  book  do  indeed  con- 
vey to  us  the  will  of  God,  then  is  it  no  longer  to 
be  studied  and  criticised  alone,  but,  what  is  a  very 
different  w(irk,  to  be  obeyed,  and  to  be  acted  upon. 
At  least,  this  ulterior  operation  of  the  mind,  en- 
feebled perhaps  by  former  exertions  of  quite  ano- 
ther nature,  does  not  always  retain  sufficient  force 
and  vigour  to  bend  the  obstinacy  of  the  will.  To 
describe  the  evil  is  to  point  out  the  remedy; 
whicli  must  consist  in  holding  steadfastly  within 
our  view  this  momentous  consideration,  that,  how- 
ever laboriously,  or  however  successfully,  we  may 
have  cultivated  religious  studies ;  how  much  so- 
ever we  may  have  added  to  our  learning  or  our 
fame,  we  have  hitherto  done  little  for  our  salvation  ; 
that  a  more  arduous,  to  us  perhaps  a  new,  and,  it 
may  be,  a  painful  work,  which  the  public  eye  sees 
not,  which  no  public  favour  will  reward,  v-et  re- 
mains to  be  attempted;  that  of  instituting  an  exa- 
mination of  our  hearts  and  of  our  conduct,  of  alter- 
ing the  secret  course  of  our  behaviour,  of  reducing, 
with  whatever  violence  to  our  habits,  loss  of  our 
pleasures,  or  interruption  of  our  pursuits,  its  de- 
viations to  a  conformity  with  those  rules  of  hfe 
which  are  delivered  in  the  volume  that  lies  open 
before  us;  and  which,  if  it  be  of  importance 
enough  to  deserve  our  study,  ought,  for  reasons 
infinitely  superior,  to  command  our  obedience. 

Another  disadvantage  incidental  to  the  charac- 
ter of  which  we  are  now  exposing  the  dangers,  is 
the  moral  debility  that  arises  from  the  want  of  be- 
ing trained  in  the  virtues  of  active  life.  This 
complaint  belongs  not  to  the  clergy  as  such,  be- 
cause their  pastoral  office  affords  as  many  calls, 
and  as  many  opportunities,  for  beneficent  exer- 
tions, as  are  usually  found  in  private  stations; 
but  it  belongs  to  that  secluded,  contemplative  hfe, 
which  men  of  learning  often  make  choice  of,  or 
into  which  they  are  thrown  by  the  accident  of 
their  fortunes.  A  great  part  of  mankind  owe 
their  principles  to  their  practice ;  that  is,  to  that 
wonderful  accession  of  strength  and  energy  which 
good  dispositions  receive  from  good  actions.  It  is 
difficult  to  sustain  virtue  by  meditation  alone ;  but 
let  our  conclusions  only  have  influence  enough 
once  to  determine  us  upon  a  course  of  virtue,  and 
that  influence  will  acquire  such  augmentation  of 
force  from  every  instance  of  virtuous  endeavour, 
'  as,  ere  long,  to  produce  in  us  constancy  and  resolu- 
tion, a  formed  and  a  fixed  character.     Of  this  great 


and  progressive  assistance  to  their  principles,  men 
who  are  withdrawn  from  the  business  and  the  in- 
tercourse of  civil  life  find  themselves  in  some  mea- 
sure deprived.  Virtue  in  them  is  left,  more  than 
in  others,  to  the  dictates  of  reason  ;  to  a  sense  of 
duty  less  aided  by  the  power  of  habit.  I  will  not 
deny  that  this  difference  renders  their  virtue  more 
pure,  more  actual,  and  nearer  to  its  principle ;  but 
it  renders  it  less  easy  to  be  attained  or  preserved. 

Having  proposed  these  circumstances,  as  diffi- 
culties of  which  I  think  it  useful  that  our  order 
should  be  apprised ;  and  as  growing  out  of  the 
functions  of  the  profession,  its  studies,  or  the  situa- 
tions in  which  it  places  us ;  I  proceed,  with  the 
same  view,  to  notice  a  turn  and  habit  of  thinking, 
which  is,  of  late,  become  very  general  amongst  the 
higher  classes  of  the  community,  amongst  all  who 
occupy  stations  of  authority,  and  in  conmion  with 
these  two  descriptions  of  men,  amongst  the  clergy. 
That  which  I  am  about  to  animadvert  upon,  is, 
in  its  place,  and  to  a  certain  degree,  undoubtedly 
a  fair  and  right  consideration ;  but,  in  the  extent 
to  which  it  prevails,  has  a  tendency  to  discharge 
from  the  hearts  of  mankind  all  religious  principle 
whatever.  What  I  mean,  is  the  performing  of 
our  religious  offices  for  the  sake  of  setting  an  ex- 
aviple  to  others ;  and  the  allowing  of  this  motive 
so  to  take  possession  of  the  mind,  as  to  substitute 
itself  into  the  place  of  the  proper  ground  and  rea- 
son of  the  duty.  I  must  be  permitted  to  contend, 
that,  whenever  this  is  the  case,  it  becomes  not  only 
a  cold  and  extraneous,  but  a  false  and  unreasona- 
ble, principle  of  action.  A  conduct  propagated 
through  the  different  ranks  of  society  merely  by 
this  .motive,  is  a  chain  without  a  support,  a  fabric 
without  a  foundation.  The  parts,  indeed,  depend 
upon  one  another,  but  there  is  nothing  to  bear  up 
the  whole.  There  must  he  some  reason  for  every 
duty  beside  example,  or  there  can  be  no  sufficient 
reason  for  it  at  all.  It  is  a  perversion,  therefore, 
of  the  regular  order  of  our  ideas,  to  suffer  a  con- 
sideration, which,  whatever  be  its  importance,  is 
only  secondary  and  consequential  to  another,  to 
shut  out  that  other  from  the  thoughts.  The  ef- 
fect of  this  in  the  offices  of  religion,  is  utterly  to 
destroy  their  religious  quality  ;  to  rob  them  of  that 
which  gives  to  them  their  life,  their  spirituality, 
their  nature.  They  who  would  set  an  example  to 
others  of  acts  of  worship  and  devotion,  in  truth 
perform  none  themselves.  Idle  or  proud  specta- 
tors of  the  scene,  they  vouchsafe  their  presence  in 
our  assemblies,  for  the  edification,  it  seems,  and 
benefit  of  others,  but  as  if  they  had  no  sins  of 
their  own  to  deplore,  no  mercies  to  acknowledge, 
no  pardon  to  entreat. 

Shall  the  consideration,  then,  of  example  be 
prohibited  and  discarded  from  the  thoughts]  By 
no  means  :  but  let  it  attend  upon,  not  supersede, 
the  proper  motive  of  the  action.  Let  us  learn  to 
know  and  feel  the  reason,  the  value,  and  the  obli- 
gation of  the  duty,  as  it  concerns  ourselves ;  and, 
in  proportion  as  we  are  aflfected  by  the  force  of 
these  considerations,  we  shall  desire,  and  desiring 
endeavour,  to  extend  their  influence  to  others. 
This  wish,  flowing  from  an  original  sense  of  each 
duty,  preserves  to  the  duty  its  proper  principle. 
"  Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men,  that  they 
may  see  your  srood  works,  and  glorify  your  Father 
which  is'  in  Heaven."  77(6  glori/  of  your  hea- 
venly Father  is  still,  you  observe,  the  termination 
of  the  precept.  The  love  of  God ;  that  zeal  for  his 
honour  and  service,  which  love,  which  gratitude, 


5-30 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


which  piety  inspires,  is  still  to  be  the  operating 
motive  of  your  conduct.  Because  we  find  it  con- 
venient to  ourselves,  that  those  about  us  should  he 
religious ;  or  because  it  is  useful  to  the  state,  that 
religion  should  te  upheld  in  the  country:  to  join, 
trom  these  motives,  in  the  public  ordinances  of  the 
church,  for  the  sake  of  maintaining  their  credit 
by  our  presence  and  example,  however  advisable 
il  may  be  as  a  branch  of  secular  prudence,  is  not 
either  to  fulfil  our  Lord's  precept,  or  to  perform 
any  religious  service.  Religion  can  spring  only 
from  its  own  principle.  Believing  our  salvation 
to  be  involved  in  the  faithful  discharge  of  our  reli- 
gious as  well  as  moral  duties,  or  ratlier  that  they 
are  tlie  same ;  experiencing  the  warmth,  the  con- 
bolation,  the  virtuous  energy,  which  every  act  of 
true  devotion  communicates  to  the  heart,  and  how 
much  these  etiects  are  heightened  by  consent  and 
sympathy ;  with  the  benevolence  with  which  we 
love  our  neighbour,  loving  also  and  seeking  his  im- 
mortal welfare;  when,  prompted  by  these  senti- 
ments, we  unite  with  him  in  acts  of  social  homage 
to  our  Maker,  then  hath  every  principle  its  weight ; 
then,  at  length,  is  our  worship  what  it  ought  to  be ; 
exemplary,  yet  our  own ;  not  the  less  personal  for 
being  public.  We  bring  our  hearts  to  the  service, 
and  not  a  constrained  attendance  upon  the  place, 
with  otlentimes  an  ill  concealed  indifference  to 
what  is  there  passing. 

If  what  we  have  stated  concerning  example  be 
true ;  if  the  consideration  of  it  be  liable  to  be  over- 
stretched or  misapplied  ;  no  persons  can  be  more 
in  danger  of  falling  into  the  mistake  than  they 
who  are  taught  to  regard  themselves  as  placed  in 
their  stations  tor  the  purpose  of  becoming  the  ex- 
amples as  well  as  instructors  of  their  fJocks.  It  is 
necessary  that  they  should  be  admonished  to  re- 
vert continually  to  the  fundamental  cause  of  all 
obligation  and  of  all  duty;  particularly  to  remem- 
ber, that,  in  their  religious  offices,  they  have  not 
only  to  pronounce,  to  excite,  to  conduct  the  devo- 
tion of  their  congregations,  but  to  pay  to  God  the 
adoration  which  themselves  owe  to  him :  in  a 
word,  amidst  their  care  of  others,  to  save  their  own 
souls  by  their  own  religion. 

These,  I  think,  are  some  of  the  causes,  which, 
in  the  conduct  of  their  lives,  call  for  a  peculiar  at- 
tention from  the  clergy,  and  from  men  of  learn- 
ing; and  which  render  the  apostle's  example,  and 
the  lesson  which  it  leaches,  peculiarly  applicable 
to  their  circumstances.  It  remains  only  to  remind 
them  of  a  consideration  which  ought  to  coun- 
teract these  disadvantages,  by  producing  a  care 
and  solicitude,  sufficient  to  meet  every  danger, 
and  every  difficulty;  to  remind  them,  I  say,  for 
they  cannot  need  to  be  informed,  of  our  Lord's 
solemn  declaration,  that  contumacious  knowledge, 


and  neglected  talents,  knowledge  which  doth  not 
lead  to  obedience,  and  talents  which  rest  in  useless 
speculations,  will  be  found,  in  the  day  of  final  ac- 
count, amongst  the  objects  of  his  severest  dis- 
pleasure. Would  to  God,  that  men  of  learning 
always  understood  how  deeply  they  are  concerned 
in  this  warning !  It  is  impossible  to  add  another  rea- 
son which  can  be  equal  or  second  to  our  Lord's  ad- 
monition :  but  we  may  suggest  a  motive  of  very 
distant  indeed,  but  of  no  mean  importance,  and  to 
which  they  certainly  will  not  refuse  its  due  regard, 
the  honour  and  estimation  of  learning  itself  Ir- 
regular morals  in  men  of  distinguished  attain- 
ments, render  them,  not  despised,  (for  talents  and 
learning  never  can  be  des[)icable,)  but  subjects  of 
malicious  remark,  perhaps  of  affected  pity,  to  the 
enemies  of  intellectual  liberty,  of  science  and  htc- 
rature ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  of  sincere  though 
silent  regret  to  those  who  are  desirous  of  support- 
ing the  esteem  which  ought  to  await  the  success- 
ful pursuit  of  ingenuous  studies.  We  entreat  such 
men  to  reflect,  that  their  conduct  will  be  made  the 
reply  of  idleness  to  industry,  the  revenge  of  dul- 
ness  and  ignorance  upon  parts  and  learning ;  to 
consider,  how  many  will  seek,  and  think  they  find, 
in  their  example,  an  apology  for  sloth,  and  for  in- 
difltrence  to  all  liberal  improvement ;  what  a 
theme,  lastly,  they  supply  to  those,  who,  to  the 
discouragement  of  every  mental  exertion,  preach 
up  the  vanity  of  human  knowledge,  and  the  dan- 
ger or  the  mischief  of  superior  attainments. 

But  if  the  reputation  of  learning  be  concerned 
in  the  conduct  of  those  who  devote  themselves  to 
its  pursuit,  the  sacred  interests  of  morality  are  not 
less  so.  It  is  for  us  to  take  care  that  we  justify 
not  the  boasts,  or  the  sneers,  of  infidelity ;  that 
we  do  not  authorise  the  worst  of  all  scepticism, 
that  which  would  subvert  the  distinctions  of  moral 
good  and  evil,  by  insinuating  concerning  them, 
that  their  only  support  is  prejudice,  their  only  ori- 
gin in  the  artifice  of  the  wise,  and  the  credulity  of 
the  multitude ;  and  that  these  things  are  but  too 
clearly  confessed  by  the  lives  of  men  of  learning 
and  inquiry.  This  calumny  let  us  contradict; 
let  us  refute.  Let  us  show,  that  virtue  and  Chris- 
tianity cast  their  deepest  foundations  in  know- 
ledge ;  that,  however  they  may  ask  the  aid  of  prin- 
ciples which,  in  a  great  degree,  govern  human  life, 
(and  which  must  necessarily,  therefore,  be  either 
powerful  allies,  or  irresistible  adversaries,  of  edu- 
cation, of  habit,  of  examfile,  of  public  authority, 
of  public  institutions,)  they  rest,  nevertheless,  upon 
the  firm  basis  of  rational  argument.  Let  us  testify 
to  the  world  our  sense  of  this  great  truth,  by  the 
only  evidence  which  the  world  will  believe,  the 
influence  of  our  conclusions  upon  our  own  con- 
duct. 


SERMON   VI. 

ON  OUR  DUTY  TO  GOD  AND  MAN. 

i    SERMON,    PREACHED    AT    THE    ASSIZES,    AT    DURHAM,    JULY  29,    1795;    AND    PUBLISHED    AT    THE 

REaUEST    OF    THE    LORD    BISHOP,  THE   HONOURABLE    THE   JUDGES   OF   ASSIZE, 

AND    THE    GRAND   JURY. 


To  the  Honourable  and  Right  Reverend  Shute,  by  Divine  Providence,  Lord  Bishop  of  Durhavi, 
the  following  Discourse,  as  a  sinall  but  sincere  expression  oj"  gratitude,  for  a  great,  unsolicited,  and 
unexpected  fovour,  is  inscribed,  by  hisfoithful  and  most  obliged  servant,  W.  PALEY. 


For  none  of  us  liveth  to  himself. — Rom.  xiv.  7. 


The  use  of  many  of  the  precepts  and  maxims 
of  Scripture,  is  not  so  much  to  prescribe  actions, 
as  to  generate  some  certain  turn  and  habit  of 
thinking ;  and  they  are  then  only  apphed  as  they 
ought  to  be,  when  they  furnish  us  with  a  view  of, 
and  such  a  way  of  considering,  the  subject  to 
which  they  relate,  as  may  rectify  and  meliorate 
our  dispositions  ;  for  from  dispositions,  so  rectified 
and  meliorated,  particular  good  actions,  and  parti- 
cular good  rules  of  acting,  flow  of  their  own  ac- 
cord. This  is  true  of  the  great  Christian  maxims, 
of  loving  our  neighbours  as  ourselves ;  of  doing  to 
others  as  we  would  that  others  should  do  to  us  ; 
and  (as  will  appear,  I  hope,  in  the  sequel  of  this 
discourse)  of  that  of  the  text.  These  maxims  be- 
ing well  impressed,  the  detail  of  conduct  may  be 
lelt  to  itself  The  subtleties  of  casuistry,  I  had 
almost  said  the  science,  may  be  spared.  By  pre- 
senting td  the  mind  one  fixed  consideration,  such 
a  temper  is  at  length  formed  within  us,  that  our 
first  impressions  and  first  impulses  are  sure  almost 
of  being  on  the  side  of  virtue ;  and  that  we  feel 
likewise  an  almost  irresistible  inclination  to  be  go- 
verned by  them.  When  this  disposition  is  per- 
fected, the  influence  of  religion,  as  a  moral  insti- 
tution, is  sufficiently  established. 

It  is  not  in  this  way,  but  in  another,  that  human 
laws,  especially  the  laws  of  free  countries,  proceed 
to  attain  their  objects.  Forasmuch  as  their  ulti- 
mate sanctions  are  to  be  dispensed  by  fallible  men, 
instead  of  an  unerring  and  omniscient  Judge,  the 
safety,  as  well  as  the  liberty,  of  the  subject,  re- 
quires, that  discretion  should  be  bound  down  by 
precise  rules  both  of  acting,  and  of  judging  of  ac- 
tions.— Hence  lawgivers  have  been  obliged  to 
multiply  directions  and  prohibitions  without  num- 
ber: and  this  necessity,  for  such  I  acknowledge  it 
to  be,  hath  drawn  them  into  a  prolixity,  which 
encumbers  the  law  as  a  science  to  those  who  stu- 
dy or  administer  it ;  and  sometimes  perplexes  it, 
as  a  rule  of  conduct,  to  those  who  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  but  to  obey  it.  Yet  still  they  find 
3U 


themselves  unable  to  make  laws  as  fast  as  occa- 
sions demand  them:  they  find  themselves'per[)e- 
tually  called  upon  to  pursue,  by  fresh  paths,  the 
inventive  versatility  of  human  fraud,  or  to  provide 
for  new  and  unforeseen  varieties  of  situation. 
Now  should  religion,  which  professes  to  guide 
the  whole  train  and  range  of  a  man's  conduct,  in- 
terior as  well  as  external,  domestic  as  well  as  civil; 
and  which,  consequently,  extends  the  operations 
of  its  rules  to  many  things  which  the  laws  leave 
indiflerent  and  uncontrolled;  should  religion,  I 
say,  once  set  about  to  imitate  the  precision  of  hu- 
man laws,  the  volume  of  its  precepts  would  soon 
be  rendered  useless  by  its  bulk,  and  unintelligible 
by  its  intricacy.  The  religion  of  Mahomet,  as 
might  be  expected  from  the  religion  of  a  military 
prophet,  constituted  itself  into  the  law  of  the 
states  into  which  it  was  received.  Assuming  the 
functions  of  legislators  and  magistrates,  in  con- 
junction with  the  character  of  interpreters  of  the 
Koran,  and  depositaries  of  the  supplemental  laws 
of  the  religion,  the  successors  of  the  Arabian 
have,  under  the  name  of  traditionary  rules,  com- 
piled a  code  for  the  direction  of  their  followers  in 
almost  every  part  of  their  conduct.  The  seventy- 
fire  thousand  precepts  of  that  code*  serve  only  to 
show  the  futility  of  the  attempt ;  to  prove  by  ex- 
periment that  religion  can  only  act  upon  human 
life  bv  general  precepts,  addressed  and  applied  to 
the  disposition ;  that  there  is  no  ground  for  the 
objection  that  has  sometimes  been  made  to  Chris- 
tianity, that  it  is  defective,  as  a  moral  institution, 
for  the  want  of  more  explicit,  more  circumstantial, 
and  more  accurate  directions;  and  that  when  we 
place  by  the  side  of  each  other  human  and  divine 
laws,  without  understanding  the  distinction  in 
the  two  methods  by  which  they  seek  to  attain 
their  purpose,  and  the  reason  of  that  distinction, 
we  form  a  comparison  between  them,  which  is 
likely  to  be  injurious  to  both.    We  may  find  fault 


■*  See  Hamilton's  translation  of  the  Hedava  or  Guide. 
44*  "521 


522 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


with  the  Scriptures,  for  not  giving  us  the  preci- 
sion of  civil  laws ;  and  we  may  blame  the  laws, 
for  not  being  content  with  the  conciseness  and 
simplicity  of  Scripture ;  and  our  censure  in  both 
cases  be  unfounded  and  undeserved. 

The  observation  of  the  text  is  exactly  of  the 
nature  I  have  been  alluding  to.  It  supphes  a  prin- 
ciple. It  furnishes  us  with  a  view  of  our  duty, 
and  of  the  relations  in  which  we  are  placed, 
which,  if  attended  to,  (and  no  instruction  can  be 
of  use  without  that,)  will  produce  in  our  minds 
just  determinations,  and,  what  are  of  more  value, 
because  more  wanted,  efficacious  motives. 

"  None  of  us  liveth  to  himself"  We  ought  to 
regard  our  lives,  (including  under  that  name  our 
faculties,  our  opportunities,  our  advantages  of 
every  kind,)  not  as  mere  instruments  of  personal 
gratification,  but  as  due  to  the  service  of  God ; 
and  as  given  us  to  be  employed  in  projnoting  the 
purpose  of  his  will  in  the  happiness  of  our  fellow- 
creatures.  I  am  not  able  to  imagine  a  turn  of 
thought  which  is  better  than  this.  It  encounters 
the  antagonist,  the  check,  the  destroyer  of  all  vir- 
tue, selfishness.  It  is  intelligible  to  all ;  to  all  dif- 
ferent degrees  applicable.  It  incessantly  prompts 
to  exertion,  to  activity,  to  beneficence. 

In  order  to  recommend  it,  and  in  order  to  ren- 
der it  as  useful  as  it  is  capable  of  being  made,  it 
nwy  be  proper  to  point  out,  how  the  force  and 
truth  of  the  apostle's  assertion  bears  upon  the  dif- 
ferent clas-sies  of  civil  society.  And  in  this  view, 
the  description  of  men  which  first,  undoubtedly, 
offers  itself  to  our  notice,  is  that  of  men  of  public 
characters;  who  possess  offices  of  importance, 
power,  influence,  and  authority.  If  the  rule  and 
principle  which  I  am  exhibiting  to  your  observa- 
tion, can  be  said  to  be  made  for  one  class  of  man- 
kind more  than  another,  it  is  for  them.  'ZViey, 
certainly,  "  live  not  to  themselves."  The  design, 
the  tenure,  the  condition  of  their  offices  ;  the  pub- 
lic expectation,  the  public  claim ;  consign  their 
lives  and  labours,  their  cares,  and  thoughts,  and 
talents,  to  the  public  happiness,  whereinsoever  it 
is  connected  with  the  duties  of  their  stations,  or 
can  be  advanced  by  the  fidelity  of  their  services. 
There  may  be  occasions  and  emergencies  when 
men  are  called  upon  to  take  part  in  the  public 
service,  out  of  the  line  of  their  professions,  or  the 
ordinary  limits  of  their  vocation.  But  these  emer- 
gencies occur,  I  think,  seldom.  The  necessity 
should  be  manifest,  before  we  yield  to  it.  A  too 
great  readiness  to  start  out  of  our  separate  pre- 
cincts of  duty,  in  order  to  rush  into  provinces 
which  belong  to  others,  is  a  dangerous  excess  of 
zeal.  In  general  the  public  interest  is  best  upheld, 
the  public  quiet  always  best  preserved,  by  each 
one  attending  closely  to  the  proper  and  distinct 
duties  of  his  station.  In  seasons  of  peril  or  con- 
sternation, this  attention  ought  to  be  doubled. 
Dangers  are  not  best  opposed  by  tumultuous  or 
disorderly  exertions;  but  by  a  sedate,  firm,  and 
calm  resistance,  especially  by  that  regular  and  si- 
lent strength,  which  is  the  collected  result  of  each 
man's  vigilance  and  industry  in  his  separate  sta- 
tion. For  public  men,  therefore,  to  be  active  in 
the  stations  assigned  to  them,  is  demanded  by 
their  country  in  the  hour  of  her  fear  or  danger. 
If  ever  there  was  a  time,  when  they  that  rule 
"should  rule  with  diligence;"  when  supincness, 
negligence,  and  remissness  in  office,  when  a  ti- 
midity or  love  of  ease,  which  might  in  other  cir- 
cumstances be  tolerated,  ought  to  be  proscribed 


and  excluded,  it  is  the  present.  If  ever  there  was 
a  time  to  make  the  public  feel  the  benefit  of  pub- 
lic institutions,  it  is  this. 

But  I  shall  add  nothing  more  concerning  the 
obligation  which  the  text,  and  the  lesson  it  con- 
veys, imposes  upon  public  men,  because  I  think 
that  the  principle  is  too  apt  to  be  considered  as 
appertaining  to  them  alone.  It  will  therefbi'e  be 
more  useful  to  show,  how  what  are  called  private 
stations  are  affected  by  the  same  principle.  I  say, 
what  are  called  private  stations ;  for  such  they 
are,  only  as  contradistinguished  from  public  trusts 
publicly  and  formally  confided.  In  themselves, 
and  accurately  estimated,  there  are  few  such ;  1 
mean,  that  there  are  few  so  destined  to  the  private 
emolument  of  the  possessor,  as  that  they  are  in- 
nocently occupied  by  him,  when  they  are  occu- 
pied with  no  other  attention  but  to  his  own  enjoy- 
ment. Civil  government  is  constituted  for  the 
happiness  of  the  governed,  and  not  for  the  gratifi- 
cation of  those  who  administer  it.  Not  onl)'  so. 
but  the  gradations  of  rank  in  society  are  support- 
ed, not  for  the  advantage  or  pleasure  of  those  who 
possess  the  highest  places  in  it,  but  for  the  com- 
mon good  ;  for  the  security,  the  repose,  the  pro- 
tection, the  encouragement,  of  all.  They  may  be 
very  satisfactorily  defended  upon  this  principle; 
but  then  this  principle  casts  upon  them  duties. 
In  particular,  it  teaches  every  man  who  possesses 
a  fortune,  to  regard  himself  as  in  some  measure 
occupying  a  public  station ;  as  obliged  to  make  it 
a  channel  of  beneficence,  an  instrument  of  good 
to  others,  and  not  merely  a  supply  to  himself  of 
the  materials  of  luxury,  ostentation,  or  avarice. 
There  is  a  share  of  power  and  influence  necessa- 
rily attendant  upon  property;  upon  the  right  or 
the  wrong  use  of  which,  the  exertion  or  the  neg- 
lect, depends  no  little  part  of  the  virtue  or  vice, 
the  happiness  or  misery,  of  the  community.  It  is 
in  the  choice  of  every  man  of  rank  and  property 
to  become  the  benefactor  or  the  scourge,  the  guar- 
dian or  the  tyrant,  the  example  or  the  corrupter, 
of  the  virtue  of  his  servants,  his  tenants,  his  neigh- 
bourhood ;  to  be  the  author  to  them  of  peace  or 
contention,  of  sobriety  or  dissoluteness,  of  comfort 
or  distress.  This  power,  whencesoever  it  pro- 
ceeds, whether  expressly  conferred  or  silently  ac- 
quired, (for  I  see  no  difference  in  the  two  cases,) 
brings  along  with  it  obligation  and  responsibility . 
It  is  to  be  lamented  when  this  consideration  is 
not  known,  or  not  attended  to.  Two  causes  ap- 
pear to  me  to  obstruct,  to  men  of  this  description, 
the  view  of  their  moral  situation.  One  is,  that 
they  do  not  perceive  any  call  upon  them  at  all ; 
the  other,  tliat,  if  there  be  one,  they  do  not  see  to 
what  they  are  called.  To  the  first  point  I  would 
answer  in  the  words  of  an  excellent  moralist,* 
"  The  dehvery  of  the  talent  is  the  c;:ll ;"  it  is  the 
call  of  Providence,  the  call  of  Heaven.  The  sup- 
ply of  the  means  is  the  requisition  of  the  duty. 
When  we  find  ourselves  in  poss-^ssion  of  faculties 
and  opportunities,  whether  arising  from  the  en- 
dowments and  qualities  of  our  minds,  or  from  the 
advantages  of  fortune  and  station,  we  need  ask 
for  no  further  evidence  of  the  intention  of  the  do- 
nor: we  ought  to  see  in  that  intention  a  demand 
upon  us  for  the  use  and  application  of  what  has 
been  given.      This  is  a  principle  of  natural  as 


*  Tfie  late  Abratiam  Tiiclcer,  Esq.  author  of  The  I.ipht 
of  Nature,  ami  of  Tlie  Lijjht  of  Nature  ami  Revelation 
pursued,  by  Edward  Searcli,  Esq. 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


523 


well  as  revealed  religion:  and  it  is  universal. 
Then  as  to  the  second  inquiry,  the  species  of  be- 
nevolence, the  kind  of  duty  to  which  we  are 
bound,  it  is  pointed  out  to  us  by  the  same  indica- 
tion. To  whatever  office  of  benevolence  our  fa- 
culties are  best  fitted,  our  talents  turned ;  what- 
ever our  opportunities,  our  occasions,  our  fortune, 
our  profession,  our  rank  or  station,  or  whatever 
our  local  circumstances,  which  are  capable  of  no 
enumeration,  put  in  our  power  to  perform  with 
the  most  advantage  and  effect,  that  is  the  office 
for  us;  that  it  is,  which,  upon  our  principle,  we 
are  designed,  and,  being  designed,  are  obhged  to 
discharge.  I  think  that  the  judgment  of  man- 
kind does  not  often  fail  them  in  the  choice  of  the 
objects  or  species  of  their  benevolence  :  but  what 
fails  them  is  the  sense  of  the  obligation,  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  connexion  between  duty  and 
power,  and  springing  from  this  consciousness,  a 
disposition  to  seek  opportunities,  or  to  embrace 
those  that  occur,  of  rendering  themselves  useful 
to  their  generation. 

Another  cause,  which  keeps  out  of  the  sight  of 
those  who  are  concerned  in  them,  the  duties  that 
belong  to  superior  stations,  is  a  language  from 
their  infancy  familiar  to  them,  namely,  that  they 
are  placed  above  work.  I  have  always  considered 
this  as  a  most  unfortunate  phraseology.  And,  as 
habitual  modes  of  speech  have  no  small  effect  upon 
public  sentiment,  it  has  a  direct  tendency  to  make 
one  portion  of  mankind  envious,  and  the  other 
idle.  The  truth  is,  every  man  has  his  work.  The 
kind  of  work  varies,  and  that  is  all  the  dilference 
there  is.  A  great  deal  of  labour  exists  beside  that 
of  the  hands ;  many  species  of  industry  beside  bo- 
dily operation,  equally  necessary,  requiring  equal 
assiduity,  more  attention,  more  anxiety.  It  is  not 
true,  therefore,  that  men  of  elevated  stations  are 
exempted  from  work;  it  is  only  true,  that  there  is 
assigned  to  them  work  of  a  different  kind :  whe- 
ther more  easy,  or  more  pleasant,  may  be  ques- 
tioned ;  but  certainly  not  less  wanted,  not  less 
essential  to  the  common  good.  Were  this  maxim 
once  properly  received  as  a  principle  of  conduct,  it 
would  put  men  of  fortune  and  rank  upon  in- 
quiring, what  were  the  opportunities  of  doing 
good,  (for  some,  they  may  depend  upon  it,  there 
are,)  which  in  a  more  especial  manner  belonged 
to  their  situation  or  condition ;  and  were  this 
principle  carried  into  any  thing  like  its  full  efi'ect, 
or  even  were  this  way  of  thinking  sufficiently  in- 
culcated, it  would  completely  remove  the  invidi- 
ousness  of  elevated  stations.  Mankind  would  see 
in  them  this  alternative :  If  such  men  discharged 
the  duties  which  were  attached  to  the  advantages 
they  enjoyed,  they  deserved  these  advantages :  if 
they  did  not,  they  were,  morally  speaking,  in  the 
situation  of  a  poor  man  who  neglected  his  business 
and  his  calling ;  and  in  no  better.  And  the  pro- 
per reflection  in  both  cases  is  the  same :  the  indi- 
vidual is  in  a  high  degree  culpable,  yet  the  busi- 
ness and  the  calling  beneficial  and  expedient. 

The  habit  and  the  disposition  which  we  wish 
to  recommend,  namely,  that  of  casting  about  for 
opportunities  of  doing  good,  readily  seizing  those 
which  accidentally  present  themselves,  and  faith- 
fully using  those  which  naturally  and  regularly 
belong  to  our  situations,  appear  to  be  sometimes 
checked  by  a  notion,  very  natural  to  active  spirits, 
and  to  flattered  talents.  They  will  not  be  content 
to  do  little  things.  They  will  either  attempt 
mighty  matters,  or  do  nothing.     The  small  efiect 


which  the  private  endeavours  of  an  individual  can 
produce  upon  the  mass  of  social  good,  is  so  lost, 
and  so  unperceived,  in  the  comparison,  that  it 
neither  deserves,  they  think,  nor  rewards,  the  at- 
tention which  it  requires.  The  answer  is,  that 
the  comparison,  which  thus  discourages  them, 
ought  never  to  be  made.  The  good  which  their 
efforts  can  produce,  may  be  too  minute  to  bear 
any  sensible  proportion  to  the  sum  of  public  hap- 
piness, yet  may  be  their  share,  may  be  enough  for 
them.  The  proper  question  is  not,  whether  the 
good  we  aim  at  be  great  or  little ;  still  less,  whe- 
ther it  be  great  or  little  in  comparison  with  the 
whole ;  but  whether  it  be  the  most  which  it  is  in 
our  power  to  perform.  A  single  action  may  be, 
as  it  were,  nothing  to  the  aggregate  of  moral  good  ; 
so  also  may  be  the  agent.  It  may  still,  therefore, 
be  the  proportion  which  is  required  of  him.  In 
all  things  nature  works  by  numbers.  Her  greatest 
effects  are  achieved  by  the  joint  operation  of  mul- 
titudes of  (separately  considered)  insignificant  in- 
dividuals. It  is  enough  for  each  that  it  executes 
its  office.  It  is  not  its  concern,  because  it  does 
not  depend  upon  its  will,  what  place  that  office 
holds  in,  or  what  proportion  it  bears  to,  the  gene- 
ral result.  Let  our  only  comparison  therefore  be, 
between  our  opportunities  and  the  use  which  we 
make  of  them.  When  we  would  extend  our 
views,  or  stretch  out  our  hand,  to  distant  and 
general  good,  we  are  conunonly  lost  and  sunk  in 
the  magnitude  of  the  subject.  Particular  good, 
and  the  particular  good  which  lies  within  our 
reach,  is  all  we  are  concerned  to  attempt,  or  to  in- 
quire about.  Not  the  smallest  effort  will  be  for- 
gotten ;  not  a  particle  of  our  virtue  will  fall  to  the 
ground.  Whether  successful  or  not,  our  endea- 
vours will  be  recorded ;  will  be  estimated,  not  ac- 
cording to  the  proportion  which  they  bear  to  the 
universal  interest,  but  according  to  the  relation 
which  they  hold  to  our  means  and  opportunities ; 
according  to  the  disinterestedness,  the  sincerity, 
with  which  we  undertook,  the  pains  and  perseve- 
rance with  which  we  carried  them  on.  It  may  be' 
true,  and  I  think  it  is  the  doctrine  of  Scripture, 
that  the  right  use  of  great  faculties  or  great  oppor- 
tunities will  be  more  highly  rewarded,  than  the 
right  use  of  inferior  faculties  and  less  opportuni- 
ties. He  that  with  ten  talents  had  made  ten  t!>- 
lents  more,  was  placed  over  ten  cities.  The  neg- 
lected talent  was  also  given  to  him.  He  v.'ho 
with  five  talents  had  made  five  more,  though  pro- 
nounced to  be  a  good  and  faithful  servant,  was 
placed  only  over  five  cities.*  This  distinction 
might,  without  any  great  harshness  to  our  moral 
feelings,  be  resolved  into  the  will  of  the  Supreme 
Benefactor :  but  we  can  see,  perhaps,  enough  of 
the  subject  to  perceive  that  it  was  just.  The  merit 
may  reasonably  he  supposed  to  have  been  more  in 
one  case  than  the  other.  The  danger,  the  activity, 
the  care,  the  solicitude,  were  greater.  Still  l)oth 
received  rewards,  abundant  beyond  measure  when 
compared  with  the  services,  equitable  and  propor- 
tioned when  compared  with  one  another. 

That  our  obligation  is  commensurate  with  our 
opportunity,  and  that  the  possession  of  the  oppor- 
tunity is  sufficient,  without  any  further  or  more 
foruidl  commantl,  to  create  the  obligation,  is  a 
principle  of  morality  and  of  Scripture  ;  and  is  alike 
true  in  all  countries.  But  that  power  and  property 
so  far  go  together,  as  to  constitute  private  fortunes 


'  Matt.  XXV.  -21),  et  scq. 


524 


SERMONS  ON  PUBLIC  OCCASIONS. 


into  public  stations,  as  to  cast  upon  large  portions 
of  the  community  occasions  which  reniler  the  pre- 
ceding principles  more  constantly  applicable,  is 
the  elFect  of  civil  institutions,  and  is  found  in  no 
country  more  than  in  ours ;  if  in  any  so  much. 
With  us  a  great  part  of  the  public  business  of  the 
country  is  transacted  by  the  country  itself:  and 
upon  the  prudent  and  faithful  management  of  it, 
depends,  in  a  very  considerable  degree,  the  inte- 
rior prosperity  of  the  nation,  and  the  satisfaction 
of  great  bodies  of  the  people.  Not  only  offices  of 
magistracy,  which  affect  and  pervade  every  dis- 
trict, are  delegated  to  the  principal  inhabitants  of 
the  neighbourhood,  but  there  is  erected  in  every 
county  a  high  and  venerable  tribunal,  to  which 
owners  of  j)ermanent  property,  down  almost  to 
their  lowest  classes,  are  indiscriminately  called; 
and  called  to  take  part,  not  in  the  forms  and  cere- 
monies of  the  meeting,  but  in  the  most  efficient 
and  important  of  its  functions.  The  wisdom  of 
man  hath  not  devised  a  happier  institution  than 
that  of  juries,  or  one  founded  in  a  juster  know- 
ledge of  human  lile,  or  of  the  human  capacity.  In 
jurisprudence,  as  in  every  science,  the  points  ulti- 
mately rest  upon  common  sense.  But  to  reduce 
a  question  to  these  points,  and  to  propose  them 
accurately,  requires  not  only  an  understanding 
superior  to  that  which  is  necessary  to  decide  upon 
them  when  proposed,  but  oftentimes  also  a  tech- 
nical and  peculiar  erudition.  Agreeably  to  this 
distinction,  which  runs  perhaps  through  all  sci- 
ences, what  is  preliminary  and  preparatory  is  left 
to  the  legal  profession ;  what  is  final,  to  the  plain 
understanding  of  plain  men.  But  since  it  is  ne- 
cessary that  the  judgment  of  such  men  should  be 
informed;  and  since  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance 
tliat  advice  which  falls  with  so  much  weight, 
should  be  drawn  from  the  purest  sources;  judges 
are  sent  down  to  us,  who  have  spent  their  lives  in 
the  study  and  administration  of  the  laws  of  their 


country,  and  who  come  amongst  us,  strangers  to 
our  contentions,  if  we  have  any,  our  parties,  and 
our  prejudices ;  strangers  to  every  thing  except 
the  evidence  which  tney  hear.  The  effect  cor- 
responds with  the  wisdom  of  the  design.  Juries 
may  err,  and  frequently  do  so;  but  there  is  no 
system  of  error  incorporated  with  their  constitu- 
tion. Corruption,  terror,  influence  are  excluded  by 
it;  and  prejudice,  in  a  great  degree,  though  not 
entirely.  This  danger,  which  consists  injuries 
viewing  one  class  of  men,  or  one  class  of  rights, 
in  a  more  or  less  favourable  light  than  another,  is 
the  only  one  to  be  feared,  and  to  be  guarded 
against.  It  is  a  disposition,  which,  whenever  it 
rises  up  in  the  minds  of  jurors,  ought  to  be  re- 
pressed by  their  probity,  their  consciences,  the 
sense  of  their  duty,  the  remembrance  of  their 
oaths. 

And  this  institution  is  not  more  salutary,  than 
it  is  grateful  and  honourable  to  those  fwpular  feel- 
ings of  which  all  good  governments  are  tender. 
Hear  the  language  of  the  law.  In  the  most  mo- 
mentous interests,  in  the  last  peril  indeed  of  hu- 
man life,  the  accused  appeals  to  God  and  his 
country,  "  which  country  you  are."  What  pomp 
of  titles,  what  display  of  honours,  can  equal  the 
real  dignity  which  these  few  words  confer  upon 
those  to  whom  they  are  addressed  ]  They  show, 
by  terms  the  most  solemn  and  significant,  how 
highly  the  law  deems  of  the  functions  and  character 
of  a  jury;  they  show  also,  with  what  care  of  the 
safety  of  the  subject  it  is,  that  the  same  law  has 
provided  for  every  one  a  recourse  to  the  fair  and 
indifferent  arbitration  of  his  neighbours.  This  is 
substantial  equality;  real  freedom:  equality  of 
protection;  freedom  from  injustice.  May  it  ne- 
ver be  invaded,  never  abused !  May  it  be  per- 
petual !  And  it  will  be  so,  if  the  affection  of  the 
country  continue  to  be  preserved  to  it,  by  the  in- 
tegrity of  those  who  are  charged  with  its  office. 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


AD  VER  TISEMENT. 


The  Author  of  these  Sermons,  by  a  codicil  to  his  will,  declares  asfolloics: — "Ifmy  life  had  beer 
continued,  it  was  my  intention  to  have  printed  at  Sunderland  a  Volume  of  Sermons — about  500 
copies;  to  be  distributed  gratis  in  the  parish;  and  I  had  proceeded  so  far  in  the  design  as  to  have 
transcribed  several  Sermons  for  that  purpose,  which  are  in  a  parcel  by  themselves.  There  is  also  a 
parcel  from  which  I  intended  to  Tnake  other  transcripts ;  but  the  business  is  in  an  imperfect  un- 
Jinished  state  ;  the  arrangement  is  not  settled  further  than  that  I  thought  the  Sermon  on  Serious- 
ness in  Religion  should  come  first,  and  then  the  doctrinal  Sermons :  there  are  also  many  repetitions 
in  them,  and  some  that  might  be  omitted  or  consolidated  with  others."  The  codicil  then  goes  on  to 
direct,  that,  after  such  disposition  should  have  been  made  respecting  the  Manuscripts  as  might  be 
deemed  necessary,  they  should  be  printed  by  the  Rev.  Air.  Stephenson,  at  the  expense  of  the  testa- 
tor's executors,  and  distributed  in  the  neighbourhood,  first  to  those  who  frequented  church,  then  to 
farmers'  families  in  the  country,  then  to  such  as  had  a  person  in  the  family  who  could  read,  end 
were  likely  to  read  them:  and,  finally,  it  is  added,  "  I  would  not  have  the  said  Sermons  published 
for  sale." 

In  compliance  with  this  direction,  the  following  Sermons  were  selected,  printed,  and  distributed 
by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Stephenson,  in  and  about  the  parish  of  Bishop  Wearmouth,  in  the  year  1806. 

These  Discourses  were  not  originally  composed  for  publication,  but  were  written  for,  and,  as  ap- 
pears by  the  Manuscripts,  had  most  of  them  been  preached  at  the  parish  Churches  of  which,  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  Author's  life,  he  had  the  care.  It  was  undoubtedly  the  Author's  intention  that 
they  should  not  be  published,  but  the  circulation  of  such  a  number  as  he  had  directed  by  his  will  to 
be  distributed,  rendered  it  impossible  to  adhere  to  that  intention;  and  it  was  found  necessary  to 
publish  them,  as  the  only  means  of  preventing  a  surreptitious  sale. 


SERMON  I. 

SERIOUSNESS  m  REUGION  INDISPENSABLE  ABOVE  ALL  OTHER  DISPOSITIONS. 


-Be  ye  therefore  sober,  and  watch  unto  prayer. — 1  Pet.  iv.  7 


The  first  requisite  in  religion  is  seriousness. 
No  impression  can  be  made  without  it.  An  or- 
derly life,  so  far  as  others  are  able  to  observe  us, 
is  now  and  then  produced  by  prudential  motives, 
or  by  dint  of  habit;  but  without  seriousness, 
there  can  be  no  religious  principle  at  the  bottom, 
no  course  of  conduct  flowing  from  religous 
motives:  in  a  word,  there  can  be  no  religion.  This 
cannot  exist  without  seriousness  upon  the  sub- 
ject. Perhaps  a  teacher  of  religion  has  more  dif- 
ficulty in  producing  seriousness  amongst  his  hear- 
ers, than  in  any  other  part  of  his  office.  Until 
he  succeed  in  this,  he  loses  his  labour :  and  when 
once,  from  any  cause  whatever,  a  spirit  of  levity 
has  taken  hold  of  a  mind,  it  is  next  to  impossible 
to  plant  serious  considerations  in  that  mind.  It 
is  seldom  to  be  done,  except  by  some  great  shock 
or  alarm,  sufficient  to  make  a  radical  change  in 
the  disposition :  and  which  is  God's  own  way  of 
brmging  about  the  business. 


One  might  have  expected  that  events  so  awful 
and  tremendous,  as  death  and  judgment ;  that  a 
question  so  deeply  interesting,  as  whether  we 
shall  go  to  heaven  or  to  hell,  could  in  no  possible 
case,  and  in  no  constitution  of  mind  whatever, 
fail  of  exciting  the  most  serious  apprehension  and 
concern.  But  this  is  not  so.  In  a  thoughtless,  a 
careless,  a  sensual  world,  many  are  always  found 
who  can  resist,  and  who  do  resist,  the  force  and 
importance  of  all  these  reflections,  that  is  to  say, 
they  suflTer  nothing  of  the  kind  to  enter  into  their 
thoughts.  There  are  grown  men  and  women, 
nay,  even  middle  aged  persons,  who  have  not 
thought  seriously  about  religion  an  hour,  nor  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  in  the  whole  course  of  their 
lives.  This  great  object  of  human  solicitude  af- 
fects not  them  in  any  manner  whatever. 

It  cannot  be  without  its  use  to  inquire  into 
the  causes  of  a  levity  of  temper,  which  so  eft'ec- 
tually  obstructs  the  admission  of  every  religious 
525 


52G 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  OCCASIONS. 


influence,  and  which  I  should  almost  call  unna- 
tural. 

Now  there  is  a  numerous  class  of  mankind, 
who  are  wrought  upon  by  nothing  but  what  ap- 
plies immediately  to  their  senses  ;  by  what  they 
see,  or  liy  what  they  teel ;  by  pleasures  or  pains, 
or  by  the  near  prospect  of  pleasures  and  pains 
which  they  actually  experience  or  actually  observe. 
But  it  is  the  characteristic  of  religion  to  hold  out 
to  our  consideration  consequences  which  we  do 
not  perceive  at  the  time.  I'hat  is  its  very  oflice 
and  province.  Therefore  if  men  will  restrict  and 
confine  all  their  regards  and  all  their  cares  to 
things  which  they  perceive  with  their  outward 
senses  ;  if  they  will  yield  up  their  understandings 
to  their  senses,  both  in  what  the.se  senses  are  fit- 
ted to  apprehend,  and  in  what  they  are  not  fitted 
to  ai)prflieii(l,  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  religion 
to  settle  in  their  hearts,  or  for  them  to  entertain 
any  serious  concern  about  the  matter.  But  surely 
this  conduct  is  completely  irrational,  and  can  lead 
to  nothing  but  ruin.  It  proceeds  upon  the  suppo- 
sition, that  there  is  nothing  above  us,  about  us,  or 
future,  by  which  we  can  be  aliected,  but  the  things 
which  we  see  with  our  eyes  or  feel  by  our  touch. 
All  which  is  untrue.  "  The  invisible  things  of 
God  from  the  creation  of  the  world  are  clearly 
seen,  being  understood  by  the  things  that  are  seen ; 
even  his  eternal  Power  and  Godhead  ;"  which 
means,  that  the  order,  contrivance,  and  design,  dis- 
played in  the  creation,  prove  with  certainty,  that 
there  is  more  in  nature  than  what  we  really  see ; 
and  that  amongst  the  invisible  things  of  the 
universe,  there  is  a  Being,  the  author  and  original 
of  all  this  contrivance  and  design,  and,  by  conse- 
quence, a  being  of  stupendous  power,  and  of  wis- 
dom and  knowledge  incomparably  exalted  above 
any  wisdom  or  knowledge  which  we  see  in  man ; 
and  that  he  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  us  as 
the  maker  does  to  the  thing  made.  The  things 
which  are  seen  are  not  made  of  the  things  which 
do  appear.  This  is  plain  :  and  this  argument  is 
independent  of  Scripture  and  Revelation.  What 
further  moral  or  religious  consequences  properly 
follow  from  it,  is  another  question ;  but  the  propo- 
sition itself  shows,  that  they  who  cannot,  and 
they  who  will  not,  raise  their  minds  above  the 
mere  information  of  their  senses,  are  in  a  state 
of  gross  error  as  to  the  real  truth  of  things,  and 
are  also  in  a  state  to  which  the  faculties  of  man 
ought  not  to  be  degraded.  A  person  of  this  sort 
may,  with  respect  to  religion,  remain  a  child  all 
his  life.  A  child  natOrally  has  no  concern  but 
about  the  things  which  directly  meet  its  senses ; 
and  the  person  we  describe  is  in  the  same  condition. 

Again :  there  is  a  race  of  giddy  thoughtless 
men  and  women,  of  young  men  and  young  women 
more  especially,  who  look  no  further  than  the 
next  day,  the  next  week,  the  next  month ;  seldom 
or  ever  so  far  as  the  next  year.  Present  pleasure 
is  every  thing  with  them. — The  sports  of  the  day, 
the  amusements  of  the  evening,  entertainments 
and  diversions,  occupy  all  their  concern ;  and  so 
long  as  these  can  be  supphed  in  succession,  so 
long  as  they  can  go  from  one  diversion  to  another, 
their  minds  remain  in  a  state  of  perfect  indiffer- 
ence to  every  thing  except  their  pleasures.  Now 
what  chance  has  religion  with  such  dispositions  as 
these  1  Yet  these  dispositions,  begun  in  early  life, 
and  favoured  by  circumstances,  that  is,  by  afflu- 
ence and  health,  cleave  to  a  man's  character  much 
beyond   the  period  of  life  in  which  they  might 


seem  to  be  excusable.  Excusable  did  I  sa)'  1  i 
ought  rather  to  have  said  that  the}'  are  contrary 
to  reason  and  duty,  in  every  condition  and  at 
every  period  of  life.  Even  in  youth  they  are  bulk 
upon  falsehood  and  folly.  Young  persons  as  well 
as  old,  find  that  things  do  actually  come  to  pass. 
Evils  and  mischiefs,  which  they  regarded  as  dis- 
tant, as  out  of  their  view,  as  beyond  the  line  and 
reach  of  their  preparations  or  their  concern,  come, 
they  find,  to  be  actually  felt.  They  find  tliat  nf>- 
thing  is  done  by  slighting  them  beforehand  :  for, 
however  neglected  or  despised,  perhaps  ridiculed 
and  derided,  they  come  not  only  to  be  things  pre- 
sent, but  the  very  things,  and  the  only  things, 
about  which  their  anxiety  is  employed;  become 
serious  tilings  indeed,  as  being  the  things  which 
now  make  them  wretched  and  miserable.  There- 
fore a  man  must  learn  to  be  affected  by  events 
which  appear  to  lie  at  some  distance,  before  he 
will  be  seriously  affected  by  religion. 

Again :  the  general  course  of  education  is  much 
against  religious  seriousness,  even  without  those 
who  conduct  education  foreseeing  or  intending 
any  such  clfect.  Many  of  us  are  brought  up 
with  this  world  set  before  us,  and  nothing  else. 
Whatever  promotes  this  world's  prosperity  is 
praised  ;  whatever  hurts  and  obstructs  and  preju- 
dices this  world's  prosperity  is  blamed  :  and  there 
all  praise  and  censure  end.  We  see  mankind 
about  us  in  motion  and  action,  but  all  these  mo- 
tions and  actions  directed  to  worldly  objects.  We 
hear  their  conversation,  but  it  is  all  the  same  way. 
And  this  is  what  we  see  and  hear  from  the  first. 
The  views  which  are  continually  placed  before 
our  eyes,  regard  this  life  alone  and  its  interests. 
Can  it  then  be  wondered  at  that  an  early  worldly- 
mindedness  is  bred  in  our  hearts,  so  strong  as 
to  shut  out  heavenly-mindedness  entirely?  In 
the  contest  which  is  always  carrying  on  between 
this  world  and  the  next,  it  is  no  difficult  thing  to 
see  what  advantage  this  world  has.  One  of  the 
greatest  of  these  advantages  is,  that  it  pre-occupies 
the  mind  :  it  gets  the  first  hold  and  the  first  po& 
session.  Childhood  and  youth,  left  to  themselves, 
are  necessarily  guided  hy  sense ;  and  sense  is  all 
on  the  side  of  this  world.  Meditation  brings  us 
to  look  towards  a  future  life;  but  then  medita- 
tion comes  afterwards :  it  only  comes  when  the 
mind  is  already  filled  and  engaged  and  occupied, 
nay,  often  crowded  and  surcharged  with  workily 
ideas.  It  is  not  only,  therefore,  fair  and  right, 
but  it  is  absolutely  necessary,  to  give  to  religion 
all  the  advantage  we  can  give  it  by  dint  of  educa- 
tion ;  for  all  that  can  be  done  is  too  little  to  set  re- 
ligion upon  an  equality  with  its  rival;  which  rival 
is  the  world.  A  creature  which  is  to  pass  a  small 
portion  of  its  existence  in  one  state,  and  that  state 
to  be  preparatory  to  another,  ought,  no  doubt,  to 
have  its  attention  constantly  fixed  upon  its  ulteri- 
or and  permanent  destination.  And  this  would 
be  so,  if  the  question  between  them  came  fairly 
before  the  mind.  We  should  listen  to  the  Scrip- 
tures, we  should  embrace  religion,  we  should 
enter  into  every  thing  which  had  relation  to  the 
subject,  with  a  concern  and  impression,  even  far 
more  than  the  pursuits  of  this  world,  eager  and 
ardent  as  they  are,  excite.  But  the  question  be- 
tween religion  and  the  world  does  not  come  fairly 
before  us.  What  surrounds  us  is  this  world ; 
what  addresses  our  senses  and  our  passions  is  this 
world  ;  what  is  at  hand,  what  is  in  contact  with  us, 
what  acts  upon  us,  what  we  act  upon,  is  this  world. 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


527 


Reason,  faith,  and  hope,  are  the  only  principles 
to  which  religion  applies,  or  possibly  can  apply : 
and  it  is  reason,  faith,  and  hope,  striving  with 
sense,  striving  with  temptation,  striving  for  things 
absent  against  things  which  are  present.  That 
religion,  therefore,  may  not  be  quite  excluded  and 
overborne,  may  not  quite  sink  under  these  power- 
ful causes,  every  support  ought  to  be  given  to 
it,  which  can  be  given  by  education,  by  instruc- 
tion, and,  above  all,  by  the  example  of  those,  to 
whom  young  persons  look  up,  acting  with  a  view 
to  a  future  life  themselves. 

Again  :  it  is  the  nature  of  worldly  business  of 
all  kinds,  especially  of  much  hurry  or  over-em- 
ployment, or  over-anxiety  in  business,  to  shut  out 
and  keep  out  religion  from  the  mind.  The  ques- 
tion is,  whether  the  state  of  mind  which  this  cause 
produces,  ought  to  be  called  a  want  of  seriousness 
in  religion.  It  becomes  coldness  and  indiffer- 
ence towards  religion ;  but  is  it  properly  a  want 
of  seriousness  upon  the  subjects  1  think  it  is; 
and  in  this  way.  We  are  never  serious  upon  any 
matter  which  we  regard  as  trifling.  This  is  im- 
possible. And  we  are  led  to  regard  a  tiling  as 
trilling,  which  engages  no  portion  of  our  habitual 
thoughts,  in  comparison  with  what  other  things 
do. 

But  further:  the  world,  even  in  its  innocent 
pursuits  and  pleasures,  has  a  tendency  unfavour- 
able to  the  religious  sentiment.  But  were  these 
all  it  had  to  contend  with,  the  strong  application 
which  religion  makes  to  the  thoughts  whenever 
we  think  of  it  at  all,  the  strong  interest  which  it 
presents  to  us,  might  enable  it  to  overcome  and 
prevail  in  the  contest.  But  there  is  another  ad- 
versary to  oppose,  much  more  formidable;  and 
that  is  sensuality ;  an  addiction  to  sensual  plea- 
sures. It  is  the  flesh  which  lusteth  against  the 
Spirit ;  that  is  the  war  which  is  waged  within  us. 
So  it  is,  no  matter  what  may  be  the  cause,  that 
sensual  indulgences,  over  and  above  their  proper 
criminality,  as  sins,  as  offences  against  God's 
commands,  have  a  specific  effect  upon  the  heart 
of  man  in  destroying  the  religious  principle  with- 
in him;  or  still  more  surely  in  preventing  the 
formation  of  that  principle.  It  either  induces  an 
open  profaneness  of  conversation  and  behaviour, 
which  scorns  and  contemns  rehgion ;  a  kind  of 
profligacy,  which  rejects  and  sets  at  nought  the 
whole  thing;  or  it  brings  upon  the  heart  an 
averseness  to  the  subject,  a  fixed  dislike  and  re- 
luctance to  enter  upon  its  concerns  in  any  way 
whatever.  That  a  resolved  sinner  should  set 
himself  against  a  religion  which  tolerates  no  sin. 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  He  is  against  religion, 
because  religion  is  against  the  course  of  life  upon 
which  he  has  entered,  and  which  he  does  not  feel 
himself  willing  to  give  up.  But  this  is  not  the 
whole,  nor  is  it  the  bottom  of  the  matter.  The 
effect  we  allude  to  is  not  so  reasoning  or  argu- 
mentative as  this.  It  is  a  specific  effect  upon  the 
mind.  The  heart  is  rendered  unsusceptible  of  re- 
ligious impressions,  incapable  of  a  serious  regard 
to  religion.  And  this  effect  belongs  to  sins  of 
sensuality  more  than  to  other  sins.  It  is  a  conse- 
quence which  almost  universally  follows  from 
them. 

We  measure  the  importance  of  things,  not  by 
what,  or  according  to  what  they  are  in  truth,  but 
by  and  according  to  the  space  and  room  which 
they  occupy  in  our  minds.  Now  our  business, 
our  trade,  our  schemes,  our  pursuits,  our  gains, 


our  losses,  our  fortunes,  p<k.-i<essmg  so  much  of 
our  minds,  whether  we  regard  the  hours  we  ex- 
pend in  meditating  upon  them,  or  the  earnestness 
with  which  we  think  about  them;  and  religion 
possessing  so  little  share  of  our  thought  either  in 
time  or  earnestness ;  the  consequence  is,  that 
worldly  interest  comes  to  be  the  serious  thhig  with 
us,  religion  comparatively  the  trifle.  Men  of  bu 
siness  are  naturally  serious ;  but  all  their  serious- 
ness is  absorbed  by  their  business.  In  religion 
they  are  no  more  serious  than  the  most  giddy 
characters  are  ;  than  those  characters  are,  which 
betray  levity  in  all  things. 

Again  :  the  want  of  due  seriousness  in  religion 
is  almost  sure  to  be  the  consequence  of  the  ab- 
sence or  disuse  of  religious  ordinances  and  exer- 
cises. I  use  two  terms;  absence  and  disuse. 
Some  have  never  attended  upon  any  religious  or- 
dinance, or  practised  any  religious  exercises,  since 
the  time  they  were  born;  some  very  few  times  in 
their  lives.  With  these  it  is  the  abseru-e  of  reh- 
gious  ordinances  and  exercises.  There  are  others, 
(and  many  we  fear  of  this  description.)  who 
whilst  under  the  guidance  of  their  parents,  have 
frequented  religious  ordinances,  and  been  trained 
up  to  rehgious  exercises,  but  who,  when  they 
came  into  more  public  life,  and  to  be  their  owii 
masters,  and  to  mix  in  the  pleasures  of  the 
world,  or  engage  themselves  in  its  business  and 
pursuits,  have  forsaken  these  duties  in  whole  or 
in  a  great  degree.  With  these  it  is  the  disuse  of 
religious  ordinances  and  exercises.  But  I  must 
also  explain  what  I  mean  by  religious  ordinances 
and  exerci^^es.  By  religious  ordinances,  I  mean 
the  being  instructed  in  our  catechism  in  our 
youth ;  attending  upon  public  worship  at  church  ; 
the  keeping  holy  the  Lord's  day  regularly  and 
most  particularly,  together  with  a  few  other  days 
in  the  year,  by  which  some  very  principal  events 
and  passages  of  the  Christian  history  are  comme- 
morated ;  and,  at  its  proper  season,  the  more  so- 
lemn oflice  of  receiving  the  Lord's  Supper.  These 
are  so  many  rites  and  ortlinances  of  Christianity ; 
concerning  all  which  it  may  be  said,  that  with  the 
greatest  part  of  mankind,  especially  of  that  class 
of  mankind  which  must,  or  does,  give  much  of  its 
time  and  care  to  worldly  concerns,  they  are  little 
less  than  absolutely  necessary;  if  we  judge  it  to 
be  necessary  to  maintain  and  uphold  any  senti- 
ment, any  impression,  any  seriousness  about  reli- 
gion in  the  mind  at  all.  They  are  necessary  to 
preserve  in  the  thoughts  a  place  for  the  subject ; 
they  are  necessary  that  the  train  of  our  thoughts 
may  not  even  be  closed  up  against  it.  Were  all 
days  of  the  week  alike,  and  employed  alike ;  was 
there  no  difference  or  distinction  between  Sunday 
and  work-day;  was  there  not  a  church  in  the  na- 
tion :  were  we  never,  fi-om  one  year's  tnd  to  ano- 
ther, called  together  to  participate  in  (jublic  wor- 
ship ;  were  there  no  set  forms  of  pUDiic  worship  : 
no  particular  persons  appointed  to  minister  and 
officiate,  indeed  no  assemblies  for  public  worship 
at  all ;  no  joint  prayers  ;  no  preaching ;  still  reli- 
gion, in  itself,  in  its  reality  and  importance,  in  its 
end  and  event,  would  be  the  same  thing  as  what 
it  is :  we  should  still  have  to  account  for  our  con- 
duct; there  would  still  be  heaven  and  hell;  salva- 
tion and  perdition :  there  would  still  be  the  law? 
of  God,  both  natural  and  revealed  ;  all  the  obliga- 
tion which  the  authority  of  a  Creator  can  impose 
upon  a  creature;  all  the  gratitude  which  is  due 
from  a  rational  being  to  the  Author  and  Giver  of 


528 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS, 


every   blessing  which  he  enjoys ;    lastly,  there 
Would  still  be  the  redemption  of  the  world  by  Je- 
sus Christ.  All  these  things  would,  with  or  with- 
out rehgious  ordinances,  be  equally  real,  and  exist- 
ing, and  valid :  but  men  would  not  think  equally 
about   them.     Many  would  entirely  and  totally 
neglect  them.     Some  there  would  always  be  of  a 
more  devout,  or  serious,  or  contemplative  disposi- 
tion, who  would   retain  a  lively  sense  of  these 
things  under  all  circumstances  and  all  disadvan- 
tages, who  would  never  lose  their  veneration  for 
them,  never  forget  them.     But  from  others,  from 
the  careless,  the  busy,  the  followers  of  pleasure, 
the   pursuers  of  wealth   or  advancement,  these 
things  would  slip  away  from  the  thoughts  entirely. 
Together  with  religious  ordinances  we  men- 
tioned religious  exercises.   By  the  term  religious 
exercises,  I  in  particular  mean   private   prayer; 
whether  it  be  at  set  times,  as  in  the  morning  and 
evening  of  each  day ;  or  whether  it  be  called  forth 
by  occasions,  as  when  we  are  to  form  some  mo- 
mentous decision,  or  enter  upon  some  great  under- 
taking;   or  when  we  are   under  some   pressing 
difficulty  or  deep  distress,  some  excruciating  bo- 
dily pain   or  heavy  affliction;    or,  on  the  other 
hand,  and  no  less  properly,  when  we  have  lately 
been  receiving  some  signal  benefit,  experiencing 
some   signal   mercy;  such  as  preservation  from 
danger,  relief  from  difficulty  or  distress,  abatement 
of  pain,  recovery  from  sickness :  for  by  prayer, 
let  it  be  observed,  we  mean  devotion  in  general ; 
and  thanksgiving  is  devotion  as  much  as  prayer 
itself     I  mean  private  prayer,  as  here  described ; 
and  I  also  mean,  what  is  perhaps  the  most  natu- 
ral form  of  private  prayer,  short  ejaculatory  ex- 
temporaneous addresses  to  God,  as  often  as  either 
the  reflections  which  rise  up  in  our  minds,  let 
them  come  from  what  quarter  they  may,  or  the 
objects  and  incidents  which  seize  our  attention, 
prompt  us  to  utter  them ;  which  in  a  religiously 
disposed  mind,  will  be  the  case,  I  may  say,  every 
hour,  and  which  ejaculation  may  be  ofi'ered  up  to 
God  in  any  posture,  in  any  place,  or  in  any  situa- 
tion.    Amongst  religious  exercises,  I  also  reckon 
family  prayer,  which  unites  many  of  the   uses 
both  of  public  worship  and  private  prayer.     The 
reading  of  religious  books  is  likewise  to  be  ac- 
counted a  religious  exercise.     Religious  medita- 
tion still  more  so ;  and  more  so  for  this  reason, 
that  it  implies  and  includes  that  most  important 
duty,  self-examination;  for  I  hold  it  to  be  next  to 
impossible  for  a  man  to  meditate  upon  religion, 
without  meditating  at  the  same  time  upon  his 
own  present  condition  with  respect  to  the  tremen- 
dous alternative  which  is  to  take  place  upon  him 
after  his  death. 

These  are  what  we  understand  by  religious  ex- 
ercises; and  they  are  all  so  far  of  the  same  nature 
with  religious  ordinances,  that  they  are  aids  and 
helps  of  religion  itself;  and  I  think  that  religious 
seriousness  cannot  be  maintained  in  the  soul 
without  them. 

But  again :  a  cause  which  has  a  strong  tenden- 
cy to  destroy  religious  seriousness,  and  which  al- 
most infallibly  prevents  its  formation  and  growth 
in  young  minds,  is  levity  in  conversation  upon  re- 
ligious subjects,  or  upon  subjects  connected  with 
religion.  Whether  we  regard  the  practice  with 
respect  to  those  who  use  it,  or  to  those  who  hear 
it,  it  is  highly  to  be  blamed,  and  is  productive  of 
great  mischief.  In  those  who  use  it,  it  amounts 
almost  to  a  proof  that  they  are  destitute  of  reli- 


gious seriousness.  The  principle  itself  is  destroy 
ed  in  them,  or  was  never  formed  in  them.  Upoi. 
those  who  hear,  its  eflect  is  this :  If  they  have 
concern  about  religion,  and  the  disposition  towards 
religion  which  they  ought  to  have,  and  which  we 
signify  by  this  word  seriousness,  they  will  be  in 
wardly  shocked  and  offended  by  the  levity  with 
which  they  hear  it  treated.  They  will,  as  it  were, 
resent  such  treatment  of  a  subject,  which  by  them 
has  always  been  thought  upon  with  awe,  and 
dread,  and  veneration.  But  the  pain  with  which 
they  were  at  first  affected,  goes  off  by  hearing  fre- 
quently the  same  sort  of  language;  and  then  they 
will  be  almost  sure,  if  they  examine  the  state  of 
their  minds  as  to  religion,  to  feel  a  change,  in 
themselves  for  the  worse.  This  is  the  danger  to 
which  those  are  exposed,  who  had  before  imbibed 
serious  impressions.  Those  who  had  not,  will  be 
prevented,  by  such  sort  of  conversation,  from  ever 
imbibing  them  at  all ;  so  that  its  influence  is  in  all 
cases  pernicious. 

The  turn  which  this  levity  usually  takes,  is  in 
jests  and  raillery  upon  the  opinions,  or  the  pecu- 
liarities, or  the  persons  of  men  of  particular  sects, 
or  who  bear  particular  names ;  especially  if  thev 
happen  to  be  more  serious  than  ourselves.  And 
of  late  this  loose,  and  I  can  hardly  help  calling  it 
profane  humour,  has  been  directed  chiefly  against 
the  followers  of  methodism.  But  against  whom- 
soever it  happens  to  be  pointed,  it  has  all  the  bad 
effects  both  upon  the  speaker  and  the  hearer  which 
we  have  noticed:  and  as  in  other  instances,  so  in 
this,  give  me  leave  to  say  that  it  is  very  much 
misplaced.  In  the  first  place,  were  the  doctrines 
and  sentiments  of  those  who  hear  this  name  ever 
so  foolish  and  extravagant,  (I  do  not  say  that  they 
are  either,)  this  proposition  I  shall  always  main- 
tain to  be  true,  viz.  that  the  wildest  opinion  that 
ever  was  entertained  in  matters  of  religion,  is  more 
rational  than  unconcern  about  these  matters. 
Upon  this  subject  nothing  is  so  absurd  as  indiffer- 
ence ;  no  folly  so  contemptible  as  thoughtlessness 
and  levity.  In  the  next  place,  do  methodists  deserve 
this  treatment  1  Be  their  particular  doctrines  what 
they  may,  the  professors  of  these  doctrines  appear 
to  be  in  earnest  about  them ;  and  a  man  who  is  in 
earnest  in  religion  cannot  be  a  bad  man,  still  less 
a  fit  subject  for  derision.  I  am  no  methodist  my- 
self In  their  leading  doctrines  I  differ  from  them. 
But  I  contend  that  sincere  men  are  not,  for  these, 
or  indeed,  any  doctrines,  to  be  made  laughing 
stocks  to  others.  1  do  not  bring  in  the  case  of 
methodists  in  this  part  of  my  discourse,  for  the 
purpose  of  vindicating  their  tenets,  but  for  the 
purpose  of  observing  (and  I  wish  that  the  obser- 
vation may  weigh  with  all  my  readers)  that  the 
custom  of  treating  their  characters  and  persons, 
their  preaching  or  their  preachers,  their  meetings 
or  worship,  with  scorn,  has  the  pernicious  conse- 
quence of  destroying  our  own  seriousness,  toge 
ther  with  the  seriousness  of  those  who  hear  or  join 
in  such  sort  of  conversation  ;  especially  if  they  be 
young  persons :  and  I  am  persuaded  that  much 
mischief  is  actually  done  in  this  very  way. 

A  phrase  much  used  upon  these  occasions,  and 
frequent  in  the  mouth  of  those  who  speak  of  such 
as  in  religious  matters  are  more  serious  than  them- 
selves, is,  "  that  they  are  righteous  over-much." 
These,  it  is  true,  are  scripture  words ;  and  it  is  that 
circumstance  which  has  given  currency  to  the  ex- 
pression: but  in  the  way  and  sense  in  which  they 
are  used,  I  am  convinced  that  they  are  exceedingly 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


529 


misapplied.  The  text  occurs  once  in  the  Bible, 
and  only  once.  It  is  in  the  book  of  Ecclesiastes, 
7th  chap,  and  16th  verse.  It  is  not  very  easy  to 
determine  what  is  meant  by  it  in  the  place  in 
which  it  is  found.  It  is  a  very  obscure  passage.  It 
seems  to  me  most  probable,  that  it  relates  to  an 
external  affectation  of  righteousness,  not  prompt- 
ed b}'  internal  principle :  or  rather  to  the  assuming 
the  character  of  righteousness,  merely  to  vaunt  or 
show  our  superiority  over  others;  to  conceitedness 
in  religion:  in  Uke  manner  as  the  caution  delivered 
in  the  same  verse,  "  be  not  over- wise,"  respects  the 
ostentation  of  wisdom,  and  not  the  attainment  it- 
self. So  long  as  we  mean  by  righteousness,  a  sin- 
cere and  an.xious  desire  to  seek  out  the  wUl  of  God, 
and  to  perform  it,  it  is  impossible  to  be  righteous 
over-much.  There  is  no  such  thing  in  nature : 
nor  was  it,  nor  could  it  be,  the  intention  of  any 
passage  in  the  Bible,  to  say  that  there  is,  or  to 
authorise  us  in  casting  over-righteousness  as  a 
reproach  or  a  censure  upon  any  one. 

In  like  manner  it  has  been  objected,  that  so 
much  regard,  or,  as  the  objectors  would  call  it, 
os'er-regard  for  religion,  is  inconsistent  with  the 
interest  and  welfare  of  our  families,  and  with  suc- 
cess and  prosperity  in  our  worldly  affairs.  I  be- 
heve  that  there  is  ver^'  little  ground  for  this  objec- 
tion in  fact,  and  even  as  the  world  goes ;  in  reason 
and  principle  there  is  none.  A  good  Christian 
di\ides  his  time  between  the  duties  of  religion, 
the  calls  of  business,  and  those  quiet  relaxations 
which  may  be  innocently  allowed  to  his  circum- 
stances and  condition,  and  wliich  will  be  chiefly 
in  his  family  or  amongst  a  few  friends.  In  this 
plan  of  life  there  is  no  confusion  or  interference 
of  its  parts  ;  and  unless  a  man  be  given  to  sloth 
and  laziness,  which  are  what  religion  condemns, 
he  will  find  time  enough  for  them  all.  This  calm 
system  may  not  be  sufficient  for  that  unceasing 
eagerness,  hurry,  and  anxiety  about  worldly  af- 
fairs, in  which  some  men  pass  their  lives ;  but  it 
is  sufficient  for  every  thing  which  reasonable  pru- 
dence requires  ■.  and  it  is  perfectly  consistent  with 
usefulness  in  ov\r  stations,  which  is  a  main  point. 
Indeed,  compare  the  hours  which  serious  persons 
spend  in  religious  exercises  and  meditations,  with 
the  hours  which  the  thoughtless  and  irreligious 
spend  in  idleness  and  vice  and  expensive  diver- 
sions, and  you  will  perceive  on  which  side  of  the 
comparison  the  advantage  lies,  even  in  this  view 
of  the  subject. 

Nor  is  there  any  thing  in  the  nature  of  religion 
to  support  the  objection.  In  a  certain  sense  it  is 
true,  what  has  b'een  sometimes  said,  that  religion 
ought  to  be  the  rule  of  Ufe,  not  the  business  ;  by 
wmch  is  meant,  that  the  subject  matter  even  of 
religious  duties  hes  in  the  common  affairs  and 
transactions  of  the  world.  Diligence  in  our  call- 
ing is  an  example  of  this;  which,  however,  keeps 
both  a  mans  head  and  hands  at  work  upon  busi- 
ness merely  temporal ;  yet  religion  may  be  govern- 
ing him  here  meanwhile.  Gm  may  be  feared  in 
the  busiest  scenes. 

In  addition  to  the  above,  there  exists  another 
prejudice  against  religious  seriousness,  arising 
from  a  notion  very  commonly  entertained,  viz.  that 
reUgion  leads  to  gloom  and  melancholy.  This  no- 
tion, I  am  convinced,  is  a  mistake.  Some  persons 
are  constitutionally  subject  to  melancholy,  which 
is  as  much  a  disease  in  them,  as  the  ague  is  a  dis- 
ease ;  and  it  may  happen  that  such  men's  melan- 
3  X 


choly  shall  fall  upon  religious  ideas,  as  it  may 
upon  any  other  subject  which  seizes  their  distem- 
pered imagination.  But  tliis  is  not  religion  lead- 
ing to  melancholy.  Or  it  sometimes  is  the  case 
that  men  are  brought  to  a  sense  of  religion  by 
calamity  and  affliction,  which  produce,  at  the  same 
time,  depression  of  spirits.  But  neither  here  is 
religion  the  cause  of  this  distress  or  dejection,  or 
to  be  blamed  for  it.  These  cases  being  excepted, 
the  very  reverse  of  what  is  alleged  against  religion 
is  the  truth.  No  man's  spirits  were  ever  hurt  by 
doing  his  duty.  On  the  contrary,  one  good  action, 
one  temptation  resisted  and  overcome,  one  sacri- 
fice of  desire  or  interest  purely  for  conscience' 
sake,  will  prove  a  cordial  for  weak  and  low  spirits 
beyond  what  either  indulgence  or  diversion  or 
company  can  do  for  them.  And  a  succession  and 
course  of  such  actions  and  self-denials,  springing 
from  a  religious  principle  and  manfully  main- 
tained, is  the  best  possible  course  that  can  be  fol- 
lowed as  a  remedy  for  sinkings  and  oppressions  of 
this  kind.  Can  it  then  be  true,  that  religion  leads 
to  melancholy'?  Occasions  arise  to  every  man 
living ;  to  many  very  severe,  as  well  as  repeated 
occasions,  in  which  the  hopes  of  religion  are  the 
only  stay  that  is  left  him.  Godly  men  have  that 
within  them  which  cheers  and  comforts  them  in 
their  saddest  hours  :  ungodly  men  have  that  which 
strikes  their  heart,  like  a  dagger,  in  its  gayest  mo- 
ments. Godly  men  discover,  what  is  very  true, 
but  what,  by  most  men,  is  found  out  too  late, 
namely,  that  a  good  conscience,  and  the  hope  of 
our  Creator's  final  favour  and  acceptance,  are  the 
only  solid  happiness  to  be  attained  in  this  world. 
Experience  corresponds  with  the  reason  of  the 
thing.  I  take  upon  me  to  say,  that  religious  mea 
are  generally  cheerful.  If  this  be  not  observed, 
as  might  be  expected,  supposing  it  to  be  true,  it  is 
because  the  cheerfulness  which  religion  inspires 
does  not  show  itself  in  noise  or  in  fits  and  starts; 
of  merriment,  but  is  calm  and  constant.  Of  this 
the  only  true  and  valuable  kind  of  cheerfulness, 
for  all  other  kinds  are  hollow  and  unsatisfying, 
religious  men  possess  not  less  but  a  greater  share 
than  others. 

Another  destroyer  of  religious  seriousness,  and 
which  is  the  last  I  shall  mention,  is  a  certain  fatal 
turn  which  some  minds  take,  namely,  that  when 
they  find  difficulties  in  or  concerning  religion,  or 
any  of  the  tenets  of  religion,  they  forthwith  plunge 
into  irreligion ;  and  make  these  difficulties,  or  any 
degree  of  uncertainty  which  seems  to  their  appre- 
hension to  hang  over  the  subject,  a  ground  and 
occasion  forgivmg  full  hberty  to  their  inclinations, 
and  for  casting  off  the  restraints  of  religion  en- 
tirely. This  IS  the  case  with  men,  who,  at  the 
best,  perhaps,  were  only  balancing  between  the 
sanctions  of  rehgion  and  the  love  of  pleasure  or 
of  unjust  gain,  but  especially  the  former.  In  this 
precarious  state,  any  objection,  or  appearance  of 
objection,  which  diminishes  the  force  of  the  reli- 
gious impression,  determines  the  balance  against 
the  side  of  virtue,  and  gives  up  the  doubter  to 
sensuahty,  to  the  world,  and  to  the  flesh.  Now, 
of  all  ways  which  a  man  can  take,  this  is  the 
surest  way  to  destruction ;  and  it  is  completely 
irrational.  I  say  it  is  completely  irrational;  for 
when  we  meditate  upon  the  tremendous  conse- 
quences which  form  the  subject  of  religion,  we 
cannot  avoid  this  reflection,  that  any  degree  of 
probability  whatever,  I  had  almost  said  any  degree 
45 


530 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


of  possibility  whatever,  of  religion  being  true, 
ought  to  determine  a  rational  creature  so  to  act  as 
to  secure  himself  from  punishment  in  a  future 
state,  and  the  loss  of  that  happiness  which  may  be 
attained.  Thei'efore  he  has  no  pretence  for  al- 
leging uncertainty  as  an  excuse  for  his  conduct, 
DPcause  he  does  not  act  in  conformity  with  that  in 
which  there  is  no  uncertainty  at  all.  In  the  next 
place,  it  is  giving  to  apparent  difficulties  more 
weight  thanlhey  are  entitled  to.  I  only  request 
any  man  to  consider,  first,  the  necessary  allow- 
ances to  be  made  for  the  short-sightedness  and 
the  weakness  of  the  human  understanding ;  se- 
condly, the  nature  of  those  subjects  concerning 
which  religion  treats,  so  remote  from  our  senses, 
so  difl'erent  from  our  experience,  so  above  and  be- 
yond the  ordinary  train  and  course  of  our  ideas ; 
and  then  say,  whether  difficulties,  and  great  difli- 
culties  also,  were  not  to  be  expected ;  nay  further, 
whether  they  be  not  in  some  measure  subservient 
to  the  very  purpose  of  religion.  The  reward  of 
everlasting  life,  and  the  punishment  or  misery  of 
which  we  know  no  end,  if  they  were  present  and 
immediate,  could  not  be  withstood,  and  would  not 
leave  any  room  for  liberty  or  choice.  But  this 
sort  of  force  upon  the  will  is  not  what  God  de- 
signed ;  nor  is  suitable  indeed  to  the  nature  of 
free,  moral,  and  accountable  agents.  The  truth 
is,  and  it  was  most  likely  beforehand  that  it  would 
be  so,  that  amidst  some  points  which  are  dark, 
some  which  are  dubious,  there  are  many  which 
are  clear  and  certain.  Now,  I  apprehend,  that,  if 
we  act  faithfully  up  to  those  points  concerning 
which  there  is  no  question,  most  especially  if  we 
determine  upon  and  choose  our  rule  and  course  of 
life  accx)rding  to  those  priaiciples  of  choice  which 
all  men  whatever  allow  to  be  wise  and  safe  prin- 
ciples, and  the  only  principles  which  are  so ;  and 
conduct  ourselves  steadfastly  according  to  the  rule 
thus  chosen,  the  difficulties  which  remain  in  religion 
will  not  move  or  disturb  us  much  ;  and  will,  as  we 
proceed,  become  gradually  less  and  fewer.  Where- 
as, if  we  begin  with  objections ;  if  all  we  consider 
about  religion  be  its  difficulties  ;  but,  most  espe- 
cially, if  we  permit  the  suggestion  of  difficulties 
to  drive  us  into  a  practical  rejection  of  religion  itself, 
and  to  afford  us,  which  is  what  we  wanted,  an  ex- 
cuse to  ourselves  for  casting  of^"  its  restraints ; 
then  the  event  will  be,  that  its  difficulties  will  mul- 
tiply upon  us;  its  light  grow  more  and  more  dim, 
and  we  shall  settle  in  the  worst  and  most  hopeless 
of  all  conditions ;  the  last  condition,  I  will  ven- 
ture to  say,  in  which  any  man  living  would  wish 
his  son,  or  any  one  whom  he  loved,  and  for  whose 
happiness  he  was  anxious,  to  be  placed  ;  a  life  of 
confirmed  vice  and  dissoluteness;  founded  in  a 
formal  renunciation  of  religion. 

He  that  has  to  preach  Christianity  to  persons 
in  this  state,  has  to  preach  to  stones.  He  must 
not  expect  to  be  heard,  either  with  complacency 
or  seriousness,  or  patience,  or  even  to  escape  con- 
tempt and  derision.  Habits  of  thinking  are  fixed 
by  habits  of  acting ;  and  both  too  solidly  fixed  to 
be  moved  by  human  persuasion.  God  in  his 
mercy,  and  by  his  providences,  as  well  as  by  his 
Spirit,  can  touch  and  soften  the  heart  of  stone. 
And  it  is  seldom  perhaps,  that,  without  some 
strong,  and,  it  may  be,  sudden  impressions  of  this 
kind,  and  from  this  source,  serious  sentiments 
ever  penetrate  dispositions  hardened  in  the  man- 
ner which  we  have  here  described 


SERMON  II. 


TASTE  FOR  DEVOTION. 


But  the  hour  cometh  and  now  is,  when  the  true 
worshippers  shall  worship  the  Father  in  spirit 
and  in  truth:  for  the  Father  seeketh  such  to 
worship  him.  God  is  a  Spirit ;  and  they  that 
worship  him,  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and 
in  truth. — John  iv.  23,  24. 

A  TASTE  and  relish  for  religious  exercise,  or 
the  want  of  it,  is  one  of  the  marks  and  tokens  by 
which  we  may  judge  whether  our  heart  be  right 
towards  God  or  not.  God  is  unquestionably  an 
object  of  devotion  to  every  creature  which  he  has 
made  capable  of  devotion  ;  consequently,  our 
minds  can  never  be  right  towards  him,  unless 
they  be  in  a  devotional  frame.  It  cannot  be  dis- 
puted, but  that  the  Author  and  Giver  of  all  things, 
upon  whose  will  and  whose  mercy  we  depend  tor 
every  thing  we  have,  and  for  every  thing  we  look 
for,  ought  to  live  in  the  thoughts  and  affections  of 
his  rational  creatures.  "  Through  thee  have  I 
been  holden  up  ever  since  I  was  born :  thou  art 
he  that  took  me  from  my  mother's  womb :  my 
praise  shall  be  always  of  thee."  If  there  be  such 
things  as  first  sentiments  towards  God,  these 
words  of  the  Psalmist  express  them.  That  devo- 
tion to  God  is  a  duty,  stands  upon  the  same  proof 
as  that  God  exists.  But  devotion  is  an  act  of  the 
mind  strictly.  In  a  certain  sense,  duty  to  a  fel- 
low-creature may  be  discharged  if  the  outward 
act  be  performed,  because  the  benefit  to  him  de- 
pends upon  the  act.  Not  so  with  devotion.  It 
is  altogether  the  operation  of  the  mind.  God  is  a 
Spirit,  and  must  be  worshipped  in  spirit,  that  is, 
in  mind  and  thought.  The  devotion  of  the  mind 
may  be,  will  be,  ought  to  be,  testified  and  accona- 
panied  by  outward  performances  and  expressions: 
but,  without  the  mind  going  along  witii  it,  no 
form,  no  solemnity  can  avail,  as  a  service  to  God. 
It  is  not  so  much  a  question  under  what  mode 
men  worship  their  Maker ;  but  this  is  the  ques- 
tion, whether  their  mind,  and  thoughts,  and  afiec- 
tions,  accompany  the  mode  which  they  adoj)t  or 
not.  I  do  not  say,  that  modes  of  worship  are  in- 
difierent  things  ;  for  certainly  one  mode  may  be 
more  rational,  more  edifying,  more  pure  than  ano- 
ther ;  but  they  are  indifierent,  in  comparison  with 
the  question,  whether  the  heart  attend  the  worship, 
or  be  estranged  from  it. 

These  two  points,  then,  being  true  ;  first,  that 
devotion  is  a  duty  ;  secondly,  thaUthe  heart  must 
participate  to  make  any  thing  we  do  devotion ;  it 
follows  that  the  heart  cannot  be  right  toward  God, 
unless  it  be  possessed  with  a  taste  and  relish  for  his 
service,  and  for  what  relates  to  it. 

Men  may,  and  many  undoubtedly  do,  attend 
upon  acts  of  religious  worship,  and  even  from 
religious  motives,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  without 
this  taste  and  relish  of  which  we  are  speaking. 
Religion  has  no  savour  for  them.  I  do  not  allude 
to  the  case  of  those  who  attend  upon  the  public 
worship  of  the  church,  or  of  their  communion, 
from  compliance  with  custom,  out  of  regard  to 
station,  for  example's  sake  merely,  from  habit 
merely ;  still  less  to  the  case  of  those  who  have 
particular  worldly  views  in  so  doing.  I  lay  the 
case  of  such  persons,  for  the  present,  out  of  the 
question ;  and  I  consider  only  the  case  of  those, 
who  knowing  and  believing  the  worship  of  God 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


531 


to  be  a  duty,  and  that  the  wilful  neglect  of  this, 
as  of  other  duties,  must  look  forward  to  future 
punishment,  do  join  in  worship  from  a  principle 
of  obedience,  from  a  consideration  of  those  conse- 
quences which  will  follow  disobedience  ;  from  the 
fear  indeed  of  God,  and  the  dread  of  his  judg- 
ments (and  so  far  from  motives  of  religion,)  yet 
without  any  taste  or  relish  for  reUgious  exercise 
itself  That  is  the  case  I  am  considering.  It  is 
Jiot  for  us  to  presume  to  speak  harshly  of  any 
conduct,  which  proceeds,  in  any  manner,  from  a 
regard  to  God,  and  the  expectation  of  a  future 
judgment.  God,  in  his  Scriptures,  holds  out  to 
man  terrors,  as  well  as  promises ;  punishment 
after  death,  as  well  as  reward.  Undoubtedly  he 
intended  those  motives  which  he  himself  proposes, 
to  operate  and  have  their  influence.  Wherever 
they  operate,  good  ensues  ;  very  great  and  import- 
ant good,  compared  with  the  cases  in  which  they 
do  not  operate ;  yet  not  all  the  good  we  would 
desire,  not  all  which  is  attainable,  not  all  which 
we  ought  to  aim  at,  in  our  Christian  course.  The 
fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  knowledge  : 
but  calling  it  the  beginning,  implies  that  we  ought 
to  proceed  further ;  namely,  from  his  fear  to  his 
love. 

To  apply  this  distinction  to  the  subject  before 
us:  the  man  who  serves  God  from  a  dread  of  his 
displeasure,  and  therefore  in  a  certain  sense  by 
constraint,  is,  beyond  all  comparison,  in  a  better 
situation  as  toucliing  his  salvation,  than  he  who 
defies  this  dread  and  breaks  through  this  constraint. 
He,  in  a  word,  who  obeys,  from  whatever  motive 
his  obedience  springs,  provided  it  be  a  religious 
motive,  is  of  a  character,  as  well  as  in  a  condition, 
infinitely  preferable  to  the  character  and  condition 
of  the  man  whom  no  motives  whatever  can  induce 
to  perform  his  duty.  Still  i^  is  true,  that  if  he 
feels  not  within  himself  a  taste  and  relish  for  the 
service  which  he  performs,  (to  say  nothing  of  the 
consideration  how  much  less  acceptable  his  ser- 
vices may  be,)  and  for  devotion  itself,  he  wants 
one  satisfactory  evidence  of  his  heart  being  right 
towards  God.  A  further  progress  in  religion 
will  give  him  this  evidence,  but  it  is  not  yet 
attained  :  as  yet,  therefore,  there  is  a  great  defi- 
ciency. 

The  taste  and  relish  for  devotion,  of  which  we 
are  speaking,  is  what  good  men  in  all  ages  have 
felt  strongly.  It  appears  in  their  history  :  it 
appears  in  their  writings.  The  book  of  Psalms, 
in  particular,  was,  great  part  of  it,  composed 
under  the  impression  of  this  principle.  Many  of 
the  Psalms  are  written  in  the  truest  spirit  of  de- 
votion ;  and  it  is  one  test  of  the  religious  frame  of 
our  own  minds,  to  observe  whether  we  have  a 
relish  for  these  compositions  ;  whether  our  hearts 
are  stirred  as  we  read  them ;  whether  we  perceive 
in  them  words  alone,  a  mere  letter,  or  so  many 
grateful,  gratifying  sentiments  towards  God  in 
unison  with  what  we  ourselves  feel,  or  have  be- 
fore felt.  And  what  we  are  saying  of  the  book 
of  Psalms,  is  true  of  many  religious  books  that  are 
put  into  our  hands,  especially  books  of  devotional 
religion  ;  which,  though  they  be  human  composi- 
tions, and  nothing  more,  are  of  a  similar  cast  with 
the  devotional  writings  of  Scripture,  and  excel- 
lently calculated  for  their  purpose.*     We  read  of 

*  Amongst  these  I  particularly  recommend  the  pray- 
ers and  devotions  annexed  to  ttie  new  Whole  Duty  of 


I  aged  persons,  who  passed  the  greatest  part  of 
their  time  in  acts  of  devotion,  and  passed  it  with 
j  enjoyment.  "  Anna,  the  prophetess,  was  of  oreat 
j  age,  which  departed  not  from  the  temple,  but 
served  God  with  fastings  and  prayers,  night  and 
day."  The  first  Christians,  so  far  as  can  be 
gathered  from  their  history  in  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  and  the  Epistles,  as  well  as  from  the 
subsequent  account  left  of  them,  took  great  de- 
light in  exercises  of  devotion.  These  seemed  to 
form,  indeed,  the  principal  satisfaction  of  their 
Hves  in  this  world.  "  Continuing  daily,  with  one 
accord,  in  the  temple,  and  breaking  bread,"  that 
is,  celebrating  the  holy  communion,  "  from  house 
to  house,  they  eat  their  meat  with  gladness  and 
singleness  of  heart,  praising  God."  In  this  spirit 
Christians  set  out,  finding  the  greatest  gratifica- 
tion they  were  capable  of,  in  acts  and  exercises 
of  devotion.  A  great  deal  of  what  is  said  in  the 
New  Testament,  by  St.  Paul  in  particular,  about 
"rejoicing  in  the  Lord,  rejoicing  in  the  Holy 
Ghost,  rejoicing  in  hope,  rejoicing  in  consolation, 
rejoicing  in  themselves,  as  sorrowful,  yet  always 
rejoicing,"  refer  to  the  pleasure,  and  the  high  and 
spiritual  comfort  which  they  found  in  religious 
exercises.  Much,  I  fear,  of  this  spirit  is  fled. 
There  is  a  coldness  in  our  devotions,  which 
argues  a  decay  of  religion  amongst  us.  Is  it  true 
that  men,  in  these  days,  perform  rehgious  exer- 
cises as  frequently  as  they  ought,  or  as  those  did 
who  have  gone  before  us  in  the  Christian  course  1 
that  is  one  question  to  be  asked  :  but  there  is  also 
another  question  of  still  greater  importance,  viz. 
do  they  find  in  these  performances  that  gratifica- 
tion which  the  first  and  best  disciples  of  the  reli- 
gion actually  found  ?  which  they  ought  to  find ; 
and  which  they  would  find,  did  they  possess  the 
taste  and  relish  concerning  which  we  are  dis- 
coursing, and  which  if  they  do  not  possess,  they 
want  one  great  proof  of  their  heart  being  right 
towards  God. 

If  the  spirit  of  prayer,  as  it  is  sometimes  called, 
if  the  taste  and  relish  for  devotion,  if  a  devotional 
frame  of  mind  be  within  us,  it  will  show  itself  in 
the  turn  and  cast  of  our  meditations,  in  the 
warmth,  and  earnestness,  and  frequency  of  our 
secret  applications  to  God  in  prayer;  in  the  deep, 
unfeigned,  heart-piercing,  heart-sinking  sorrow 
of  our  confessions  and  our  penitence ;  in  the  sin- 
cerity of  our  gratitude  and  of  our  praise  ;  in  our 
admiration  of  the  divine  bounty  to  his  creatures ; 
in  our  sense  of  particular  mercies  to  ourselves. 
We  shall  pray  much  in  secret.  We  shall  address 
ourselves  to  God  of  our  own  accord,  in  our  walks, 
our  closet,  our  bed.  Form,  in  these  addresses, 
will  be  nothing.  Every  thing  will  come  from  the 
heart.  We  shall  feed  the  fiame  of  devotion  by 
continually  returning  to  the  subject.  No  man, 
who  is  endued  with  the  taste  and  relish  we  sjieak 
of,  will  have  God  long  out  of  his  mind.  Under 
one  view  or  other,  God  cannot  be  long  out  of  a 
devout  mind.      "  Neither   was   God  in   all   his 


Man.  Bishop  Burnet,  in  speaking  of  such  kind  of 
books,  verv  truly  says,  "  By  the  frequent  reading  of 
these  books,  by  the  relish  that  one  has  in  them,  by  the 
delight  they  give,  and  the  effects  they  produce,  a  man 
will  plainly  perceive  whether  his  soul  is  made  for 
divine  matters,  or  not ;  what  suitableness  there  is  be- 
tween him  and  them,  and  whether  lie  is  yet  touched 
with  such  a  sense  of  religion,  as  to  be  capable  of  dedi 
eating  himself  to  it." 


532 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


thoughts,"  is  a  true  description  of  a  complete 
dereUction  of  reUgious  principle ;  but  it  can,  by 
no  possibility,  be  the  case  with  a  man,  who  has 
the  spirit  of  devotion,  or  any  portion  of  that  spirit, 
within  him. 

But  it  is  not  in  our  private  religion  alone,  that 
the  efi'ect  and  benefit  of  this  principle  is  perceived. 
The  true  taste  and  relish  we  so  much  dwell  upon, 
will  bring  a  man  to  the  public  worship  of  God  ;  and, 
what  is  more,  will  bring  him  in  such  a  frame  of 
mind  as  to  enable  him  to  join  in  it  with  effect ; 
with  effect  as  to  his  own  soul ;  with  effect  as  to 
every  object,  both  public  and  private,  intended  by 
public  worship.  Wanderings  and  forgetfulness, 
remissions  and  intermissions  of  attention,  there 
will  be ;  but  these  will  be  fewer  and  shorter,  in 
proportion  as  more  of  this  spirit  is  prevalent 
within  us ;  and  some  sincere,  some  hearty,  some 
deep,  some  true,  and,  as  we  trust,  acceptable  ser- 
vice will  be  performed,  before  we  leave  the  place ; 
some  pouring  forth  of  the  soul  unto  God  in  prayer 
and  in  thanksgiving ;  in  prayer,  excited  by  wants 
and  weaknesses ;  I  fear  also,  by  sins  and  neglects 
without  number ;  and  in  thanksgivings,  such  as 
mercies,  the  most  undeserved,  ought  to  call  forth 
from  a  heart,  filled,  as  the  heart  of  man  should  be, 
with  a  thorough  consciousness  of  dependency  and 
obligation. 

Forms  of  public  worship  must,  by  their  very 
nature,  be  in  a  great  degree  general ;  that  is,  must 
be  calculated  for  the  average  condition  of  human 
and  of  Christian  life ;  but  it  is  one  property  of  the 
devotional  spirit,  which  we  speak  of,  to  give  a 
particularity  to  our  worship,  though  it  be  carried 
on  in  a  congregation  of  fellow  Christians,  and  ex- 
pressed in  terms  which  were  framed  and  conceiv- 
ed for  the  use  of  all.  And  it  does  this  by  calling 
up  recollections  which  will  apply  most  closely, 
and  bring  home  most  nearly  to  ourselves,  those 
terms  and  those  expressions.  For  instance,  in 
public  worship,  we  thank  God  in  general  terms, 
that  is,  we  join  with  the  congregation  in  a  general 
thanksgiving ;  but  a  devout  man  brings  to  church 
the  recollection  of  special  and  particular  mercies, 
particular  bounties,  particular  providences,  par- 
ticular deliverances,  particular  relief  recently  ex- 
perienced, specially  and  critically  granted  in  the 
moment  of  want  or  danger,  or  eminently  and 
supereminently  vouchsafed  to  us  individually. 
These  he  bears  in  his  thoughts ;  he  applies  as  he 
proceeds;  that  which  was  general,  he  makes  close 
and  circumstantial ;  his  heart  rises  towards  God, 
by  a  sense  of  mercies  vouchsafed  to  himself.  He 
does  not,  however,  confine  himself  to  those  fa- 
vours of  Providence,  which  he  enjoys  above  many 
others,  or  more  than  most  others ;  he  does  not 
dwell  upon  distinctions  alone ;  he  sees  God  in  all 
his  goodness,  in  all  his  bounty.  Bodily  ease,  for 
instance,  is  not  less  valuable,  not  less  a  mercy, 
because  others  are  at  ease,  as  well  as  himself 
The  same  of  his  health,  the  use  of  his  limbs,  the 
faculties  of  his  understanding.  But  what  I  mean 
is,  that,  in  his  nrind,  he  brings  to  church  mercies, 
in  which  he  is  interested,  and  that  the  most  gene- 
ral expressions  of  thankfulness  attach  with  him 
upon  particular  recollections  of  goodness,  particu- 
lar subjects  of  gratitude ;  so  that  the  holy  fervour 
of  his  devotion  is  supported ;  never  wants,  nor  can 
want,  materials  to  act  upon.  It  is  the  office, 
therefore,  of  an  internal  spirit  of  devotion  to  make 
worship  personal.    We  have  seen  that  it  will  be 


so  with  thanksgiving.  It  will  be  the  same  like- 
wise with  every  other  part  of  divine  worship.  The 
confession  of  sins  in  our  liturgy,  and  perhaps  in  all 
liturgies,  is  general ;  but  our  sins,  alas !  are  parti- 
cular :  our  conscience  not  only  aclinowledges  a  de- 
plorable weakness  and  imperfection  in  the  dis- 
charge of  our  duty,  but  is  stung  also  with  remem- 
brances and  compunctions,  excited  by  particular 
offences.  When  we  come,  therelbre,  to  confess  our 
sins,  let  memory  do  its  office  faithfully.  Let 
these  sins  rise  up  before  our  eyes.  All  language 
is  imperfect.  Forms,  intended  for  general  use, 
must  consist  of  general  terms,  and  are  so  far  in- 
adequate. They  may  be  rehearsed  by  the  lips 
with  very  little  of  application  to  our  own  case. 
But  this  will  never  be  so,  if  tiie  spirit  of  devotion 
be  within  us.  A  devout  mind  is  exceedingly  stir- 
red, when  it  has  sins  to  confess.  None  but  a 
hardened  sinner  can  even  think  of  his  sins  with- 
out pain.  But  when  he  is  to  lay  them,  with  sup- 
plications for  pardon,  before  his  Maker ;  when  he 
is  to  expose  his  heart  to  God ;  it  will  always  be 
with  powerful  inward  feelings  of  guilt  and  cala- 
mity. It  hath  been  well  said  of  prayer,  that  prayer 
will  either  make  a  man  leave  olF  sinning,  or  sin 
will  make  him  leave  off  prayer.  And  the  same  is 
true  of  confession.  If  confession  be  sincere,  if  it 
be  such  as  a  right  capacity  for  devotion  will  make 
it  to  be,  it  will  call  up  our  proper  and  particular 
sins  so  distinctly  to  our  view,  their  guilt,  their 
danger,  their  end ;  whither  they  are  carrying  us ; 
in  what  they  will  conclude  ;  that,  if  we  can  return 
to  them  again  without  molestation  from  our  con- 
science, then  religion  is  not  within  us.  If  we 
have  approached  God  in  his  worship  so  ineffectu- 
ally as  to  ourselves,  it  is  because  we  have  not  wor- 
shipped him  in  spirit ;  we  may  say  of  all  we  have 
done,  "  we  drew  near  him  with  our  lips,  but  our 
hearts  were  far  from  him." 

What  we  have  said  concerning  thanksgiving 
and  confession,  is  likewise  true  of  prayer  univer- 
sally. The  spirit  of  devotion  will  apply  our  prayers 
to  our  wants.  In  forms  of  worship,  be  they  ever 
so  well  composed,  it  is  impossible  to  exhibit  human 
wants,  otherwise  than  in  general  expressions. 
But  devotion  will  apply  them.  It  will  teach  every 
man,  in  the  first  place,  to  know  how  indigent, 
how  poor  a  creature  without  a  continued  exercise 
of  mercy  and  supply  of  bounty  from  God,  he  would 
be;  because,  when  he  begins  to  enumerate  his 
wants,  he  will  be  astonished  at  their  multitude. 
What  are  we,  any  of  us,  but  a  complication  of 
wants,  which  we  have  not  in  ourselves  the  power 
of  supplying  1  But,  beside  those  numerous  wants, 
and  that  common  helplessness,  in  which  we  all 
partake,  every  man  has  his  own  sore,  his  own 
grief,  his  own  difficulties;  every  man  has  some 
distress,  which  he  is  suliering,  or  fearing.  Nay, 
were  worldly  wishes  satisfied,  was  worldly  pros- 
perity complete,  he  has  always  what  is  of  more 
consequence  than  worldly  prosperity  to  pray 
for;  he  has  always  his  sins  to  pray  against. 
Where  temporal  wants  are  few,  spiritual  wants 
are  often  the  most  and  the  greatest.  The  grace 
of  God  is  always  wanted.  His  governing,  his 
preventing,  his  inspiring,  his  insisting  grace  is 
always  wanted.  Here,  therefore,  is  a  subject  for 
prayer,  were  there  no  other ;  a  subject  personally 
and  individually  interesting  in  the  highest  degree ; 
a  subject  above  all  others,  upon  wliich  the  spirit 
of  devotion  will  be  sure  to  fix. 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


533 


I  assign,  therefore,  as  the  first  effect  of  a  right 
spirit  of  devotion,  that  it  gives  particularity  to 
all  our  worship.  It  applies,  and  it  appropriates. 
Forms  of  worship  may  be  general,  but  a  spirit 
of  devotion  brings  them  home  and  close  to  each 
and  every  one. 

One  happy  consequence  of  which  is,  that  it 
prevents  the  tediousness  of  worship.  Things 
which  interest  us,  are  not  tedious.  If  we  find  wor- 
ship tedious,  it  is  because  it  does  not  interest  us  as 
it  ought  to  do.  We  must  allow  (experience  com- 
pels us  to  allow)  for  wanderings  and  inattentions, 
as  amongst  the  infirmities  of  our  infirm  nature. 
But,  as  I  have  already  said,  even  these  will  be 
fewer  and  shorter,  in  proportion  as  we  are  pos- 
sessed of  the  spirit  of  devotion.  Weariness  will 
not  be  perceived,  by  reason  of  that  succession  of 
devout  feelings  and  consciousnesses  which  the  se- 
veral offices  of  worship  are  calculated  to  excite. 
If  our  heart  be  in  the  business,  it  will  not  be  tedi- 
ous. If,  in  thanksgiving,  it  be  lifted  up  by  a  sense 
of  mercies,  and  a  knowledge  from  whom  they  pro- 
ceed, thanksgiving  will  be  a  grateful  exercise,  and 
not  a  tedious  form.  What  relates  to  our  sins  and 
wants,  though  not  of  the  same  gratifying  nature, 
though  accompanied  with  deep,  nay,  with  afflict- 
ing cause  of  humiliation  and  fear,  must,  neverthe- 
less, be  equally  interesting,  or  more  so,  because  it 
is  of  equal  concernment  to  us,  or  of  greater.  In 
neither  case,  therefore,  if  our  duty  be  performed 
as  it  ought  to  be,  will  tediousness  be  perceived. 

I  say.  that  the  spirit  of  devotion  removes  from 
the  worship  of  God  the  perception  of  tediousness, 
and  with  that  also  every  disposition  to  censure  or 
cavil  at  particular  phrases,  or  expressions  used  in 
public  worship.  All  such  faults,  even  if  they  be 
real,  and  such  observations  upon  them,  are  ab- 
sorbed by  the  immense  importance  of  the  business 
in  which  we  are  engaged.  GLuickness  in  disco- 
vering blemishes  of  this  sort  is  not  the  gift  of  a 
pious  mind ;  still  less  either  levity  or  acrimony  in 
speaking  of  them. 

Moreover,  the  spirit  of  devotion  reconciles  us  to 
repetitions.  In  other  subjects,  repetition  soon  be- 
comes tiresome  and  offensive.  In  devotion  it  is 
different.  Deep,  earnest,  heartfelt  devotion,  na- 
turally vents  itself  in  repetition.  Observe  a  per- 
son racked  by  excruciating  bodily  pain ;  or  a  per- 
son suddenly  struck  with  the  news  of  some  dread- 
ful calamity;  or  a  person  labouring  under  some 
cutting  anguish  of  soul ;  and  you  will  always  find 
him  breaking  out  into  ejaculations,  imploring  from 
God  support,  mercy,  and  relief,  overand  over  again, 
uttering  the  same  prayer  in  the  same  words.  No- 
thing, he  finds,  suits  so  well  the  extremity  of  his 
sufferings,  the  urgency  of  his  wants,  as  a  con- 
tinual recurrence  to  the  same  cries,  and  the  same 
call  for  divine  aid.  Our  Lord  himself,  in  his  last 
agony,  allijrds  a  high  example  of  what  we  are 
saying :  thrice  he  besought  his  heavenly  Father ; 
and  thrice  he  used  the  same  words.  Repetition, 
therefore,  is  not  only  tolerable  in  devotion,  but  it 
IS  natural :  it  is  even  dictated  by  a  sense  of  suffer- 
ing, and  an  acuteness  of  feeling.  It  is  coldness  of 
affection,  which  requires  to  be  enticed  and  grati- 
fied by  continual  novelty  of  idea,  or  expression,  or 
action.  The  repetitions  and  prolixity  of  Phari- 
saical prayers,  which  our  Lord  censures,  are  to  be 
understood  of  those  prayers  which  run  out  into 
mere  formality  and  into  great  length ;  no  senti- 
ment or  affection  of  the  heart  accompanying  them ; 
but  uttered  as  a  task,  from  an  opinion  (of  which 


our  Lord  justly  notices  the  absurdity,)  that  they 
should  really  be  heard  for  their  much  speaking. 
Actuated  by  the  spirit  of  devotion,  we  can  never 
offend  in  this  way,  we  can  never  be  the  object  of 
this  censure. 

Lastly,  and  what  has  already  been  intimated, 
the  spirit  of  devotion  will  cause  our  prayers  to 
have  an  eflect  upon  our  practice.  For  example ; 
if  we  repeated  the  confession  in  our  liturgy  with  a 
true  penitential  sense  of  guilt  upon  our  souls,  we 
should  not,  day  after  day,  be  acknowledging  to 
God  our  transgressions  and  neglects,  and  yet  go 
on  exactly  in  the  same  manner  without  endea- 
vouring to  make  them  less  and  fewer.  We  should 
plainly  perceive  that  this  was  doing  nothing  to- 
wards salvation ;  and  that,  at  this  rate,  we  may 
be  sinning  and  confessing  all  our  lives.  Whereas, 
was  the  right  spirit  of  confessional  piety,  viz. 
thoughtfulness  of  soul,  within  us  at  the  time,  this 
would  be  the  certain  benefit,  especially  in  the  case 
of  an  often-repeated  sin,  that  the  mind  would  be- 
come more  and  more  concerned,  more  and  more 
filled  with  compunction  and  remorse,  so  as  to  be 
forced  into  amendment.  Even  the  most  heart-felt 
confession  might  not  immediately  do  for  us  all 
that  we  could  wish  :  yet  by  perseverance  in  the 
same,  it  would  certainly,  in  a  short  time,  produce 
its  desired  effect.  For  the  same  reason,  we  should 
not,  time  after  time,  pray  that  we  might  thence- 
forward, viz.  after  each  time  of  so  praying,  lead 
godly,  righteous,  and  sober  lives,  yet  persist,  just 
as  usual,  in  ungodhness,  unrighteousness,  and  in- 
temperance. The  thing  would  be  impossible,  if 
we  prayed  as  we  ought.  So  likewise,  if  real  thank- 
fulness of  heart  accompanied  our  thanksgivings, 
we  should  not  pray  in  vain,  that  we  might  show 
forth  the  praises  of  God,  not  only  with  our  lips 
but  in  our  lives.  As  it  is,  thousands  repeat  these 
words  without  doing  a  single  deed  for  the  i.^ke  of 
pleasing  God,  exclusive  of  other  motives,  or  re- 
fraining from  a  single  thing  they  like  to  do  out  of 
the  fear  of  displeasing  him.  So  again,  every  time 
we  hear  the  third  service  at  church,  we  pray  that 
God  would  incline  our  hearts  to  keep  his  com- 
mandments ;  yet  immediately,  perhaps,  after- 
wards, allow  our  hearts  and  inclinations  to  wan- 
der, without  controul,  to  whatever  sinful  temjita- 
tion  entices  them.  This,  I  say,  all  proceeds 
from  the  want  of  earnestness  in  our  devotions. 
Strong  devotion  is  an  antidote  against  sin. 

To  conclude ;  a  spirit  of  devotion  is  one  of  the 
greatest  blessings;  and,  by  consequence, the  want 
of  it  one  of  the  greatest  misfortunes,  which  a 
Christian  can  experience.  When  it  is  present,  it 
gives  life  to  every  act  of  worship  which  we  per- 
form; it  makes  every  such  act  interesting  and 
comfortable  to  ourselves.  It  is  felt  in  our  most 
retired  moments,  in  our  beds,  our  closets,  our  rides, 
our  walks.  It  is  stirred  within  us,  when  we  are 
assembled  with  our  children  and  servants  in  fa- 
mily prayer.  It  leads  us  to  church,  to  the  congre- 
gation of  our  fellow  Christians  there  collected ;  it 
accompanies  us  in  our  joint  offices  of  religion  in 
an  especial  manner;  and  it  returns  us  to  our 
homes  holier,  and  happier,  and  better;  and  lastly, 
what  greatly  enhances  its  value  to  every  anxious 
Christian,  it  affords  to  himself  a  proof  that  his 
heart  is  right  towards  God :  when  it  is  followed 
up  by  a  good  life,  by  abstinence  from  sin,  and  en- 
deavours after  virtue,  by  avoiding  evil  and  doing 
good,  the  proof  and  the  satisfaction  to  be  drawn 
from  it  are  complete. 

45* 


534 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


SERMON  III. 


THE  LOVE  OF  GOD. 


TT  e  love  him,  because  he  first  loved  us. 

1  John  iv.  19. 

Religion  may,  and  it  can  hardly,  I  think,  be 
questioned  but  that  it  sometimes  does,  spring  from 
terror,  from  grief,  from  pain,  from  punishment, 
from  the  approach  of  death ;  and  provided  it  be 
sincere,  that  is,  such  as  either  actually  produces, 
or  as  would  produce  a  change  of  life,  it  is  genuine 
religion,  notwithstandmg  the  bitterness,  the  vio- 
lence, or,  if  it  must  be  so  called,  the  baseness  and 
unvvorthiness,  of  the  motive  from  which  it  pro- 
ceeds. We  are  not  to  narrow  the  promises  of 
God ;  and  acceptance  is  promised  to  sincere  peni- 
tence, without  specifying  the  cause  from  which  it 
originates,  or  confining  it  to  one  origin  more  than 
another.  There  are,  however,  liigher,  and  wor- 
thier, and  better  motives,  from  which  religion  may 
begin  in  the  heart ;  and  on  this  account  especially 
are  they  to  be  deemed  better  motives,  that  the  re- 
ligion which  issues  from  them  has  a  greater  pro- 
bability of  being  sincere.  I  repeat  again,  that  sin- 
cere religion,  from  any  motive,  will  be  effectual ; 
but  there  is  a  great  deal  of  dilierence  in  the  pro- 
bability of  its  being  sincere,  according  to  the  dif- 
ferent cause  in  the  mind  from  which  it  sets  out. 

The  purest  motive  of  human  action  is  the  love 
of  God.  There  may  be  motives  stronger  and 
more  general,  but  none  so  pure.  The  religion, 
the  virtue,  which  owes  its  birth  in  the  soul  to  this 
motive,  is  always  genuine  religion,  always  true 
virtue.  Indeed,  speaking  of  religion,  I  should  call 
the  love  of  God  not  so  much  the  ground-work  of 
religion,  as  religion  itself.  So  far  as  religion  is 
disposition,  it  is  religion  itself.  But  though  of  re- 
ligion it  be  more  than  the  ground- work,  yet,  being 
a  disposition  of  mind,  like  other  dispositions,  it  is 
the  ground-  work  of  action.  Well  might  our  blessed 
Saviour  preach  up,  as  he  did,  the  love  of  God.  It 
is  the  source  of  every  thing  which  is  good  in  man. 
I  do  not  mean  that  it  is  the  only  source,  or  that 
goodness  can  proceed  from  no  other,  but  that  of  all 
principles  of  conduct  it  is  the  safest,  the  best,  the 
truest,  the  highest.  Perhaps  it  is  peculiar  to  the 
Jewish  and  Christian  dispensations  (and,  if  it  be, 
it  is  a  peculiar  excellency  in  them)  to  have  for- 
mally and  solemnly  laid  down  this  principle,  as  a 
ground  of  human  action.  I  shall  not  deny,  that 
elevated  notions  were  entertained  of  the  Deity  by 
some  wise  and  excellent  heathens ;  but  even  these 
did  not,  that  I  can  find,  so  incuk;ate  the  love  of 
that  Deity,  or  so  propose  and  state  it  to  their  fol- 
lowers, as  to  make  it  a  governing,  actuating  prin- 
ciple of  life  amongst  them.  This  did  Moses,  or 
rather  God  by  the  mouth  of  Moses,  expressly, 
formally,  solemnly.  This  did  Christ,  adopting, 
repeating,  ratifying,  what  the  law  had  already  de- 
clared ;  and  not  only  ratifying,  but  singling  it  out 
from  the  body  of  precepts  which  composed  the  old 
Institution,  and  giving  it  a  pre-eminence  to  every 
other. 

Now  this  love,  so  important  to  our  religious 
character,  and,  by  its  effect  upon  that,  to  our  sal- 
vation, which  is  the  end  of  religion ;  this  love,  I 
say,  is  to  be  engendered  in  the  soul,  not  so  much 
by  hearing  the  words  of  others,  or  by  instruction 
from  others,  as  by  a  secret  and  habitual  contem- 
plation of  God  Almighty's  bounty,  and  by  a  con- 


stant referring  of  our  enjoyments  and  our  hopes  to 
his  goodness.  This  is  in  a  great  degree  a  matter 
of  habit ;  and,  like  all  good  habits,  particularly 
mental  habits,  is  what  every  person  must  form  in 
himself  and  for  himself  by  endeavour  and  perse- 
verance. In  this  great  article,  as  well  as  in  others 
which  are  less,  every  man  nmst  be  the  author  to 
himself  of  his  train  of  thinking,  be  it  good  or  bad. 
I  shall  only  observe,  that  when  this  habit,  or,  as 
some  would  call  it,  this  turn  and  course  of  thought, 
is  once  happily  generated,  occasions  will  continu- 
ally arise  to  minister  to  its  exercise  and  augmenta- 
tion. A  night's  rest,  or  a  comfortable  meal,  will 
immediately  direct  our  gratitude  to  God.  The  use 
of  our  limbs,  the  possession  of  our  senses ;  every 
degree  of  health,  every  hour  of  ease,  every  sort 
of  satisfaction,  which  we  enjoy,  will  carry  our 
thoughts  to  the  same  object.  But  if  our  enjoy- 
ments raise  our  affections,  still  more  will  our  hopes 
do  the  same;  and,  most  of  all  beyond  comparison, 
those  hopes  which  religion  inspires.  Think  of 
man,  and  think  of  heaven ;  think  what  he  is,  and 
what  it  is  in  his  power  hereafter  to  become. 
Think  of  this  again  and  again :  and  it  is  impossi- 
ble, but  that  the  prospect  of  being  so  rewarded  for 
our  poor  labours,  so  resting  from  our  past  troubles, 
so  forgiven  for  our  repented  sins,  must  fill  our 
hearts  with  the  deepest  thankfulness ;  and  thank- 
fulness is  love.  Towards  the  author  of  an  obliga- 
tion which  is  infinite,  thankfulness  is  the  only 
species  of  love  that  can  exist. 

But,  moreover,  the  love  of  God  is  specifically  re- 
presented in  Scripture  as  one  of  the  gifts  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  The  love  of  God  shed  abroad  in 
the  heart  is  described  as  one  of  the  works  of  the 
Spirit  upon  the  souls  of  Christians.  Now  what- 
ever is  represented  in  Scripture  to  be  the  gift  of 
the  Spirit,  is  to  be  sought  for  by  earnest  and  pe- 
cuhar  prayer.  That  is  the  practical  use  to  be 
made  of,  and  the  practical  consequence  to  be  drawn 
from,  such  representations  ;  the  very  purpose  pro- 
bably for  which  they  were  delivered;  the  mere 
point  of  doctrine  being  seldom  that  in  which 
Scripture  declarations  rest.  Let  us  not  fail  there- 
fore; let  us  not  cease  to  entreat  the  Father  of 
mercies,  that  the  love  of  him  )nay  be  shed  abroad 
in  our  hearts  continually.  It  is  one  of  the  things 
in  which  we  are  sure  that  our  prayers  are  right  in 
their  object;  in  which  also  we  may  humbly  nope, 
that,  unless  obstructed  by  ourselves,  they  will  not 
be  in  vain. 

Nor  let  it  be  said  that  this  aid  is  superfluous, 
forasmuch  as  nature  herself  had  provided  suffi- 
cient means  for  exciting  this  sentiment.  This  is 
true  with  respect  lo  those  who  are  in  the  full,  or 
in  any  thing  near  the  full,  enjoyment  of  the  gifts 
of  nature.  With  them  I  do  allow  that  nothing 
but  a  criminal  stupefaction  can  hinder  the  love  of 
God  from  being  felt.  But  this  is  not  the  case  with 
all ;  nor  with  any  at  all  times.  Afflictions,  sick- 
ness, poverty,  the  maladies  and  misfortunes  of  life, 
will  interrupt  and  damp  this  sensation,  so  far  as 
it  depends  upon  our  actual  experience  of  God's 
bounty.  I  do  not  say  that  the  evils  of  life  ought 
to  have  this  efliect:  taken  in  connexion  with  a  fu- 
ture state,  they  certainly  ought  not ;  because,  when 
viewed  in  that  relation,  afflictions  and  calamities 
become  trials,  warnings,  chastisements ;  and  when 
sanctified  by  their  fruits,  when  made  the  means 
of  weaning  us  from  the  world,  bringing  us  nearer 
to  God,  and  of  purging  away  that  dross  and  defile- 
ment which  our  souls  have  contracted,  are  in  truth 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


535 


amongst  the  first  of  favours  and  of  blessings :  ne- 
vertheless, as  an  apostle  himself  confesses,  they 
are  for  a  season  grievous ;  they  are  disheartening ; 
and  they  are  too  apt  to  produce  an  unfavourable 
effect  upon  our  gratitude.  Wherefore  it  is  upon 
these  occasions  most  especially,  that  the  aid  of 
God's  Spirit  may  be  required  to  maintain  in  our 
souls  the  love  of  God. 

Let  those,  therefore,  who  are  conscious  to  them- 
selves that  they  have  not  the  love  of  God  within 
them  as  they  ought  to  have  it,  endeavour  to  ac- 
quire and  to  increase  this  holy  principle  by  seri- 
ousness of  mind,  by  habitual  meditation,  by  de- 
vout reading,  devout  conversation,  devout  society. 
These  are  all  aids  and  helps  towards  inducing 
upon  the  mind  this  most  desirable,  nay,  rather  let 
me  call  it,  this  blessed  frame  and  temper,  and  of 
fixing  us  in  it:  and  forasmuch  as  it  is  declared  in 
Scripture  to  be  shed  abroad  in  the  heart  by  the 
Spirit  of  God,  let  us  labour  in  our  prayers  for  this 
best  gift. 

The  next  consideration  upon  the  subject  is  the 
fruit  and  effect  of  this  disposition  upon  our  lives. 
If  it  be  asked  how  does  the  love  of  God  operate 
in  the  production  of  virtuous  conduct,  I  shall  an- 
swer, that  it  operates  exactly  in  the  same  manner 
as  affection  towards  a  parent  or  gratitude  towards 
a  human  benefactor  operates,  by  stirring  up  a 
strong  rebuke  in  the  mind  upon  the  thought  of 
offending  him.  This  lays  a  constant  check  upon 
our  conduct.  And  this  sensation  is  the  necessary 
accompaniment  of  love  ;  it  cannot,  I  think,  be  se- 
parated from  it.  But  it  is  not  the  whole  of  its  in- 
fluence. Love  and  gratitude  towards  a  benefactor 
not  only  fill  us  with  remorse  and  with  internal 
shame,  whenever,  by  our  wilful  misbehaviour,  we 
have  given  cause  to  that  benefactor  to  be  displeased 
with  us ;  but  also  prompts  us  with  a  desire  upon 
all  occasions  of  doing  what  we  believe  he  wills  to 
be  done,  which,  with  respect  to  God,  is  in  other 
words  a  desire  to  serve  him.  Now  this  is  not  only 
a  restraint  from  vice,  but  an  incitement  to  action. 
Instructed,  as  in  Christian  countries  mankind 
generally  are,  in  the  main  articles  of  human  duty, 
this  motive  will  seldom  mislead  them. 

In  one  important  respect  the  love  of  God  excels 
all  moral  principles  whatever ;  and  that  is,  in  its 
comprehensiveness.  It  reaches  every  action ;  it 
includes  every  duty.  You  cannot  mention  an- 
other moral  principle  which  has  this  property  in 
the  same  perfection.  For  instance,  I  can  hardly 
name  a  better  moral  principle  than  humanity.  It 
is  a  principle  which  every  one  commends,  and 
justly :  yet  in  this  very  article  of  comprehensive- 
ness it  is  deficient,  when  compared  with  the  love 
of  God.  It  will  prompt  us  undoubtedly  to  do  kind, 
and  generous,  and  compassionate  things  towards 
our  friends,  our  acquaintance,  our  neighbours,  and 
towards  the  poor.  In  our  relation  to,  and  in  our 
intercourse  with,  mankind,  especially  towards 
those  who  are  dependent  upon  us,  or  over  whom 
we  have  power,  it  will  keep  us  from  hardness, 
and  rigour,  and  cruelty.  In  all  this  it  is  excellent. 
But  it  will  not  regulate  us,  as  we  require  to  be  re- 
gulated, in  another  great  branch  of  Christian  duty, 
self-government  and  self-restraint.  We  may  be 
exceedingly  immoral  and  licentious  in  sinful  in- 
dulgences, without  violating  our  principle  of  huma- 
nity ;  at  least,  without  specifically  violating  it,  and 
without  being  sensible  of  violating  it.  And  this 
is  by  no  means  an  uncommon  case  or  character, 


namely,  humanity  of  temper  subsisting  along  with 
the  most  criminal  licentiousness,  and  under  a  total 
want  of  personal  self-government.  The  reason  is, 
that  the  principle  of  conduct,  though  excellent  as 
far  as  it  goes,  fails  in  comprehensiveness.  Not  so 
with  the  love  of  God.  He,  who  is  inlluenced  by 
that,  feels  its  influence  in  all  parts  of  duty,  upon 
every  occasion  of  action,  throughout  the  whole 
course  of  conduct. 

The  thing  with  most  of  us  to  be  examined  into 
and  ascertained  is,  whether  it  indeed  guide  us  at 
all ;  whether  it  be  within  us  an  efficient  motive.  I 
am  far  from  taking  upon  me  to  say  that  it  is  essen- 
tial to  this  principle  to  exclude  all  other  princi|)]es 
of  conduct  especially  the  dread  of  God's  wrath  and 
of  its  tremendous  consequences :  or  that  a  person, 
who  is  deterred  from  evil  actions  by  the  dread  of 
God's  wrath,  is  obliged  to  conclude,  that  because 
he  so  much  dreads  God,  he  cannot  love  him.  I 
will  not  venture  to  say  any  such  thing.  The 
Scripture,  it  is  true,  speaking  of  the  love  of  God, 
hath  said,  that  "  perfect  love  castethout  fear  ;"  but 
it  hath  not  said  that  in  the  soul  of  man  this  love  is 
ever  perfect:  what  the  Scripture  hath  thus  de- 
clared of  perfect  love  is  no  more  than  what  is  just. 
The  love  of  God,  were  it  perfect,  that  is  to  say, 
were  it  such  as  his  nature,  his  relation,  his  bounty 
to  us  deserves;  were  it  adequate  either  to  its  object 
or  to  our  obligation,  were  it  carried  up  as  high  as 
in  a  perfectly  rational  and  virtuous  soul  it  might 
be  carried,  would,  I  believe,  absorb  every  other 
motive  and  every  other  principle  of  action  what- 
ever, even  the  fear  of  God  amongst  the  rest.  This 
principle,  by  its  nature,  might  gain  a  complete 
possession  of  the  heart  and  will,,  so  that  a  person 
acting  under  its  influence  would  take  nothing  else 
into  the  account,  would  reflect  upon  no  other  con- 
sequence or  consideration  whatever.  Possibly, 
nay  probably,  this  is  the  condition  of  some  higher 
orders  of  spirits,  and  may  become  ours  by  future 
improvement,  and  in  a  more  exalted  state  of  exist- 
ence ;  but  it  cannot,  I  am  afraid,  be  said  to  be  our 
condition  now.  The  love  of  God  subsists  in  the 
heart  of  good  men  as  a  powerful  principle  of  ac- 
tion :  but  it  subsists  there  in  conjunction  with  othei 
principles,  especially  with  the  fear  of  him.  All 
goodness  is  in  a  certain  degree  comparative  ;  and 
I  think,  that  he  may  be  called  a  good  man  in 
whom  this  principle  dwells  and  operates  at  all. 
Wherefore  to  obtain ;  when  obtained,  to  cultivate, 
to  cherish,  to  strengthen,  to  improve  it,  ought  to 
form  the  most  anxious  concern  of  our  spiritual 
life.  He  that  loveth  God  keepeth  his  command- 
ments ;  but  still  the  love  of  God  is  something  more 
than  keeping  the  commandments.  For  which 
reason  we  must  acquire,  what  many,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  have  even  yet  to  begin,  a  habit  of  contem- 
plating God  in  the  bounties  and  blessings  of  his 
creation.  I  think  that  religion  can  hardly  subsist 
in  the  soul  without  this  habit  in  some  degree.  But 
the  greater  part  of  us,  such  is  the  natural  dulness 
of  our  souls,  require  something  more  exciting  and 
stimulating  than  the  sensations  which  large  and 
general  views  of  nature  or  of  providence  produce; 
something  more  particular  to  ourselves,  and  which 
more  nearly  touches  our  separate  happiness.  Now 
of  examples  of  this  kind,  namely,  of  direct  and 
special  mercies  towards  himself,  no  one,  who  calls 
to  mind  the  passages  and  providences  of  his  life, 
can  be  destitute.  There  is  one  topic  of  gratitude 
falling  under  this  head,  which  almost  every  man, 


536 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


who  is  tolerably  faithful  and  exact  in  his  self-recol- 
lections, will  find  in  events  upon  which  he  has  to 
look  back ;  and  it  is  this :  How  often  have  we 
been  spared,  when  we  might  have  been  overtaken 
and  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  sin  !  Of  all  the  attri- 
butes of  God,  forbearance,  perhaps,  is  that  which 
we  have  most  to  acknowledge.  We  cannot  want 
occasions  to  bring  the  remembrance  of  it  to  our 
thoughts.  Have  there  not  been  occasions,  in 
which,  ensnared  in  vice,  we  might  have  been  de- 
tected and  exposed;  have  been  crushed  by  punish- 
ment or  shame,  have  been  irrecoverably  ruined  1 
occasions  in  which  we  might  have  been  suddenly 
stricken  with  death,  in  a  state  of  soul  the  most 
unfit  for  it  that  was  possible!  That  we  were 
none  of  these,  that  we  have  been  preserved  from 
these  dangers,  that  our  sin  was  not  our  destruc- 
tion, that  instant  judgment  did  not  overtake  us,  is 
to  be  attributed  to  the  long-suffering  of  God.  Sup- 
posing, what  is  undoubtedly  true,  that  the  secrets 
of  our  conduct  were  known  to  him  at  the  time,  it 
can  be  attributed  to  no  other  cause.  Now  this  is 
a  topic  which  can  never  fail  to  supply  subjects  of 
thankfulness,  and  of  a  species  of  thankfulness, 
which  must  bear  with  direct  force  upon  the  regu- 
lation of  our  conduct.  We  were  not  destroyed 
when  we  might  have  been  destroyed,  and  when 
we  merited  destruction.  We  have  been  preserved 
for  further  trial.  This  is.  or  ought  to  be  a  touch- 
ing reflection.  How  deeply,  therefore,  does  it  be- 
hove us  not  to  trifle  vnth  the  patience  of  God,  not 
to  abuse  this  enlarged  space,  this  respited,  pro- 
tracted season  of  repentance,  by  plunging  afresh 
into  the  same  crimes,  or  other,  or  greater  crimes  1 
It  shows  that  we  are  not  to  be  wrought  upon  by 
mercy  :  that  our  gratitude  is  not  moved ;  that 
things  are  wrong  within  us ;  that  there  is  a  de- 
plorable void  and  chasm  in  our  religious  prin- 
ciples, the  love  of  God  not  being  present  in  our 
hearts. 

But  to  return  to  that  vnih  which  we  set  out :  reli- 
gion may  spring  from  various  principles,  begin  in 
various  motives.  It  is  not  for  us  to  narrow  the  pro- 
mises of  God  which  belong  to  sincere  religion, 
from  whatever  cause  it  origmates.  But  of  these 
principles,  the  purest,  the  surest,  is  the  love  of 
God,  forasmuch  as  the  religion  which  proceeds 
from  it  is  sincere,  constant,  and  universal.  It  will 
not,  like  fits  of  terror  and  alarm  (which  yet  we  do 
not  despise^  produce  a  temporary  religion.  The 
love  of  Gocl  is  an  abiding  principle.  It  will  not, 
hke  some  other,  (and  these  also  good  and  laudable 
princi[)les  of  action,  as  far  as  they  go,)  produce  a 
partial  religion.  It  is  co-extensive  with  all  our 
obligations.  Practical  Christianity  may  be  com- 
prised in  three  words ;  devotion,  self-government, 
and  benevolence.  The  love  of  God  in  the  heart 
is  a  fountain,  from  which  these  three  streams  of 
virtue  will  not  fail  to  issue.  The  love  of  God 
also  is  a  guard  against  error  in  conduct,  because 
it  is  a  guard  against  those  evil  influences  which 
mislead  the  understanding  in  moral  questions.  In 
some  measure,  it  supplies  the  place  of  every  rule. 
He  who  has  it  truly  within  him,  has  little  to  learn. 
Look  steadfastly  to  the  will  of  God,  which  he  who 
loves  God  necessarily  does,  practise  what  you  be- 
lieve to  be  well  pleasing  to  him,  leave  off  what  you 
believe  to  be  displeasing  to  him  :  cherish,  conflrm, 
strengtiien  the  principle  itself  which  sustains  this 
course  of  external  conduct,  and  you  will  not  want 
many  lessons,  you  need  not  listen  to  any  other 
monitor. 


SERMON  IV. 

MEDITATIXG  UPOX  RELIGION. 

Have  I  not  remembered  thee  in  viy  bed:  artd 
thought  xipon  thee  when  I  was  waking? — 
Psalm  Ixiii.  7. 

The  life  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man,  as  it  is 
sometimes  emphatically  called,  the  Christian  life, 
that  is,  or  the  progress  of  Christianity  in  the  heart 
of  any  particular  person,  is  marked,  amongst  other 
things,  by  religion  gradually  gaining  possession  of 
the  thoughts.  It  has  been  said,  that,  if  we  thought 
about  religion  as  it  deserved,  we  should  never 
think  about  any  thing  else ;  nor  with  strictness, 
perhaps,  can  we  deny  the  truth  of  this  proposition. 
Religious  concerns  do  so  surpass  and  outweigh  in 
value  and  importance  all  concerns  beside,  that  did 
they  occupy  a  place  in  our  minds  proportioned  to 
that  importance,  they  would,  in  truth,  exclude 
every  other  but  themselves.  I  am  not,  therefore, 
one  of  those  who  wonder  when  I  see  a  man  en- 
grossed with  rehgion :  the  wonder  with  me  is, 
that  men  care  and  think  so  little  concerning  it. 
With  all  the  allowances  which  must  be  made  lor 
our  employments,  our  activities,  our  anxieties, 
about  the  interests  and  occurrences  of  the  present 
life,  it  is  still  true,  that  our  forgetfulness,  and  neg- 
ligence, and  indiflerence  about  religion  are  much 
greater  than  can  be  excused,  or  can  easily  be  ac- 
counted for  by  these  causes.  Few  men  are  so 
busy  but  that  they  contrive  to  find  time  for  any 
gratification  their  heart  is  set  upon,  and  thought 
for  any  subject  in  which  they  are  interested :  they 
want  not  leisure  for  these,  though  they  want  lei- 
sure for  religion.  Notwithstanding,  therefore,  sin- 
gular cases,  if  indeed  there  be  any  cases  of  lieing 
over- religious,  over-intent  upon  spiritual  affairs, 
the  real  and  true  complaint  is  all  on  the  other  side, 
that  men  think  not  about  them  enough,  as  they 
ought,  as  is  reasonable,  as  it  is  their  duty  to  do. 
That  is  the  malady  and  the  mischief  The  cast 
and  turn  of  our  infirm  and  fleshly  nature  lean  all 
on  that  side.  For,  first,  this  nature  is  affected 
chiefly  by  what  we  see.  Though  the  things 
which  concern  us  most  deeply  te  not  seen;  for 
this  very  reason,  that  they  are  not  seen,  they  do 
not  affect  us  as  they  ought.  Though  these  things 
ought  to  be  meditated  upon,  and  must  be  acted 
uf)on,  one  way  or  other,  long  before  we  come  ac- 
tually to  experience  them,  yet  in  fact  we  do  not 
meditate  upon  them,  we  do  not  act  with  a  view  to 
them,  till  something  gives  us  alarm,  gives  reason 
to  believe  that  they  are  approaching  fast  upon  us, 
that  they  are  at  hand,  or  shortly  will  be,  that  we 
shall  indeed  experience  what  they  are. 

The  world  of  spirits,  the  world  for  which  wc 
are  destined,  is  invisible  to  us.  Hear  St.  Paul's 
account  of  this  matter:  "We  look  not  at  the 
things  which  are  seen,  but  at  the  things  which 
are  not  seen ;  for  the  things  which  are  seen  are 
temporal,  but  the  things  which  are  not  seen  are 
eternal."  "  We  walk  by  faith,  not  by  sight;  faith 
is  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen."  Some  great 
invisible  agent  there  must  be  in  the  universe ; 
'■  the  things  which  are  seen  were  not  made  of 
things  which  do  appear.''  Now  if  the  great  Au- 
thor of  all  things  be  himself  invisible  to  our  senses, 
and  if  our  relation  to  him  must  necessarily  form 
the  greatest  interest  and  concern  of  our  existence, 
then  it  follows,  that  our  greatest  interest  and  con- 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


537 


cem  are  with  those  thintrs  which  are  now  invisi- 
ble. "We  are  saved  by  hope,  but  hope  that  is 
seen  is  not  hope :  for  what  a  man  seeth,  why  doth 
he  yet  hope  for  1  but  if  we  hope  for  that  we  see 
not,  then  do  we  with  patience  wait  for  it."  The 
first  infirmity,  therefore,  which  religion  has  to 
conquer  within  us,  is  that  which  binds  down  our 
attention  to  the  things  which  we  see.  The  natu- 
ral man  is  immersed  in  sense :  nothing  takes  hold 
of  his  mind  but  what  applies  immediately  to  his 
sense ;  but  this  disposition  will  not  do  for  religion : 
the  religious  character  is  founded  in  hope,  as  con- 
tradistinguished from  experience,  in  perceiving  by 
the  mind  what  is  not  perceived  by  the  eye :  unless 
a  man  can  do  this,  he  cannot  be  religious :  and 
with  many  it  is  a  great  difficulty.  This  power  of 
hope,  which,  as  St.  Paul  observes  of  it,  is  that 
which  places  the  invisible  world  before  our  view, 
is  specifically  described  in  Scripture,  as  amongst 
the  gifts  of  the  Spirit,  the  natural  man  standing 
indeed  much  in  need  of  it,  being  altogether  of  an 
opposite  tendency.  Hear  St.  PauFs  prayer  for 
his  Roman  converts;  "  The  God  of  hope  fill  you 
with  all  joy  and  peace  in  believing,  that  you  may 
abound  in  hope  through  the  power  of  the  Holy 
Ghost."  Again  to  the  Galatians,  how  does  he 
describe  the  state  of  mind  of  a  Christian  1  "  we 
through  the  Spirit  wait  for  the  hope  of  righteous- 
ness by  faith." 

Again ;  another  impediment  to  the  thought  of 
religion  is  the  faculty  and  the  habit  we  have  ac- 
quired of  regarding  its  concerns  as  at  a  distance. 
A  child  is  affected  by  nothing  but  what  is  present, 
and  many  thousands  in  this  respect  continue 
children  all  their  lives.  In  a  degree  this  weakness 
cleaves  to  us  all ;  produces  upon  us  the  same  effect 
under  a  different  form ;  namely,  in  this  way, 
when  we  find  ourselves  necessarily  disturbed  by 
near  or  approaching  evil,  we  have  the  means  of 
forgetting  the  nearness  or  the  approach  of  that, 
which  must  bring  with  it  the  greatest  evil  or  the 
greatest  good  we  are  capable  of,  our  change  at 
death.  Though  we  cannot  exactly  offer  any  ar- 
guments to  show  that  it  is  either  certainly  or  pro- 
bably at  a  distance,  yet  we  have  the  means  of  re- 
garding it  in  our  minds  as  though  it  were  at  a 
distance ;  and  this  even  in  cases  in  which  it  can- 
not possibly  be  so.  Do  we  prepare  for  it  ^  no  : 
why  1  because  we  regard  it  in  our  imaginations 
as  at  a  distance :  we  cannot  prove  that  it  is  at  a 
distance ;  nay,  the  contrary  may  be  proved  against 
us  :  but  still  we  regard  it  so  in  our  imaginations, 
and  regard  it  so  practically ;  for  imagination  is 
■with  most  men  the  practical  principle.  But,  how- 
ever strong  and  general  this  delusion  be,  has  it 
any  foundation  in  reason  1  Can  that  be  thought 
at  a  distance  which  may  come  to-morrow,  which 
must  come  in  a  few  years'?  In  a  rery  few  years 
to  most  of  us,  in  a  few  years  to  all,  it  will  be  fixed 
and  decided,  whether  we  are  to  be  in  heaven  or 
hell ;  yet  we  go  on  without  thinking  of  it,  with- 
out preparing  for  it :  and  it  is  exceedingly  observa- 
ble, that  it  is  only  in  religion  we  thus  put  away 
the  thought  from  us.  In  the  settlement  of  our 
worldly  aliairs  after  our  deaths,  which  exactly  de- 
pend on  the  same  event,  commence  at  the  same 
time,  are  equally  distant,  if  either  were  distant, 
equally  liable  to  uncertainty  as  to  when  the  dispo- 
sition will  take  place  ;  in  these,  I  say,  men  are  not 
usually  negligent,  or  think  that  by  reason  of  its 
distance  it  can  be  neglected,  or  by  reason  of  the 
uncertainty  when  it  may  happen,  left  unprovided  1 


for.  This  is  a  flagrant  inconsistency,  and  proves 
decisively  that  religion  possesses  a  small  portion 
of  our  concern,  in  proportion  with  what  it  ouirht 
to  do.  For  instead  of  giving  to  it  that  superiority 
which  is  due  to  immortal  concerns,  above  those 
which  are  transitory,  perishable,  and  perishing,  it 
is  not  even  put  upon  an  equality  with  them ;  nor 
with  those  which,  in  respect  to  time,  and  the  un- 
certainty of  time,  are  under  the  same  circum- 
stances with  itself 

Thirdly ;  the  spiritual  character  of  religion  is 
another  great  impediment  to  its  entering  our 
thoughts.  All  religion,  which  is  effectual,  is,  and 
must  be,  spiritual.  Offices  and  ordinances  are 
the  handmaids  and  instruments  of  the  spiritual 
religion,  calculated  to  generate,  to  promote,  to 
maintain,  to  uphold  it  in  the  heart,  but  the  thing 
itself  is  purely  spiritual.  Now  the  flesh  weigheth 
down  the  spirit,  as  with  a  load  and  burden.  It  is 
difficult  to  rouse  the  human  constitution  to  a  sense 
and  perception  of  what  is  purely  spiritual.  They 
who  are  addicted,  not  only  to  vice,  but  to  gratifi- 
cations and  pleasures ;  they  who  know  no  other 
rule  than  to  go  with  the  crowd  in  their  career  of 
dissipation  and  amusement ;  they  whose  atten- 
tions are  all  fixed  and  engrossed  by  business, 
whose  minds  from  morning  to  night  are  counting 
and  computing ;  the  weak,  and  foohsh,  and  stu- 
pid ;  lastly,  which  comprehends  a  class  of  man- 
kind deplorably  numerous,  the  indolent  and  sloth- 
ful ;  none  of  these  can  bring  themselves  to  medi- 
tate upon  rehgion.  The  last  class  slumber  over 
its  interests  and  concerns ;  perhaps  they  cannot 
be  said  to  forget  it  absolutely,  but  they  slumber 
over  the  subject,  in  which  state  nothmg  as  to 
their  salvation  gets  done,  no  decision,  no  practice. 
There  are,  therefore,  we  see,  various  obstacles 
and  infirmities  in  our  constitutions,  which  obstruct 
the  reception  of  religious  ideas  in  our  mind,  still 
more  such  a  voluntary  entertainment  of  them  as 
rnay  bring  forth  fruit.  It  ought,  therefore,  to  be 
our  constant  prayer  to  God,  that  he  wiii  open  our 
hearts  to  the  influence  of  his  word,  by  which  is 
meant  that  he  will  so  quicken  and  actuate  the 
sensibility  and  vigour  of  our  minds,  as  to  enable 
us  to  attend  to  the  things  wliich  really  and  truly 
belong  to  our  peace. 

So  soon  as  religion  gains  that  hold  and  that 
possession  of  the  heart,  which  it  must  do  to  be- 
come the  means  of  our  salvation,  things  change 
within  us,  as  in  many  other  respects,  so  especial- 
ly in  tliis.  We  think  a  great  deal  more  frequent- 
ly about  it,  we  think  of  it  for  a  longer  continu- 
ance, and  our  thoughts  of  it  have  much  more  of 
vivacity  and  impressiveness.  First,  we  begin  to 
think  of  religion  more  frequently  than  we  did. 
Heretofore  we  never  thought  of  it  at  all,  except 
when  some  melancholy  incident  had  sunk  our 
spirits,  or  had  terrified  our  apprehensions ;  it  was 
either  from  lowness  or  from  frisiht  that  we  thought 
of  religion  at  all.  Whilst  things  went  smoothly, 
and  prosperously,  and  gaily  with  us,  whilst  all 
was  well  and  safe  in  our  health  and  circuni.stances, 
religion  was  the  last  thing  we  wished  to  turn  our 
minds  to :  we  did  not  want  to  have  our  pleasure 
disturbed  by  it.  But  it  is  not  so  with  us  now : 
there  is  a  change  in  our  minds  in  this  respect.  It 
enters  our  thoughts  very  often,  both  by  day  and 
by  night,  "  Have  I  not  remembered  thee  in  my 
bed,  and  thought  upon  thee  when  I  was  waking  V 
This  change  is  one  of  the  prognostications  of  the 
religious  principle  forming  within  us.     Secondly 


538 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


these  thoughts  settle  themselves  upon  our  rnintk. 
The)'  were  formerly  fleeting  and  transitory,  as 
the  cloud  which  passes  along  the  sky ;  and  they 
were  so  for  two  reasons;  first,  they  found  no  con- 
genial temper  and  dis[)osilion  to  rest  upon,  no  se- 
riousness, no  posture  of  mind  proper  for  their  re- 
ception; and,  secondly,  because  we  of  our  own 
accord,  by  a  positive  exertion  and  endeavour  of 
our  will,  put  them  away  from  us,  we  disliked 
their  presence,  we  rejected  and  cast  them  out. 
But  it  is  not  so  now ;  we  entertain  and  retain  re- 
ligious meditations,  as  being,  in  fact,  those  which 
concern  us  most  deeply.  I  do  not  speak  of  the 
solid  comfort  which  is  to  be  found  in  them,  be- 
cause that  belongs  to  a  more  advanced  state  of 
Christian  life  than  I  am  now  considering :  that 
will  come  afterwards;  and,  when  it  does  come, 
will  form  the  support,  and  consolation,  and  happi- 
ness of  our  lives.  But  whilst  the  religious  princi- 
ple is  forming,  at  least  during  the  first  steps  of 
that  formation,  we  are  induced  to  think  about  reli- 
gion cliicfly  from  a  sense  of  its  vast  consequences : 
and  this  reason  is  enough  to  make  wise  men 
think  about  it  both  long  and  closely.  Lastly,  our 
religious  thoughts  come  to  have  a  vivacity  and 
impress! veness  in  them  which  they  had  not  hither- 
to: that  is  to  say,  they  interest  us  much  more 
than  they  did.  There  is  a  wonderful  difference 
in  the  light  in  which  we  see  the  same  thing,  in 
the  force  and  strength  with  which  it  rises  up  be- 
fore our  view,  in  the  degree  with  which  we  are 
affected  by  it.  This  difference  is  experienced  in 
no  one  thing  more  than  in  religion,  not  only  be- 
tween difierent  persons,  but  by  the  same  person 
at  different  times,  the  same  person  in  difi:erent 
stages  of  the  Christian  progress,  the  same  person 
under  different  measures  of  divine  grace. 

Finally,  would  we  know  whether  we  have 
made,  or  are  making,  any  advances  in  Chris- 
tianity or  nof?  These  are  the  marks  which  will 
tell  us.  Do  we  think  more  frequently  about  reli- 
gion tlian  we  used  to  do  1  Do  we  cherish  and  enter- 
tain these  thoughts  for  a  longer  continuance  than 
we  did  ?  Do  they  interest  us  more  than  former- 
ly 1  Do  they  impress  us  more,  do  they  strike  us 
more  forcibly,  do  they  sink  deeper  1  If  we  per- 
ceive this,  then  we  perceive  a  change,  upon  which 
we  may  ground  good  hopes  and  expectations ;  if 
we  perceive  it  not,  we  have  cause  for  very  afflict- 
ing apprehensions,  that  the  power  of  religion  hath 
not  yet  visited  us ;  cause  tor  deep  and  earnest  in- 
tercession with  God  for  the  much  wanted  succour 
of  his  Holy  Spirit. 


SERMON  V. 

OF  THE  STATE  AFTER  DEATH. 

Beloved,  noiD  are  ice  the  sons  of  God;  and  it 
doth  not  yet  appear  what  ice  shall  be:  but  we 
knoxo  that,  when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be 
like  him,;  for  we  shall  see  him  as  he  is. — 
1  John  iii.  2. 

One  of  the  most  natural  solicitudes  of  the  hu- 
man mind,  is  to  know  what  will  become  of  us  af- 
ter death,  what  is  already  become  of  those  friends 
who  arc  gone.  I  do  not  so  much  mean  the  great 
question,  whether  we  and  they  shall  be  iiappy  or 
miserable,  as  1  mean  the  (juestion,  what  is  the  na- 


ture and  condition  of  that  state  which  we  are  sc 
soon  to  try.  This  solicitude,  which  is  both  natu- 
ral and  strong,  is  sometimes,  however,  carried  toe 
far;  and  this  is  the  case,  when  it  renders  us  un- 
easy, or  dissatisfied,  or  impatient  under  the  ob- 
scurity in  which  the  subject  is  placed ;  and  placed, 
not  only  in  regard  to  us,  or  in  regard  to  counnon 
men,  but  in  regard  even  to  the  apostles  them- 
selves of  our  Lord,  who  were  taught  from  his 
mouth,  as  well  as  immediately  instructed  by  his 
Spirit.  Saint  John,  the  author  of  the  text  which 
I  have  read  to  you,  was  one  of  these ;  not  only  an 
apostle,  but  of  all  the  apostles,  perhaps,  the  most 
closely  connected  with  his  Master,  and  admitted 
to  the  most  intimate  familiarity  with  him.  What 
it  was  allowed,  therefore,  for  man  to  know.  Saint 
John  knew.  Yet  this  very  Saint  John  acknow- 
ledges "  that  it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall 
be ;"  the  exact  nature,  and  condition,  and  circum- 
stances of  our  future  state  are  yet  hidden  from  us. 
I  think  it  credible  that  this  may,  in  a  very  great  de- 
gree, arise  from  the  nature  of  the  human  under- 
standing itself  Our  Saviour  said  to  Nicodemus,  "  If 
I  have  told  you  earthly  things,  and  ye  believe  not, 
how  shall  ye  believe,  if  1  tell  you  of  heavenly  things  ?" 
It  is  evident  from  the  strain  of  this  extraordinary 
conversation,  that  the  disbelief  on  the  part  of  Nico- 
demus, to  which  our  Saviour  refers,  was  that 
which  arose  from  the  difficulty  of  comprehending 
the  subject.  Therefore  our  Saviour's  words  to 
him  may  be  construed  thus:  If  what  I  have  just 
now  said  concerning  the  new  birth,  concerning 
being  born  again,  concerning  being  born  of  the 
Spirit,  concerning  the  agency  of  the  vSpirit,  which 
are  all  "earthly  things,"  that  is,  are  all  things  that 
pass  in  the  hearts  of  Christians  in  this  then-  pre- 
sent life,  and  upon  this  earth  ;  if  this  information 
prove  so  difficult,  that  you  cannot  bring  yourself 
to  believe  it,  by  reason  of  the  difficulty  of  appre- 
hending it;  "how  shall  ye  believe'!"  how  would 
ye  be  able  to  conquer  the  much  greater  dilffculties 
which  would  attend  my  discourse,  "if  I  told  you 
heavenly  things  1"  that  is  to  say,  if  I  speak  to  you 
of  those  things  which  are  passing,  or  which  will 
pass,  in  heaven,  in  a  totally  different  state  and 
stage  of  existence,  amongst  natures  and  beings 
unlike  yours  1  The  truth  seems  to  be,  that  the 
human  understanding,  constituted  as  it  is,  though 
fitted  for  the  purposes  for  which  we  want  it,  that 
is,  though  capable  of  receiving  the  instruction  and 
knowledge,  which  are  necessary  for  our  conduct 
and  the  discharge  of  our  duty,  has  a  native  origi- 
nal incapacity  for  the  reception  of  any  distinct 
knowledge  of  our  future  condition.  The  reason 
is,  that  all  our  conceptions  and  ideas  are  drawn 
from  experience,  (not,  perhaps,  all  immediately 
from  experience,  but  experience  lies  at  the  bottom 
of  them  all,)  and  no  language,  no  information,  no 
instruction,  can  do  more  for  us,  than  teach  us  the 
relation  of  the  ideas  which  we  have.  Therefore, 
so  far  as  we  can  judge,  no  words  whatever  that 
could  have  been  used,  no  account  or  description 
that  could  have  been  written  down,  would  have 
been  able  to  convey  to  us  a  conce[)tion  of  our  fu- 
ture state,  constituted  as  our  understandings  now^ 
arc.  I  am  far  from  saying,  that  it  was  not  in  the 
power  of  God,  by  immediate  inspiration,  to  have 
struck  light  and  ideas  into  our  minds,  of  which  na- 
turally we  have  no  conception.  I  am  far  from  say- 
ing, that  he  could  not,  by  an  act  of  tiis  power,  have 
assumed  a  human  being,  or  the  soul  of  a  human  be- 
ing into  heaven ;  and  have  shown  to  him  or  it,  the 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


539 


nature  and  the  glories  of  that  kingdom :  but  it  is 
evident,  that,  unless  the  whole  order  of  our  present 
world  be  changed,  such  revelations  as  these  must 
be  rare;  must  be  limited  to  very  extraordinary 
persons,  and  very  extraordinary  occasions.  And 
even  then,  with  respect  to  others,  it  is  to  be  ob- 
served, that  the  ordinary  modes  of  communication 
by  speech  or  writing  are  inadequate  to  tlie  trans- 
mitting of  any  knowledge  or  information  of  this 
sort:  and  from  a  cause,  which  has  already  been 
noticed,  namely,  that  language  deals  only  with  the 
ideas  which  we  have ;  that  these  ideas  are  all  found- 
ed in  experience;  that  probably,  most  probably 
indeed,  the  things  of  the  next  world  are  very  re- 
mote from  any  experience  which  we  have  in  this ; 
the  consequence  of  which  is,  that,  though  the  in- 
spired person  might  himself  possess  this  superna- 
tural knowledge,  he  could  not  impart  it  to  any 
other  person  not  in  like  manner  inspired.  When, 
therefore,  the  nature  and  constitution  of  the  hu- 
man understanding  is  considered,  it  can  excite  no 
surprise,  it  ought  to  excite  no  complaint,  it  is  no 
fair  objection  to  Christianity,  "that  it  doth  not  yet 
appear  what  we  shall  be."  1  do  not  say  that  the 
imperfection  of  our  understanding  forbids  it,  (for, 
in  strictness  of  speech,  that  is  not  imperfect  which 
answers  the  purpose  designed  by  it,')  but  the  pre- 
sent constitution  of  our  understandmg  forbids  it. 

"  It  doth  not  yet  appear,"  saith  the  apostle, 
"  what  we  shall  be,  but  this  we  know,  that,  when 
he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like  him."  As  if 
he  had  said.  Though  we  be  far  from  understand- 
ing the  subject  either  accurately  or  clearly,  or  from 
having  conceptions  and  notions  adequate  to  the 
truth  and  reahty  of  the  case,  yet  we  know  some- 
thing :  this,  for  instance,  we  know,  that,  "  when 
he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like  him."  The  best 
commentary  upon  this  last  sentence  of  Saint  John's 
text  may  be  drawn  from  the  words  of  Saint  Paul. 
His  words  state  the  same  proposition  more  fully 
when  he  tells  us  (Phil.  iii.  -21)  "that  Christ  shall 
change  our  vile  body,  that  it  may  be  like  his  glo- 
rious body."  From  the  two  passages  together,  we 
may  lay  down  the  following  points.  First,  that 
we  shall  have  bodies.  One  apostle  informs  us, 
that  we  shall  be  like  him ;  the  other,  that  our  vile 
body  shall  be  like  his  glorious  body  :  therefore  we 
shall  have  bodies.  Secondly,  that  these  bodies 
shall  be  greatly  changed  from  what  they  are  at 
present.  It  we  had  had  nothing  but  Saint  John's 
text  to  have  gone  upon,  this  would  have  been  im- 
plied. "  When  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like 
him."  We  are  not  like  him  now,  we  shall  be  like 
him ;  we  shall  hereafter  be  like  him,  namely,  when 
he  shall  appeal.  Saint  John's  words  plainly  re- 
gard this  similitude  as  a  future  thing,  as  what  we 
shall  acquire,  as  belonging  to  what  we  shall  be- 
come, in  contradistinction  to  what  we  are.  There- 
fore they  imply  a  change  which  must  take  place 
in  our  bodily  constitution.  But  what  Saint  John's 
words  imply.  Saint  Paul's  declare.  "  He  shall 
change  our  vile  bodies."  That  point,  therefore, 
may  be  considered  as  placed  out  of  question. 

That  such  a  change  is  necessary,  that  such  a 
change  is  to  be  expected,  is  agreeable  even  to  the 
established  order  of  nature.  Throughout  the  uni- 
verse this  rule  holds,  viz.  that  the  body  of  every 
animal  is  suited  to  its  state.  Nay,  more ;  when  an 
animal  changes  its  state,  it  changes  its  body. 
When  animals  which  lived  under  water,  after- 
wards live  in  air,  their  bodies  are  changed  almost 
entirely,  so  as  hardly  to  be  known  by  any  one 


mark  of  resemblance  to  their  former  figure ;  as,  for 
example,  from  worms  and  caterpillars  to  flies  and 
moths.  These  are  common  transformations;  and 
the  like  happens,  when  an  animal  changes  its  ele- 
ment from  the  water  to  the  earth,  or  an  insect  from 
living  under  ground  to  flying  abroad  in  the  air. 
And  these  changes  take  place  in  consequence  of 
that  unalterable  rule,  that  the  body  be  fitted  to  the 
state ;  which  rule  obtains  throughout  every  region 
of  nature  with  which  we  are  acquainted.  Now 
our  present  bodies  are  by  no  means  fitted  for  hea- 
ven. So  saith  Saint  Paul  expressly,  "  Flesh  and 
blood  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God ;  cor- 
ruption doth  not  inherit  incorruption."  Between 
our  bodies  as  they  are  now  constituted,  and  the 
state  into  which  we  shall  come  then,  there  is  a 
physical,  necessary,  and  invincible  incongruity. 
Therefore  they  must  undergo  a  change,  and  that 
change  will,  first,  be  universal,  at  least  as  to  those 
who  shall  be  saved ;  secondly,  it  will  be  sudden  ; 
thirdly,  it  will  be  very  great.  First,  it  will  be  uni- 
versal. Saint  Paul's  words  in  the  fifteenth  chap- 
ter of  his  first  epistle  to  the  Corinthians  are,  "  We 
shall  all  be  changed."  I  do,  however,  admit,  that 
this  whole  chapter  of  Saint  Paul's  relates  only 
to  those  who  shall  be  saved ;  of  no  others  did  he 
intend  to  speak.  This,  I  think,  has  been  satis- 
factorily made  out ;  but  the  argument  is  too  long 
to  enter  upon  at  present.  If  so,  the  expression 
of  the  apostle,  "  We  shall  all  be  changed,"  proves 
only  that  we  who  are  saved,  who  are  admissible 
into  his  kingdom,  shall  be  changed.  Secondly, 
the  change  will  be  instantaneous.  So  Saint  Paul 
describes  it;  "In  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  the  dead  shall  be  raised  incorruptible ;" 
and  therefore  their  nature  must  have  undergone 
the  change.  Thirdly,  it  will  be  very  great.  No 
change,  which  we  experience  or  see,  can  bear  any 
assignable  proportion  to  it  in  degree  or  importance. 
It  is  this  corruptible  putting  on  incorruption  ;  it  is 
this  mortal  putting  on  immortality.  Now  it  has 
often  been  made  a  question,  whether,  after  so  great 
a  change,  the  bodies,  with  which  we  shall  be 
clothed,  are  to  be  deemed  new  bodies,  or  the  same 
bodies  under  a  new  form.  This  is  a  question 
which  has  often  been  agitated,  but  the  truth  is,  it 
is  of  no  moment  or  importance.  We  continue 
the  same  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  so  long  as  we 
are  sensible  and  conscious  that  we  are  so.  In  this 
life  our  bodies  are  continually  changing.  Much, 
no  doubt,  and  greatly  is  the  body  of  every  human 
being  changed  from  his  birth  to  his  maturity :  yet, 
because  we  are  nevertheless  sensible  of  what  we 
are,  sensible  to  ourselves  that  we  are  the  same,  we 
are  in  reality  the  same.  Alterations,  in  the  size 
or  form  of  our  visible  persons,  make  no  change  in 
that  respect.  Nor  would  they,  if  they  were  nmch 
greater,  as  in  some  animals  they  are ;  or  even  if 
they  were  total.  Vast,  therefore,  as  that  change 
must  be,  or  rather,  as  the  difference  must  be  be- 
t'ween  our  present  and  our  future  bodies,  as  to  their 
substance,  their  nature,  or  their  form,  it  will  not 
hinder  us  from  remaining  the  same,  any  more  than 
the  alterations  which  our  bodies  undergo  in  this 
life,  hinder  us  from  remaining  the  same.  We 
know  within  ourselves  that  we  are  the  same ;  and 
that  is  sufficient :  and  this  knowledge  or  con- 
sciousness we  shall  rise  with  from  the  grave,  what- 
ever be  the  bodies  with  which  we  be  clothed. 

The  two  apostles  go  one  step  further  when  they 
tell  us,  that  we  shall  be  like  Christ  himself;  and 
that  tills  likeness  will  consist  in  a  resemblance  tc 


540 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


his  glorified  body.  Now  of  the  glorified  body  of 
Christ  all  that  we  know  is  this.  At  the  transfi- 
guration upon  the  mount,  the  three  apostles  saw 
the  person  of  our  Lord  in  a  very  diflijrent  state 
from  its  ordinary  state.  "  He  was  transfigured 
before  them,  and  his  face  did  shine  as  the  sun, 
and  his  raiment  was  white  as  the  light."  Saint 
Luke  describes  it  thus :  "  The  fashion  of  his 
countenance  was  altered,  and  his  rannent  was 
white  and  glistening :  and  behold  there  talked  with 
hioi  two  men  who  ajipeared  in  glory."  Then  he 
adds,  "that  the  apostles,  when  they  awaked,  saw 
his  glory."  Now  I  consider  this  transaction  as  a 
specimen  of  the  change  of  which  a  glorified  body 
is  susceptible.  Saint  Stephen,  at  his  martyrdom, 
saw  the  glory  of  God,  and  Jesus  standing  at  the 
right  hand  of  God.  Saint  Paul,  at  his  conversion, 
saw  a  light  from  heaven,  above  the  brightness  of 
the  sun,  shining  round  about  him ;  and  in  this  light 
Christ  then  was.  These  instances,  like  the  for- 
mer, only  show  the  changes  and  the  appearances 
of  which  a  glorified  body  is  susceptible,  not  the 
form  or  condition  in  which  it  must  necessarily  be 
found,  or  must  always  continue.  You  will  ob- 
serve, that  it  was  necessary  that  the  body  of  our 
Lord  at  his  transfiguration,  at  his  appearance  after 
his  resurrection,  at  his  ascension  into  heaven,  at 
his  appearance  to  Stephen,  should  preserve  a  re- 
semblance to  his  human  person  upon  earth,  be- 
cause it  was  by  that  resemblance  alone  he  could 
be  known  to  his  disciples,  at  least  by  any  means 
of  knowledge  naturally  belonging  to  therii  in  that 
human  state.  But  this  was  not  always  necessary, 
nor  continues  to  be  necessary.  Nor  is  there  any 
sufficient  reason  to  suppose,  that  this  resemblance 
to  our  present  bodies  will  be  retained  in  our  fu- 
ture bodies,  or  be  at  all  wanted.  Upon  the  whole, 
the  conclusions,  which  we  seem  authorised  to 
draw  from  these  intimations  of  Scripture,  are, 

First,  that  we  shall  have  bodies. 

Secondly,  that  they  will  be  so  fiir  different  from 
our  present  bodies,  as  to  be  suited,  by  that  difie- 
rence,  to  the  state  and  life  into  which  they  are 
to  enter,  agreeably  to  that  rule  which  prevails 
throughout  universal  nature ;  that  the  body  of 
every  being  is  suited  to  its  state,  and  that,  when 
it  changes  its  state,  it  changes  its  body. 

Thirdly,  that  it  is  a  question  by  which  we  need 
not  at  all  be  disturbed,  whether  the  bodies  with 
which  we  shall  arise  be  new  bodies,  or  the  same 
bodies  under  a  new  form  ;  for. 

Fourthly,  no  alteration  will  hinder  us  from 
remaining  the  same,  provided  we  are  sensible  and 
conscious  that  we  are  so;  any  more  than  the 
changes  which  our  visible  person  undergoes  even 
in  this  hfe,  and  which  from  infancy  to  manhood 
are  undoul)tedly  very  great,  hinder  us  from  being 
the  same,  to  ourselves  and  in  ourselves,  and  to  all  j 
intents  and  purposes  whatsoever.  ! 

Lastly,  that  though,  from  the  imperfection  of 
our  faculties,  we  neither  are,  nor,  without  a  con- 
stant miracle  upon  our  minds,  could  be  made  able 
to  conceive  or  comprehend  the  nature  of  our 
future  bodies ;  yet  we  are  assured  that  the  change 
will  be  infinitely  beneficial ;  that  our  new  bodies 
will  be  infinitely  superior  to  those  which  we  carry 
about  with  us  in  our  present  state ;  in  a  word, 
that  whereas  our  bodies  are  now  comparatively 
vile,  (and  are  so  denominated,)  they  will  so  far 
rise  in  glory,  as  to  be  made  like  unto  his  glorious 
body;  that  whereas,  through  our  pilgrimage  here, 
we  have   borne,  that  which   we  inherited,   the  i 


image  of  the  earthy,  of  our  parent,  the  first  Adam, 
created  for  a  life  upon  this  earth  ;  we  shall,  in  our 
future  state,  bear  another  image,  a  new  resem- 
blance, that  of  the  heavenly  inhabitant,  the  se- 
cond man,  the  second  nature,  even  that  of  the 
Lord  from  heaven. 


SERMON  VL 

ON  PURITY  OP  THE  HEART  AND  AFFECT/ONS. 

Beloved,  now  are  we  th  e  sons  of  God ;  and  it 
doth  not.  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be  ;  but  we 
know  that,  when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be 
like  him  ;  for  we  shall  see  him  as  he  is.  And 
every  man  that  hath  this  hope  in  him  purijieth 
himself,  even  as  he  is  pure. — 1  John  iii.  2,  3. 

When  the  text  tells  us,  "that  every  man  that 
hath  this  hope  in  him  purifieth  himself,"  it  must 
be  understood  as  intending  to  describe  the  natu- 
ral, proper,  and  genuine  effects  of  this  hope, 
rather,  perhaps,  than  the  actual  effects,  or  at  least 
as  effects,  which,  in  point  of  experience,  uni- 
versally follow  frojn  it.  As  hath  already  been 
observed,  the  whole  text  relates  to  sincere  Chris- 
tians, and  to  these  alone ;  the  word  we,  in  the 
preceding  part  of  it,  comprises  sincere  Christians, 
and  no  others.  Therefore  the  word  every  man, 
must  be  limited  to  the  same  sort  of  men,  of  whom 
he  was  speaking  before.  It  is  not  probable,  that 
in  the  same  sentence  he  would  change  the  persons 
and  characters  concerning  v/hom  he  discoursed. 
So  that  if  it  had  been  objected  to  Saint  John,  that, 
in  point  of  fact,  every  man  did  not  purify  himself 
who  had  this  hope  in  him,  he  would  have  replied, 
I  believe,  that  these  were  not  the  kind  of  persons 
he  had  in  his  view ;  that  throughout  the  whole 
of  the  text,  he  had  in  contemplation  the  religious 
condition  and  character  of  sincere  Christians, 
and  no  other.  When  in  the  former  part  of  the 
text,  he  talked  of  we  being  the  sons  of  God,  of  we 
being  like  Christ,  he  undoubtedly  meant  sincere 
Christians  alone ;  and  it  would  be  strange  if  he 
meant  any  other  in  this  latter  part  of  the  text, 
which  is  in  fact  a  continuation  of  the  same  dis- 
course, of  the  same  subject,  nay,  a  portion  of  the 
same  sentence. 

I  have  said  thus  much  in  order  to  obviate  the  con- 
trariety which  there  seems  to  be  between  Saint 
John's  assertion  and  experience.  Experience,  I 
acknowledge,  proves  the  inefficacy,  in  numerous 
cases,  of  religious  hope  and  religious  motives : 
and  it  must  be  so ;  for  if  religious  motives  ope- 
rated certainly  and  necessarily,  if  they  produced 
their  effect  by  an  infallible  power  over  the  mind, 
we  should  only  be  machines  necessarily  actuated  ; 
and  that  certainly  is  not  the  thing  which  a  moral 
agent,  a  religious  agent,  was  intended  to  he.  It 
was  intended  that  we  should  have  the  power  of 
doing  right,  and,  consequently,  of  doing  wrong  ; 
for  he  who  cannot  do  wrong,  cannot  do  right  by 
choice ;  he  is  a  mere  tool  and  instrument,  or  ra- 
ther a  machine,  whichever  he  does.  Therefore  all 
moral  motives,  and  all  religious  motives,  unless 
they  went  to  deprive  man  of  his  liberty  entirely, 
whiith  they  most  certaiidy  were  not  meant  to  do, 
must  depend  for  their  influence  and  success  upon 
the  man  himself. 

This  success,  therefore,  is  various ;  but  when 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


541 


it  fails,  it  is  owing  to  some  vice  and  corruption  in 
the  mind  itself.  Some  men  are  very  little  affected 
by  religious  exhortation  of  any  kind,  either  by 
hearing  or  reading.  That  is  a  vice  and  corrup- 
tion in  the  mind  itself  Some  men,  though 
afiected,  are  not  affected  sufficiently  to  influence 
their  Hves.  That  is  a  vice  and  corruption  in  the 
mind,  or  rather  in  the  heart ;  and  so  it  will  always 
be  found.  But  I  do  not  so  much  wonder  at  per- 
sons being  unaffected  by  what  others  tell  them, 
be  those  others  who  they  may,  preachers,  or 
teachers,  or  friends,  or  parents,  as  I  wonder  at 
seeing  men  not  affected  by  their  own  thoughts, 
their  own  meditations  ;  yet  it  is  so ;  and  when  it 
is  so,  it  argues  a  deep  corruption  of  mind  indeed. 
We  can  think  upon  the  most  serious,  the  most 
solemn  subjects,  without  any  sort  of  consequence 
upon  our  lives.  Shall  we  call  this  seared  insensi- 
bility ']  shall  we  call  it  a  fatal  inefficiency  of  the 
rational  pnnciple  within  us  1  shall  we  confess, 
that  tjie  mind  has  lost  its  government  over  the  man  1 

These  are  observations  upon  the  state  of  morals 
and  religion,  as  we  see  them  in  the  world :  but 
whatever  these  observations  be,  it  is  still  true,  and 
this  is  Saint  John's  assertion,  that  the  proper, 
natural,  and  genuine  effect  of  religious  hope  is  to 
cause  us  to  strive  "  to  purify  ourselves,  even  as  he 
is  pure."  Saint  John  strongly  lixes  our  attention, 
I  mean,  as  he  means,  such  of  us  as  are  sincere 
Christians,  upon  what  we  are  to  be  hereafter. 
This,  as  to  particulars,  is  veiled  from  us,  as  we 
have  observed,  by  our  present  nature,  but  as  to 
generals,  as  to  what  is  of  real  importance  and 
concern  for  us  to  know  (I  do  not  mean  but  that 
it  might  be  highly  gratifying  and  satisfactory  to 
know  more,  but  as  to  what  is  of  the  first  import- 
ance and  concern  for  us  to  know,)  we  have  a 
glorious  assurance,  we  have  an  assurance  that  we 
shall  undergo  a  change  in  our  nature  infinitely 
for  the  better  ;  that  when  he  shall  appear  glorified 
as  he  is,  we  shall  be  like  him.  Then  the  point 
is,  what  we  are  to  do,  how  we  are  to  act,  under 
this  expectation,  having  this  hope,  with  this  pros- 
pect placed  before  our  eyes.  Saint  John  tells  us, 
"  we  are  to  purify  ourselves,  even  as  he  is  pure." 

Now  what  is  the  Scriptural  meaning  of  puri- 
fying ourselves  can  be  made  out  thus.  The  con- 
trary of  purity  is  defilement,  that  is  evident :  but 
our  Saviour  himself  hath  told  us  what  the  things 
which  defile  a  man  are ;  and  this  is  the  enume- 
ration ;  evil  thoughts,  adulteries,  fornications, 
murders,  thefts,  covetousness,  wickedness,  deceit, 
lasciviousness,  an  evil  eye,  blasphemy,  pride,  fool- 
ishness ;  and  the  reason  given  why  these  are  the 
real  proper  defilements  of  our  nature  is,  that  they 
proceed  from  within,  out  of  the  heart :  these  evil 
things  come  from  within,  and  defile  the  man. 
The  seat,  therefore,  of  moral  defilement,  according 
to  our  Saviour,  is  the  heart ;  by  which  we  know, 
that  he  always  meant  the  affections  and  the  dis- 
position. The  seat,  therefore,  of  moral  purity 
must  necessarily  be  the  same ;  for  purity  is  the 
reverse  of  defilement :  consequently,  to  purify 
ourselves,  is  to  cleanse  our  hearts  from  the  pre- 
sence and  pollution  of  sin ;  of  those  sins  particu- 
larly, which  reside  in,  and  continue  in  the  heart. 
This  is  the  purgation  intended  in  our  text.  This 
is  the  task  of  purgation  enjoined  upon  us. 

It  is  to  be  noticed,  that  it  goes  beyond  the  mere 
control  of  our  actions.  It  adds  a  further  duty,  the 
purifying  of  our  thoughts  and  affections.  Nothing 
can  be  more  certain,  than  that  it  was  the  design 


of  our  Saviour,  in  the  passage  here  referred  to,  to 
direct  the  attention  of  his  disciples  to  the  heart,  to 
that  which  is  within  a  man,  in  contradistinction 
to  that  which  is  external.  Now  he  who  only 
strives  to  control  his  outward  actions,  but  lets  his 
thoughts  and  passions  indulge  themselves  without 
check  or  restraint,  does  not  attend  to  that  which 
is  within  him,  in  contradistinction  to  that  which 
is  external.  Secondly,  the  instances  which  our 
Saviour  has  given,  though,  like  all  instances  in 
Scripture,  and  to  say  the  truth,  in  all  ancient 
writings,  they  be  specimens  and  illustrations  of 
his  meaning,  as  to  the  kind  and  nature  of  the 
duties  or  the  ^'ices  which  he  had  in  view,  rather 
than  complete  catalogues,  including  all  such 
duties  or  vices  by  name,  so  that  no  other  but  what 
are  thus  named  and  specified  were  intended: 
though  this  qualified  way  of  understanding  the 
enumerations  be  right,  yet  even  this  enumeration 
itself  shows,  that  our  Saviour's  lesson  went  beyond 
the  mere  external  action.  Not  only  are  adulte- 
ries and  fornications  mentioned,  but  evil  thoughts 
and  lasciviousness  ;  not  only  murders,  but  an  evil 
eye  ;  not  onl}'  thefts,  but  covetousness  or  covetings. 
Thus  by  laying  the  axe  to  the  root ;  not  by  lop- 
ping off  the  branches,  but  by  laying  the  axe  to 
the  root,  our  Saviour  fixed  the  only  rule  which 
can  ever  produce  good  morals. 

Merely  controlling  the  actions,  without  go- 
verning the  thoughts  and  affections,  will  not  do. 
In  point  of  fact  it  is  never  successful.  It  is  cer- 
tainly not  a  compliance  with  our  Saviour's  com- 
mand, nor  is  it  what  St.  John  meant  in  the  text 
by  purifying  ourselves. 

"  Every  man  that  hath  this  hope  in  him  puri- 
fieth  himself,  even  as  he,"  namely,  Christ  himself, 
"  is  pure."  It  is  a  doctrine  and  lesson  of  the  New 
Testament,  not  once,  but  repeatedly,  inculcated, 
that  if  we  hope  to  resemble  Christ  in  his  glorified 
state,  we  must  resemble  him  in  his  human  state. 
And  it  is  a  part,  and  a  most  significant  part,  of 
this  doctrine,  that  the  resemblance  must  consist  in 
purity  from  sin,  especially  from  those  sins  which 
cleave  and  attach  to  the  heart.  It  is  by  Saint 
Paul  usually  put  thus :  "  If  we  be  dead  with 
Christ,  we  believe  that  we  shall  also  live  with 
him."  "  Dead  with  Christ ;"  what  can  that 
meanl  for  the  apostle  speaks  to  those  who  had 
not  yet  undergone  natural  death.  He  explains  : 
"Reckon  yourselves  to  be  dead  unto  sin;"  that, 
you  hear,  is  the  death  he  means.  "He  that  is 
dead,  is  freed  from  sin ;"  that  is  Saint  Paul's  own 
exposition  of  his  own  words ;  and  then,  keep)- 
ing  the  sense  of  the  words  in  his  thoughts,  he 
adds ;  "  if  we  be  dead  with  Christ,  we  believe 
that  we  shall  also  live  with  him."  Again,  still 
keeping  the  same  sense  in  view,  and  no  other 
sense :  "  If  we  have  been  planted  together  in  the 
likeness  of  his  death,  we  shall  be  also  in  the  like- 
ness of  his  resurrection."  Once  more,  but  still 
observe  in  the  same  sense,  "  We  are  buried  with 
him  by  baptism  unto  death;  our  old  man  is  cruci- 
fied with  him."  The  burden  of  the  whole  passage 
is,  that  if  we  hope  to  resemble  what  Christ  is  in  hea- 
ven, we  must  resemble  what  he  was  upon  earth  ; 
and  that  this  resemblance  must  consist  specifically 
in  the  radical  casting  off  of  our  sins.  The  ex- 
pressions of  the  apostle  are  very  strong ;  "that  the 
body  of  sin  may  be  destroyed.  Let  not  sin  reign 
in  your  mortal  body ;  obey  it  not  in  the  lusts  there- 
of;" not  only  in  its  practices,  but  in  its  desires. 
"Sin  shall  not  have  dominion  over  you." 
46 


M2 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


In  another  epistle,  that  to  the  Colossians,  Saint 
Paul  speaks  of  an  em;tncipation  from  sin,  as  a  vir- 
tual rising  from  the  dead,  like  as  Christ  rose  from 
tlie  (lead.  "  If  ye  then  be  risen  with  Christ,  seek 
those  things  that  are  above,  where  Christ  sitteth 
at  the  right  hand  of  God:  set  your  affections  on 
things  above,  not  on  things  of  the  earth;  for  ye 
are  dead,  and  your  life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God. 
When  Clirist,  who  is  our  life  shall  ap|>ear,  then 
shall  ye  also  appear  with  him  in  glory."  In  this 
way  is  the  comparison  carried  on.  And  what 
is  the  practical  exhortation  which  it  suggests  1 
"  Mortif}',  therefore,  your  members  which  are 
upon  the  earth,  fornication,  uncleanness,  evil  con- 
cupiscence, and  covetousness:"  which  is  an  equi- 
valent exhortation,  and  drawn  from  the  same  pre- 
mises, as  that  of  the  text ;  "  Purify  yourselves, 
even  as  he  is  pure." 

'I'he  Scriptures  then  teach,  that  we  are  to  make 
ourselves  like  Christ  upon  earth,  that  we  may  be- 
come like  him  in  heaven,  and  this  likeness  is  to 
consist  in  purity. 

Now  there  are  a  class  of  Christians,  and  I  am 
ready  to  allow,  real  Christians,  to  whom  this  ad- 
monition of  the  text  is  peculiarly  necessary. 

Tiieyare  not  those  who  set  aside  religion ;  they 
are  not  those  who  disregard  the  will  of  their  Ma- 
ker but  they  are  those  who  endeavour  to  obey  him 
partially,  and  in  this  way:  finding  it  an  easier 
thing  to  do  good  than  to  expel  their  sins,  espe- 
cially those  which  cleave  to  their  hearts,  their  af- 
fections, or  their  imaginations,  they  set  their  en- 
deavours more  towards  beneficence  thin  purity. 
You  say  we  ought  not  to  speak  disparagingly  of 
doing  good:  by  no  means;  hut  we  allirai,  that  it 
is  not  the  whole  of  our  duty,  nor  the  most  difficult 
part  of  it ;  in  particular,  it  is  not  that  part  of  it 
which  is  insisted  upon  in  the  text,  and  in  those 
other  Scriptures  that  have  been  mentioned.  The 
text,  enjoining  the  imitation  of  Christ  upon  earth, 
in  order  that  we  may  become  like  him  in  heaven, 
does  not  say,  do  good  even  as  he  went  about  doing 
good,  but  it  says ;  "  purify  yourselves  even  as  he 
is  pure :  "  so  saith  Saint  John.  "  Mortify  the  deeds 
of  the  body,  let  not  sin  reign  in  you ;  die  with 
Christ  unto  sin ;  be  baptized  unto  Jesus  Christ, 
that  is,  unto  his  death ;  be  buried  with  him  by 
baptism  unto  death ;  be  planted  together  in  the 
likeness  of  his  death ;  crucify  the  old  man,  and 
destroy  the  body  of  sin ;  as  death  hath  no  more 
dominion  over  him,  so  let  sin  no  more  reign  in 
your  mortal  bodies:"  so  Saint  Paul.  All  these 
strong  and  significant  metaphors  are  for  the  pur- 
pose of  impressing  more  forcibly  upon  us  this 
great  lesson  ;  that  to  participate  with  Christ  in  his 
glory,  we  must  {)articipate  with  him  in  his  humi- 
liation ;  and  that  this  participation  consists  in  di- 
vesting ourselves  of  tho.se  .sins,  of  the  heart  espe- 
cially, and  afTections,  whether  they  break  out  into 
action  or  not,  which  are  inconsistent  with  that 
purity,  of  which  he  left  us  an  example ;  and  to 
the  attainment  and  preservation  of  which  purity, 
we  are  most  solemnly  enjoined  to  direct  our  first, 
strongest,  and  our  most  sincere  endeavours. 


SERMON  VII. 

OP    THE    DOCTRINE    Or    CONVERSION. 

T am  not  come  to  call  the  righteous,  but  sinners, 
to  repentance. — Matthew  ix.  13. 


It  appears  from  these  words,  that  our  Saviour 
in  his  preaching  held  in  view  the  character  and 
spiritual  situation  of  the  persons  whom  he  ad- 
dressed ;  and  the  differences  which  existed  amongst 
men  in  these  respects  :  and  that  he  had  a  regard 
to  these  considerations,  more  especially  in  the 
preaching  of  repentance  and  conversion.  Now  I 
think,  tliat  these  considerations  have  been  too 
much  omitted  by  preachers  of  the  Gospel  since, 
particularly  in  this  very  article ;  and  that  the  doc- 
trine itself  has  suffered  by  such  omission. 

It  has  been  usual  to  divide  all  mankind  into  two 
classes,  the  converted  and  the  unconverted  ;  and, 
by  so  dividing  them,  to  infer  the  necessity  of  con- 
version to  every  person  whatever.  In  proposing 
the  subject  under  this  form,  we  state  the  distinc- 
tion, in  my  opinion,  too  absolutely,  and  draw  from 
it  a  conclusion  too  universal :  because  there  is  a 
class  and  description  of  Christians,  who,  having 
been  piously  educated,  and  having  persevered  in 
those  pious  courses  into  which  they  were  first 
brought,  are  not  conscious  to  themselves  of  ever 
having  been  without  the  influence  of  religion,  of 
ever  having  lost  sight  of  its  sanctions,  of  ever  hav- 
ing renounced  them ;  of  ever,  in  the  general 
course  of  their  conduct,  having  gone  against  them. 
These  cannot  properly  be  reckoned  either  con- 
verted or  unconverted.  They  are  not  converted, 
for  they  are  not  sensible  of  any  such  religious  al- 
teration having  taken  place  with  them,  at  any  par- 
ticular time,  as  can  properly  be  called  a  conver- 
sion. They  are  not  unconverted,  because  that 
implies  a  state  of  reprobation,  and  because,  if  we 
call  upon  them  to  be  converted,  (which  if  they  be 
unconverted  we  ought  to  do,)  they  will  not  well 
understand  what  it  is  we  mean  them  to  do  ;  and, 
instead  of  being  edi/ied,  they  may  be  both  much 
and  unnecessarily  disturbed,  by  being  so  called 
upon. 

There  is,  in  the  nature  of  things,  a  great  variety 
of  religious  condition.  It  arises  from  hence,  that 
exhortations,  and  calls,  and  admonitions,  which 
are  of  great  use  and  importance  in  themselves, 
and  very  necessary  to  be  insisted  upon,  are,  ne- 
vertheless, not  wanted  by  all,  are  not  equally  ap- 
plicable to  all,  and  to  some  are  altogether  inap- 
plicable. This  holds  true  of  most  of  the  topics  of 
persuasion  or  warning,  which  a  Christian  teacher 
can  adopt.  When  we  preach  against  presump- 
tion, for  instance,  it  is  not  because  we  suppose  that 
all  are  presumptuous  ;  or  that  it  is  necessary  for 
all,  or  every  one,  to  become  more  humble,  or  diffi- 
dent, or  apprehensive  than  he  now  is  :  on  the  con- 
trary, there  may,  amongst  our  hearers,  be  low,  and 
timorous,  and  dejected  spirits,  who,  if  they  take 
to  themselves  what  we  say,  may  increase  a  dispo- 
sition which  is  already  too  much ;  or  be  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  it  is  herein  that  he  would  enjoin  upon 
them.  Yet  the  discourse  and  the  doctrine  may, 
nevertheless,  be  very  good ;  and  for  a  great  portion 
of  our  congregation,  very  necessary.  The  like,  1 
think,  is  the  case  with  the  doctrine  of  conversion. 
If  we  were  to  omit  the  doctrine  of  conversion,  we 
should  omit  a  doctrine,. which,  to  many,  must  be 
the  salvation  of  their  souls.  To  them,  all  calls 
without  this  call,  all  preaching  without  this  doc- 
trine, would  be  in  vain  ;  and  it  may  be  true,  that 
a  great  part  of  our  hearers  are  of  this  description. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  we  press  and  insist  upon 
conversion,  as  indispensable  to  all  for  the  purpose 
of  being  saved,  we  should  mislead  some,  who 
would  not  apprehend  how  they  could  be  required 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


543 


to  turn,  or  be  converted  to  religion,  who  were  ne- 
ver, that  they  knew,  either  indiflerent  to  it,  or 
alienated  from  it. 

In  opposition,  however,  to  what  is  here  said, 
there  are  who  contend,  that  it  is  necessary  for 
every  man  living  to  be  converted  before  he  can  be 
saved.  This  opinion  undoubtedly  deserves  serious 
consideration,  because  it  founds  itself  upon  Scrip- 
ture, whether  rightly  or  erroneously  interpreted  is 
the  question.  The  portion  of  Scripture  upon 
which  they  who  maintain  the  opinion  chiefly  rely, 
is  our  Saviour's  conversation  with  Nicodemus, 
recorded  in  the  third  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel. 
Our  Saviour  is  there  stated  to  have  said  to  Nicode- 
mus, "  Except  a  man  be  born  again,  he  cannot  see 
the  kingdom  of  God  ;  and  afterwards,  as  a  confirma- 
tion, and,  in  some  sort,  an  exposition,  of  his  as- 
sertion, to  have  added,  "  Except  a  man  be  born  of 
water  and  of  the  Spirit,  he  cannot  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  God."  It  is  inferred  from  this  passage, 
that  all  persons  ichaterer  must  undergo  a  conver- 
sion, before  they  be  capable  of  salvation :  and  it 
cannot  be  said  that  this  is  a  forced  or  strained  in- 
ference:  but  the  question  before  us  at  present  is, 
is  it  a  necessary  inference  1  I  am  not-unwilling 
to  admit,  that  this  short,  but  very  remarkable  con- 
versation, is  fairly  interpreted  of  the  gift  of  the 
Spirit,  and  that  when  this  Spirit  is  given,  there  is 
a  new  birth,  a  regeneration ;  but  I  say,  that  it  is 
no  where  determmed  at  what  time  of  life,  or  un- 
der what  circumstances,  this  gift  is  imparted :  nay, 
the  contrary  is  intimated  by  comparing  it  to  the 
blowing  of  the  wind,  which,  in  its  mode  of  action, 
is  out  of  the  reach  of  our  rules  and  calculation : 
"  the  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hear- 
est  the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell  whence 
it  cometh,  and  whither  it  goeth;  so  is  every  one 
that  is  born  of  the  Spirit."  The  effect  of  this  un- 
certainty is,  that  we  are  left  at  liberty  to  pray  for 
spiritual  assistance;  and  we  do  pray  for  it,  in  ail 
stages,  and  under  all  circumstances  of  our  exist- 
ence. We  pray  for  it  in  baptism,  for  those  who 
are  baptized ;  we  teach  tlio.se  who  are  catechised, 
to  pray  for  it  in  their  catechism :  parents  pray  for 
its  aid  and  efficacy  to  give  effect  to  their  parental 
instructions,  to  preserve  the  objects  of  their  love 
and  care  from  sin  and  wickedness,  and  from  every 
spiritual  enemy :  we  pray  for  it,  particularly  in  the 
office  of  confirmation,  for  young  persons  Just  en- 
tering into  the  temi)tations  of  life.  Therefore  spi- 
ritual assistance  may  be  imparted  at  any  time, 
from  the  earliest  to  the  latest  period  of  our  exist- 
ence; and  whenever  it  is  imparted,  there  is  that 
being  born  of  the  Spirit  to  which  our  Saviour's 
words  refer.  And  considering  the  subject  as  a 
matter  of  experience,  if  we  cannot  ordinarily  dis- 
tinguish the  operations  of  the  Spirit  from  those  of 
our  own  minds,  it  seems  to  follow,  that  neither  can 
we  distinguish  when  they  commence  ;  so  that  spi- 
ritual assistance  may  be  imparted,  and  the  thing 
designated  by  our  Lord's  discourse  satisfied,  with- 
out such  a  sensible  conversion,  that  a  person  can 
fix  his  memory  upon  some  great  and  general 
change  wrought  in  him  at  an  assignable  time. 

The  consciousness  of  a  great  and  general 
change  may  te  the  fact  with  many.  It  may  be 
essentially  necessary  to  many.  I  only  allege, 
that  it  is  not  so  to  all,  so  that  every  person,  who 
is  not  conscious  of  such  a  change,  must  set  him- 
self down  as  devoted  to  perdition. 

This,  I  repeat,  is  all  I  contend  for;  for  I  by  no 
means  intend  to  say  that  any  one  is  without  sin. 


and  in  that  sense  not  to  stand  in  need  of  conver- 
sion; still  less,  that  an}'  sin  is  to  be  allowed,  and 
not,  on  the  contrary,  strenuously  and  sincerely  re- 
sisted and  forsaken.  I  only  maintain,  that  there 
may  be  Christians  who  are,  and  have  heen,  in 
such  a  religious  state,  that  no  such  thorough  and 
radical  change  as  is  usually  meant  by  conversion, 
is  or  was  necessary  for  them  ;  and  that  they  need 
not  be  made  miserable  by  the  want  of  conscious- 
ness of  such  a  change. 

I  do  not,  in  the  smallest  degree,  mean  to  under- 
value, or  speak  lightly  of  such  changes,  whenever 
or  in  whomsoever  they  take  place :  nor  to  deny 
that  they  may  be  sudden,  yet  lasting,  (nay,  I  am 
rather  inclined  to  think  that  it  is  in  this  manner 
that  they  frequently  do  take  place ;)  nor  to  dispute 
what  is  upon  good  testimony  alleged  concerning 
conversion  brought  about  by  affecting  incidents  of 
life  ;  by  striking  passages  of  Scripture ;  by  impres- 
sive discourses  from  the  pulpit;  by  what  we  meet 
with  in  books ;  or  even  by  single  touching  sen- 
tences or  expressions  in  such  discourses  or  books. 
I  am  not  disposed  to  question  these  relations  un- 
necessarily, but  rather  to  bless  God  for  such  in- 
stances, when  I  hear  of  them,  and  to  regard  them 
as  merciful  ordinations  of  his  providence. 

But  it  will  be  said,  that  conversion  implies  a 
revolution  of  opinion.  Admitting  this  to  he  so, 
such  a  change  or  revolution  cannot  be  necessary 
to  all,  because  there  is  no  system  >f  religious 
opinions,  in  which  some  have  not  bet-n  brought 
up  from  the  beginning.  To  change  from  error 
to  truth  in  anj-  nreat  and  important  article  of  re- 
ligious belief,  deserves,  I  allow,  the  name  of  con- 
version ;  but  all  cannot  be  educated  in  error,  on 
whatever  side  truth  be  supposed  to  lie. 

To  me,  then,  it  appears,  that  although  it  can- 
not be  stated  with  safety,  or  without  leading  to 
consequences  which  may  confound  and  alarm 
many  good  men,  that  conversion  is  necessary  to 
all,  and  under  all  circumstances;  yet  I  think,  that 
there  are  two  topics  of  exhortation,  which  together 
comprise  the  whole  Christian  life,  and  one  or 
other  of  which  belongs  to  every  man  living,  and 
these  two  topics  are  conversion  and  improvement ; 
when  conversion  is  not  wanted,  improvement  is. 

Now  this  respective  preaching  of  conversion  or 
improvement,  according  to  the  respective  spiritual 
condition  of  those  who  hear  us,  or  read  what  we 
write,  is  authorised  by  the  example  of  Scripture 
preaching,  as  set  forth  in  the  New  Testament. 
It  is  remarkable,  that,  in  the  four  Gospels  and  th«i 
Acts  of  the  Apostles,  we  read  incessantly  of  the 
preaching  of  repentance,  which  I  admit  to  mean 
conversion.  Saint  John  the  Baptist's  preaching 
set  out  with  it:  our  Lord's  own  preaching  set  out 
with  it.  It  was  the  subject  which  he  charged 
upon  his  twelve  apostles  to  preach.  It  was  the 
subject  which  he  sent  forth  his  seventy  disciples 
to  preach.  It  was  the  subject  which  the  first 
missionaries  of  Christianity  pronounced  and 
preached  in  every  place  which  they  came  to,  in  the 
course  of  their  progress  through  different  coun- 
tries. Whereas,  in  the  epistles  written  by  the 
same  persons,  we  hear  proportionably  much  less 
of  repentance,  and  much  more  of  advance,  profi- 
ciency, progress,  and  improvement  in  holiness  of 
life :  and  of  rules  and  maxims  for  the  leading  of  a 
holy  and  godly  life.  These  exhortations  to  con- 
tinual improvement,  to  sincere,  strenuous,  and 
continual  endeavours  after  improvement,  are  de- 
livered under  a  variety  of  expressions,  but  with  a 


544 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


strength  and  earnestness,  sufficient  to  show  what 
the  apostles  thought  of  the  unportance  of  what 
they  were  teaching. 

I^ow  the  reason  of  the  difference  is,  that  the 
preaching  of  Christ  and  his  apostles,  as  recorded 
in  the  Gosjx-ls,  and  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles, 
was  addressed  to  Jews  and  Gentiles,  whom  they 
called  u[)on  to  become  disciples  of  the  new  religion. 
This  call  evidently  implied  repentance  and  con- 
version. But  the  epistles,  which  the  apostles, 
and  some  of  which  the  same  apostles,  wrote  after- 
wards, were  addressed  to  persons  already  become 
Christians;  and  to  some  who,  like  Timothy,  had 
been  such  from  their  earliest  youth.  Speaking 
to  these,  you  find,  they  dwell  upon  improvement, 
proficiency,  continued  endeavours  after  higher 
and  greater  degrees  of  holiness  and  purity,  in- 
stead of  saying  so  much  about  repentance  and 
conversion.  This  conduct  was  highly  rational, 
and  was  an  adaptation  of  their  instruction  to  the 
circumstances  of  the  persons  whom  they  addressed, 
and  may  be  an  e.^cample  to  us.  in  modelling  our 
exhortations  to  the  different  spiritual  conditions 
of  our  hearers. 

Seeing,  then,  that  the  two  great  topics  of  our 
preaching  must  always  be  conversion  and  improve- 
ment ;  it  remains  to  be  considered,  who  they  are 
to  whom  we  must  preach  conversion,  and  who  they 
are  to  whom  we  must  preach  improvement. 

First ;  Now  of  the  persons  in  our  congregations, 
to  whom  we  not  only  may,  but  must,  preach  the 
doctrine  of  conversion  plainly  and  directly,  are 
those  who,  with  the  name  indeed  of  Christians, 
have  hitherto  passed  their  lives  without  any  in- 
ternal religion  whatever ;  who  have  not  at  all 
thought  upon  the  subject ;  who,  a  few  easy  and 
customary  forms  excepted,  (and  which  with  them 
are  mere  forms,)  cannot  truly  say  of  themselves, 
that  they  have  done  one  action  which  they  would 
not  have  done  equally,  if  there  had  been  no  such 
thing  as  a  God  in  the  world ;  or  that  they  have 
ever  sacrificed  any  passion,  any  present  enjoy- 
ment, or  even  any  inclination  of  their  minds,  to 
the  restraints  and  prohibitions  of  religion;  with 
whom  indeed  religious  motives  have  not  weighed 
a  feather  in  the  scale  against  interest  or  pleasure. 
To  these  it  is  utterly  necessary  that  we  preach 
conversion.  At  this  day  we  have  not  Jews  and 
Gentiles  to  preach  to;  but  these  persons  are  really 
in  as  unconverted  a  state  as  any  Jew  or  Gentile 
could  be  in  our  Saviour's  time.  They  are  no 
more  Christians,  as  to  any  actual  benefit  of  Chris- 
tianity to  their  souls,  than  the  most  hardened  Jew, 
or  the  most  profligate  Gentile  was  in  the  age  of 
the  Gospel.  As  to  any  difference  in  the  two 
cases,  the  difference  is  all  against  them.  These 
must  be  converted,  before  they  can  be  saved. 
The  course  of  their  thoughts  must  be  changed, 
the  very  principles  upon  which  they  act  must  be 
changed.  Considerations,  which  never,  or  which 
hardly  ever  entered  into  their  minds,  must  deeply 
and  perpetually  engage  them.  Views  and  mo- 
tives, which  did  not  influence  them  at  all,  either  as 
checks  from  doing  evil,  or  as  inducements  to  do 
good,  must  become  the  views  and  motives  which 
they  regularly  consult,  and  by  which  they  are 
guided :  that  is  to  say,  there  must  he  a  revolution 
of  principle :  the  visible  conduct  will  follow  the 
change ;  Imt  there  must  be  a  revolution  within. 
A  change  so  entire,  so  deep,  so  important  as  this, 
I  do  allow  to  be  a  conversion ;  and  no  one  who  is 
a  the   situation   above  described,  can  be  saved 


without  undergoing  it ;  and  he  must  necessarily 
both  be  sensible  of  it  at  the  time,  and  remember 
it  all  his  life  afterwards.  It  is  too  momentous  an 
event  ever  to  be  forgot.  A  man  might  as  easily 
forget  his  escape  from  a  shipwreck. — Whether  it 
was  sudden,  or  whether  it  was  gradual,  if  it  was 
effected,  (and  the  fruits  will  prove  that,)  it  was  a 
true  conversion :  and  every  such  person  may 
justly  both  believe  and  say  of  himself,  that  he 
was  converted  at  a  particular  assignable  time.  It 
may  not  be  necessary  to  speak  of  his  conversion, 
but  he  will  always  think  of  it  with  unbounded 
thankfulness  to  the  Giver  of  all  grace,  the  Author 
of  all  mercies,  spiritual  as  well  as  temporal. 

Secondly:  The  next  description  of  persons,  to 
whom  we  must  preach  conversion,  properly  so 
called,  are  those  who  allow  themselves  in  the 
course  and  habit  of  some  particular  sin.  With 
more  or  less  regularity  in  other  articles  of  behavi- 
our, there  is  some  particular  sin,  which  they  prac- 
tise constantly  and  habitually,  and  allow  them- 
selves in  that  practice.  Other  sins  they  strive 
against ;  but  in  this  they  allow  themselves.  Now 
no  man  can  go  on  in  this  course,  consistently 
wath  the  hope  of  salvation.  Therefore  it  must  be 
broken  off.  The  essential  and  precise  difference 
between  a  child  of  God  and  another  is,  not  so 
much  in  the  number  of  sins  into  which  he  may 
fall  (though  that  undoubtedly  be  a  great  difference, 
yet  it  is  not  a  precise  difference  ;  that  is  to  say,  a 
difference,  in  which  an  exact  line  of  separation 
can  be  drawn,)  but  the  precise  difference  is,  that 
the  true  child  of  God  allows  himself  in  no  sin 
whatever.  Cost  what  it  may,  he  contends  against, 
he  combats,  all  sin ;  which  he  certainly  cannot  be 
said  to  do,  who  is  still  in  the  course  and  habit  of 
some  particular  sin  ;  for  as  to  that  sin,  he  reserves 
it,  he  compromises  it.  Against  other  sins,  and 
other  sorts  of  sin,  he  may  strive;  in  this  he  allows 
himself  If  the  child  of  God  sin,  he  does  not  al- 
low himself  in  the  sin;  on  the  contrary,  he  grieves, 
he  repents,  he  rises  again;  which  is  a  different 
thing  from  proceeding  in  a  settled  self-allowed 
course  of  sinning.  Sins  which  are  compatible 
with  sincerity,  are  much  more  likely  to  be  objects 
of  God's  forgiveness,  than  sins  that  are  not  so; 
which  is  the  case  with  allowed  sins.  Are  there 
then  some  sins,  in  which  we  live  continually"? 
some  duties,  which  we  continually  neglect  1  we 
are  not  children  of  God ;  we  are  not  sincere  dis- 
ciples of  Christ.  The  allowed  prevalence  of  any 
one  known  sin,  is  sufficient  to  exclude  us  from 
the  character  of  God's  children.  And  we  must 
be  converted  from  that  sin,  in  order  to  become 
such.  Here  then  we  must  preach  conversion. 
The  habitual  drunkard,  the  habitual  fornicator, 
the  habitual  cheat  must  be  converted.  Now  such 
a  change  of  principle,  of  opinion,  and  of  sentiment, 
as  no  longer  to  allow  ourselves  in  that  which  we 
did  allow  ourselves,  and  the  actual  sacrifice  of  a 
habit,  the  breaking  off  of  a  course  of  sinful  indul- 
gence, or  of  unfair  gain,  in  pursuance  of  the  new 
and  serious  views  which  we  have  formed  of  these 
subjects,  is  a  conversion.  ,  The  breaking  off  of  a 
habit,  especially  when  we  had  placed  much  of  our 
gratification  in  it,  is  alone  so  great  a  thing,  and 
such  a  step  in  our  Christian  life,  as  to  merit  the 
name  of  conversion.  Then  as  to  the  time  of  our 
conversion,  there  can  be  little  question  about  that. 
The  drunkard  was  converted,  when  he  left  off 
drinking;  the  fornicator,  when  he  gave  up  his 
criminal  indulgences,  haunts,  and  connexions;  th«» 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


545 


cheat,  when  he  quitted  his  dishonest  practices, 
however  gainful  and  successful :  provided,  in  these 
several  cases,  that  religious  ^^ews  and  motives  in- 
fluenced the  determination,  and  a  religious  cha- 
racter accompanied  and  followed  these  sacrifices. 

In  these  two  cases,  therefore,  men  must  be  con- 
verted, and  live ;  or  remiiin  unconverted,  and  die. 
And  the  time  of  conversion  can  be  ascertained. 
There  mu-^t  that  pass  within  them,  at  some  par- 
ticular assignable  time,  which  is  properly  a  con- 
version ;  and  will,  all  their  lives,  be  remembered 
as  such.  This  description,  without  all  doubt, 
comprehends  great  numbers ;  and  it  is  each  per- 
son's business  to  settle  with  himself,  whether  he 
be  not  of  the  number;  if  he  be,  he  sees  what  is  to 
be  done. 

But  I  am  willing  to  believe,  that  there  are  very 
many  Christians,  who  neither  have  in  any  part  of 
their  lives  been  without  influencing  principles, 
nor  have  at  any  time  been  involved  in  the  habit 
and  course  of  a  particular  known  sin,  or  have  al- 
lowed themselves  in  such  course  and  practice. 
Sins,  without  doubt,  they  have  committed,  more 
than  sufficient  to  humble  them  to  the  dust ;  but 
they  have  not,  to  repeat  the  same  words  again, 
lived  in  a  course  of  any  particular  known  sin, 
whether  of  commission  or  neglect ;  and  by  deli- 
beration, and  of  aforethought,  allowed  themselves 
in  such  course.  The  conversion,  therefore,  above 
described,  cannot  apply  to,  or  be  required  of,  such 
Christians.  To  these  we  must  preach,  not  con- 
version, but  improvement.  Improvement,  conti- 
nual i/nprovement,  must  be  our  text,  and  our  to- 
pic ;  improvement  in  grace,  in  piety,  in  disposition, 
in  virtue.  Now,  I  put  the  doctrine  of  improve- 
ment, not  merely  upon  the  consideration,  which 
yet  is  founded  upon  express  Scripture  authority, 
that,  whatever  improvement  we  make  in  ourselves, 
we  are  thereby  sure  to  meliorate  our  future  condi- 
tion, receiving  at  the  hand  of  God  a  proportion- 
able reward  for  our  efforts,  our  sacrifices,  our  jier- 
severanee,  so  that  our  labour  is  never  lost,  is  never, 
as  Saint  Paul  expressly  assures  us,  in  vain  in  the 
Lord;  though  this,  I  say,  be  a  firm  and  establish- 
ed ground  to  go  upon,  yet  it  is  not  the  ground 
U])on  which  I,  at  present,  place  the  necessity  of  a 
constant  progressive  improvement  in  virtue.  I 
rather  wish  to  lay  down  upon  the  subject  this 
proposition  ;  namely,  that  continual  improvement 
is  essential  in  the  Christian  character,  as  an  evi- 
dence of  its  sincerity;  that,  if  what  we  have  hi- 
therto done  in  religion  has  been  done  from  truly 
religious  motives,  we  shall  necessarily  go  on; 
that,  if  our  religion  be  real,  it  cannot  stop.  There 
is  no  standing  still :  it  is  not  compatible  with  the 
nature  of  the  subject :  if  the  principles  which  ac- 
tuated us,  be  principles  of  godliness,  they  must 
continue  to  actuate  us ;  and,  under  this  continued 
stimulus  and  influence,  we  must  necessarily  grow 
better  and  better.  If  this  effect  do  not  take  place, 
the  conclusion  is,  that  our  principles  are  weak,  or 
hollow,  or  unsound.  Unless  we  find  ourselves 
grow  better,  we  are  not  right.  For  example,  if 
our  transgressions  do  not  become  fewer  and  fewer, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  that  we  have  left  ofl'  striving 
against  sin,  and  then  we  are  not  sincere. 

I  apprehend,  moreover,  that  with  no  man  living 
can  there  be  a  ground  for  .stopping,  as  though 
there  was  nothing  more  left  for  him  to  be  done. 
If  any  man  had  this  reason  for  stopping,  it  was 
the  apostle  Paul.  Yet  did  he  stop"?  or  did  he  so 
judge  1  Hear  his  own  account ;  "  This  I  do,  for- 
3Z 


getting  those  things  that  are  behind,  (those  things 
whereunto  I  have  already  attained,)  and  lookmg 
forward  to  those  things  that  are  before,  (to  still 
further  improvement,)  I  press  towards  the  mark 
for  the  prize  of  the  high  calling  of  God  in  Christ 
Jesus."  This  was  not  stopping ;  it  was  pressing 
on.  The  truth  is,  in  the  way  of  Christian  improve- 
ment, there  is  business  for  the  best;  there  is 
enough  to  be  done  for  all. 

First :  In  this  stage  of  the  Christian  life  it  is  fit 
to  suppose,  that  there  are  no  enormous  crimes, 
such  as  mankind  universally  condemn  and  cry 
out  against,  at  present  committed  by  us ;  yet  less 
faults,  still  clearly  faults,  are  not  unfrequent  with 
us.  are  too  easily  excused,  too  soon  repeated. 
This  must  be  altered. 

Secondly :  We  may  not  avowedly  be  engaged 
in  any  course  or  habit  of  known  sin,  being  at  the 
time  conscious  of  such  sin  ;  but  we  may  continue 
in  some  practices  which  our  consciences  cannot, 
and  would  not,  upon  examination,  approve,  and 
in  which  we  have  allowed  the  wrongness  of  the 
practice  to  be  screened  from  our  sight  by  general 
usacre,  or  by  the  example  of  persons  of  whom  we 
think  well.  This  is  not  a  course  to  be  proceeded 
in  longer.  Conscience,  our  own  conscience,  is  to 
be  our  guide  in  all  things. 

Thirdly :  We  may  not  absolutely  omit  any 
duty  to  our  families,  our  station,  our  neighbour- 
hood, or  the  public,  with  which  we  are  acquaint- 
ed ;  but  might  not  these  duties  be  more  eflectively 
performed,  if  they  were  gone  about  with  more  di- 
ligence than  we  have  hitherto  used  1  and  might 
not  further  means  and  opportunities  of  doing  good 
be  found  out,  if  we  took  sufficient  pains  to  inqmre 
and  to  consider  1 

Fourthly,  again:  Even  where  less  is  to  be 
blamed  in  our  lives,  much  may  remain  to  be  set 
right  in  our  hearts,  our  tempers,  and  dispositions. 
Let  our  aiTections  grow  more  and  more  pure  and 
holy,  our  hearts  more  and  more  lifted  up  to  God, 
and  loosened  from  this  present  world ;  not  from 
its  duties,  but  from  its  passions,  its  temptations, 
its  over  anxieties,  and  great  selfishness ;  our  souls 
rleansed  from  the  dross  and  corrupti(n  which 
tney  have  contracted  in  their  passage  through  it. 

Fifthly:  It  is  no  slight  work  to  bring  our  tem- 
pers to  what  they  should  be  ;  gentle,  patient,  pla- 
cable, compassionate;  slow  to  be  offended,  soon 
to  be  appeased ;  free  from  envy,  which,  though  a 
necessary,  is  a  difficult,  attainment ;  free  from 
bursts  of  anger ;  from  aversions  to  particular  per- 
sons, which  is  hatred ;  able  heartily  to  rejoice 
with  them  that  do  rejoice ;  and,  from  true  tender- 
ness of  mind,  weeping,  even  when  we  can  do  no 
more,  with  them  that  weep;  in  a  word,  to  put  on 
charity  with  all  those  qualities  with  which  Saint 
Paul  hath  clothed  it,  1  Cor.  xiii.  which  read  for 
this  purpose. 

Sixthly:  Whilst  any  good  can  be  done  by  us, 
we  shall  not  fail  to  do  it;  but  even  when  our 
powers  of  active  usefulness  fail,  which  not  seldom 
happens,  there  still  remains  that  last,  that  highest, 
that  most  difficult,  and,  perhaps,  most  acceptable, 
duty,  to  our  Creator,  resignation  to  his  blessed 
will  in  the  privations,  and  pains,  and  afflictions, 
with  which  we  are  visited  ;  thankfulness  to  him 
for  all  that  is  spared  to  us,  amidst  much  that  is 
gone ;  for  any  mitigation  of  our  sufferings,  any 
degree  of  ease,  and  comfort,  and  support,  and  as- 
sistance, which  we  experience.  Every  advanced 
life,  every  life  of  sickness  or  misfortune,  affords 
46* 


546 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


materials  for  virtuous  feelings.  In  a  word,  I  am 
persuaded,  that  there  is  no  state  whatever  of 
Christian  trial,  varied  and  various  as  it  is,  in 
which  there  will  not  be  Ibund  both  matter  and 
room  for  improvement ;  in  which  a  true  Christian 
will  not  be  incessantly  striving,  month  by  month, 
and  year  by  year,  to  grow  sensibly  better  and  bet- 
ter; and  in  which  his  endeavours,  if  sincere,  and 
assisted,  as,  if  sincere,  they  may  hope  to  be  assist- 
ed, by  God's  grace,  will  not  be  rewarded  with 
success. 


SERMON  VIII. 

PRAYER    IN   IMITATION  OF    CHRIST. 

And  he  withdrew  himself  into  the  wilderness^ 
and  prayed. — Luke  v.  16. 

The  imitation  of  our  Saviour  is  justly  held  out 
to  us  as  a  rule  of  life  ;  but  then  there  are  many 
things  in  which  we  cannot  imitate  him.  What 
depends  upon  his  miraculous  character  must  ne- 
cessarily surpass  our  endeavours,  and  he  placed 
out  of  the  reach  of  our  imitation.  This  reason 
makes  those  particulars,  in  which  we  are  able 
to  follow  his  example,  of  great  importance  to  be 
observed  by  us ;  because  it  is  to  these  that  our 
hopes  of  taking  him  for  our  pattern,  of  treading 
in  his  footsteps,  are  necessarily  confined. 

Now,  our  Lord's  piety  is  one  of  these  particu- 
lars. We  can,  if  we  be  so  minded,  pray  to  God, 
as  he  did.  We  can  aim  at  the  spirit,  and  warmth, 
and  earnestness,  of  his  devotions ;  we  can  use,  at 
least,  those  occasions,  and  that  mode  of  devotion, 
which  his  example  points  out  to  us. 

It  is  to  be  remarked,  that  a  fulness  of  mental 
devotion  was  the  spring  and  source  of  our  Lord's 
visible  piety.  And  this  state  of  mind  we  must 
acquire.  It  consists  in  this  ;  in  a  habit  of  turning 
our  thoughts  towards  God,  whenever  they  are  not 
taken  up  with  some  particular  engagement. — 
Every  man  has  some  sulvject  or  other,  to  which 
his  thoughts  turn,  when  they  are  not  particularly 
occupied.  In  a  good  Christian  this  suiiject  is  God, 
or  what  appertains  to  him.  A  good  Christian, 
walking  in  his  fields,  sitting  in  his  chamber,  lying 
upon  his  bed,  is  thinking  of  God.  His  meditations 
draw,  of  their  own  accord,  to  that  object,  and  then 
his  thoughts  kindle  up  his  devotions ;  and  devo- 
tion never  burns  so  bright,  or  so  warm,  as  when 
it  is  lighted  up  from  witliin.  The  immensity,  the 
stupendous  nature  of  the  adorable  Being  who 
made,  and  who  supports,  every  thing  about  us, 
his  grace,  his  love,  his  condescension  towards  his 
reasonable  and  moral  creatures,  that  is,  towards 
men  ;  the  good  things  which  he  has  placed  within 
our  reach,  the  heavenly  happiness  which  he  has 
put  it  in  our  power  to  obtain ;  the  infinite  mo- 
ment of  our  acting  well  and  right,  so  as  not  to 
miss  of  the  great  reward,  and  not  only  to  miss  of 
our  reward,  but  to  sink  into  perdition ;  such  re- 
flections will  not  fail  of  generating  devotion,  of 
moving  within  us  either  prayer,  or  thanksgiving, 
or  both.  This  is  mental  devotion.  Perhaps  the 
difference  between  a  religious  and  an  irreligious 
character,  depends  more  ufion  this  mental  devo- 
tion, than  upon  any  other  thing.  The  difference 
will  show  itself  in  men's  lives  and  conversation, 
in  their  dealings  with  mankind,  and  in  the  various 


duties  and  offices  of  their  .station ;  but  it  originatea 
and  proceeds  from  a  difference  in  their  internal 
habits  of  mind,  with  respect  to  God  ;  in  the  ha- 
bit of  thinking  of  him  in  private,  and  of  what  re- 
lates to  him ;  in  cultivating  these  thoughts,  or 
neglecting  them;  inviting  them,  or  driving  them 
from  us  ;  in  forming,  or  in  having  formed  a  habit 
and  custom,  as  to  tliis  point,  unobserved  and  un- 
observable  by  others,  (because  it  passes  in  the 
mind,  which  no  one  can  see  ;_)  but  of  the  most  de- 
cisive consequence  to  our  spiritual  character  and 
immortal  interests.  This  mind  was  in  Christ :  a 
deep,  fixed,  and  constant  piety.  The  expressions 
of  it  we  have  seen  in  all  the  forms,  which  could 
bespeak  earnestness  and  sincerity ;  but  the  prin- 
ciple itself  lay  deep  in  his  divine  soul ;  the  ex- 
pressions likewise  were  occasional,  more  or  fewer, 
as  occasions  called,  or  opportunities  ofiered  ;  but 
the  principle  fixed  and  constant,  uninterrupted, 
unremitted. 

But  again :  Our  Lord,  whose  mental  piety  was 
so  unquestionable,  so  ardent,  and  so  unceasing, 
did  not,  nevertheless,  content  himself  with  that. 
He  thought  fit,  we  find,  at  sundry  times,  and  I 
doubt  not,  also,  very  frequently,  to  draw  it  forth 
in  actual  prayer,  to  clothe  it  with  words,  to  betake 
himself  to  visible  devotion,  to  retire  to  a  mountain 
for  this  express  purpose,  to  withdraw  himself  a 
short  distance  from  his  companions,  to  kneel 
down,  to  pass  the  whole  night  in  prayer,  or  in  a 
place  devoted  to  prayer.  Let  all,  who  feel  their 
hearts  impregnated  with  religious  fervour,  remem- 
ber this  example  ;  remember  that  this  disposition 
of  the  heart  ought  to  vent  itself  in  actual  prayer: 
let  them  not  either  be  afraid  nor  ashamed,  nor 
suffer  any  person,  nor  any  thing,  to  keep  them 
from  this  holy  exercise.  They  will  find  the  de- 
vout dispositions  of  their  souls  strengthened,  gra- 
tified, confirmed.  This  exhortation  may  not  be 
necessary  to  the  generality  of  pious  tempers ;  they 
will  naturally  follow  their  propensity,  and  it  will 
naturally  carry  them  to  prayer.  But  some,  even 
good  men,  are  too  abstracted  in  their  way  of 
thinking  upon  this  subject;  they  think,  (hat  since 
God  seeth  and  regardeth  the  heart,  if  their  devo- 
tion be  there,  if  it  be  within,  all  outward  signs 
and  expressions  of  it  are  superfluous.  It  is  enough 
to  answer,  that  our  blessed  Lord  did  not  so  think. 
He  had  all  the  fulness  of  devotion  in  his  soul; 
nevertheless,  he  thought  it  not  superfluous  to  utter 
and  pronounce  audible  prayer  to  God  ;  and  not 
only  so,  but  to  retire  and  withdraw  himself  from 
other  engagements ;  nay,  even  from  his  most  inti- 
mate and  favoured  companions,  expressly  for  this 
purpose. 

Again :  Our  Lord's  retirement  to  prayer  appears 
commonly  to  have  followed  some  signal  act  and 
display  of  his  divine  powers.  He  did  every  thing 
to  the  glory  of  God  ;  he  referred  his  divine  powers 
to  his  Father's  gift ;  he  made  them  the  subject  of 
his  thankfulness,  inasmuch  as  they  advanced  his 
great  work.  He  followed  them  by  his  devotions. 
Now  every  good  gift  cometh  down  from  the  Fa- 
ther of  light.  W^hether  they  be  natural,  or  whe- 
ther they  be  supernatural,  the  faculties  which  we 
possess  are  by  God's  donation;  wherefore,  any 
successful  exercise  of  these  faculties,  any  instance 
in  which  we  have  been  capable  of  doing  something 
good,  properly  and  truly  so,  either  for  the  commu- 
nity, which  is  best  of  all,  for  our  neighbourhood, 
for  our  families,  nay  even  for  ourselves,  ought  to 
stir  and  awaken  our  gratitude  to  God,  and  to  call 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


54- 


forfh  that  gratituile  into  actual  devotion  ;  at  least, 
this  is  to  imitate  our  blessed  Lord,  so  far  as  we  can 
imitate  him  at  all :  it  is  adopting  into  our  lives, 
the  principle  which  regulated  his. 

Again:  It  appears,  on  one  occasion  at  least, 
that  our  Lord's  retirement  to  prayer  was  prepara- 
tory to  an  imjwrtant  work,  which  lie  was  about 
to  execute.  The  manner  in  which  Saint  Luke 
states  this  instance  is  thus: — "And  it  came  to 
pass  in  those  days  that  he  went  out  into  a  moun- 
tain to  pray,  and!  continued  all  night  in  prayer  to 
God ;  and  when  it  was  day,  he  called  unto  him 
his  disciples,  and  of  them  he  chose  twelve,  whom 
also  he  named  apostles."  From  this  statement  I 
infer,  that  the  night,  passed  by  our  Lord  in  prayer, 
was  preparatory  to  the  office  which  he  was  about 
to  execute :  and  surely  an  important  office  it  was ; 
important  to  him,  important  to  his  religion ;  im- 
portant to  the  whole  world.  Nor  let  it  be  said, 
that  our  Lord,  after  all,  in  one  instance  at  least, 
was  unfortunate  in  his  choice ;  of  the  twelve  one 
was  a  traitor.  That  choice  was  not  an  error ;  a 
remarkable  prophecy  was  to  be  fulfilled,  and  other 
purposes  were  to  be  answered,  of  which  we  cannot 
now  speak  particularly.  "  I  know,"  says  our  Lord, 
"whom  I  have  chosen."  But  let  us  confine  our- 
selves to  our  observation.  It  was  a  momentous 
choice :  it  was  a  decision  of  great  consequence ; 
and  it  was  accordingly,  on  our  Lord's  part,  pre- 
ceded by  prayer ;  not  only  so,  but  by  a  night  spent 
in  prayer.  "  He  continued  all  night  in  prayer  to 
God  ;"  or,  if  you  would  rather  so  render  it,  in  a 
house,  set  apart  for  prayer  to  God.  Here,  there- 
fore, we  have  an  example  given  us,  which  vye 
both  can  imitate,  and  ought  to  imitate.  Nothing 
of  singular  importance  ;  nothing  of  extraordinary 
moment,  either  to  oursefves  or  others,  ought  to  be 
resolved  upon,  or  undertaken,  without  prayer  to 
God,  without  previous  devotion.  It  is  a  natural 
operation  of  piety  to  carry  the  mind  to  God,  when- 
ever any  thing  presses  and  weighs  upon  it :  they, 
who  feel  not  this  tendency,  have  reason  to  accuse 
and  suspect  themselves  of  want  of  piety.  More- 
over, we  have  for  it  the  direct  example  of  our 
Lord  himself:  I  believe  also,  I  may  add,  that  we 
nave  the  example  and  practice  of  good  men,  in  all 
ages  of  the  world. 

Again  :  We  find  our  Lord  resorting  to  prayer 
in  his  last  extremity ;  and  with  an  earnestness,  I 
had  almost  said,  a  vehemence  of  devotion,  propor- 
tioned to  the  occasion.  The  terms  in  which  the 
evangelists  describe  our  Lord's  devotion  in  the 
garden  of  Gethsemane,  the  evening  preceding  his 
death,  are  the  strongest  terms  that  could  be  used. 
As  soon  as  he  came  to  the  place,  he  bid  his  disci- 
ples pray. — When  he  was  at  the  place,  he  said 
unto  them,  "  Pray  that  ye  enter  not  into  tempta- 
tion." This  did  not  content  him:  this  was  not 
enough  for  the  state  and  sufferings  of  his  mind. 
He  parted  even  from  them.  He  withdrew  about 
a  stone's  cast,  and  kneeled  down.  Hear  how  his 
struggle  in  prayer  is  described.  Three  times  he 
came  to  his  disciples,  and  returned  again  to  prayer; 
thrice  he  kneeled  down,  at  a  distance  from  them, 
repeating  the  same  words.  Being  in  an  agony, 
he  prayed  more  earnestly :  drops  of  sweat  fell  from 
his  body,  as  if  it  had  been  great  drops  of  blood; 
yet  in  all  this,  throughout  the  whole  scene,  the 
constant  conclusion  of  his  prayer  was,  "  Not  my 
will,  but  thine  be  done.''  It  was  the  greatest  oc- 
casion that  ever  was :  and  the  earnestness  of  our 
Lord's  prayer,  the  devotion  of  his  .soul,  corres- 


ponded with  it.  Scenes  of  deep  distress  await  us 
all.  It  is  in  vain  to  expect  to  pass  through  the 
world  without  faUing  into  them.  We  have  in  our 
Lord's  example,  a  model  for  our  behaviour,  i.i  the 
most  severe  and  most  trying  of  these  occasions : 
afflicted,  yet  resigned;  grieved  and  wounded,  yet 
submissive  ;  not  insensible  of  our  sufferings,  but 
increasing  the  ardour  and  fervency  of  our  prayer  in 
proportion  to  the  pain  and  acuteness  of  our  feel- 
ings. 

But,  whatever  may  be  the  fortune  of  our  lives, 
one  great  extremity,  at  least,  the  hour  of  approach- 
ing death,  is  certainly  to  be  passed  through. 
What  ought  then  to  occupy  us  %  what  can  then 
support  usl  Prayer.  Prayer,  with  our  blessed 
Lord  himself,  was  a  refuge  from  the  storm ;  almost 
every  word  he  uttered,  during  that  tremendous 
scene,  was  prayer :  prayer  the  most  earnest,  the 
most  urgent ;  repeated,  continued,  proceeding  from 
the  recesses  of  his  soul ;  private,  solitary ;  prayer 
for  deliverance ;  prayer  for  strength ;  above  every 
thing,  prayer  for  resignation. 


SERMON  IX. 


ox  FILIAL  PIETY. 


And  Joseph  nourished  his  father,  and  his  bre- 
thren, and  all  his  father's  household,  with 
bread,  according  to  their  Jumilies. — Genesis 
xlvii.  12. 

Whoever  reads  the  Bible  at  all,  has  read  the 
history  of  Joseph.  It  has  universally  attracted  at- 
tention: and,  without  doubt,  there  is  not  one,  but 
many  points  in  it,  which  deserve  to  be  noticed.  It 
is  a  strong  and  plain  example  of  the  circuitous 
providence  of  God :  that  is  to  say,  of  his  bringing 
about  the  ends  and  purposes  of  his  providence,  by 
seemingly  casual  and  unsuspected  means.  That 
is  a  high  doctrine,  both  of  natural  and  revealed 
religion ;  and  is  clearly  exemplified  in  this  history. 
It  is  an  useful  example,  at  the  same  time,  of  the 
protection  and  final  reward  of  virtue,  though  for 
a  season  oppressed  and  calumniated,  or  carried 
through  a  long  series  of  distresses  and  misfortunes. 
I  say  it  is  an  useful  example,  if  duly  understood, 
and  not  urged  too  far.  It  shows  the  protection 
of  providence  to  be  with  virtue  under  all  its  diffi- 
culties :  and  this  being  believed  upon  good  grounds, 
it  is  enough ;  for  the  virtuous  man  will  be  assured 
that  this  protection  will  keep  with  him  in  and 
through  all  stages  of  his  existence — living  and 
dying  he  is  in  its  hands — and  for  the  same  reason 
that  it  accompanies  him,  like  an  invisible  guardian, 
through  his  trials,  it  will  finall}'  recompence  him. 
This  is  the  true  application  of  that  doctrine  of  a 
directing  providence,  which  is  illustrated  by  the 
history  of  Joseph,  as  it  relates  to  ourselves — I  mean 
as  it  relates  to  those  who  are  looking  forward  to  a 
future  state.  If  we  draw  from  it  an  opinion,  or  an 
expectation,  that,  because  Joseph  was  at  lengtl 
rewarded  with  riches  and  honours,  therefore  w 
shall  be  the  same,  we  carry  the  example  farthe 
than  it  will  bear.  It  proves  that  virtue  is  undet 
the  protection  of  God,  and  will  ultimately  be  taken 
care  of  and  rewarded :  but  in  what  manner,  and 
in  what  stage  of  our  existence,  whether  in  the 
present  or  the  future,  or  in  both,  is  left  oTpen  by 
the  example:  ana  both  may,  and  must  depend, 


548 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


npon  reasons,  in  a  great  measure,  unknown  to 
and  incalculable  by  us. 

Again;  The  history  of  Joseph  is  a  domestic 
example.  It  is  an  example  of  the  ruinous  conse- 
quences of  partiality  in  a  parent,  and  of  the  quar- 
rels and  contentions  in  a  family,  which  naturally 
spring  from  such  partiality. 

Again :  It  is  a  lesson  to  all  schemers  and  con- 
federates in  guilt,  to  teach  them  this  truth,  that, 
when  their  scheme  does  not  succeed,  they  are 
sure  to  quarrel  amongst  themselves,  and  to  go  into 
the  utmost  bitterness  of  mutual  accusation  and  re- 
proach ;  as  the  brethren  of  Joseph  you  find  did. 

Again :  It  is  a  natural  example  of  the  effect  of 
adversity,  in  bringing  men  to  themselves,  to  re- 
flections upon  their  own  conduct,  to  a  sense  and 
perception  of  many  things  which  had  gone  on,  and 
might  have  gone  on,  unthought  of  and  unper- 
ceived,  if  it  had  not  been  for  some  stroke  of  mis- 
fortune, which  roused  their  attention.  It  was  af- 
ter the  brethren  of  Joseph  had  been  shut  up  by 
him  in  prison,  and  were  alarmed,  as  they  well 
might  be,  for  their  lives,  that  their  consciences,  so 
far  as  appears,  for  the  first  time  smote  them :  "  We 
are  verily  guilty  concerning  our  brother,  in  that 
we  saw  the  anguish  of  his  soul,  when  he  besought 
us  and  we  would  not  hear."  This  is  the  natural 
and  true  effect  of  judgments  in  this  world,  to  bring 
us  to  a  knowledge  of  ourselves ;  that  is  to  say,  of 
those  bad  things  in  our  lives  which  have  deserved 
the  calamities  we  are  made  to  suffer. 

These  are  all  points  in  the  history:  but  there  is 
another  point  in  Joseph's  character,  which  I  make 
choice  of  as  the  subject  of  my  present  discourse  ; 
and  that  is  his  dutifulness  and  affection  to  his  fa- 
ther. Never  was  this  virtue  more  strongly  dis- 
played. It  runs  like  a  thread  through  the  whole 
narrative  ;  and  whether  we  regard  it  as  a  quality 
to  be  admired,  or,  which  would  be  a  great  deal 
better,  as  a  quality  to  be  imitated  by  us,  so  far  as 
a  great  disparity  of  circumstances  will  allow  of 
imitation,  (which  in  principle  it  always  will  do,) 
it  deserves  to  be  considered  with  a  separate  and 
distinct  attention. 

When  a  surprising  course  of  events  had  given 
to  Joseph,  after  a  long  series  of  years,  a  most  un- 
expected opportunity  of  seeing  his  brethren  in 
Egypt,  the  first  question  which  he  asked  them 
was,  "  Is  your  father  yet  alive  1"  This  appears 
from  the  account,  which  Reuben  gave  to  Jacob, 
of  the  conference  which  they  had  held  with  the 
great  man  of  the  country,  whilst  neither  of  them, 
as  yet,  suspected  who  he  was.  Joseph,  you  re- 
member, h.ad  concealed  himself  during  their  first 
journey,  from  the  knowledge  of  his  brethren;  and 
it  was  not  consistent  with  his  disguise,  to  be  more 
full  and  particular,  than  he  was,  in  his  inquiries. 

On  account  of  the  continuance  of  the  famine  in 
the  land,  it  became  necessary  for  the  brethren  of 
Jo.seph  to  go  a  second  time  into  Egypt  to  seek 
corn,  and  a  second  time  to  produce  themselves  be- 
fore the  lord  of  the  country.  What  had  been  Jo- 
seph's first  question  on  the  former  visit,  was  his 
first  question  in  this,  "  Is  your  father  well,  the 
old  man  of  whom  ye  spake  1  is  he  yet  alive  1  And 
they  answered,  Thy  servant  our  father  is  in  good 
health,  he  is  yet  alive:  and  they  bowed  down 
their  heads,  and  made  obeisance." 

Huherto,  you  (  bserve,  all  had  passed  in  disguise. 
The  brethren  of  Joseph  knew  nothing  who  they 
were  speaking  to ;  and  Joseph  was  careful  to  pre- 
serve the  secret.     You  will  now  take  notice,  how 


this  affected  disguise  was  broken,  and  how  Joseph 
found  himself  forced,  as  it  were,  from  the  resolu- 
tion he  had  taken,  of  keeping  his  brethren  in  ig- 
norance of  his  person.  He  had  proposed,  you 
read,  to  detain  Benjamin ;  the  rest,  being  perplex- 
ed beyond  measure,  and  distressed  by  this  propo- 
sal, Judah,  approaching  Joseph,  presents  a  most 
earnest  supplication  ior  the  deliverance  of  the 
child :  offers  himself  to  remain  Joseph's  prisoner 
or  slave,  in  his  brother's  place,  and,  in  the  conclu- 
sion, touches,  unknowingly,  upon  a  string,  which 
vibrates  with  all  the  aflections  of  the  person  whom 
he  was  addressing.  "  How  shall  I  go  up  to  my 
father,  and  the  lad  be  not  with  me  1  lest  peradven- 
ture  I  see  the  evil  that  shall  come  on  my  father." 
The  mention  of  this  circumstance,  and  this  per- 
son, subdued  immediately  the  heart  of  Joseph, 
and  produced  a  sudden,  and,  as  it  should  seem,  an 
undesigned,  and  premature  discovery  of  himself, 
to  his  astonished  family.  Then,  that  is,  ujwn  this 
circumstance  being  mentioned,  Joseph  could  not 
refrain  himself;  and  after  a  little  preparation,  Jo- 
seph said  unto  his  brethren,  "  I  am  Joseph." 

The  great  secret  being  now  disclosed,  what  was 
the  conversation  which  immediately  followed  1 
The  next  word  from  Joseph's  mouth  was,  "  Doth 
my  father  yet  live?'  and  his  brethren  could  not 
answer  him;  surprise  had  overcome  their  faculty 
of  utterance.  After  comforting,  however,  and  en- 
couraging his  brethren,  who  seemed  to  sink  under 
the  intelligence,  Joseph  proceeds,  "Haste ye,  and 
go  up  to  my  father,  and  say  unto  him.  Thus  saith 
thy  son  Joseph,  God  hath  made  me  lord  of  all 
Egypt :  come  down  unto  me,  tarry  not :  and  thou 
shalt  dwell  in  the  land  of  Goshen,  and  thou  shalt 
be  near  unto  me,  and  there  will  I  nourish  thee, 
(for  yet  there  are  five  years  of  famine,)  lest  thou, 
and  thy  household,  and  all  that  thou  hast,  come 
to  poverty.  And  ye  shall  tell  my  father  of  all  my 
glory  in  Egypt,  and  of  all  that  ye  have  seen:  and 
ye  shall  haste  and  bring  down  my  father  hither." 

It  is  well  known  that  Jacob  yielded  to  this  in- 
vitation, and  passed  over  with  his  family  into 
Egypt. 

The  next  thing  to  be  attended  to,  is  the  recep- 
tion which  he  there  met  with  from  his  recovered 
son.  "  And  Joseph  made  ready  his  chariot,  and 
went  up  to  meet  Israel  his  father,  to  Goshen ;  and 
presented  himself  unto  him,  and  he  fell  on  his 
neck,  and  wept  on  his  neck  a  good  while.  And 
Israel  said  unto  Joseph,  Now  let  me  die,  since  I 
have  seen  thy  face;  because  thou  art  yet  alive." 
Not  content  with  these  strong  expressions  of  per- 
sonal duty  and  respect,  Joseph  now  availed  him- 
self of  his  power  and  station  to  fix  his  father's  fa- 
mily in  the  enjoyment  of  those  comforts  and  ad- 
vantages, which  the  land  of  Egypt  afforded  in  the 
universal  dearth  which  then  oppressed  that  region 
of  the  world.  For  this  purpose,  as  well  as  to  give 
another  public  token  to  his  family,  and  to  the 
country,  of  the  deep  reverence  with  which  he  re- 
garded his  parent,  he  introduced  the  aged  Patri- 
arch to  Pharaoh  himself  "  And  Joseph  brought 
in  Jacob  his  father,  and  set  him  before  Pharaoh : 
and  Jacob  blessed  Pharaoh."  The  sovereign  of 
Egypt  received  a  benediction  from  this  venerable 
stranger.  "  And  Joseph  (the  account  proceeds) 
nourished  his  father,  and  his  brethren,  and  all  his 
father's  household,  with  bread  according  to  their 
families." 

It  remains  to  be  seen  how  Joseph  conducted 
himself  towards  his  father,  on  the  two  occasions, 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


519 


in  which  alone  it  was  left  for  him  to  discharge  the 
office,  and  testify  the  affection  of  a  son ;  in  his 
sickness,  and  upon  his  death.  "  And  it  came  to 
pass,"  we  read,  "  after  these  things,  one  told  Jo- 
seph, behold,  thy  father  is  sick :  and  he  took  with 
him  his  two  sons,  Manasseh  and  Ephraim."  Jo- 
seph delayed  not,  you  find,  to  leave  the  court  of 
Pharaoh,  the  cares  and  greatness  of  his  station  in 
it,  in  order  to  pay  the  last  visit  to  his  dying  parent : 
and  to  place  before  him  the  hopes  of  his  house 
and  family,  in  the  persons  of  his  two  sons.  "  And 
Israel  beheld  Joseph's  sons,  and  said.  Who  are 
these"?  And  Joseph  said  unto  his  father.  They 
are  my  sons,  wliom  God  hath  given  me  in  this 
place.  And  he  said.  Bring  them,  I  pray  thee, 
unto  me,  and  I  will  bless  them.  (Now  the  eyes 
of  Israel  were  dim,  so  that  he  could  not  see.)  And 
he  brought  them  near  unto  hnn;  and  he  kissed 
them,  and  embraced  them :  and  Israel  said  unto 
Joseph,  I  had  not  thought  to  see  thy  face ;  and,  lo ! 
God  hath  showed  me  also  thy  seed.  And  Joseph 
brought  them  out  from  between  his  knees,  and  he 
bowed  himself  with  his  face  to  the  earth."  Nothing 
can  well  be  more  solemn  or  interesting  than  this 
interview;  more  honourable  or  consohng  to  old 
age ;  or  more  expressive  of  the  dignified  piety  of 
the  best  of  sons,  and  the  greatest  of  men. 

We  now  approach  the  last  scene  of  this  event- 
ful history,  and  the  best  testimony,  which  it  was 
possible  for  Joseph  to  give,  of  the  love  and  rever- 
ence with  which  he  had  never  ceased  to  treat  his 
father,  and  that  was  upon  the  occasion  of  his 
death,  and  the  honours  which  he  paid  to  his  me- 
mory ;  honours,  vain,  no  doubt,  to  the  dead,  but, 
so  far  as  they  are  significations  of  gratitude  or  af- 
fection, justly  deserving  of  commendation  and  es- 
teem. "  And  when  Jacob  had  made  an  end  of 
commanding  his  sons,  he  gathered  up  his  feet  into 
the  bed,  and  yielded  up  the  ghost,  and  was  gather- 
ed unto  his  people.  And  Joseph  fell  upon  his  fa- 
ther's face,  and  wept  upon  him,  and  kissed  him. 
And  Joseph  commanded  his  servants,  the  physi- 
cians, to  embalm  his  father;  and  the  physicians 
embalmed  Israel.  And  the  Egyptians  mourned 
for  him  threescore  and  ten  days.  And  Joseph 
went  up  to  bury  his  father ;  and  with  him  went 
up  all  the  servants  of  Pharaoh,  the  elders  of  his 
house,  and  all  the  elders  of  the  land  of  Egypt. 
And  all  the  house  of  Joseph,  and  his  brethren, 
and  his  father's  house:  and  there  went  up  with 
him  both  chariots  and  horsemen ;  and  it  was  a 
very  great  comjjany.  And  they  came  to  the  thresh- 
ing floor  of  Atad,  which  is  beyond  Jordan;  and 
there  they  mourned  with  a  great  and  a  very  sore 
lamentation :  and  he  made  a  mourning  for  his  fa- 
ther seven  days." 

Thus  died,  and  thus  was  honoured  in  his  death, 
the  founder  of  the  Jewish  nation,  who,  amidst 
many  mercies,  and  many  visitations,  sudden  and 
surprising  vicissitudes  of  afflictions  and  joy,  found 
it  the  greatest  blessing  of  his  varied  and  eventful 
life,  that  he  had  been  the  father  of  a  dutiful  and 
affectionate  son. 

It  has  been  said,  and,  as  I  believe,  truly,  that 
there  is  no  virtuous  quality  belonging  to  the  hu- 
man character,  of  which  there  is  not  .some  distinct 
and  eminent  example  to  be  found  in  the  Bible;  no 
relation  in  which  we  can  be  placed,  no  duty  which 
We  have  to  discharge,  but  that  we  may  observe  a 
pattern  for  it  in  the  sacred  history.  Of  the  duty 
of  children  to  parents,  of  a  son  to  his  father,  main- 
tained under  great  singularities  and  variations  of 


fortune,  undiminished,  nay,  rather  increased,  by 
absence,  by  distance,  by  unexampled  success,  by 
remote  and  foreign  connexions,  you  have  seen,  in 
this  most  ancient  of  all  histories,  as  conspicuous, 
and  as  amiable  an  instance  as  can  be  met  with  in 
the  records  of  the  world,  in  the  purest,  best  ages 
of  its  existence. 


SERMON  X. 

(PART  I.) 

TO    THINK    LESS    OF    OUR    VIRTUES,    AND   MORE    OP 
OUR    SINS. 

My  sin  is  ever  before  me. — Psalm  li.  3. 

There  is  a  propensity  in  the  human  mind,  very 
general  and  very  natural,  yet  at  the  same  time, 
unfavourable  in  a  high  degree  to  the  Christian 
character ;  which  is,  that,  when  we  look  back  upon 
our  lives,  our  recollection  dwells  too  much  upon 
our  virtues;  our  sins  are  not,  as  they  ought  (o  be, 
before  us  ;  we  think  too  much  of  our  good  quali- 
ties, or  good  actions,  too  little  of  our  crimes,  our 
corruptions,  our  fallings  off  and  declension  from 
God's  laws,  our  defects  and  weaknesses.  These 
we  sink  and  overlook,  in  meditating  upon  our  good 
properties.  This,  I  allow  is  natural :  because,  un- 
doubtedly, it  is  more  agreeable  to  have  our  minds 
occupied  with  the  cheering  retrospect  of  virtuous 
deeds,  than  with  the  bitter  humiliating  remem- 
brance of  sins  and  follies.  But,  because  it  is  na- 
tural, it  does  not  follow  that  it  is  good.  It  may  be 
the  bias  and  inclination  of  our  minds ;  and  yet 
neither  right  nor  safe.  When  I  say  that  it  is 
wrong,  I  mean,  that  it  is  not  the  true  Christian  dis- 
position :  and  when  I  say  that  it  is  dangerous,  I 
have  a  view  to  its  effects  upon  our  salvation. 

I  say,  that  it  is  not  the  true  Christian  disposi- 
tion ;  for,  first,  how  does  it  al-cord  with  what  we 
read  in  the  Christian  Scriptures,  whether  we  con- 
sider the  precepts,  which  are  found  there,  applica- 
ble to  the  subject,  or  the  conduct  and  example  of 
Christian  characters  1 

Now,  one  precept,  and  that  of  Christ  himself, 
you  find  to  be  this :  "  Ye,  when  ye  shall  have 
done  all  those  things,  which  are  commanded  you, 
say,  We  are  unprofitable  servants ;  we  have  done 
that  which  was  our  duty  to  do."  Luke  xvii.  10. 
It  i*  evident,  that  this  strong  admonition  was  in- 
tended, by  our  Saviour,  to  check  in  his  disciples 
an  over-weening  opinion  of  their  own  merit.  It 
is  a  very  remarkable  passage.  I  think  none 
throughout  the  New  Testament  more  so.  And 
the  intention,  with  which  the  words  were  spoken, 
was  evidently  to  check  and  repel  that  opinion  of 
merit,  which  is  sure  to  arise  from  the  habit  of  fix- 
ing our  contemplation  so  much  upon  our  good 
qualities,  and  so  little  upon  our  bad  ones.  Yet 
this  habit  is  natural,  and  was  never  prohibited  by 
any  teacher,  except  by  our  Saviour.  With  him  it 
was  a  great  fault,  by"  reason  of  its  inconsistency 
with  the  favourite  principle  of  his  religion,  hu- 
mility. I  call  humility  not  only  a  duty,  but  a 
principle.  Humblemindedness  is  a  Christian 
principle,  if  there  be  one;  above  all,  humble-mind- 
edness  towards  God.  The  servants,  to  whom  our 
Lord's  expression  refers,  were  to  be  humble-mind- 
ed, we  may  presume,  towards  one  another;  but 


550 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


fovvartls  their  Lord,  the   only  answer,  the  only 
thought,  the  only  sentiment,  was  to  be,  "  We  are 
anproiifable  servants."  And  who  were  they,  that 
wore  instructed  by  our  Lord  to  bear  constantly 
this  rejection  about  with  them  1     Were  they  sin- 
ners, distinctively  so  called  ]    Were  they  grievous, 
or  notorious  sinners?  Nay,  the  very  contrary ;  they 
were  persons,   "who  had  done  all  those  things 
that  were  commanded  them!"     This  is  precisely 
the  description  which  our  Lord  gives  us  of  the 
persons  to  whom  his  lesson  was  directed.   There- 
fore you  see,  that  an  opinion  of  merit  is  discou- 
raged, even  in  those  who  had  the  best  pretensions 
to  entertain  it;  if  any  pretensions  were  good.  But 
an  opinion  of  merit,  an  over-weening  opinion  of 
merit,  is  sure  to  grow  up  in  the  heart,  whenever 
we  accustom  ourselves  to  think  much  of  our  vir- 
tues, and  little  of  our  vices.     It  is  generated,  fos- 
tered, and  cherished,  by  this  train  of  meditation 
we  have  been  describing.   It  cannot  be  otherwise. 
And  if  we  would  repress  it;  if  we  would  correct 
ourselves  in  this  respect ;  if  we  would  bring  our- 
selves into  a  capacity  of  complying  with  our  Sa- 
viour's rule,  we  must  alter  our  turn  of  thinking ; 
we  must  reflect  more  upon  our  sins,  and  less  upon 
our  virtues.     Depend  upon  it,  that  we  shall  view 
our  characters  '■  more  truly,  we  shall  view  them 
much  more  safely,  when  we  view  them  in  their 
defects,  and  faults,  and  infirmities,  than  when  we 
view  them  only,  or  principally,  on  the  side  of  their 
good  qualities  ;  even  when  these  good  qualities 
are  real.     I  suppose,  and  I  have  all  along  sup- 
posed, that  the  good  parts  of  our  characters,  which, 
as  I  contend,  too  much  attract  our  attention,  are, 
nevertheless,  real;    and  I  suppose  this,  because 
our  Saviour's  parable  supposes  the  same. 

Another  great  Christian  rule  is,  "Work  out 
your  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling."  (Philip, 
ii.  12.)  These  significant  words  "  fear  and  trem- 
bling," do  not  accord  with  the  state  of  a  mind 
which  is  all  contentment,  satisfaction,  and  self- 
complacency;  and  which  is  brought  into  that  state 
by  the  habit  of  viewing  and  regarding  those  good 
qualities,  which  a  person  believes  to  belong  to 
himself  or  those  good  actions  which  he  remembers 
to  have  performed.  The  precept  much  better  ac- 
cords with  a  mind  anxious,  fearful,  and  apprehen- 
sive ;  and  made  so  by  a  sense  of  sin.  But  a  sen.se 
of  sin  exists  not,  as  it  ought  to  do,  in  that  breast 
which  is  in  the  habit  of  meditating  chiefly  upon 
its  virtues.  I  can  very  well  believe,  that  two  per- 
sons of  the  same  character  in  truth,  may,  never- 
theless, view  themselves  in  very  different  lights, 
according  as  one  is  accustomed  to  look  chiefly  at 
his  good  qualities,  the  other  chiefly  at  his  trans- 
gressions and  imperfections  ;  and  I  say,  that  this 
latter  is  the  disposition  for  working  out  salvation 
agreeably  to  Saint  Paul's  rule  and  method;  that 
is,  "  with  fear  and  trembling :"  the  other  is  not. 

But  further :  There  is,  upon  this  subject,  a  great 
deal  to  be  learnt  from  the  examples  which  the 
New  Testament  sets  before  us  Precepts  are 
short,  necessarily  must  be  so;  take  up  but  little 
room;  and,  for  that  reason,  do  not  always  strike 
with  the  force,  or  leave  the  iaipression,  which 
they  ought  to  do :  but  examples  of  character,  when 
the  (juestion  is  concerning  character,  and  what  is 
the  proper  character,  have  more  weight  and  body 
in  the  consideration,  and  take  up  more  room  iii 
our  minils  than  precepts.     Now,  from  one  end  of 


hear  little  of  virtue  or  righteousness;  butyouhca- 
perpetually  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins.  With  the 
first  Christian  teachers,  "  repent,  repent,"  was  the 
burden  of  their  exhortations ;  the  almost  constant 
sound  of  their  voice.  Does  not  this  strain  of  preach- 
ing show,  that  the  preachers  wished  all  who  heard 
them,  to  think  much  more  of  oflences  than  of 
merits  1  Nay,  further,  with  respect  to  themselves, 
whenever  this  contemplation  of  righteousness 
came  in  their  way,  it  came  in  their  way  only  to 
be  renounced,  as  natural  perhaps,  and  also  grate- 
ful, to  human  feelings,  but  as  inconsistent  and 
irreconcilable  with  the  Christian  condition.  It 
might  do  for  a  heathen,  but  it  was  the  reverse  of 
every  thing  that  is  Christian. 

The  turn  of  thought  which  I  am  recommend- 
ing, or  rather,  which  I  find  it  necessary  to  insist 
upon,  as  an  essential  part  of  the  Christian  charac- 
ter, is  strongly  seen  in  one  particular  passage  of 
Saint  Paul's  writings ;  namely,  in  the  third  chap- 
ter to  the  Philippians :  "  If  any  other  man  think- 
eth  that  he  hath  whereof  he  might  trust  in  the 
flesh,  I  more  ;  circumcised  the  eighth  day,  of  the 
stock  of  Israel,  of  the  tiibe  of  Benjamin,  an  He- 
brew of  the  Hebrews  ;  as  touching  the  law,  a  Pha- 
risee ;  concerning  zeal,  persecuting  the  church ; 
touching  the  righteousness  which  is  in  the  law, 
blameless."  These  were  points  which  at  that 
time  of  day,  were  thought  to  be  grounds  of  confi- 
dence and  exultation.  But  this  train  of  thought 
no  sooner  rises  in  his  mind,  than  the  apostle  checks 
it,  and  turns  from  it  to  an  anxious  view  of  his  own 
deficiencies.  "If  by  any  means  I  might  attain 
unto  the  resurrection  of  the  dead."  These  are 
the  words  of  an  anxious  man.  "  Not,"  then  he 
proceeds,  "  not  as  though  I  had  already  attained, 
either  were  already  perfect ;  but  I  follow  after,  if 
that  I  may  apprehend  that  for  which  also  I  am 
apprehended  of  Christ  Jesus.  Brethren,  I  count 
not  myself  to  have  apprehended,  but  this  one 
thing  I  do;  forgetting  those  thmgs  which  are  be- 
hind, and  reaching  forth  unto  those  things  which 
are  before,  I  press  towards  the  mark,  for  the  prize 
of  the  high  calling  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus."  In 
this  passage,  you  see,  that,  withdrawing  his  mind 
from  all  notions  of  perfection,  attainment,  accom- 
plishment, security,  he  fixes  it  upon  his  deficien- 
cies. Then  he  tells  you,  thaX  forgetting,  that  is, 
expressly  putting  out  of  his  mind  and  his  thought, 
the  progress  and  advance  which  he  had  already 
made,  he  casts  his  eyes  and  attention  upon  those 
qualities  in  which  he  was  short  and  deficient,  upon 
what  remained  for  him  yet  to  do ;  and  this  I  take 
to  be  the  true  Christian  way  of  proceeding.  "  For- 
get those  things  that  are  behind  ;"  put  outof  your 
thoughts  the  attainments  and  progress  you  have 
already  made,  in  order  to  see  fully  your  delects 
and  imperfections. 

In  another  passage,  found  in  a  chapter  with 
which  all  are  acquainted,  the  fifteenth  of  the  First 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  our  apostle,  having 
occasion  to  compare  his  situation  with  that  of  the 
otiier  apostles,  is  led  to  say  :  "  I  laboured  more 
abundantly  than  they  all."  Saint  Paul's  labours 
in  the  Gospel,  labours  which  consumed  his  whole 
life,  were  surely  what  he  might  reflect  upon  with 
complacency  and  satisfiiction.  If  such  reflections 
were  proper  in  any  case,  they  were  proper  in  his 
Yet  observe  how  they  are  checked  and  qualified. 
The  moment  he  had  said,  "  I  laboured  more  abund- 


the  New  Testament  to  the  other,  you  v/i!l  fiud    antly  than  they  all,"  he  added,  as  it  were,  correcting 
L.^e  evangelical  character  to  be  contrition.     You  |  himself  for  the  expression,  "  Yet  not  I,  but  the 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


551 


grace  of  GoJ,  which  was  with  me."  He  mag- 
nifies not  himself,  but  the  grace  of  God  which 
was  with  him.  In  the  next  place,  you  will  ob- 
serve, that,  though  the  consciousness  of  his  labours, 
paintul,  indefatigable  labours,  and  meritorious  la- 
bours, if  ever  man's  were  so — I  say,  that,  though 
the  consciousness  of  these  was  present  to  his  mind 
at  the  time,  yet  it  did  not  hinder  him  from  feel- 
ing, with  the  deepest  abasement  and  self-degrada- 
tion, his  former  offences  against  Christ,  though 
they  were  otiences  which  sprang  from  error.  "  I 
am  the  least  of  the  apostles,  that  am  not  meet  to 
be  called  an  apostle,  because  I  persecuted  the 
church  of  God ;  but,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  am 
what  I  am;"  The  faults  of  his  life  were  upper- 
most in  his  mind.  No  mention,  no  recollection 
of  his  services,  even  when  he  did  happen  to  recol- 
lect them,  shut  out  even  for  a  single  moment,  the 
deep  memory  of  his  offences,  or  covered  or  con- 
cealed it  from  his  view. 

In  another  place,  the  same  apostle,  looking 
back  upon  the  history  of  his  singular  and  eventful 
life,  exhibits  himself  to  his  converts,  as  how!  not 
as  bringing  forward  his  merit,  pleading  his  ser- 
vices, or  claiming  his  reward  :  but  as  nothing 
other,  nothing  more,  than  a  monument  and  exam- 
ple of  God  Almighty's  mercy.  Sinners  need  not 
desjiair  of  mere}',  when  so  great  a  sinner  as  him- 
self obtained  it.  Hear  his  own  words :  "  For  this 
cause  I  obtained  mercy,  that  in  me  first  Jesus 
Christ  might  show  forth  all  long-suffering,  for  a 
pattern  to  them  which  should  hereafter  believe  on 
him  to  life  everlasting;"  1  Timothy  i.  16.  What 
could  be  more  humble  or  self-depressing  than  this 
acknowledgment!  yet  this  was  Saint  Paul's. 

The  eleventh  chapter  of  the  Second  Epistle  to 
the  Corinthians,  and  also  the  twelfth,  ought  to  be 
read  by  you  on  this  occasion.  They  are  very  re- 
markable chapters,  and  very  much  to  our  present 
purpose.  It  had  so  happened,  that  some  hostile, 
and,  as  it  should  seem,  some  false  teachers,  had 
acquired  a  considerable  influence  and  ascendancy 
in  the  church  which  Saint  Paul  had  planted.  To 
counteract  which  influence  it  became  necessary 
ibr  him  to  assert  liis  character,  to  state  his  preten- 
sions to  credit  and  authority,  amongst  them  at 
least,  and  in  comparison  with  those  who  were 
leading  them  astray.  He  complies  with  the  occa- 
sion ;  and  he  does,  accordingly,  set  forth  and  enu- 
merate his  pretensions.  But  I  entreat  you  to  ob- 
serve, with  how  many  apologies,  with  what 
reluctance,  and  under  what  strong  protestations, 
he  does  it;  showing  most  manifestly,  how  con- 
trary it  was  to  his  habit,  his  judgment,  and  to  the 
inclination  of  his  mind  to  do  so.  His  expressions 
are  such  as  these:  ''  Would  to  God  3'e  could  bear 
with  me  a  little  in  my  folly ;  and,  indeed,  bear 
with  me."  What  was  his  folly  1  the  recital  he 
was  about  to  give  of  his  services  and  pretensions. 
— Though  compelled  by  the-  reason  you  have 
heard,  to  give  it,  yet  he  calls  it  folly  to  do  so.  He 
is  interrupted  as  he  proceeds  by  the  same  senti- 
ment; "  That  which  I  speak,  I  speak  it  not  after 
the  Lord,  but,  as  it  were,  foolishly  in  this  confi- 
dence of  boasting."  And  again,  referring  to  the 
necessity,  which  drew  from  him  this  sort  of  lan- 
guage ;  "  I  am  become,"  says  he,  "  a.  fool  in  glory- 
ing; ye  have  compelled  me." 

But  what  forms,  perhaps,  the  strongest  part  of 
the  example  is,  that  the  apostle  considers  this  ten- 
dency to  boast  and  glory,  though  it  was  in  his 
gifts,  rather  than  his  services,  as  one  of  his  dan- 


gers, one  of  his  temptations,  one  of  the  propensi- 
ties which  he  had  both  to  guard  and  struggle 
against,  and  lastly,  an  inclination,  for  which  he 
found  ari  antidote  and  remedy  in  the  dispensa- 
tions of  Providence  towards  him.  Of  his  gifts,  he 
says,  considering  himself  as  nothing,  as  entirely 
passive  in  the  hand.s  of  God,  "of such  a  one,"  of 
a  person  to  whom  such  gifts  and  revelations  as 
these  have  been  imparted,  "  I  will  glory  ;  yet  of 
myself  I  will  not  glory,  but  in  mine  infirmities." 
Then  he  goes  on:  "Lest  I  should  be  exalted 
above  measure  through  the  abundance  of  the  re- 
velations, there  was  given  to  me  a  thorn  in  the 
flesh,  the  messenger  of  Satan  to  buffet  me,  lest  I 
should  be  exalted  above  measure." 

After  what  3'ou  have  heard,  you  will  not  won- 
der, that  this  same  Saint  Paul  should  pronounce 
himself  to  be  "  the  chief  of  sinners." — "  Jesus 
Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,  of  whom 
I  am  the  chief;"  1  Tim.  i.  15.  His  sins  were  up- 
permost in  his  thoughts.  Other  thouglits  occa- 
sionally visited  his  mind  :  hut  the  impression 
which  these  had  made,  was  constant,  deep,  lixed, 
and  indelible. 

If,  therefore,  you  would  imitate  Saint  Paul  in 
his  turn  and  train  of  religious  thought;  if  you 
would  adopt  his  disposition,  his  frame,  his  habit 
of  mind,  in  this  important  exercise ;  you  must 
meditate  more  upon  your  sins,  and  less  upon  your 
virtues. 

Again  ;  and  which  is  another  strong  scriptural 
reason  for  the  advice  I  am  giving,  the  habit  of 
viewing  and  contemplating  our  own  virtues  has  a 
tendency  in  opposition  to  a  fundamental  duty  of 
our  religion,  the  entertaining  of  a  due  and  grate- 
ful sense  of  the  mercy  of  God  in  the  redemption 
of  the  world  by  Jesus  Christ.  The  custom  of 
thought,  which  we  dissuade,  is  sure  to  generate 
in  us  notions  of  merit;  and  that,  not  only  in  com- 
parison with  other  men,  which  is  by  no  means 
good,  or  likely  to  produce  any  good  effect  upon 
our  disposition,  but  also  in  relation  to  God  him- 
self; whereas  the  whole  of  that  sentiment,  which 
springs  up  in  the  mind,  when  we  regard  our  cha- 
racters in  comparison  with  those  of  other  men,  if 
tolerated  at  all,  ought  to  sink  into  the  lowest  self- 
abasement,  when  we  advance  our  thoughts  to  God, 
and  the  relation  in  which  we  stand  to  him.  Then 
is  all  boasting,  either  in  spirit  or  by  words,  to  be 
done  away.  The  highest  act  of  faith  and  obedi- 
ence, recorded  in  Scripture,  was  Abraham's  con- 
sent to  sacrifice  his  son,  when  he  believed  that 
God  required  it.  It  was  the  severest  trial  that 
human  nature  could  be  put  upon  ;  and,  therefore, 
if  any  man,  who  ever  lived,  were  authorized  to 
boast  of  his  obedience,  it  was  Abraham  after  this 
experiment.  Yet  what  says  Saint  Paul "?  "  If 
Abraham  were  justified  by  works,  he  hath  where- 
of to  glory;  but  not  before  God."  No  man's  pre- 
tensions to  glory  were  greater,  yet,  before  God, 
they  were  nothing.  "  By  grace  ye  are  saved 
through  feith,  and  that  not  of  yourselves,  lest  any 
man  should  boast ;"  Eph.  ii.  8,  9.  Here  you 
perceive  distinctly,  that  speaking  of  salvation,  with 
reference  to  its  cause,  it  is  by  grace ;  it  is  an  act  of 
pure  favour;  it  is  not  of  yourselves:  it  is  the  gift 
of  God ;  it  is  not  of  works ;  and  that  this  repre- 
sentation was  given,  lest  any  man  should  boast, 
that  is,  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  heating  down 
and  humbhng  all  sentiments  of  merit  or  desert  in 
what  we  do  ;  lest  they  induce  us,  as  they  will  in- 
duce us,  to  think  less  gratefully,  or  less  piouslj'^, 


552 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


of  God's  exceeding  love  and  kindness  towards  us. 
There  is  no  proportion  between  even  our  best 
services  and  that  reward  which  God  hath  in  re- 
serve for  them  that  love  him.  Why  then  are 
such  services  to  be  so  rewarded  1  It  is  the  grace 
of  God ;  it  is  the  riches  of  his  grace ;  in  other 
words,  his  abounding  kindness  and  favour ;  it  is 
his  love ;  it  is  his  mercy.  In  this  manner  the  sub- 
ject is  constantly  represented  in  Scripture  ;  and  it 
is  an  article  of  the  Christian  religion.  And  to 
possess  our  minds  with  a  sense,  an  adequate  sense, 
so  far  as  it  is  possible  to  do  so,  of  this  truth,  is  a 
duty  of  the  religion.  But  to  be  ruminating  and 
meditating  upon  our  virtues,  is  not  the  way  to  ac- 
quire that  sense.  Such  meditations  breed  opinions 
of  merit  and  desert ;  of  presumption,  of  pride,  of 
superciliousness,  of  self-complacency ;  tempers  of 
mind,  in  a  word,  not  only  incompatible  with  hu- 
mility, but  also  incompatible  with  that  sense  of 
divine  love  and  mercy  towards  us,  which  lies  at 
the  root  of  all  true  religion,  is  the  source  and 
fountain  of  all  true  piety. 

You  have  probably  heard  of  the  term  self- right- 
eousness :  you  find  it  much  in  the  writings  and 
discourses  of  a  particular  class  of  Christians,  and 
always  accompanied  with  strong  and  severe  ex- 
pressions of  censure  and  reprobation.  If  the  term 
mean  the  habit  of  contemplating  our  virtues,  and 
not  our  vices ;  or  a  strong  leaning  and  inclination 
thereto,  I  agree  with  those  Christians  in  thinking, 
that  it  is  a  disposition,  a  turn  of  mind  to  be  strong- 
ly resisted,  and  restrained,  and  repressed.  If  the 
term  mean  any  other  way  of  viewing  our  own 
character,  so  as  to  diminish  or  lower  our  sense  of 
God  Almighty's  goodness  and  mercy  towards  us, 
in  making  us  the  tender  of  a  heavenly  reward, 
then  also  I  agree  with  them  in  condemning  it, 
both  as  erroneous  in  its  principle,  and  highly  dan- 
gerous in  its  effects.  If  the  term  mean  something 
more  than,  or  different  from  what  is  here  stated, 
and  what  has  been  enlarged  upon  in  this  dis- 
course, then  I  profess  myself  not  to  understand  its 
meaning. 


SERMON  XI. 
(PART  11.) 

TO    THINK   LESS    OP    OUR  VIRTUES,   AND    MORE    OF 
OUR    SINS. 

My  sin  is  ever  before  me. — Psalm  li.  3. 

To  think  well  is  the  way  to  act  rightly ;  be- 
cause thought  is  the  source  and  spring  of  action. 
When  the  course  and  habit  of  thinking  is  wrong, 
the  root  is  corrupt ;  "  and  a  corrupt  tree  bringeth 
not  forth  good  fruit:''  Do  what  you  will,  if  the 
root  be  corrupt,  the  fruit  will  be  corrupt  also.  It 
is  not  only  true,  that  different  actions  will  proceed 
from  different  trains  of  thought ;  but  it  is  also 
true,  that  the  same  actions,  the  .same  external  con- 
duct, may  be  very  different  in  the  sight  of  God, 
according  as  it  proceeds  from  a  right,  or  a  wrong, 
a  more  or  less  proper  principle  and  motive,  a  more 
or  less  proper  disposition.  Such  importance  is  at- 
tached to  the  disposition ;  of  such  great  conse- 
quence is  it,  that  our  disposition  in  religious  mat- 
ters be  what  it  should  be.  By  disposition  is 
meantj  the  bent  or  tendency  of  our  inclinations ; 


and  by  disposition  is  also  meant,  the  train  and  ha- 
bit of  our  thoughts,  two  things  which  are  always 
nearly  connected.  It  is  the  latter  sense,  however, 
in  which  I  use  the  word  ;  and  the  paiticular  les- 
son whi(;h  I  am  inculcating,  for  the  conduct  of 
our  thoughts,  is  to  think  more  of  our  sins,  and 
less  of  our  virtues.  In  a  former  discourse,  I  show- 
ed, that  there  are  strong  and  positive  Scripture 
precepts,  a  due  regard  to  which  accords  with  the 
state  of  mind  of  him  who  fixes  his  attention  upon 
his  sins  and  defects,  and  by  no  means  with  his 
state  of  mind,  who  hath  fixed  his  attention  chiefiy 
upon  his  virtues  :  Secondly,  That  Scripture  ex- 
amples, that  of  Saint  Paul  most  particularly,  teach 
us  to  renounce  the  thoughts  of  our  virtues,  and  to 
entertain  deeply  and  constantly  the  thoughts  of 
our  sins :  Thirdly,  That  the  habit  here  reproved, 
is  inconsistent  with  a  due  sense  of  the  love  of  God 
in  the  redemption  of  the  world.  I  am  now  to 
offer  such  further  reasons  as  appear  to  support 
the  rule  I  have  laid  down. 

And,  first,  There  is  no  occasion  whatever  to 
meditate  upon  our  virtues  and  good  qualities. 
We  may  leave  them  to  themselves.  We  need 
not  fear  that  they  will  either  he  forgotten  or  un- 
dervalued. "  God  is  not  unrighteous  to  forget 
your  works  and  labour  of  love  :"  Hebrews  vi.  10. 
He  will  remember  them;  we  need  not.  They  are 
set  down  in  his  book ;  not  a  particle  will  be  lost. 
Blessed  are  they  who  have  much  there ;  but  we 
need  not  count  them  up  in  our  recollection  ;  for, 
whatever  our  virtues  are  or  were,  we  cannot  make 
them  better  by  thinking  of  them  afterwards.  We 
may  make  them  better  in  future  by  thinking  of 
their  imperfections,  and  by  endeavouring  to  en- 
counter, to  lessen,  or  remove  those  imperfections 
hereafter;  but  then  this  is  to  think,  not  uj»n  our 
virtues,  but  upon  our  imperfections.  Thinking 
upon  our  virtues,  as  such,  has  no  tendency  to 
make  them  better,  be  they  what  they  will.  But 
it  is  not  the  same  with  our  sins.  Thinking  upon 
these  afterwards  may  make  a  very  great  alteration 
in  them,  because  it  may  lead  to  an  effectual  re- 
pentance. As  to  the  act  itself,  what  is  past  can- 
not be  recalled;  what  is  done  cannot  be  undone: 
the  mischief  may  })ossibly  be  irrevocable  and  irre- 
parable. But  as  to  the  sin,  it  is  different.  Deep, 
true,  sincere  penitence  may,  through  the  mercies 
of  God  in  Christ  Jesus,  do  away  that.  And  such 
penitence  may  be  the  fruit  of  meditation  upon  our 
sins  ;  cannot  possibly  come  without  it.  Nay,  the 
act  itself  may  be  altered.  It  is  not  always  that  an 
injury  is  irreparable.  Wrong  indeed  has  been  re- 
ceived at  our  hands ;  but  restitution  or  compensa 
tion  may  be  in  our  power.  When  they  are  so,- 
they  are  the  surest  proofs  of  penitence.  No  peni- 
tence is  sincere  without  them,  if  they  be  practica- 
ble. This  benefit  to  those  whom  we  have  injured, 
and  an  infinitely  greater  benefit  to  ourselves  than 
to  them,  may  be  the  effect  of  seeing  our  sins  in 
their  true  light,  which  that  man  never  docs,  who 
thinks  only,  or  chiefiy,  or  habitually,  upon  his 
virtues.  Can  a  better  reason  be  given  for  medi- 
tating more  upon  our  sins,  and  less  upon  our  vir- 
tues, than  this  ;  that  one  train  of  thought  inaj^  be 
profitable  to  salvation,  the  other  is  profitable  for 
nothing  ? 

It  is  an  exceedingly  good  observation,  that  we 
may  safely  leave  our  virtues  and  good  qualities  to 
themselves.  And,  besides  the  use  we  have  made 
of  it  in  showing  the  superfluity,  as  well  as  the 
danger  of  giving  in  to  the  contemplation  of  our 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


553 


virtues,  it  is  also  a  quieting  and  consoling  re- 
flection for  a  different,  and,  in  some  degree,  an 
opposite  description  of  character,  that  is  to  say, 
for  tender  and  timorous  consciences.  Such  are 
sometimes  troubled  with  doubts  and  scruples 
about  even  their  good  actions.  Virtue  was  too 
easy  for  them,  or  too  difficult ;  too  easy  and  plea- 
sant to  have  any  merit  in  it :  or  difficult  by  rea- 
son of  fleshy,  selfish,  or  depraved  propensities, 
still  existing  unsubdued,  still  struggling  in  their 
unregenerated  hearts.  These  are  natural,  and,  as 
I  have  sometimes  known  them,  very  distressing 
scruples.  I  think  that  observations  might  be  ot- 
fered  to  remove  the  ground  of  them  altogether: 
but  what  I  have  at  present  to  suggest  is,  that  the 
very  act  of  reflection,  which  leads  to  them,  is  un- 
necessary, provided  you  will  proceed  by  our  rule, 
viz.  to  leave  your  virtues,  such  as  they  are,  to 
themselves;  and  to  bend  the  whole  force  of  your 
thought  towards  your  sins,  towards  the  conquest 
of  these. 

But  it  will  be  said,  are  we  not  to  taste  the  com- 
forts of  religion  1  Are  we  not  to  be  permitted,  or 
rather  ought  we  not  to  be  encouraged,  to  relish, 
to  indulge,  to  enjoy  these  comforts?  And  can 
this  be  done  without  meditating  upon  our  good 
actions. 

I  answer,  that  this  can  be  done  without  medi- 
tating upon  our  good  actions.  We  need  not  seek 
the  comforts  of  religion  in  this  way.  Much  we 
need  not  seek  them  at  all ;  they  will  visit  us  of 
their  own  accord,  if  we  be  serious  and  hearty  in 
our  religion.  A  well-spent  life  will  impart  its  sup- 
port to  the  spirits,  without  any  endeavour,  on  our 
part,  to  call  up  our  merits  to  our  view,  or  even  al- 
lowing the  idea  of  merit  to  take  possession  of  our 
minds.  There  will,  in  this  respect,  always  be  as 
much  difference  as  there  ought  to  be,  between  the 
righteous  man  and  the  sinner,  (or,  to  speak  more 
properly,  between  sinners  of  different  degrees,) 
without  taking  pains  to  draw  forth  in  our  recol- 
lection instances  of  our  virtue,  or  to  institute  a 
comparison  between  ourselves  and  others,  or  cer- 
tain others  of  our  acquaintance.  These  are  habits, 
which  I  hold  to  be  unchristian  and  wrong;  and 
that  the  true  way  of  finding  and  feeling  the  con- 
solations of  religion,  is  by  progressively  conquer- 
ing our  sins.  Think  of  these ;  contend  with 
these,  and,  if  you  contend  with  sincerity,  and 
with  effect,  which  is  the  proof  indeed  of  sincerity, 
I  will  answer  for  the  comforts  of  religion  being 
your  portion.  What  is  it  that  disturbs  our  reli- 
gious tranquillity  1  What  is  it  that  embitters  or 
impairs  our  religious  comfort,  damps  and  checks 
our  religious  hopes,  hinders  us  from  relishing 
and  entertaining  these  ideas,  from  turning  to 
them,  as  a  supply  of  consolation  under  all  circum- 
stances '?  What  is  it  but  our  sins  1  Depend  upon 
it,  that  it  is  sin,  and  nothing  else,  which  spoils  our 
religious  comfort.  Cleanse  your  heart  from  sin, 
and  religion  will  enter  in,  with  all  her  train  of 
hopes  and  consolations.  For  proof  of  this,  we 
may,  as  before,  refer  to  the  examples  of  Scripture 
Christians.  They  rejoiced  in  the  Lord  continual- 
ly. "  The  joy  of  faith,"  Phil.  i.  25.  "  Joy  in  the 
Holy  Ghost,"  Rom.  xiv.  17,  was  the  word  in 
their  mouths,  the  sentiment  of  their  hearts.  They 
spake  of  their  religion  as  of  a  strong  consolation, 
as  of  the  "  refuge  to  which  they  had  fled,  as  of 
the  hope  of  which  they  had  laid  hold,  of  an  an- 
chor of  the  soul  sure  and  steadfast:"  Heb.  vi.  18, 
19.  Their  promise  from  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  I 
4A 


was,  "  Your  heart  shall  rejoice,  and  your  joy  no 
man  taketh  from  you  :"  John  xvi.  22.  Was  this 
promise  fulfilled  to  them  1  Read  Acts  xiii.  52 : 
"  They  were  filled  with  joy  and  the  Holy  Ghost." 
"  The  kingdom  of  God,"  sailh  Saint  Paul,  "  is 
joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost:"  Rom.  xiv.  17.  So  that 
St  Paul,  you  hear,  takes  his  very  description  and 
definition  of  Christianity  from  the  joy  which  is 
ditllised  over  the  heart ;  and  St.  Paul,  I  am  very 
confident,  described  nothing  but  what  he  (cit. 
Yet  St.  Paul  did  not  meditate  upon  his  virtues : 
nay,  expressly  renounced  that  sort  of  meditation. 
His  meditations,  on  the  contrary,  were  fixed  upon 
his  own  unworthiness,  and  upon  the  exceeding, 
stupendous  mercy  of  God  towards  him,  through 
Jesus  Christ  his  Saviour.  At  least,  we  have  his 
own  authority  for  saying,  that,  in  his  Christian 
progress,  he  never  looked  back ;  he  forgot  that 
which  was  behind,  whatever  it  might  be,  which 
he  had  already  attained ;  he  refused  to  remember 
it,  he  put  it  out  of  his  thoughts.  Yet,  upon  this 
topic  of  religious  joy,  hear  him  again :  "  We  joy 
in  God  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ :"  Rom.  v. 
11  ;  and  once  more,  "the  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is 
love,  joy,  peace :"  Gal.  v.  22.  These  last  are 
three  memorable  words,  and  they  describe,  not 
the  eflects  of  ruminating  upon  a  man's  own  vir- 
tues, but  the  fruit  of  the  Spirit. 

But  it  is  not  in  one  apostle  in  whom  we  find 
this  temper  of  mind,  it  is  in  them  all.  Speaking 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  St.  Peter  thus  addresses 
his  converts :  "  Whom  having  not  seen,  ye  love ; 
in  whom,  though  now  ye  see  him  not,  yet  believ- 
ing ye  rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of 
glory:"  1  Peter  i.  8.  This  joy  covered  even 
their  persecutions  and  sufferings:  "Wherein  ye 
greatly  rejoice,  though  now,  for  a  season  if  need 
be,  ye  are  in  heaviness  through  manifold  tempta- 
tions," 1  Peter  i.  6,  meaning  persecutions.  In 
like  manner  St.  James  saith,  "  Count  it  all  joy 
when  ye  fall  into  divers  temptations,  that  is,  perse- 
cutions;" and  whyl  "knowing  this,  that  the  try- 
ing of  your  faith  worketh  patience :"  James  i.  2, 3. 
Let  no  one,  after  these  quotations,  say,  that  it  is 
necessary  to  fix  our  attention  upon  the  virtues  of 
our  character  in  order  to  taste  the  comforts  of  re- 
ligion. No  persons  enjoyed  these  comforts  in  so 
great  perfection  as  the  Christians  whom  we  read 
of  in  Scripture,  yet  no  persons  thought  so  little 
of  their  own  virtues.  What  they  continually 
thought  upon  was  the  abounding  love  of  Christ 
towards  them,  "  in  that,  whilst  they  were  yet 
sinners,  he  died  for  them,"  and  the  tender  and  ex- 
ceeding mercies  of  God  in  the  pardon  of  their  sins, 
through  Christ.  From  this  they  drew  their  con- 
solation ;  but  the  ground  and  origin  of  this  train 
of  thought  was,  not  the  contemplation  of  virtue, 
but  the  conviction  of  sin. 

But  again :  The  custom  of  viewing  our  virtue, 
has  a  strong  tendency  to  fill  us  with  fallacious 
notions  of  our  own  state  and  condition.  One 
almost  constant  deception  is  this,  viz.  that  in 
whatever  quality  we  have  pretensions,  or  believe 
that  we  have  pretensions  to  excel,  that  qiiality  we 
place  at  the  head  of  all  other  virtues.  If  we  be 
charitable,  then  "  charity  covereth  a  multitude  of 
sins."  If  we  be  strictly  honest,  then  strict  honesty 
is  no  less  than  the  bond  which  keeps  society  to- 
gether ;  and  consequently,  is  that  without  which 
other  virtues  would  have  no  worth,  or  rather  no 
existence.  If  we  be  temperate  and  chaste,  then 
self-government  being  the  hardest  of  all  duties,  is 
47 


r 


55 1 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


the  surest  test  of  obedience.  Now  every  one  of 
these  propositions  is  true ;  but  the  misfortune  is, 
that  only  one  of  them  is  thought  of  at  the  time, 
and  tliat  the  one  which  favours  our  own  particu- 
lar case  and  ciiaracter.  The  comparison  of  dif- 
ferent virtues,  as  to  their  j)rice  and  value,  may 
give  occasion  to  many  nice  questions ;  and  some 
rules  might  be  laid  down  upon  tlie  subject ;  but 
I  contend  that  the  practice  itself  is  useless,  and 
not  only  useless  but  delusive.  Let  us  leave,  as  I 
have  already  said,  our  virtues  to  themselves,  not 
engaging  our  minds  in  appreciating  eitlier  their  in- 
trinsic or  comparative  value ;  being  assured  that 
they  will  be  weighed  in  unerring  scales.  Our  bu- 
siness is  with  our  sins. 

Again  :  The  habit  of  contemplating  our  spirit- 
ual acquirements,  our  religious  or  moral  excellen- 
cies, has,  very  usually,  and,  I  think,  almost  una- 
voidably, an  unfavourable  effect  upon  our  dispo- 
sition towards  other  men.  A  man  who  is  con- 
tinually computing  his  riches,  almost  in  spite  of 
himself,  grows  proud  of  his  wealth.  A  man  who 
accustoms  himself  to  read  and  inquire,  and  think 
a  great  deal  about  his  family,  becomes  vain  of  his 
extraction  :  he  can  hardly  help  becoming  so.  A 
man  who  has  his  titles  sounding  in  liis  ears,  or 
his  state  much  before  his  eyes,  is  lifted  up  by  his 
rank.  These  are  effects  which  every  one  observes ; 
and  no  inconsideraljle  degree  of  the  same  effect 
springs  from  the  habit  of  meditating  upon  our 
virtues.  Now  humble-mindedness  is  a  Christian 
duty,  if  there  be  one.  It  is  more  than  a  duty;  it 
is  a  principle.  It  is  a  principle  of  the  religion  ; 
and  its  influence  is  exceedingly  great,  not  only 
upon  our  religious,  but  our  social  character.  They 
who  are  truly  humble-minded,  have  no  quarrels, 
give  no  oflence,  contend  with  no  one  in  wrath  and 
bitterness  ;  still  more  impossible  is  it  for  them  to  in- 
sult any  man  under  any  circumstances.  But  the 
way  to  be  humble-minded  is  the  way  I  am  pointing 
out,  viz.  to  think  less  of  our  virtues,  and  more  of  our 
sins.  In  reading  the  parable  of  the  Pharisee  and 
the  publican,  if  we  could  suppose  them  to  be  real 
characters,  I  should  say  of  them,  that  the  one  had 
just  come  from  ruminating  upon  his  virtues,  the 
other  from  meditating  upon  his  sins.  And  mark 
the  diftiirence  ;  first,  in  their  behaviour;  next,  in 
their  acceptance  with  God.  The  pharisee  all 
loftiness,  and  contemptuousness,  and  recital,  and 
comparison,  full  of  ideas  of  merit,  views  the  poor 
publican,  although  withdrawn  to  a  distance  from 
him,  with  eyes  of  scorn.  The  publican,  on  the 
contrary,  enters  not  into  competition  with  the 
pharisee,  or  with  any  one.  So  far  from  looking 
round,  he  durst  not  so  much  as  lift  up  his  eyes  ; 
but  casts  himself,  hardly  indeed  presumes  to  cast 
himself,  not  upon  the  justice,  but  wholly  and 
solely  upon  the  mercies  of  his  Maker:  "  God  be 
merciful  to  me  a  sinner."  We  know  the  judg- 
ment which  our  Lord  himself  pronounced  upon 
the  case :  "  I  tell  you,  this  man  went  down  to  his 
hou.se  justified  rather  than  the  other:"  Luke 
xviii.  14.  The  more,  therefore,  we  are  like  the 
publican,  and  the  less  we  are  like  the  pharisee,  the 
more  we  come  up  to  the  genuine  temper  of 
Christ's  religion. 

Think,  then,  less  of  your  virtues;  more  of  your 
sins.  Do  I  hear  any  one  answer,  I  have  no  sins 
to  think  upon  ;  1  have  no  crimes  which  lie  upon 
my  conscience :  I  reply,  that  this  may  lie  true  vvfith 
respect  to  some,  nay,  with  respect  to  many  per- 
sons, according  to  the  idea  we  commonly  annex 


to  the  words,  sins  and  crimes ;  meaning  thereby 
acts  of  gross  and  external  wickedness.  But  think 
further ;  enlarge  your  views.  Is  your  obedience 
to  the  law  of  God  what  it  ought  to  be,  or  what  it 
might  be  1  The  first  connnandnient  of  that  law 
is,  "  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all 
thy  heart,  with  all  thy  mind,  and  with  all  thy 
strength."  Is  there,  upon  the  suiiject  of  this  com- 
mandment, no  matter  for  thought,  no  room  lor 
amendment  1  The  second  commandment  is, 
"  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself"  Is 
all  with  us  as  it  should  be  here  1  Again,  there 
is  a  spirituality  in  the  commands  of  Christ's  reli- 
gion, which  will  cause  the  man  who  obeys  them 
truly,  not  only  to  govern  his  actions,  but  his  words ; 
not  only  his  words,  but  his  incUnations  and  his 
dispositions,  his  internal  habits,  as  well  as  his  ex- 
ternal life.  "  Ye  have  heard  that  it  hath  been 
said  of  old  time.  Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery : 
But  I  say  unto  you,  He  that  looketh  on  a  woman 
to  lust  after  her,"  that  is,  he  who  voluntarily  in- 
dulges and  entertains  in  his  mind  an  unlawful 
desire,  "  hath  committed  adultery  with  her  already 
in  his  heart,"  is  by  the  very  entertainment  of  such 
ideas,  instead  of  striving  honestly  and  resolutely  to 
banish  them  from  his  mind,  or  to  take  his  mind 
off  from  them,  a  sinner  in  the  sight  of  God. 
Much  the  same  kind  of  exposition  belongs  to 
the  other  commandments  ;  not  only  is  murder  for- 
bidden, but  all  unreasonable  intemperate  anger 
and  passion ;  not  only  stealing,  but  all  hard  and 
unfair  conduct,  either  in  transacting  business  with 
those  who  are  upon  a  level  with  us,  or,  where  it 
is  more  to  he  feared,  towards  those  who  are  in  our 
power.  And  do  not  these  points  open  to  us  a 
field  of  inquiry,  how  far  we  are  concerned  in  theml 
There  may  not  be  what,  briefly  speaking,  can  be 
called  an  act  or  deed,  which  is  scandalously  bad  ; 
yet  the  current  of  our  imaginations,  the  bent  of 
our  tempers,  the  stream  of  our  affections,  may 
all,  or  any  of  them,  be  wrong,  and  may  be  requir- 
ing, even  at  the  peril  of  our  salvation,  stronger 
control,  a  better  direction. 

Again :  There  may  not  be  any  action  which, 
singly  and  separately  taken,  amounts  to  what 
would  be  reckoned  a  crime:  yet  there  may  be 
actions,  which  we  give  into,  which  even  our  own 
consciences  cannot  approve ;  and  these  may  be  so 
frequent  with  us,  as  to  form  a  part  of  the  course 
and  fashion  of  our  lives. 

Again :  It  is  possible,  that  some  of  the  miscar- 
riages in  conduct,  of  which  we  have  to  accuse 
ourselves,  may  be  imputable  to  inadvertency  or 
surprise.  But  could  these  miscarriages  hajipcn 
so  often  as  they  do,  if  we  exercised  that  vigilance 
in  our  Christian  course,  which  not  only  forms  a 
part  of  the  Christian  character,  but  is  a  sure  eflect 
of  a  sincere  faith  in  religion,  and  a  corresponding 
solicitude  and  concern  about  it  1  Lastly,  uprolit- 
ableness  itself  is  a  sin.  We  need  not  do  niischief 
in  order  to  commit  sin ;  uselessness,  when  we 
might  be  useful,  is  enough  to  make  us  sinners  be- 
fore God.  The  fig-tree  in  the  Gospel  was  cut 
down,  not  because  it  bore  sour  fruit,  but  because 
it  bore  none.  The  parable  of  the  talents  (Matt. 
XXV.  14.)  is  pointed  expressly  against  the  simple 
neglect  of  faculties  and  opportunities  of  doing 
good,  as  contradistinguished  from  the  perpetra- 
tion of  positive  crimes.  Are  not  all  these  topics 
fit  matters  of  meditation,  in  the  review  of  our  lives  1 
Upon  the  whole,  when  I  hear  a  person  say  he 
has  no   sins  to  think  upon,  I  conclude  that  he 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


565 


nas  not  thought  seriously  concerning  religion  at 
all. 

Let  our  sins,  then,  be  ever  before  us;  if  notour 
crimes,  of  which  it  is  possible  that,  according  to 
the  common  acceptation  of  that  word,  we  may  not 
have  many  to  remember ;  let  our  omissions,  deli- 
ciencies,  failures,  our  irregularities  of  heart  and  af- 
fection, our  vices  of  temper  and  disposition,  our 
course  and  habit  of  giving  into  smaller  offences, 
meaning,  as  I  do  mean,  by  offences,  all  those 
things  which  our  consciences  cannot  really  ap- 
prove ;  our  slips,  and  inadvertencies  and  surprises, 
much  too  frequent  for  a  man  in  earnest  about  sal- 
vation :  let  these  things  occupy  our  attention  ;  let 
this  be  the  bent  and  direction  of  our  thoughts :  for 
they  are  the  thoughts  which  will  bring  us  to  God 
evangelically;  because  they  are  the  thoughts 
which  will  not  only  increase  our  vigilance,  but 
which  must  inspire  us  with  that  humility  as  to 
ourselves,  with  that  deep,  and  abiding,  and  opera- 
ting sense  of  God  Almighty's  love  and  kindness 
and  mercy  towards  us,  in  and  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Saviour,  which  it  was  one  great  aim 
and  »nd  of  the  Gospel,  and  of  those  who  preached 
it,  to  inculcate  upon  all  who  came  to  take  hold  of 
the  oiler  of  grace. 


SERMON  XIL 

SALVATION  FOR  PENITENT  SINNERS. 

Wherefore  I  say  unto  thee,  Her  sins,  which  are 
fiiany,  are  forgiven ;  for  she  loved  much. — 
Luke  vii.  47. 

It  has  been  thought  an  extravagant  doctrine, 
that  the  greatest  sinners  were  sometimes  nearer 
to  the  kingdom  of  heaven  than  they  whose  offences 
were  less  exorbitant,  and  less  conspicuous :  yet 
I  appreliend,  the  doctrine  wants  only  to  be  ration- 
ally explained,  to  show  that  it  has  both  a  great 
deal  of  truth,  and  a  great  deal  of  use  in  it;  that  it 
may  be  an  awakening  religious  proposition  to 
some,  whilst  it  cannot,  without  being  wilfully 
misconstrued,  delude  or  deceive  any. 

Of  all  conditions  in  the  world,  the  most  to  be 
despaired  of,  is  the  condition  of  those  who  are 
altogether  insensible  and  unconcerned  about  reli- 
gion ;  and  yet  they  may  be,  in  the  mean  time, 
tolerably  regular  in  their  outward  behaviour ; 
there  may  be  nothing  in  it  to  give  great  offence  ; 
their  character  may  be  fair ;  they  may  pass  with 
the  common  stream,  or  they  may  even  be  well 
spoken  of;  nevertheless,  I  say,  that,  whilst  this 
insensibility  remains  upon  their  minds,  their  con- 
dition is  more  to  be  despaired  of  than  that  of  any 
other  person.  The  religion  of  Christ  does  not  in 
any  way  apply  to  them :  they  do  not  belong  to  it; 
for  are  they  to  be  saved  by  performing  God's  will  1 
God  is  not  in  their  thoughts ;  his  will  is  not  before 
their  eyes.  They  may  do  good  things,  but  it  is 
not  from  a  principle  of  obedience  to  God  that  they 
do  them.  There  may  l)e  many  crimes  which  they 
are  not  guilty  of;  but  it  is  not  out  of  regard  to  the 
will  of  God  that  they  do  not  commit  tliem.  It 
does  not,  therefore,  appear,  what  just  hopes  they 
can  entertain  of  heaven,  upon  the  score  of  an 
obedience  which  they  not  only  do  not  perform, 
but  do  not  attempt  to  perform.  Then,  secondly, 
if  they  are  to  hope  in  Christ  fo'  i  forgiveness  of 


their  imperfections,  for  acceptance  through  him, 
of  broken  and  deficient  services,  the  truth  is,  they 
have  recourse  to  no  such  hope ;  besides,  it  is  not 
imperfection  with  which  they  are  charged,  but  a 
total  absence  of  principle.  A  man  who  never 
strives  to  obey,  never  indeed  bears  that  thought 
about  him,  must  not  talk  of  the  imperfection  of 
his  obedience ;  neither  the  word,  nor  the  idea, 
pertains  to  him  ;  nor  can  he  speak  of  broken  and 
deficient  services,  who  in  no  true  sense  of  the 
term  hath  ever  served  God  at  all.  I  own,  there- 
fore, I  do  not  perceive  what  rational  hopes  religion 
can  hold  out  to  insensibility  and  unconcernedness ; 
to  those  who  neither  obey  its  rules,  nor  seek  its 
aid  :  neither  follow  after  its  rewards,  nor  sue,  I 
mean,  in  spirit  and  sincerity,  sue,  for  its  pardon. 
But  how,  it  will  be  asked,  can  a  man  be  of  regular 
and  reputable  morals,  with  this  religious  insensibi- 
lity :  in  other  words,  with  the  want  of  vital  reli- 
gion in  his  heart  1  I  answer,  that  it  can  be.  A 
general  regard  to  character,  knowing  that  it  is  an 
advantageous  thing  to  possess  a  good  character ; 
or  a  regard  generated  by  natural  and  early  habit ; 
a  disposition  to  follow  the  usages  of  life,  which  are 
practised  around  us,  and  which  constitute  decen- 
cy; calm  passions,  easy  circumstances,  orderly 
companions,  may,  in  a  multitude  of  instances, 
keep  men  within  rules  and  bounds,  without  the 
operation  of  any  religious  principle  whatever. 

There  is  likewise  another  cause,  which  has  a 
tendency  to  shut  out  religion  from  the  mind,  and 
yet  hath  at  the  same  time  a  tendency  to  make 
men  orderly  and  decent  in  their  conduct :  and  that 
cause  is  business.  A  close  attention  to  business 
is  very  apt  to  exclude  all  other  attentions ;  espe- 
cially those  of  a  spiritual  nature,  which  appear  to 
men  of  business  shadowy  and  unsubstantial,  and 
to  want  that  present  reality  and  advantage  which 
they  have  been  accustomed  to  look  for  and  to  lind 
in  their  temporal  concerns ;  and  yet  it  is  un- 
doubtedly true,  that  attention  to  business  frequent- 
ly and  naturally  produces  regular  manners.  Here, 
therefore,  is  a  case,  in  which  decency  of  behaviour 
shall  subsist  along  with  religious  insensibility,  for- 
asmuch as  one  cause  produces  both — an  intense 
application  to  busine-ss. 

Decency,  order,  regularity,  industry,  applica- 
tion to  our  calling,  are  all  good  things ;  but  then 
they  are  accompanied  with  this  great  danger,  viz. 
that  they  may  subsist  without  any  religious  influ- 
ence whatever ;  and  that,  when  they  do  so,  their 
tendency  is  to  settle  and  confirm  men  in  religious 
insensibility.  For  finding  things  go  on  very 
smoothly,  finding  themselves  received  and  re- 
spected without  any  religious  principle,  they  are 
kept  asleep,  as  to  their  spiritual  concerns,  by  the 
very  quietness  and  prosperity  of  things  around 
them.  "  There  is  a  way  that  scemeth  light  unto 
a  man,  but  the  end  thereof  are  the  ways  of  death." 
It  is  possible  to  slumber  in  a  fancied  security,  or 
rather  in  an  unconsciousness  of  danger,  a  blind- 
ness to  our  true  siUiation,  a  thoughtlessness  or 
stupefaction  concerning  it,  even  at  the  time  when 
we  are  in  the  utmost  peril  of  salvation  ;  when  we 
are  descending  fast  towards  a  state  of  perdition. 
It  is  not  the  judgment  of  an  erroneous  conscience : 
that  is  not  the  case  I  mean.  It  is  rather  a  want 
of  conscience,  or  a  conscience  which  is  never 
exerted;  in  a  word,  it  is  an  inditlerence  and  in- 
sensibility concerning  religion,  even  in  the  midst 
of  sec.iiing  and  external  decency  of  behaviour, 
and  soothed  and  lulled  by  this  very  circumstance. 


556 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


Now  it  is  not  only  within  the  compass  of  possibi- 
lity, but  It  frequently,  nay,  I  hope,  it  very  fre- 
■jufntly  conies  to  pass,  that  open,  confessed, 
acknowledged  sins,  sting  the  sinner's  conscience  : 
*.hat  the  upbraidiugs  of  mankind,  the  cry,  the  cla- 
mour, the  indignation,  which  his  wickedness  has 
excited,  may  at  length  come  home  to  his  own  soul ; 
may  compel  him  to  reflect,  may  bring  him,  though 
by  force  and  violence,  to  a  sense  of  his  guilt,  and 
a  knowledge  of  his  situation.  Now  1  say,  that 
this  sense  of  sin,  by  whatever  cause  it  be  produced, 
is  k'tter  than  religious  insensibility.  The  sinner's 
penitence  is  more  to  be  trusted  to  than  the  seem- 
ingly righteous  man's  security.  The  one  is 
roused ;  is  roused  from  the  deep  forgetfulness  of 
religion  in  which  he  had  hitherto  lived.  Good 
fruit,  even  fruit  unto  life  everlasting,  may  spring 
from  the  motion  which  is  stirred  in  his  heart. 
The  other  remains,  as  to  religion,  in  a  state  of 
torpor.  The  thing  wanted,  as  the  quickening 
principle,  as  the  seed  and  germ  of  religion  in  the 
heart,  is  compunction,  convincement  of  sin,  of 
danger,  of  the  necessity  of  flying  to  the  Redeemer 
and  to  his  religion  in  good  earnest.  "  They  were 
pricked  in  their  heart,  and  said  to  Peter  and  to  the 
rest  of  the  ajiostles.  Men  and  brethren,  what  shall 
we  do  1"  This  was  the  state  of  mind  of  those 
who  first  heard  the  Gospel:  and  this  is  the  state 
of  mind  still  to  be  brought  about  before  the  Gos- 
pel be  heard  with  eflect.  And  sin  will  sometimes 
do  it,  when  outward  righteousness  will  not ;  I 
mean  by  outward  righteousness,  external  decency 
of  manners,  without  any  inward  principle  of  reli- 
gion whatever.  The  sinner  may  return  and  fly 
to  God,  even  because  the  world  is  against  him. 
The  visibly  righteous  man  is  in  friendship  with 
the  world :  and  the  "  friendship  of  the  world  is 
enmity  with  God,"  whensoever,  as  I  have  before 
expressed  it,  it  soothes  and  lulls  men  in  religious 
insensibility. 

But  how,  it  will  be  said,  is  this?  Is  it  not  to 
encourage  sin  1  Is  it  not  to  put  the  sinner  in  a 
more  hopeful  condition  than  the  righteous  1  Is  it 
not,  in  some  measure,  giving  the  greatest  sinner 
the  greatest  chance  of  being  saved  1  This  may 
be  objected  ;  and  the  objection  brings  me  to  sup- 
port the  assertion  in  the  beginning  of  my  dis- 
course, that  the  doctrine  proposed  cannot,  without 
being  wilfully  misconstrued,  deceive  or  delude 
any.  First,  you  ask,  is  not  this  to  encourage  sin  1 
I  answer,  it  is  to  encourage  the  sinner  who 
repents;  and,  if  the  sinner  repent,  why  should  he 
not  be  encouraged  1  But  some,  you  say,  will  take 
occasion,  from  this  encouragement,  to  plunge  into 
sin.  I  answer,  that  then  they  wilfully  misapply 
it :  for  if  they  enter  upon  sin  intending  to  repent 
afterwards,  I  take  upon  nie  to  tell  them,  that  no 
true  repentance  can  come  of  such  intention.  The 
very  intention  is  a  fraud :  instead  of  being  the 
parent  of  true  repentance,  it  is  itself  to  be  repented 
of  bitterly.  Whether  such  a  man  ever  repent  or 
not  is  another  question,  but  no  sincere  repentance 
can  issue  or  proceed  from  this  intention.  It  must 
?ome  altogether  from  another  quarter.  It  will 
look  back,  when  it  docs  come,  upon  that  previous 
intention  with  hatred  and  horror,  as  upon  a  plan, 
and  scheme,  and  design  to  impose  upon  and  abuse 
the  mercy  of  God.  The  moment  a  plan  is  formed 
of  sinning  with  an  intention  afterwards  to  repent, 
at  that  moment  the  whole  doctrine  of  grace,  of 
repentance,  and  of  course  this  part  of  it  amongst 
the  rest,  is  wilfully  misconstrued.     The  grace  of 


God  is  turned  into  lasciviousness.  At  the  time 
this  design  is  formed,  the  person  forming  it  is  in 
the  bond  of  iniquity,  as  St.  Peter  told  Simon  he 
was ;  in  a  state  of  eminent  perdition ;  and  this 
design  will  not  help  him  out  of  it.  We  say  that 
repentance  is  sometimes  more  likely  to  he  brought 
about  ir^  a  contessed,  nay,  notorious  and  convicted 
sinner,  than  in  a  seemingly  regular  lite:  but  it  is 
of  true  repentance  that  we  speak,  and  no  true 
repentance  can  proceed  from  a  previous  intention 
to  repent,  I  mean  an  intention  previous  to  the  sin. 
Therefore  no  advantage  can  be  taken  of  this  doc- 
trine to  the  encouragement  of  sin,  without  wilfully 
misconstruing  it. 

But  then  you  say,  we  place  the  sinner  in  a 
more  hopeful  condition  than  the  righteous.  But 
who,  let  us  inquire,  are  the  righteous  we  speak 
of!  Not  they,  who  are  endeavouring,  however 
imperfectly,  to  perform  the  will  of  God  ;  not 
they,  who  are  actuated  by  a  principle  of  obe- 
dience to  him;  but  men  who  are  orderly  and 
regular  in  their  visible  behaviour  without  an  in- 
ternal religion.  To  the  eye  of  man  they  appear 
righteous.  But  if  they  do  good,  it  is  not  from  the 
love  or  fear  of  God,  or  out  of  regard  to  religion 
that  they  do  it,  but  from  other  considerations.  If 
they  abstain  from  sin,  they  abstain  from  it  out  of 
diflt'rent  motives  from  what  religion  offers ;  and 
so  long  as  they  have  the  acquiescence  and  appro- 
bation of  the  world,  they  are  kept  in  a  state  of 
sleep  ;  in  a  state,  as  to  religion,  of  total  negligence 
and  unconcern.  Of  these  righteous  men  there 
are  many ;  and,  when  we  compare  their  condition 
with  that  of  the  open  sinner,  it  is  to  rouse  them, 
if  possible,  to  a  sense  of  religion.  A  wounded 
conscience  is  better  than  a  conscience  which  is 
torpid.  When  conscience  begins  to  do  its  office, 
they  will  feel  things  changed  within  them  mighti- 
ly. It  will  no  longer  be  their  concern  to  keep  fair 
with  the  world,  to  preserve  appearances,  to  main- 
tain a  character,  to  uphold  decency,  order,  and 
regularity  in  their  behaviour ;  ))Ut  it  will  be  their 
concern  to  ol)ey  God,  to  think  of  him,  to  love  him, 
to  fear  him  ;  nay,  to  love  him  with  all  their  heart, 
with  all  their  mind,  with  all  their  soul,  with  all 
their  strength ;  that  is,  to  direct  their  cares  and 
endeavours  to  one  single  point,  his  will ;  yet  their 
visible  conduct  may  not  be  much  altered ;  but 
their  internal  motives  and  principle  will  be  altered 
altogether. 

This  alteration  must  take  place  in  the  heart, 
even  of  the  seemingly  righteous.  It  may  take 
place  also  in  the  heart  of  the  sinner;  and,  we  say, 
(and  this  is,  in  truth,  the  whole  which  we  say,) 
that  a  conscience  pricked  by  sin  is  sometimes, 
nay  oftentimes,  more  susceptible  of  the  impres- 
sions of  religion,  of  true  and  deep  impressions, 
than  a  mind  which  has  been  accustomed  to  look 
only  to  the  laws  and  customs  of  the  world,  to  con- 
form itself  to  those  laws,  and  to  find  rest  and  satis- 
faction in  that  peace,  which  not  God,  but  the 
world  gives. 


SERMON  XIII. 

SINS  OF  THE  FATHERS  UPON  THE  CHILDREN. 

Thou  shciU  not  bow  down  thyself  to  them,  not 
serve  them  ;  for  I  the  Lord  thy  God  am  a  jea- 
lous God.  visiting  the  iniquity  of  the  father 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


557 


upon  the  children  unto  the  third  and  fourth 
generation  of  them  that  hate  ?;ie.-Exodus  xx.  5. 

These  words  form  part  of  the  second  com- 
niandinent.  It  need  not  be  denied,  that  there  is 
an  ai)parent  harshness  in  this  declaration,  with 
which  the  minds  even  of  good  and  pious  men  have 
been  sometimes  sensibly  aflec.ted.  To  visit  the 
sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children,  even  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation,  is  not,  at  first  sight, 
at  least,  so  reconcileable  to  our  apprehensions  of 
justice  and  equity,  as  that  we  should  expect  to 
lind  it  in  a  solemn  publication  of  the  will  of  God. 

I  t!iink,  however,  that  a  fair  and  candid  inter- 
pretation of  the  words  before  us  will  remove  a  great 
deal  of  the  difficulty,  and  of  the  objection  which 
lies  against  them.  My  exposition  of  the  passage 
is  contained  in  these  four  articles: — First,  that 
the  denunciation  and  sentence  relate  to  the  sin  of 
idolatry  in  particular,  if  not  to  that  alone.  Se- 
condly, That  it  relates  to  temporal,  or,  more  pro- 
periy  speaking,  to  family  prosperity  and  adversity. 
Thirdly,  That  it  relates  to  the  Jewish  economy, 
in  that  particular  administration  of  a  visible  pro- 
vidence, under  which  they  lived.  Fourthly,  that 
at  no  rate  does  it  affect,  or  was  ever  meant  to  af- 
fect, the  acceptance  or  salvation  of  individuals  in  a 
future  life. 

First,  I  say,  that  the  denunciation  and  sentence 
relate  to  the  sin  of  idolatry  in  particular,  if  not  to 
that  alone.  The  prohibition  of  the  commandment 
is  pointed  against  that  particular  offence,  and  no 
other.  The  first  and  second  commandment  may 
be  considered  as  one,  inasmuch  as  they  relate  to 
one  subject,  or  nearly  so.  For  many  ages,  and 
by  many  churches,  they  were  put  together,  and 
considered  as  one  commandment.  The  subject  to 
which  they  both  relate,  is  false  worship,  or  the 
worship  of  false  gods.  This  is  the  single  subject, 
to  wliich  the  prohibition  of  both  commandments 
relates;  the  single  class  of  sins  which  is  guarded 
against.  Although,  therefore,  the  expression  be, 
"the  sins  of  the  fathers,"  without  specifying  in 
that  clause  what  sins,  yet  in  fiir  construction,  and 
indeed  in  common  construction,  we  may  well  sup- 
pose it  to  be  that  kind  and  class  of  sins,  for  the 
restraint  of  which  the  command  was  given,  and 
against  which  its  force  was  directed.  The  pu- 
nishment, threatened  by  any  law,  must  naturally 
be  apijlied  to  the  offence  particularly  forbidden  by 
that  law,  and  not  to  offences  in  general. 

One  reason  why  you  may  not  probably  per- 
ceive the  full  weight  of  what  I  am  saying,  is,  that 
we  do  not  at  this  day  understand,  or  think  much 
concerning  the  sin  of  idolatry,  or  the  necessity,  or 
importance  of  God's  delivering  a  specific,  a  solemn, 
a  terrifying  sentence  against  it.  The  sin  itself 
hath  in  a  manner  ceased  from  among  us:  other 
sins,  God  knows,  have  come  in  its  place ;  but  this, 
in  a  great  measure,  is  withdrawn  from  our  obser- 
vation: whereas  in  the  age  of  the  world,  and 
among  those  people,  when  and  to  whom  the  ten 
commandments  were  promulgated,  false  worship, 
or  the  worship  of  false  gods,  was  the  sin.  which 
lay  at  the  root  and  foundation  of  every  other.  The 
worship  of  the  one  true  God,  in  opposition  to  the 
v.iin,  and  fiilse,  and  wicked  religions,  which  had 
then  obtained  amongst  mankind,  was  the  grand 
point  to  be  inculcated.  It  was  the  contest  then 
carried  on;  and  the  then  world,  as  well  as  future 
ages,  were  deeply  interested  in  it.  History  testi- 
fies experience  testifies,  that  there  cannot  be  true 


morality,  or  true  virtue,  where  there  is  false  reli- 
gion, false  worship,  false  gods;  for  which  reason 
you  find,  that  this  great  article  (for  such  it  then 
was)  was  not  onl}"  made  the  subject  of  a  command, 
but  placed  at  the  head  of  all  the  rest.  Nay,  more ; 
from  the  whole  strain  and  tenor  of  the  Old  Tes- 
tament, there  is  good  reason  to  believe,  that  the 
maintaining  in  the  world  the  knowledge  and  wor- 
ship of  the  one  true  God,  \io\y,  just,  and  good,  in 
contradiction  to  the  idolatrous  worship  which  pre- 
vailed, was  the  great  and  principal  scheme  and 
end  of  the  Jewish  polity  and  most  singular  con- 
stitution. As  the  Jewish  nation,  therefore,  was 
to  be  the  depository  of  and  the  means  of  preserv- 
ing in  the  world,  the  knowledge  and  worship  of 
the  one  true  God,  when  it  was  lost  and  darkened 
in  other  countries,  it  became  of  the  last  importance 
to  the  execution  of  this  pur^pse,  that  this  nation 
should  be  warned  and  deterred,  by  every  moral 
means,  from  sliding  themselves  into  those  prac- 
tices, those  errors,  and  that  crime,  against  which 
it  was  the  very  design  of  their  institution  that  they 
should  strive  and  contend. 

The  form  of  expression  used  in  the  second  com- 
mandment, and  in  this  very  part  of  it,  much  fa- 
vours the  interpretation  for  which  I  argue,  name- 
ly, that  the  sentence  or  threatening  was  aimed 
against  the  sin  of  idolatry  alone.  The  words  are, 
"For  I  the  Lord  thy  God  am  a.  jealous  God,  and 
visit  the  sins  of  tlie  fathers  upon  the  children." 
These  two  things,  of  being  jealous,  and  of  visiting 
the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children,  are  spo- 
ken of  God  in  conjunction ;  and  in  such  a  manner, 
as  to  show  that  they  refer  to  one  subject.  Now 
jealousy  implies  a  rival.  God's  being  jealou.q 
means,  that  he  would  not  allow  any  other  god  to 
share  with  himself  in  the  worship  of  his  creatures : 
that  is  what  is  imported  in  the  word  jealous ;  and, 
therefore,  that  is  the  subject  to  which  the  threat 
of  visiting  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children 
is  applied.  According  to  this  interpretation,  the  fol- 
lowing expressions  of  the  commandment,  "  Them 
that  hate  me,  and  them  that  love  me,''  signify 
them  that  forsake  and  desert  my  worship  and  re- 
ligion for  the  worship  and  religion  of  other  gods, 
and  them  who  adhere  firmly  and  faithfully  to  my 
worship,  in  opposition  to  every  other  worship. 

My  second  proposition  is,  that  the  threat  re- 
lates to  temporal,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  to 
family  prosperity  and  adversity.  In  the  history 
of  the  Jews,  most  particularly  of  their  kings,  of 
whom,  as  was  to  be  expected,  we  read  and  know 
the  most,  we  meet  with  repeated  instances  of  this 
same  threat  being  both  pronounced  and  executed 
against  their  family  prosperity ;  and  for  this  very 
same  cause,  their  desertion  of  the  true  God,  and 
going  over,  after  the  example  of  the  nations  around 
them  to  the  worship  of  false  gods.  Amongst  va- 
rious other  instances,  one  is  very  memorable  and 
very  direct  to  our  present  argument ;  and  that  is 
the  instance  of  Ahab,  who  of  all  the  idolatrous 
kings  of  Israel  was  the  worst.  The  punishment 
threatened  and  denounced  against  his  crime  was 
this:  "Behold  I  will  bring  evil  upon  thee,  and 
will  take  away  thy  posterity,  and  will  make  tliine 
house  like  the  house  of  Jeroboam,  the  son  of  Ne- 
bat,  and  like  the  house  of  Baasha,  the  son  of  Ahi- 
jah,  for  the  provocation  wherewith  thou  hast  pro- 
voked me  to  anger  and  made  Israel  to  sin."  The 
provocation,  you  will  observe,  was  the  introduc- 
tion of  false  gods  into  his  kingdom;  and  the  prophet 
here  not  only  threatens  Ahab  with  the  ruin  and 
47* 


558 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


destruction  of  his  family,  as  the  punishment  of  his 
sin,  hut  points  out  to  him  two  instances  of  great 
famihes  having  been  destroyeil  for  the  very  same 
reason.  You  afterwards  read  the  full  accomplish- 
ment of  this  sentence  by  the  hand  of  Jehu.  Now 
I  consider  these  instances  as  in  fact  the  execution 
of  the  second  commandment,  and  as  showing  what 
sense  that  commandment  bore.  But  if  it  were  so; 
if  the  force  of  the  threat  was,  that  in  the  distriliu- 
tion  and  assignment  of  temporal  prosperity  and 
adversity,  upon  a  man's  family  and  race,  respect 
would  be  had  to  his  fidelity  to  God,  or  his  rebel- 
lion against  him  in  this  article  of  false  and  idola- 
trous worship  ;  then  is  the  punishment,  as  to  the 
nature  and  justice  of  it,  agreeably  to  what  we  see 
in  the  constant  and  ordinary  course  of  God's  pro- 
vidence. The  wealth  and  grandeur  of  families 
are  commonly  owing,  not  to  the  present  genera- 
tion, but  to  the  industry,  wisdom,  or  good  con- 
duct of  a  former  ancestor.  The  poverty  and  de- 
pression of  a  family  are  not  imputable  to  the  present 
representatives  of  the  family,  but  to  the  fault,  the 
extravagance,  or  mismanagement,  of  those  who 
went  before  them ;  of  which  nevertheless  they 
feel  the  effects.  All  this  we  see  every  day ;  and 
we  see  it  without  surprise  or  complaint.  What, 
therefore,  accords  with  the  state  of  things  under 
the  ordinary  dispensations  of  Providence  as  to 
tem]3oral  prosperity  and  adversity,  was  by  a  spe- 
cial providence,  and  by  a  particular  sentence,  or- 
dained to  be  the  mode,  and  ])robably  a  most  effica- 
cious mode,  of  restraining  and  correcting  an  of- 
fence, from  which  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  deter  the  Jewish  nation. 

My  third  proposition  is,  that  this  commandment 
related  particularly  to  the  Jewish  economy.  In 
the  28th  chapter  of  Deuteronomy,  you  find  Moses, 
with  prodigious  solemnity,  pronouncing  the  bless- 
ings and  cursings  which  awaited  the  children  of 
Israel  under  the  dispensation  to  which  they  were 
called  ;  and  you  will  observe,  that  these  blessings 
consisted  altogether  of  worldly  benefits,  and  these 
curses  of  worldly  punishments.  Moses  in  effect 
declared,  that  with  respect  to  this  peculiar  people, 
when  they  came  into  their  own  land,  there  should 
be  amongst  them  such  a  signal  and  extraordinary 
and  visible  interposition  of  Providence,  as  to 
shower  down  blessings,  and  happiness,  and  pros- 
perity, upon  those  who  adhered  faithfully  to  the 
God  of  their  fathers,  and  to  punish,  with  exem- 
plary misfortunes,  those  who  disobeyed  and  de- 
serted him.  Such,  Moses  told  them,  would  be 
the  order  of  God's  government  over  them.  This 
dispensation  dealt  in  temporal  rewards  and  pu- 
nishments. And  the  second  commandment,  which 
made  the  temporal  prosperity  and  adversity  of  fa- 
milies depend,  in  many  instances,  upon  the  reli- 
gious behaviour  of  the  ancestor  of  such  families, 
was  a  branch  and  consistent  part  of  that  dispen- 
sation. 

But,  lastly  and  principally,  mv  fourth  proposi- 
tion is,  that  at  no  rate  does  it  affect,  or  was  ever 
meant  to  aflcct.  the  acceptance  or  salvation  of  in- 
dividuals in  a  future  life.  My  proof  of  this  pro- 
position 1  draw  from  the  I8th  chapter  of  Ezekiel. 
It  should  seem  from  this  chapter,  that  some  of  the 
Jews,  at  that  time,  had  put  too  large  an  interpre- 
tation upon  the  second  commandment ;  for  the 
prophet  puts  this  question  into  the  mouth  of  his 
countrymen ;  he  supposes  them  to  be  thus,  as  it 
were,  expostulating  with  God:  "Ye  say.  Why? 
Doth  not  the  son  bear  the  iniquity  of  the  father"?"  I 


that  is  the  question  he  makes  them  ask.  Now 
take  notice  of  the  answer;  the  answer  which  the 
projjhet  delivers  in  the  name  of  God,  is  this: 
"  When  the  son  hath  done  that  which  is  lawful 
and  right,  and  hath  kept  all  my  statutes  and  hath 
done  them,  he  shall  surely  live.  The  soul  thai 
sinneth,  it  shall  die.  The  son  shall  not  bear  the 
iniquity  of  the  father;  neithershall  the  father  bear 
the  iniquity  of  the  son:  the  righteousness  of  the 
righteous  shall  be  upon  him,  and  the  wickedness 
of  the  wicked  shall  be  upon  him:''  ver.  19,  20. 

In  the  preceding  part  of  the  chapter,  the  pro- 
phet has  dilated  a  good  deal,  and  very  expressly 
indeed,  upon  the  same  subject ;  all  to  confirm  the 
great  truth  which  he  lays  down.  "  Behold  all 
souls  are  mine,  as  the  soul  of  the  father,  so  also 
the  soul  of  the  son  is  mine ;  the  soul  that  sinneth 
it  shall  die."  Now  apply  tiiis  to  the  second  com- 
mandment: and  the  only  way  of  reconciling  them 
together,  is  by  supposing  that  the  second  com- 
mandment related  solely  to  temporal,  or  rather 
family  adversity  and  prosperity,  and  Ezekiel's 
chapter  to  the  rewards  and  punishments  of  a  fu- 
ture state.  When  to  this  is  added  what  hath 
been  observed,  that  the  threat  in  the  second  com- 
mandment belongs  to  the  crime  forbidden  in  that 
commandment,  namely,  the  going  over  to  false 
gods,  and  deserting  the  one  true  God ;  and  that  it 
also  formed  a  part  or  branch  of  the  Mosaic  sys- 
tem which  dealt  throughout  in  temporal  rewards 
and  punishments,  at  that  time  dispensed  by  a  par- 
ticular providence:  when  these  considerations  are 
laid  together,  much  of  the  ditficulty,  and  much  of 
the  objection,  which  our  own  minds  may  have 
raised  against  this  commandment,  will,  I  hope,  be 
removed. 


SERMON  XIV. 

HOW  VIRTUE  PRODUCES  BELIEF,  AND  VICE 
UNBELIEF. 

If  any  man  will  do  His  will^  he  shall  knoic  of  the 
doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God. — John  vii.  17. 

It  does  not,  I  think,  at  first  sight  appear,  why 
our  behaviour  should  infiuence  our  belief,  or  how 
any  particular  course  of  action,  good  or  bad,  should 
affect  our  assent  to  any  particular  propositions 
which  are  offered  to  us:  for  truth  or  probability 
can  never  depend  upon  our  conduct ;  the  credibility 
or  incredibility  of  religion  is  the  same,  whether 
we  act  well  or  ill,  whether  we  obey  its  laws  or 
disobey  them.  Nor  is  it  very  manifest,  how  even 
our  perception  of  evidence  or  credibility  should  be 
affected  by  our  virtues  or  vices ;  because  conduct 
is  immediately  voluntary,  belief  is  not :  one  is  an 
act  of  the  will,  under  the  power  of  motives ;  the 
other  is  an  act  of  the  understanding,  upon  which 
motives  do  not.  primarily  at  least,  operate,  nor 
ought  to  operate  at  all.  Yet  our  Lord,  in  the  text, 
affirms  this  to  be  the  case,  namely,  that  our  beha- 
viour does  influence  our  belief,  and  to  have  been 
the  case  from  the  beginning,  that  is,  even  during 
his  own  ministry  upon  earth.  "If any  man  will 
do  His  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine,  whe- 
ther it  be  of  God."  It  becomes,  therefore,  a  sub- 
ject of  serious  and  religious  inquiry,  how,  why,  and 
to  what  extent,  the  declaration  of  the  text  may  be 
maintained. 


=^ 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


559 


Now  the  first  and  most  striking  observation  is, 
that  it  corresponds  with  experience.  The  fact,  so 
far  as  can  be  observed,  is  as  the  text  represents  it 
to  be.  I  speak  of  the  general  course  of  human 
conduct,  which  is  the  thing  to  be  considered. 
Good  men  are  generally  believers  ;  bad  men  are 
generally  unbelievers.  Tins  is  the  general  state 
of  the  case,  not  whhout  exceptions ;  for,  on  the 
one  hand,  there  may  be  men  of  regular  external 
morals,  who  are  yet  unbehevers,  because  though 
immorality  be  one  cause  of  unbelief,  it  is  not  the 
only  cause :  and,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  un- 
doubtedly many,  who,  although  they  believe  and 
tremble,  yet  go  on  in  their  sins,  because  their  faith 
doth  not  regulate  their  practice.  But,  having  re- 
spect to  the  ordinary  course  and  state  of  human 
conduct,  what  our  Saviour  hath  declared  is  veri- 
fied by  experience.  He  that  docth  the  will  of 
God,  Cometh  to  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  is  of 
God,  namely,  a  messenger  from  God.  A  process 
some  how  or  other  takes  place  in  the  understand- 
ing, which  brings  the  mind  of  him  who  acts 
rightly  to  this  conclusion.  A  conviction  is  formed, 
and  every  day  made  stronger  and  stronger.  No 
man  ever  comprehended  the  value  of  Christian 
precepts,  but  by  conducting  his  life  according  to 
them.  When,  by  so  doing,  he  is  brought  to  know 
their  excellency,  their  perfection,  I  had  almost 
said,  their  divinity,  he  is  necessarily  also  brought 
to  think  well  of  the  rehgion  itself  Hear  St.  Paul : 
— "  The  night  is  far  spent :  the  day  is  at  hand  : 
let  us,  therefore  cast  off  the  works  of  darkness, 
and  let  us  put  on  the  armour  of  hght ;  let  us  walk 
honestly  as  in  the  day,  not  in  rioting  and  drunk- 
enness, not  in  chambering  and  wantonness,  not 
in  strife  and  envying;  but  put  ye  on  the  Lord  Je- 
sus Christ;  and  make  not  provision  for  the  flesh 
to  fulfil  the  lusts  thereof:"  Rom.  xiii.  U.  It  is 
recorded  of  this  text,  that  it  was  the  means  of  the 
conversion  of  a  very  eminent  father  of  the  church, 
St.  Austin  ;  for  which  reason  I  quote  it,  as  an  in- 
stance to  my  present  purpose,  since  I  apprehend 
it  must  have  wrought  with  him  in  the  manner 
here  represented.  I  have  no  doubt  hut  that  others 
have  been  affected  in  like  manner  by  this  or  otiier 
particular  portions  of  Scripture;  and  that  still 
greater  numbers  have  been  drawn  to  Christianity 
by  the  general  impression  which  our  Lord's  dis- 
courses, and  the  speeches  and  letters  of  his  apos- 
tles, have  left  upon  their  minds.  This  is  some- 
times called  the  internal  evidence  of  our  religion  ; 
and  it  is  very  strong.  But  inasmuch  as  it  is  a 
species  of  evidence  which  applies  itself  to  the 
knowledge,  love,  and  practiceof  virtue,  it  will  ope- 
rate most  powerfully  where  it  finds  these  qualities, 
or  even  these  tendencies  and  dispositions  subsist- 
ing. If  this  be  the  effect  of  virtuous  conduct,  and, 
in  some  proportion,  the  effect  also  of  each  sepa- 
rate act  of  virtue,  the  contrary  efii'ct  must  necessa-  ! 
rily  follow  from  a  contrary  course  of  behaviour,  j 
And  perhaps  it  may  assist  us  in  unfolding  the  ' 
subject,  to  take  up  the  inquir}-  in  this  order;  be-  ] 
cause  if  it  can  be  shown  why,  and  in  what  man- 
ner, vice  tends  to  obstruct,  impair,  and  at  length 
destroy  our  faith,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  allow, 
that  virtue  must  facilitate,  support,  and  confirm 
it :  that,  at  least  it  will  deliver  us,  or  keep  us  free, 
from  that  weight  of  prejudice  and  resistance  which 
is  produced  in  the  mind  by  vice,  and  which  acts 
against  the  reception  of  religious  truth. 

Now  the  case  appears  to  me  to  be  no  other  than 
his:  A  great  many  persons,  before  they  proceed 


upon  an  act  of  known  transgression,  do  expressly 
state  to  themselves  the  question,  whether  religion 
be  true  or  not ;  and  in  order  to  get  at  the  oiiject 
of  their  desire,  (for  the  real  matter  to  be  determin- 
ed is,  whether  they  shall  have  their  desire  gratified 
or  not,)  in  order,  I  say,  to  get  at  the  pleasure  in 
some  cases,  or  in  other  cases,  the  point  of  interest, 
upon  which  they  have  set  their  hearts,  they  choose 
to  decide,  and  they  do  in  fact  decide  with  them- 
selves, that  these  things  are  not  so  certain,  as  to 
be  a  reason  for  them  to  give  up  the  pleasure  which 
lies  before  them,  or  the  advantage  which  is  now, 
and  which  may  never  be  again  in  their  power  to 
compass.  This  conclusion  does  actually  take 
place,  and,  at  various  times,  must  almost  necessa- 
rily take  place,  in  the  minds  of  men  of  bad  morals. 
And  now  remark  the  effect  which  it  has  upon 
their  thoughts  afterwards.  When  they  come  at 
another  future  time  to  reflect  upon  religion,  they 
reflect  upon  it  as  upon  what  they  had  before  ad- 
judged to  be  unfounded,  and  too  uncertain  to  be 
acted  upon,  or  to  be  depended  upon ;  and  reflec- 
tions, accompanied  with  this  adverse  and  unfa- 
vourable impression,  naturally  lead  to  infidelity. 
Herein,  therefore,  is  seen  the  fallacious  operation 
of  sin ;  first,  in  the  circumstances  under  which 
men  form  their  opinion  and  their  conclusions  con- 
cerning religion  ;  and,  secondly,  in  the  eflect, 
which  conclusions,  which  douhts  so  formed,  have 
upon  their  judgment  afterwards.  First,  what  is 
the  situation  of  mind  in  which  they  decide  con- 
cerning religion  1  and  what  can  be  expected  from 
such  a  situation  ?  Some  magnified  and  alluring 
pleasure  has  stirred  their  desires  and  passions,  it 
cannot  be  enjoyed  without  sin.  Here  is  religion, 
denouncing  and  forbidding  it  on  one  side:  there  is 
opportunity  drawing  and  pulling  on  the  other. 
With  this  drag  and  bias  upon  their  thoughts,  they 
pronounce  and  decide  concerning  the  most  im- 
portant of  all  subjects,  and  of  all  questions.  If 
they  should  determine  for  the  truth  and  reality  of 
religion,  they  must  sit  down  disappointed  of  a 
gratification  upon  which  they  had  set  their  hearts, 
and  of  using  an  opportunity,  which  may  never 
come  again.  Nevertheless  they  must  determino 
one  way  or  other.  And  this  process,  viz.  a.  simi- 
lar deliberation  and  a  similar  conclusion,  is  re- 
newed and  repeated,  as  often  as  occasions  of  siii 
offer.  The  effect,  at  length,  is  a  settled  persua- 
sion against  religion.  For  what  is  it,  in  persons 
who  proceed  in  this  manner,  which  rests  and 
dwells  upon  their  memories']  What  is  it  which 
gives  to  their  judgment  its  turn  and  biasl  It  is 
these  occasional  decisions  often  repeated  ;  which 
decisions  have  the  same  power  and  influence  over 
the  man's  after-opinion,  as  if  they  had  been  made 
ever  so  impartially,  or  ever  so  correctly  ;  whereas, 
in  fact,  they  are  made  under  circumstances  which 
exclude,  almost  the  possibility  of  their  being  made 
with  fiiirness  and  with  sufficient  inquiry.  Men 
decide  under  the  power  and  influence  of  sinful 
temptation  ;  but,  having  decided,  the  decision  is 
afterwards  remembered  by  them,  and  grows  into 
a  settled  and  habitual  opinion,  as  much  as  if  they 
had  proceeded  in  it  without  any  bias  or  prejudice 
whatever. 

The  extent  to  which  this  cause  acts,  that  is,  the 
numbers  who  are  included  in  its  influence,  will 
be  further  known  by  the  following  observation. 
I  have  said,  that  .sinners  oftentimes  express/y  state 
to  themselves  the  question,  whether  religion  be 
true  or  not;  and  that  they  state  to  themselves  this 


560 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


question,  at  the  time  when  they  are  about  to  enter 
upon  some  act  of  sin  which  religion  condemns ; 
and  I  beheve  the  case  so  to  be.     I  believe  that 
this  statement  is  often  expressly  made,  and  in  the 
manner  which  I  have  represented.     But  there  is 
also  a  tacit  rejection  of  religion,  which  has  nearly 
the  same  effect.     Whenever  a  man  deliberately 
ventures  upon  an  action  which  he  knows  that  re- 
ligion prohibits,  he  tacitly  rejects  religion.   There 
may  not  pass  in  his  thoughts  every  step  which  we 
have  described,  nor  may  he  come  expressly  to  the 
conclusion:  but  he  acts  upon  the  conclusion;  he 
practically  adopts  it.     And  the  doing  so  will  alien- 
ate his  mind  from  religion,  as  surely,  almost,  as  if 
he  had  formally  argued  himself  into  an  opinion  of 
its  untruth.     The  effect  of  sin  is  necessarily,  and 
highly,  and  in  all  cases,  adverse  to  the  production 
and  existence  of  religious  faith.     Real  difficulties 
are  doubled  and  trebled,  when  they  fall  in  with 
vicious  propensities  ;   imaginary   difficulties    are 
readily  started.     Vice  is  wonderfully  acute  in  dis- 
covering reasons  on  its  own  side.     This  may  be 
said  of  all  kinds  of  vice  ;  but,  I  think,  it  more  par- 
ticularly holds  good  of  what  are  called  licentious 
vices,  that  is,  of  vices  of  debauchery ;  for  sins  of 
debauchery  have  a  tendency,  which  other  species 
of  sin  have  not  so  directly,  to  unsettle  and  weaken 
the  powers  of  the  understanding,  as  well  as,  in  a 
greater  degree,  I  think,  than  other  vices,  to  render 
the  heart  thoroughly  corrupt.    In  a  mind  so  wholly 
depraved,  the  impression  of  any  argument,  relat- 
ing to  a  moral  or  religious  subject,  is  faint,  and 
slight,  and  transitory.     To  a  vitiated  palate  no 
meat  has  its  right  taste ;  with  a  debauched  mind, 
no  reasoning  has  its  yjroper  influence. 

But,  secondly :  Have  we  not  also  from  Scrip- 
ture, reason  to  believe,  that  God's  holy  Spirit  will 
be  assisting  to  those  who  earnestly  pray  for  it,  and 
who  sincerely  prepare  themselves  for  its  recep- 
tion ;  and  th.it  it  wall  be  assisting  to  them  in  this 
niiitter  of  faith  in  religion. — The  language  of 
Scripture  is,  that  God  gives  his  holy  Spirit  to 
them  that  ask  it ;  and  moreover,  that  to  them  who 
use  and  improve  it  as  they  ought,  it  is  given  in 
more  and  more  abundance.  "He  that  hath,  to 
him  shall  be  given  more.  He  that  hath  not,  from 
him  shall  be  taken  away  even  that  which  he 
hath  :"  Mat.  xiii.  12.  He  who  is  studious  to  im- 
prove his  measure  of  grace,  shall  find  that  mea- 
sure increased  upon  him.  He  who  neglects  or 
stifles,  neglects  through  irreligion,  carelessness, 
and  heedlessness,  buries  in  sensuality,  or  sfitles  by 
the  opposition  of  sin,  the  portion  of  grace,  and 
assistance  which  is  vouchsafed  to  him,  he,  the 
Scripture  says,  will  find  that  portion  withdrawn 
from  him.  Now,  this  being  the  general  nature 
and  economy  of  God's  assisting  grace,  there  is  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  extend  to  our  faith,  as 
well  as  to  our  practice  ;  our  perceiving  the  truth, 
as  well  as  our  obeying  the  truth,  may  be  helped 
and  succoured  by  it.  God's  Spirit  can  have  access 
to  our  understandings,  as  well  as  our  affections. 
He  can  render  the  mind  sensible  to  the  impres- 
sions of  evidence,  and  the  power  of  truth.  If 
creatures,  like  us,  might  take  upon  themselves  to 
judge  what  is  a  proper  object  of  divine  help,  it 
should  swm  to  be  a  serious,  devout,  humble,  and 
apprehensive  mind,  anxiously  desiring  to  learn 
and  know  the  truth :  and,  in  order  to  know  it, 
keeping  the  heart  and  understanding  pure  and 
prepan'd  for  that  purpose ;  that  is  to  say.  carefully 
abstaining  from  the  indulgence  of  passions,  and 


from  practices  which  harden  and  indispose  the 
mind  against  religion.  I  say,  a  mind  so  guarding 
and  qualifying  itself,  and  imploring  with  devout 
earnestness  and  solicitude,  the  aid  of  God's  holy 
Spirit  in  its  meditations  and  inquiries,  seems,  so 
far  as  we  can  presume  to  judge,  as  meet  an  object 
of  divine  help  and  favour  as  any  of  which  we  can 
form  an  idea ;  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  narrow  the 
promises  of  God,  concerning  his  assisting  grace^ 
so  as,  without  authority,  to  exclude  such  an  ob- 
ject from  it. 

From  the  doctrine  which  has  been  thus  con- 
cisely proposed,  various  important  rules  and  reflec- 
tions arise. 

First :  Let  not  men,  involved  in  sinful  courses, 
wonder  at  the  difficulties  which  they  meet  with 
in  religion.  It  is  an  effect  of  sin,  which  is  almost 
sure  to  follow.  Sin  never  fails,  both  to  magnify 
real  difficulties,  and  to  suggest  imaginary  ones. 
It  rests  and  dwells  upon  objections,  because  they 
help  the  sinner,  in  some  measure,  to  excuse  his 
conduct  to  himself — They  cause  him  to  come  to 
a  conclusion,  which  permits  the  gratification  of 
his  passions,  or  the  compassing  of  his  purpose. 
Deep  and  various  is  the  deceitfulness  of  sin,  of 
licentious  sins  most  particularly ;  for  they  cloud 
the  understanding ;  they  disqualify  men  for  serious 
meditation  of  any  kind ;  above  all,  for  the  medita- 
tion of  religion. 

Secondly :  Let  them,  who  ask  for  more  light, 
first  take  care  to  act  up  to  the  light  which  they 
have.  Scripture  and  experience  join  their  testi- 
mony to  this  point,  namely,  that  they,  who  fliith- 
fully  practise  what  they  do  know,  and  live  agree- 
ably to '(he  belief  which  they  have,  and  to  the  just 
and  rational  consequences  of  that  belief,  seldom 
fail  to  proceed  further,  and  to  acquire  more  and 
more  confidence  in  the  truth  of  religion  ;  whereas, 
if  they  live  in  opposition  to  the  degree  of  belief 
which  they  have,  be  it  what  it  may,  even  it  will 
gradually  grow  weaker  and  weaker,  and,  at  length, 
die  away  in  the  soul. 

Thirdly  :  Let  them  who  are  anxious  to  arrive 
at  just  sentiments  of  religion,  keep  their  minds  in 
a  capable  state  ;  that  is,  free  from  the  bias  of 
former  doubts,  conceived  at  a  time  when  the 
power  and  influence  of  sinful  temptation  wns 
upon  them ;  suggested,  in  fact,  lest  they  should 
find  themselves  obliged  to  give  up  some  gratifica- 
tion upon  which  they  had  set  their  hearts ;  and 
which  decisions,  nevertheless,  and  doubts,  have 
the  same  operation  upon  their  judgments,  as  if 
they  had  been  the  result  of  the  most  pure  and  im- 
partial reasoning.  It  is  not  peculiar  to  religion; 
it  is  true  of  all  subjects,  that  the  mind  is  sure 
almost  to  be  misled,  which  lies  under  a  load  of 
prejudice  contracted  from  circumstances,  in  which 
it  is  next  to  impossible  to  weigh  arguments  justly, 
or  to  see  clearly. 

Fourthly :  Let  them,  let  all,  especially  those 
who  find  themselves  in  a  dissatisfied  state  of  mind, 
fly  to  prayer.  Let  them  pray  earnestly  and  in- 
cessantly for  God's  assisting  grace  and  influence ; 
assisting,  if  it  be  his  good  pleasure,  as  well  our 
minds  and  understandings  in  searching  after  truth, 
as  our  hearts  and  affections  in  obeying  it.  I  say 
again,  let  us  pray  unceasingly  for  grace  and  help 
from  the  S))irit  of  God.  When  we  pray  for  any 
worldly  object,  we  may  pray  mistakenly.  We 
may  be  ignorant  of  our  own  good  ;  we  may  err 
egregiously  concerning  it.  But  when  we  i)ray  for 
spiritual  aid  and  grace,  we  are  sure  that  we  prajr 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


561 


for  what  we  want ;  for  what,  if  granted,  will  be 
the  greatest  of  all  blessings.  And  we  pray  with 
hope,  because  we  have  this  gracious  assurance 
given  us  by  the  Lord  liimsejf  of  grace  and  mercy  : 
"  If  ye,  being  evil,  know  how  to  give  good  gifts 
unto  your  children,  how  much  more  shall  your 
Heavenly  Father  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them 
that  ask  him  ]"— Matt.  vii.  11. 


SERMON  XV. 

John's  message  to  jescs. 

Noic  uhen  John  had  heard  in  prison  the  works 
of  Christ,  he  sent  two  of  his  disciples,  and  said 
■unto  him.  Art  thou  he  that  should  come,  or  do 
ice  look  for  another  ? — Matt.  xi.  2,  3. 

These  words  state  a  transaction,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  of  a  singular  kind,  and  well  entitled  to 
observation.  Some  time  before  our  Loril's  ap- 
pearance, John  the  Baptist  had  produced  himself 
to  the  country,  as  a  messenger  from  God,  and  as 
a  public  preacher.  The  principal  thing  which 
he  preached  was,  that  a  greater  and  more  extra- 
ordinary person  than  himself,  that  is  to  say,  no 
other  than  the  long-foretold  and  long-expected 
Messiah,  was  about  shortly  to  appear  in  the  world ; 
that  for  the  appearance  of  this  person,  which 
would  be  the  setting  up  of  the  kingdom  of  God 
upon  earth,  all  men  were  to  prepare  themselves 
by  repentance  and  reformation.  Thus  did  John 
preach,  before  it  was  known  or  declared,  and  be- 
fore he  (John  himself)  knew  or  declared  who  this 
extraordinar}'  person  was.  It  was,  as  it  should 
seem,  upon  our  Lord's  offering  himself  to  John  to 
be  baptized  of  him  in  Jordan,  that  John,  for  the 
first  time,  knew  and  published  him  to  be  that  per- 
son. This  testimony  and  record  John  afterwards 
repeated  concerning  him  in  this  manner,  and  it  is  re- 
markable :  "  Thenextday  John  seeth  Jesus  coming 
unto  him,  and  saith.  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God, 
which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world.  This  is  he 
of  whom  I  said,  After  me  cometh  a  man,  which  is 
preferred  before  me,  for  he  was  before  me,  and  / 
knewhim  not;  but  that  he  should  be  made  manifest 
to  Israel,  therefore  am  I  come  baptizing  with  water. 
And  John  bare  record,  saying,  I  saw  the  S[)irit 
descending  from  heaven  like  a  dove,  and  it  abode 
iipon  him ;  and  I  knew  him  not ;  but  he  that  sent 
me  to  baptize  with  water,  the  same  said  unto  me, 
Upon  whom  thou  shall  see  the  Spirit  descending 
and  remaining  on  him,  the  same  is  he  which  bap- 
tizeth  with  the  Holy  Ghost.  And  I  saw,  and 
bare  record,  that  this  is  theSon  of  God." 

It  came  to  pass,  that  soon  after  our  Lord's 
pubUc  appearance,  John  was  cast  into  prison,  and 
there  remained,  till,  by  a  barbarous  order  from 
Herod,  in  wicked  compliance  with  a  wicked  vow, 
this  good  and  courageous  servant  of  God  was  be- 
headed. It  does  not  seem  quite  certain,  whether 
he  was  not  imprisoned  twice.  In  prison,  how- 
ever, his  disciples,  as  was  natural,  came  to  him, 
and  related  to  him  the  great  things  which  Jesus 
had  lately  been  doing ;  and  it  appears,  from  the 
accounts  of  the  different  evangelists,  and  by  laying 
these  accounts  together  in  order  of  time,  that 
Jesus,  a  little  before  this,  amongst  other  miracles, 
had  cured  the  centurion's  servant  without  coming 
near  him,  ant'  had  also  raised  the  young  man  at 
4B 


Nain  to  life,  when  they  were  carrying  him  out  to 
his  funeral ;  miracles,  which,  it  may  be  supposed, 
were  much  noised  abroad  in  the  country.  What 
then  did  John  the  Baptist  do,  upon  receiving  this 
intelligence  1  He  sent  to  Jesus  two  of  his  disci- 
ples, saying,  "  Art  thou  he  that  should  come,  or 
look  we  for  another  1" 

It  will  appear  odd  that  John  should  entertain 
any  doubt,  or  require  any  satisfaction  about  this 
matter ;  he,  who  had  himself  publicly  announced 
Jesus  to  be  the  Messiah  looked  for,  and  that  also 
upon  the  most  undeniable  grounds,  because  he 
saw  the  Spirit  descending  and  remaining  upon 
him ;  the  token  which  had  been  given  him, 
whereby  this  person  was  to  be  distinguished  by 
him. 

This  was  a  difficulty  which  interpreters  of 
Scripture,  in  very  early  times  saw  ;  and  the  an- 
swer which  they  gave  to  it  I  believe  to  be  the 
true  one ;  namely,  that  John  sent  this  message, 
not  from  any  doubt  which  he  himself  entertained 
of  the  matter,  but  in  order  that  the  doubts  which 
his  disciples  had  conceived  about  it,  might  receive 
an  answer  and  satisfaction  at  the  fountain  head  ; 
from  Jesus  himself,  who  was  best  able  to  give  it. 

You  will,  therefore,  now  observe  what  this  an- 
swer was,  and  how,  and  under  what  circumstances 
it  was  given.  If  you  turn  to  St.  Luke's  statement 
of  the  transaction,  chap.  vii.  verse  20th,  you  will 
there  find  it  expressly  asserted,  what  is  only  im- 
plied and  tacitly  referred  to  by  St.  Matthew;  (and 
this  is  one  instance,  amongst  many,  of  the  advan- 
tage of  bringing  the  accounts  of  the  differerit 
evangelists  together;)  you  will  find,  I  say,  that  it 
so  happened,  I  ought  to  have  said  that  it  was  so 
ordered  by  Providence,  that  at  the  time,  the  pre- 
cise hour,  when  these  messengers  from  John  ar- 
rived, our  Lord  was  in  the  very  act  of  working 
miracles.  In  that  same  hour,  says  Luke,  he  cured 
many  of  infirmities  and  plagues,  and  of  evil  spirits, 
and  "unto  many  that  were  blind  he  gave  sight :  so 
that  the  messengers  themselves  were  eye-witnesses 
of  his  powers,  and  of  his  gifts,  and  of  his  mighty 
works  ;  and  to  this  evidence  he  refers  them ;  and 
a  more  decisive  or  dignified  answer  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  been  given.  He  neither  says  he  was, 
nor"  he  was  not  the  person  they  inquired  after,  but 
bids  them  take  notice  and  tell  John  of  what  they 
saw,  and  make  their  own  conclusion  from  it. 
"  Go  your  way,  and  tell  John  what  things  ye  have 
seen  and  heard,  how  that  the  blind  see,  the  lame 
walk,  the  lepers  are  cleansed,  the  deaf  hear,  the 
dead  are  raised,  to  the  poor  the  gospel  is  preached." 
It  does  not,  I  think,  appear,  nor  is  it  necessary  to 
suppose,  that  all  these  species  of  miracles  were 
performed  then,  or  before  their  eyes.  It  is  speci- 
fically mentioned,  that  he  then  cured  many  of 
plagues  and  infirmities,  cast  out  evil  spirits,  and 
restored  sight  to  the  blind  :  but  it  is  not  mentioned, 
for  instance,  that  he  then  raised  the  dead,  though 
that  miracle  be  referred  to  in  his  answer.  After 
having  wrought,  whilst  they  were  present,  many 
and  various  species  of  decisive  miracles,  he  was 
well  entitled  to  demand  their  credit  and  assent  to 
others  upon  his  own  testimony  and  assertion. 

Now  from  this  answer  of  our  Lord's,  we  are 
entitled  to  infer,  (and  this  I  think  is  the  useful  in- 
ference to  be  drawn  from  it.)  that  the  faith  which 
he  required,  the  assent  which  he  demanded,  was  a 
rational  assent  and  faith  founded  upon  proof  and 
evidence.  His  exhortation  was,  "believe  me  for 
the  very  works'  Fake."    He  did  not  bid  Philip, 


562 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


upon  that  occasion,  or  the  disciples  of  John  upon 
this,  beheve  him,  because  ho  was  the  Son  of  God, 
because  he  came  dowa  from  heaven,  because  he 
was  in  the  Father  and  the  Father  in  him,  because 
he  was  with  God  and  from  God,  because  the 
Father  had  given  unto  him  the  Spirit  without 
measure,  because  he  was  inspired  in  the  fullest 
and  largest  sense  of  the  word ;  for  all  these  cha- 
racters and  pretensions,  though  the  highest  that 
could  belong  to  any  being  whatsoever,  to  a  prophet, 
or  to  more  than  a  prophet,  were  nevertheless  to  be 
ascertained  by  facts.  When  ascertained,  they 
were  grounds  of  the  most  absolute  confidence  in 
his  word,  of  the  most  implicit  and  unlimited  reli- 
ance upon  his  authority ;  but  they  were  to  be  as- 
certained by  facts.  To  facts,  therefore,  our  Lord 
appeals ;  to  facts  he  refers  them,  and  to  the  de- 
monstration which  they  afforded  of  his  power  and 
truth.  For  shutting  their  eyes  against  faith,  or, 
more  properly  speaking,  for  shutting  their  hearts 
and  under^andings  against  the  proof  and  conclu- 
sion which  facts  afforded,  he  pronounces  them  lia- 
ble to  condemnation.  They  were  to  believe  his 
word,  because  of  his  works  :  that  was  exactly  what 
he  required.  "  The  works  which  the  Father  hath 
given  me  to  finish,  the  same  works  that  I  do,  bear 
witness  of  me,  that  the  Father  hath  sent  me;  and 
the  Father  himself  who  hath  sent  me  beareth  wit- 
ness of  me :"  John  v.  36.  It  is  remarkable  that 
John  the  Baptist  wrought  no  miracle ;  therefore 
the  authority  and  confirming  proof  of  h  is  mission 
rested  very  much  upon  the  evidences  which  were 
exhibited,  not  by  himself,  but  by  the  person  whose 
appearance  he  professed  to  foretel.  And  undoubt- 
edly the  miracles  of  our  Lord  did,  by  a  reflected 
operation,  establish  the  preaching  of  John.  For 
if  a  person  in  these  days  should  appear,  not  work- 
ing any  miracle  himself,  but  declaring  that  ano- 
ther and  greater  person  was  soon  to  follow,  and  if 
that  other  and  greater  person  did  accordingly  soon 
follow,  and  show  forth  mighty  deeds,  the  authority 
of  the  first  person's  mission  would  be  ratified  by 
the  second  person's  works.  They  who  might 
doubt,  nay  reasonably  doubt,  concerning  the  first 
person's  truth  and  pretensions  before,  would  be 
fully  satisfied  of  them  afterwards.  And  this  was 
exactly  the  turn  which  some  rational  and  consi- 
derate Jews  gave  to  the  matter :  "  And  many  re- 
sorted to  him,  and  said,  John  did  no  miracle ;  but 
all  things  that  John  spake  of  this  man  were  true." 
The  effiect  of  this  observation  was,  what  it  ought 
to  be,  "  many  believed  on  him  there : "  John  x. 
41,  42. 

This  distinction  between  our  Lord  and  his  fore- 
runner, in  one  working  miracles,  and  the  other 
not,  furnishes  an  account  for  two  things  which  we 
meet  with  in  the  Gospels;  one  is,  John's  declaring 
that  when  the  person  of  whom  he  spoke  should 
appear,  his  own  ministry,  which  was  then  much 
followed  and  attended,  would  sink  in  importance 
and  esteem.  "  He  must  increase,  I  must  decrease 
— He  that  cometh  after  me  is  preferred  before  me 
— He  that  was  with  thee  beyond  Jordan,  to  whom 
thou  barest  witness,  behold,  the  same  baptizeth, 
and  all  men  come  to  him."  The  other  is  our  Lord's 
own  reflection  upon  John's  testimony  in  his  fa- 
vour, which  was  exactly  agreeable  to  the  truth 
of  the  ca.se.  "Ye  sent  unto  John  and  he  bare 
witness  unto  the  truth  ;  but  I  receive  not  testimo- 
ny from  man.  He  was  a  burning  and  a  shining 
light ;  and  ye  were  willing  for  a  season  to  rejoice 
m  his  light.     But  /  have  greater  witness  than  that 


of  John — the  works  which  the  Father  hath  given 
me  to  finish,  the  same  works  that  I  do,  bear  wit- 
ness of  me."  As  if  he  had  said  :  "  My  own  per- 
formance of  miracles  is  a  higher  and  surer  proof 
of  my  mission,  than  any  testimony  which  could 
be  given  to  me  by  another  who  did  not  perform 
miracles,  however  great,  or  praiseworthy,  or  ex- 
cellent his  character  and  his  preaching  were  in  all 
respects,  or  however  much  his  followers  confided 
in  him ;  the  one  was  the  testimony  of  men,  the 
other  of  God."  "  1  receive  not  testimony  of 
man ;"  the  proofs  which  I  myself  exhibit  before 
your  eyes  of  divine  power,  supersede  human  tes- 
timony. 

Again:  Our  Lord  put  the  truth  of  his  preten- 
sions, precisely  and  specifically  upon  the  evidence 
of  his  miracles:  '■  If  I  do  not  the  works  of  my  Fa- 
ther, believe  me  not :  but  if  I  do,  though  ye  believe 
me  not,  believe  the  works:"  John  x.  37.  What 
fairer  appeal  could  be  made?  Could  more  be  done 
to  challenge  inquiry,  or  place  the  question  upon 
the  right  ground  1 

Lastly  :  In  the  xvth  chapter  and  24th  verse,  our 
Lord  fixes  the  guilt  of  the  unbelieving  Jews  upon 
this  article,  that  they  rejected  miraculous  proof, 
which  ought  to  have  convinced  them  ;  and  that  if 
they  had  not  had  such  proof  they  might  have  been 
excusable,  or,  comparatively  speaking,  they  would 
not  have  had  sin.  His  words  are  very  memora- 
ble. "If  I  had  not  done  among  them  the  works 
which  none  other  man  did,  they  had  not  had 
sin." 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  as  well  in  the  answer 
to  John's  messengers,  as  in  the  other  passages  of 
his  history  and  discourses  which  resemble  this,  our 
Lord  acted  a  part  the  most  foreign  and  di.stant 
from  the  part  of  an  impostor  or  enthusiast  that 
can  possibly  be  conceived.  Was  it  for  an  impos- 
tor or  enthusiast  to  refer  messengers  who  came  to 
him,  to  miraculous  works  performed  before  their 
eyes,  to  things  done  upon  the  spot:  to  the  testi- 
mony of  their  own  senses.  "  Show  John  those 
things  which  ye  do  see  and  hear."  Would,  could 
any  other  than  a  prophet  come  from  God  do  this  ? 
In  like  manner,  was  it  for  any  other  than  a  divine 
messenger  to  bid  his  very  disciples  not  believe  in 
him,  if  he  did  not  these  works ;  or  to  tell  unbe- 
lievers, that  if  he  had  not  done  among  them  works 
which  none  other  man  did,  their  unbelief  might 
have  been  excusable  1  In  all  this  we  discern 
conviction  and  sincerity,  fairness,  truth,  and  evi- 
dence. 


SERMON  XVI. 

ON    INSENSIBILITY   TO    OFFENCES. 

1^7(0  can  tell  how  oft  he  offendeth  ?  O  cleanse  thoii 
me  from  my  secret  faults.  Keep  thy  servant 
also  from  presumptuous  sins,  lest  they  get  the 
dominion  over  me. — Psalm  xix.  12,  13. 

These  words  express  a  rational  and  affecting 
prayer,  according  to  the  sense  which  they  carry 
with  them  at  first  sight,  and  without  entering  into 
any  interpretation  of  them  whatsoever.  Who  ia 
there  that  will  not  join  heartily  in  this  prayer  1 
for  who  is  there  that  has  not  occasion  to  pray 
against  his  sins  1  We  are  laden  with  the  weight 
of  our  sins.      "  The  remembrance  of  them  is 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


563 


^ievous  to  us,  the  burden  of  them  is  intolerable." 
But  be\'ond  this,  these  same  words,  when  they 
come  to  be  fully  understood,  have  a  still  stronger 
meaning,  and  still  more  applicable  to  the  state  and 
condition  of  our  souls  ;  which  1  will  endeavour  to 
set  before  you. 

You  will  observe  the  expression,  "  my  secret 
faults:  O  cleanse  thou  me  from  my  secret  faults." 
Now  the  question  is,  to  whom  are  these  faults  a  se- 
cret ?  to  myself,  or  to  others  1  whether  the  prayer 
relates  to  faults  which  are  concealed  from  mankind, 
and  are  in  that  sense  secret;  or  to  faults  which  are 
concealed  from  the  offender  himself,  and  are  there- 
fore secret,  in  the  most  full  and  strict  sense  of  which 
the  term  is  capable!  Now,  I  say,  that  the  context, 
or  whole  passage  taken  together,  obliges  us  to  un- 
derstand the  word  secret  in  this  latter  sense.  For 
observe  two  particulars.  The  first  verse  of  the  text 
runs  thus:  "  Who  can  tell  how  oft  he  offendeth'? 
O  cleanse  thou  me  from  ni}'  secret  faults."  Now, 
to  give  a  connexion  to  the  two  parts  of  this  verse, 
it  is  necessary  to  suppose,  that  one  reason,  for 
which  it  was  so  difficult  for  any  man  to  know  how 
oft  he  offended  was,  that  many  of  his  faults  were 
secret ;  but  in  what  way  and  to  whom  secret '?  to 
himself  undoubtedly :  otherwise  the  secrecy  could 
have  been  no  reason  or  cause  of  that  difficulty. 
The  merely  being  concealed  from  others  would  be 
nothing  to  the  present  purpose ;  because  the  most 
concealed  sins,  in  that  sense,  are  as  well  known 
to  the  sinner  himself,  as  those  which  are  detected 
or  most  open ;  and  therefore  such  concealment 
would  not  account  for  the  sinner's  difficulty  in  un- 
derstanding the  state  of  liis  soul  and  of  his  con- 
science. To  me  it  appears  very  plain,  that  the 
train  of  the  Psalmist's  thoughts  went  thus : — He 
is  led  to  cast  back  his  recollection  upon  the  sins  of 
his  hfe ;  he  finds  himself,  as  many  of  us  must  do,  lost 
and  bewildered  in  their  number  and  frequency ; 
because,  beside  all  other  reasons  of  confusion,  there 
were  many  which  were  unnoticed,  unreckoned, 
and  unobserved.  Against  this  class  of  sins,  which, 
for  this  reason,  he  calls  his  secret  faults,  he  raises 
up  his  voice  to  God  in  prayer.  This  is  evidently, 
as  1  think,  the  train  and  connexion  of  thought ; 
and  this  requires,  that  the  secret  faults  here  spoken 
of  be  explained  of  such  faults  as  were  secret  to 
the  person  himself  It  makes  no  connexion,  it 
carries  with  it  no  consistent  meaning,  to  interpret 
them  of  those  faults  which  Were  concealed  from 
others.  This  is  one  argument  for  the  exposition 
contended  for;  another  is  the  following.  You 
will  observe  in  the  text  that  two  kinds  of  sins  are 
distinctly  spoken  of  under  the  name  of  "  secret 
faults,  and  presumptuous  sins."  The  words  are, 
"  O  cleanse  thou  me  from  my  secret  faults ;  keep 
thy  servant  also  from  presumptuous  sins."  Now, 
it  will  not  do  to  consider  these  secret  faults  as 
merely  concealed  faults  ;  because  they  are  not  ne- 
cessarily distinguished  from,  nor  can  be  placed  in 
opposition  to,  presumptuous  sins.  The  Psalmist 
is  here  addressing  God ;  he  is  deeply  affected  with 
the  state  of  his  soul,  and  with  his  sins,  considered 
in  relation  to  God.  Now,  with  respect  to  God, 
there  may  be,  and  there  often  is,  as  much  pre- 
sumption, as  much  daring  in  committing  a  con- 
cealed sin,  as  in  committing  a  sin  which  is  open 
to  the  world.  The  circumstance  of  concealment, 
or  detection,  makes  no  difference  at  all  in  this  re- 
spect ;  and  therefore  they  could  not  properly  be 
placed  in  different  classes  ;  nor  would  it  be  natural 
so  to  place  them ;    but  offences  which  escape  the 


sinner's  own  notice  at  the  time  ma}'  certainly  be 
distinguished  from  those  which  are  conunitted 
with  a  high  hand,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  the 
guilt,  and  defiance  of  the  consequences;  and  that 
is,  as  I  believe,  the  distinction  here  ititended :  and 
the  one  the  Psalmist  called  his  secret  faults,  the 
other  his  presuni[)tuous  sins.  Upon  the  wliole, 
therefore,  1  conclude,  that  the  secret  sins  against 
which  the  Psalmist  prayed,  were  sins  secret  to 
himself 

But  here,  therefore,  comes  the  principal  ques- 
tion— How  there  can  be  any  sins  of  this  sort  1 
how  that  can  be  a  sin,  which  is  neither  observed, 
nor  known  to  be  so  by  the  person  who  commits 
it  1  And  then  there  comes  also  a  second  consi- 
deration, which  is;  if  there  be  such,  what  ought  to 
be  done  with  respect  to  theml  Now,  as  well 
upon  the  authority  of  the  text,  as  upon  what  is 
the  real  case  with  human  nature,  when  that  case 
is  rightly  understood,  I  contend,  first,  that  there 
are  many  violations  of  God's  laws,  which  the  men 
who  are  guilty  of  them,  are  not  sensible  of  at  the 
time ;  and  yet,  secondly,  such,  as  that  their  want 
of  being  sensible  of  them,  does  not  excuse,  or  make 
them  cease  to  be  sins.  All  this,  in  truth,  is  no 
other  than  the  regular  effect  of  sinful  habits. 
Such  is  the  power  of  custom  over  our  consciences, 
that  there  is,  perhaps,  hardly  any  bad  action 
which  a  man  is  capable  of  committing,  that  he 
may  not  commit  so  often  ;  as  to  become  uncon- 
scious of  its  guilt,  as  much  as  of  the  most  indifler- 
ent  thing  which  he  does.  If  some  very  great  and 
atrocious  crimes  may  be  thought  exceptions  to 
this  observation,  and  that  no  habit  or  custom  can 
by  any  possibility  reconcile  them  to  the  human 
conscience ;  it  is  only  because  they  are  such  as 
cannot,  from  their  very  nature,  be  repeated  so  of- 
ten by  the  same  person,  as  to  become  familiar  and 
habitual :  if  they  could,  the  consequence  would  be 
the  same  ;  they  would  be  no  more  thought  of  by 
the  sinner  himself,  than  other  habitual  sins  are. 
But  great  outrageous  crimes  against  life,  for  in- 
stance, and  property,  and  public  safety,  may  be 
laid  out  of  the  question,  as  not  falling,  I  trust  and 
beUeve,  within  the  case  of  any  one  who  hears  me ; 
and  as  in  no  case  whatever  capable  of  being  so 
common,  as  to  be  fair  experiments  of  the  strength 
of  our  observation.  These  arc  not  what  compose 
our  account  with  God.  A  man  may  be  (as  in- 
deed most  men  are)  quite  free  from  the  crimes  of 
murder,  robbery,  and  the  like,  and  yet  be  far 
from  the  kingdom  of  God.  I  fear  it  may  be  »uid 
of  most  of  us,  that  the  class  of  sins  which  com- 
pose our  account  with  God,  are  habitual  sins; 
habitual  omissions,  and  habitual  commissions. 
Now  it  is  true  of  both  these,  that  we  may  have 
continued  in  them  so  long,  they  may  have  become 
so  familiar  to  us  by  repetition,  that  we  think  no- 
thing at  all  of  them.  We  may  neglect  any  duty, 
till  we  forget  that  it  is  one  ;  we  may  neglect  our 
prayers  ;  we  may  neglect  our  devotion  ;  we  may 
neglect  every  duty  towards  God,  till  we  become  so 
unaccustomed  and  unused  to  them,  as  to  be  in- 
sensible that  we  are  incurring  any  omission,  or 
contracting,  from  that  omission,  any  guilt  which 
can  hurt ;  and  yet  we  may  be,  in  truth,  ail  the 
while  "treasuring  up  wrath,  against  the  day  of 
wrath."  How  many  thousands,  for  instance,  by 
omitting  to  attend  the  sacrament,  have  come  not 
to  know  that  it  forms  any  part  of  Christian  obli- 
gation :  and  long  disuse  and  discontinuance  would 
have  the  same  effect  upon  any  other  duty,  how- 


564 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


ever  plain  might  be  the  proof  of  it,  when  the  mat- 
ter came  to  be  considered. 

It  is  not  less  so  with  sins  of  commission.     Se- 
rious minds   are   shocked   with   observing  with 
wliat  complete  unconcern  and  indifference  many 
forbidden  things  are  practised.     The  persons  who 
are  guilty  of  them,  do  not,  by  any  mark  or  symp- 
tom whatever,  appear  to  feel  the  smallest  rebuke 
of  conscience,  or  to  have  the  least  sense  of  either 
guilt,  or  danger,  or  shame,  in  what  they  do;  and 
it  not  only  appears  to  be  so,  but  it  is  so.     They 
are,  in  fact,  without  any  notice,  consciousness,  or 
compunction   upon   the    subject.      These    sins, 
therefore,  if  they  be  such,  are  secret  sins  to  them. 
But  are  they  not  therefore  sins  '?     That  becomes 
the  next  great  question.     We  must  allow,   be- 
cause fact  proves  it,  that  habit  and  custom  can 
destroy  the  sense  and   perception  of  sin.     Does 
the   act   then,  in   that   person,  cease  to  be   any 
longer  a  sin  1     This  must  be  asserted  by  those 
who  argue,  that  nothing  can  be  a  sin,  but  what  is 
known  and  understood,  and  also  felt  and  perceiv- 
ed to  be  so  by  the  sinner  himself  at  the  time ;  and 
who,  consequently,  deny  that  there  are  any  se- 
cret sins  in  our  sense  of  that  expression.     Now 
mark  the  consequences  which  would  follow  such 
an  opinion.     It  is  then  the  timorous  beginner  in 
wicked  courses  who  alone  is  to  be  brought  to  ac- 
count.    Can  such  a  doctrine  be  maintained  1  Sin- 
ners are  called  upon  by  preachers  of  the  Gospel, 
and  over  and  over  again  called  upon,  to  compare 
themselves  with  themselves;  themselves  at  one 
time  with  themselves   at  another ;   their  former 
selves,  when  they  first  entered  upon  sinful  allow- 
ances, and  their  present  selves,  since  they  have 
been  confirmed  in  them.     With  what  fear  and 
scruple,  and  reluctance,  what  sense  and  acknow- 
ledgment of  wrong,  what  apprehension  of  danger, 
against  what  remonstrance  of  reason,  and  with 
what  opposition  and   violence  to  their  religious 
principle,    they   first    gave   way   to   temptation ! 
With  what  ease,  if  ease  it  may  be  called,  at  least 
with  what  hardness  and   unconcern,  they  now 
continue  in  practices  which  they  once  dreaded  !  in 
a  word,  what  a  change,  as  to  the  particular  article 
in  question  at  least,  has  taken  place  in  their  moral 
sentiments !     Yet,  notwithstanding  this  change  in 
them,  the  reason,  which  made  what  they  are  doing 
a  sin,  remains  the  same  that  it  was  at  first :  at 
first  they  saw  great  force  and  strength  in  that 
reason ;  at  present  they  see  none ;  but,  in  truth,  it 
is  all  the  while  the  same.     Unless,  therefore,  we 
will  choose  to  say,  that  a  man  has  only  to  harden 
himself  in  his  sins,  (which  thing  perseverance 
will  always  do  for  him,)  and  that  with  the  sense 
he  takes  away  the  guilt  of  them,  and  that  the 
only  sinner  is  the  conscious,  trembling,  affrighten- 
ed,  reluctant  sinner ;  that  the  confirmed  sinner  is 
not  a  sinner  at  all ;   unless  we  will  advance  this, 
which  affronts  all  principles  of  justice  and  sense, 
we  must  confess,  that  secret  sins  are  both  possible 
and  frequent  things :  that  with  the  habitual  sinner, 
and  with  every  man,  in  so  far  as  he  is,  and  in 
that  article  in  which  he  is,  an  habitual  sinner, 
this  is  almost  sure  to  be  the  case. 

What  then  are  the  reflections  suitable  to  such 
a  case?  First,  to  join  most  sincerely  with  the 
Psalmist  in  his  prayer  to  God,  "  O  cleanse  thou  me 
from  my  secret  faults."  Secondly,  to  see,  in  this 
consideration,  the  exceedingly  great  danger  of 
evil  habits  of  all  kinds.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to 
commit  sins  without  knowing  it,  and  yet  to  nave  [ 


those  sins  to  answer  for.  That  is  dreadful;  and 
yet  it  is  no  other  than  the  just  consequence  and 
effect  of  sinful  habits.  They  destroy  in  us  the 
perception  of  guilt:  that  experience  proves. — 
They  do  not  destroy  the  guilt  itself:  that  no  man 
can  argue,  because  it  leads  to  injustice  and  ab- 
surdity. 

How  well  does  the  Scripture  express  the  state 
of  an  habitual  sinner,  when  he  calls  him  ''dead 
in  trespasses  and  sins !"  His  conscience  is  dead  : 
that,  which  ought  to  be  the  living,  actuating,  go- 
verning principle  of  the  whole  man,  is  dead  witliin 
him;  is  extinguished  by  the  power  of  sin  reigning 
in  his  heart.  He  is  incapable  of  perceiving  his 
sins,  whilst  he  commits  tliem  with  greediness.  It 
is  evident,  that  a  vast  alteration  must  take  place 
in  such  a  man,  before  he  be  brought  into  the  way 
of  salvation.  It  is  a  great  change  from  innocence 
to  guilt,  when  a  man  falls  from  a  life  of  virtue  to 
a  life  of  sin.  But  the  recovery  from  it  is  much 
greater ;  because  the  very  secrecy  of  our  sins  to 
ourselves,  the  unconsciousness  of  them,  which 
practice  and  custom,  and  repetition  and  habit,  have 
produced  in  us,  is  an  almost  unsurmountable  liin- 
derance  to  an  effectual  reformation. 


SERMON  XVII. 

SEPaOUSNESS  op  HEART  AS  TO  RELIGION. 

But  that  on  the  good  ground  are  they,  who  in  an 
honest  and  good  heart,  having  heard  the  word, 
keep  it,  and  bring  forth  fruit  with  patience. — 
Luke  viii.  15. 

It  may  be  true,  that  a  right  religious  principle 
produces  corresponding  external  actions,  and  j^et  it 
may  not  be  true,  that  external  actions  are  what 
we  should  always,  or  entirely,  or  principally,  look 
to  for  the  purpose  of  estimating  our  religious  cha- 
racter ;  or  from  whence  alone  we  should  draw  our 
assurance  and  evidence  of  being  in  the  right 
way. 

External  action."?  must  depend  upon  ability,  and 
must  wait  for  opportunity.  From  a  change  in 
the  heart,  a  visible  outward  change  will  ensue : 
from  an  amendment  of  disposition,  an  amended 
conduct  will  follow ;  but  it  may  neither  be  so  soon 
nor  so  evident,  nor  to  such  a  degree,  as  we  may 
at  first  sight  expect,  inasmuch  as  it  will  be  regu- 
lated by  occasions  and  by  al)ility.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say,  (for  I  do  not  believe  it  to  be  so,)  thatt!iere 
is  any  person  so  forlorn  and  destitute,  as  to  have 
no  good  in  his  power:  expensive  kindnesses  may 
not ;  but  there  is  much  kindness  which  is  not  ex- 
pensive: a  kindness  of  temper;  a  readiness  to 
oblige ;  a  willmgness  to  assist ;  a  constant  inclina- 
tion to  promote  the  comfort  and  satisfaction  of  all 
who  are  about  us,  of  all  with  whom  we  have  con- 
cern or  connexion,  of  all  with  whom  we  associate 
or  converse. 

There  is  also  a  concern  for  the  virtue  of  those 
over  whom,  or  with  whom,  we  can  have  any  sort 
of  influence,  which  is  a  natural  concomitant  of  a 
radical  concern  for  virtue  in  ourselves. 

But,  above  all,  it  is  undoubtedly,  in  every  per- 
son's power,  whether  poor  or  rich,  weak  or  strong, 
ill  or  well  endowed  by  nature  or  education,  it  is,  I 
say,  in  every  person's  power  to  avoid  sin :  if  he 
can  do  little  good,  to  take  care  that  he  do  no  ill. 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


5fi5 


Although,  therefore,  there  be  no  person  in  the 
worlJ  so  circumstttnced,  but  who  both  can  and 
will  testify  his  inward  principle  by  his  outward 
behiiviour,  in  one  shajje  or  other;  yet  on  account 
of  the  very  great  difference  of  those  circum- 
stances in  which  men  are  placed,  and  to  which 
their  outward  exertions  are  subjected,  outward 
behaviour  is  not  always  a  just  measure  of  inward 
principle. 

But  there  is  a  second  case,  and  that  but  too 
conuuon,  in  which  outward  behaviour  is  no  mea- 
sure of  religious  principle  at  all ;  and  that  is,  when 
it  springs  from  other  and  different  motives  and 
reason  from  those  which  religion  presents.  A 
very  bad  man  may  be  externally  good  :  a  man 
completely  irreligious  at  the  heart  may,  for  the 
sake  of  character,  for  the  advantage  of  having  a 
good  character,  for  the  sake  of  decency,  for  the 
sake  of  being  trusted  and  respected,  and  well  spo- 
ken of,  from  a  love  of  praise  and  commendation, 
from  a  view  of  carrying  his  schemes  and  designs 
in  the  world,  or  of  raising  himself  by  strength  of 
character,  or  at  least  from  a  fear  lest  a  tainted 
character  should  be  an  obstacle  to  his  advance- 
ment— from  these  and  a  thousand  such  sort  of 
considerations,  which  might  be  reckoned  up;  and 
with  which,  it  is  evident,  that  religion  hath  no 
concern  or  connexion  whatever,  men  may  be  both 
active,  and  forward,  and  liberal,  in  doing  good  ; 
nnd  exceedincjly  cautious  of  giving  offence  by 
doing  evil ;  and  this  may  be  either  wholly,  or  in 
part,  the  case  with  ourselves. 

In  judging,  therefore,  and  examining  ourselves, 
with  a  view  of  knowing  the  real  condition  of  our 
souls,  the  real  state  and  the  truth  of  our  spiritual 
situation  with  respect  to  God,  and  in  respect  to 
salvation,  it  is  neither  enough,  nor  is  it  safe,  to 
look  only  to  our  external  conduct. 

I  do  not  speak  in  any  manner  of  judging  of 
other  men :  if  that  were  necessary  at  all,  which, 
with  a  view  to  religion,  it  never  is,  different  rules 
must  be  laid  down  for  it.  1  now  only  speak  of 
that  which  is  necessary,  and  most  absolutel}'  so, 
in  judging  rightly  of  ourselves.  To  our  hearts, 
therefore,  we  must  look  for  the  marks  and  tokens 
of  salvation,  for  the  evidence  of  being  in  the  right 
way.  "  That  on  the  good  ground  are  they,  who 
in  an  honest  and  good  heart  bring  forth  fruit  with 
patience." 

One  of  these  marks,  and  that  no  slight  one,  is 
seriousness  of  the  heart.  I  can  have  no  hope  at 
all  of  a  man  who  does  not  find  himself  serious  in 
religious  matters,  serious  at  the  heart.  If  the  judg- 
ment of  Almighty  God  at  the  last  day ;  if  the  dif- 
ference between  being  saved  and  being  lost ;  being 
accepted  in  the  beloved,  and  being  ca.st  forth  into 
outer  darkness  ;  being  bid  by  a  tremendous  word 
either  to  enter  into  the  joy  of  our  Father,  or  to  go 
into  the  fire  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels, 
for  all  who  have  served  him  and  not  God  :  if  these 
things  do  not  make  us  serious,  then  it  is  most  cer- 
tain, either  that  we  do  not  believe  them,  or  that 
we  have  not  yet  thought  of  them  at  all,  or  that 
we  have  positively  broken  off  thinking  of  them, 
have  turned  away  from  the  subject,  have  refused 
to  let  it  enter,  have  shut  our  minds  against  it ;  or, 
lastly,  that  such  a  levity  of  mind  is  our  character, 
as  nothing  whatever  can  make  any  serious  im- 
pression upon.  In  any  of  these  cases  our  condi- 
tion is  deplorable ;  we  cannot  look  for  salvation 
from  Christ's  religion  under  any  of  them.  Do  we 
"vaiit  seriousness  concerning  religion,  because  we 


do  not  believe  in  it  1  we  cann>.  t  expect  salvation 
from  a  religion  which  we  reject.  What  the  root 
of  unbelief  in  us  may  be,  how  far  voluntary  and 
avoidable,  how  far  involuntary  and  unavoidable, 
God  knows,  and  God  only  knows:  and,  therefore, 
he  will  in  his  mercy  treat  us  as  he  thinketh  fit ; 
but  we  have  not  the  religion  to  rely  upon,  to 
found  our  hopes  upon ;  we  cannot,  as  I  say  again, 
expect  salvation  from  a  religion  which  we  reject, 

if  the  second  case  be  ours,  namely,  that  we 
have  not  yet  thought  of  these  things,  and  there- 
fore it  is,  that  we  are  not  serious  about  them,  it 
is  high  time  with  every  one,  that  he  do  think  of 
them.  These  great  events  are  not  at  a  distance 
from  us ;  they  approach  to  every  one  of  us  with 
the  end  of  our  lives  ;  they  are  the  same  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes,  as  if  they  took  place  at  our 
deaths.  It  is  ordained  for  men  once  to  die,  and 
after  that,  judgment.  Wherefore  it  is  folly  in  any 
man  or  woman  whatever,  in  any  thing  above  a 
child,  to  say  they  have  not  thought  of  religion : 
How  know  they  that  they  will  be  permitted  to 
think  of  it  at  all  1  it  is  worse  than  folly,  it  is  high 
presumption.  It  is  an  answer  one  sometimes  re- 
ceives, but  it  is  a  foolish  answer.  Religion  can  do 
no  good  till  it  sinks  into  the  thoughts.  Commune 
with  thyself  and  be  still.  Can  any  health,  or 
strength,  or  youth,  any  vivacity  of  spirits,  any 
crowd  or  hurry  of  business,  much  less  any  course 
of  pleasures,  be  an  excuse  for  not  thinking  about 
religion  1  Is  it  of  importance  only  to  the  old  and 
infirm,  and  dying,  to  be  saved  ]  is  it  not  of  the 
same  importance  to  the  young  and  strong  1  can 
they  be  saved  without  religion  ?  or  can  religion 
save  them  without  thinking  about  it  1 

If,  thirdly,  such  a  levity  of  mind  be  our  charac- 
ter, as  nothing  can  make  an  impression  upon,  this 
levity  must  be  cured  before  ever  we  can  draw 
near  unto  God.  Surely  human  life  wants  not 
materials  and  occasions  for  the  remedying  of  this 
great  infirmity.  Have  we  met  with  no  troubles 
to  bring  us  to  oursehes  1  no  disasters  in  our  af- 
fairs 1  no  losses  in  our  families  1  no  strokes  of 
misfortune  or  affliction  1  no  visitations  in  our 
health  ■?  no  warnings  in  our  constitution  1  If 
none  of  these  things  have  befallen  us,  and  it  is 
for  that  reason  that  we  continue  to  want  serious- 
ness and  solidity  of  character,  then  it  shows  how 
necessary  these  things  are  for  our  real  interest 
and  for  our  real  happiness:  we  are  examples  how 
little  mankind  can  do  without  them,  and  that  a 
state  of  unclouded  pleasure  and  prosperity  is,  of 
all  others,  the  most  unfit  for  man.  It  generates 
the  precise  e\il  we  complain  of,  a  giddiness  and 
levity  of  temper  upon  which  religion  cannot  act. 
It  indisposes  a  man  for  weighty  and  momentous 
concerns  of  any  kind ;  but  it  most  fatally  disquali- 
fies him  for  the  concerns  of  religion.  That  is  its 
worst  consequence,  though  others  may  be  bad,  1 
believe,  therefore,  first,  that  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  a  levity  of  thought  and  character,  upon  which 
religion  has  no  effect,  I  believe,  secondly,  that 
this  is  greatly  cherished  by  health,  and  pleasures, 
and  prosperity,  and  gay  society,  I  believe,  third- 
ly, that  whenever  this  is  the  case,  these  things, 
which  are  accounted  such  blessings,  which  men 
covet  and  envy,  are,  in  truth,  deep  and  heavy  ca- 
lamities. For,  lastly,  I  believe,  that  this  levity 
must  be  changed  into  seriousness,  before  the  mind 
infected  with  it  can  come  unto  God  ;  and  most  as- 
suredly true  it  is,  that  we  cannot  come  to  happiness 
in  the  next  world,  unless  we  come  to  God  in  this. 
48 


566 


SERMONS  OIN  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


I  repeat  again,  therefore,  that  we  must  look  to 
our  hearts  for  our  character  :  not  simply  or  solely 
to  our  actions,  which  may  be  and  will  be  of  a 
mixed  nature,  but  to  the  internal  state  of  our  dis- 
position. That  is  the  place  in  which  religion 
dwells :  in  that  it  consists.  And  I  also  repeat, 
that  one  of  these  internal  marks  of  a  right  dispo- 
sition, of  an  honest  and  good  heart,  as  relative  to 
religion,  is  seriousness. — 'fhere  can  be  no  true  re- 
ligion without  it.  And  further,  a  mark  and  test 
of  a  growing  religion,  is  a  growing  seriousness; 
so  that  when,  instead  of  seeing  these  things  at  a 
distance,  we  begin  to  look  near  upon  them ;  when 
from  faint,  they  become  distinct;  when,  instead 
of  now  and  then  perceiving  a  slight  sense  of  these 
matters,  a  hasty  passage  of  them,  as  it  were, 
through  the  thoughts,  they  begin  to  rest  and  set- 
tle there:  in  a  word,  when  we  become  serious 
about  religion,  then,  and  not  till  then,  may  we 
hope  that  things  are  going  on  right  within  us ; 
that  the  soil  is  prepared,  the  seed  sown.  Its  fu- 
ture growth,  and  maturity,  and  fruit  may  not  yet 
be  known,  but  the  seed  is  sown  in  the  heart :  and 
in  a  serious  heart  it  will  not  be  sown  in  vain  ;  in 
a  heart  not  yet  become  serious,  it  may. 

Religious  seriousness  is  not  churlishnes.s,  is  not 
severity,  is  not  gloominess,  is  not  melancholy :  but 
it  is  nevertheless  a  disposition  of  mind,  and,  like 
every  disposition,  it  will  show  itself  one  way  or 
other.  It  will,  in  the  iirst  place,  neither  invite, 
nor  entertain,  nor  encourage  anything  which  has 
a  tendency  to  turn  religion  into  ridicule.  It  is  not 
in  the  nature  of  things,  that  a  serious  mind  should 
find  delight  or  amusement  in  so  doing ;  it  is  not 
in  the  nature  of  things,  that  it  should  not  feel  an 
inward  pain  and  reluctance  whenever  it  is  done. 
Therefore,  if  we  are  capable  of  being  pleased  with 
hearing  religion  treated  or  talked  of  with  levity  ; 
made,  in  any  manner  whatever,  an  object  of  sport 
and  jesting ;  if  we  are  capable  of  making  it  so  our- 
selves, or  joining  with  others,  as  in  a  diversion,  in 
so  doing ;  nay,  if  we  do  not  feel  ourselves  at  the 
heart  grieved  and  otiended,  whenever  it  is  our  lot 
to  be  present  at  such  sort  of  conversation  and  dis- 
course :  then  is  the  inference  as  to  ourselves  in- 
fallible, that  we  are  not  yet  serious  in  our  religion ; 
and  then  it  will  be  for  us  to  remember,  that  seri- 
ousness is  one  of  those  marks  bv  which  we  may 
fairly  judge  of  the  state  of  our  mind  and  disposi- 
tion as  to  religion;  and  that  the  state  of  our  mind 
and  disposition  is  the  very  thing  to  be  consulted, 
to  be  known,  to  be  examined  and  searched  into 
for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  we  are 
in  a  right  and  safe  way  or  not.  Words  and 
actions  are  to  be  judged  of  with  a  reference  to 
the  disposition  which  they  indicate.  There  may 
be  language,  there  may  be  expressions,  there 
may  be  behaviour  of  no  very  great  consequence 
in  itself,  and  considered  in  itself,  but  of  very 
great  consequence  indeed,  when  considered  as 
indicating  a  disposition  and  state  of  mind.  If  it 
show,  with  respect  to  religion,  that  to  be  want- 
ing within,  which  ought  to  be  there,  namely, 
a  deep  and  fixed  sense  of  our  personal  and  in- 
dividual concern  in  religion,  of  its  importance 
above  all  other  important  things;  then  it  shows, 
that  there  is  yet  a  deficiency  in  our  hearts; 
which,  without  delay,  must  be  supplied  by  closer 
meditation  upon  the  subject  than  we  have"  hither- 
to used ;  and,  aoove  all,  by  earnest  and  unceasing 
orayer  for  such  a  portion  and  measure  of  spiritual 
ofluenoa  shed  upon  our  hearts,  as  may  cure  and  j 


remedy  that  heedlessness  and  coldness,  and  deadi 
ness,  and  unconcern,  which  are  fatal,  and  under 
which  we  have  so  much  reason  to  know  that  we 
as  yet  unhappily  labour. 


SERMON  XVIII. 
(PART  I.) 

THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  CHRIST. 

A'olo  07ice  in  the  end  of  the  world  hath  he  appear- 
ed to  put  away  sin  by  the  sacrifice  of  himself. 
— Hebrews  ix.  26. 

The  salvation  of  mankind,  and  most  particu- 
larly in  so  far  as  the  death  and  passion  of  out 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  are  concerned  in  it,  and  where- 
by he  comes  to  be  called  our  Saviour  and  our  Re- 
deemer, ever  has  been,  and  ever  must  be,  a  most 
interesting  subject  to  all  serious  minds. 

Now  there  is  one  thing  in  which  there  is  no  di- 
vision or  difference  of  opinion  at  all ;  which  is, 
that  the  death  of  Jesus  Christ  is  spoken  of  in  re- 
ference to  human  salvation,  in  terms  and  in  a 
manner,  in  which  the  death  of  no  person  what- 
ever is  spoken  of  besides.  Others  have  died  mar- 
tyrs as  well  as  our  Lord.  Others  have  suffered 
in  a  righteous  cause,  as  well  as  he ;  but  that  is 
said  of  him,  and  of  his  death  and  sufferings,  which 
is  not  said  of  any  one  else.  An  efficacy  and  a  con- 
cern are  ascribed  to  them,  in  the  business  of  human 
salvation,  which  are  not  ascribed  to  any  other. 

What  may  be  called  the  first  Gospel  declaration 
upon  this  subject,  is  the  exclamation  of  John  the 
Baptist,  when  he  saw  Jesus  coming  unto  him: 
"  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  which  taketh  away 
the  sin  of  the  world."  I  think  it  plain,  that  when 
John  called  our  Lord  the  Lamb  of  God,  he  spoke 
with  a  relation  to  his  being  sacrificed,  and  to  the 
effect  of  that  sacrifice  upon  the  pardon  of  human 
sin ;  and  this,  you  will  observe,  was  said  of  him 
even  before  he  entered  upon  his  office.  If  any 
doubt  could  be  made  of  the  meaning  of  the  Bap- 
tist's expression,  it  is  settled  by  other  places  in 
which  the  like  allusion  to  a  Lamb  is  adopted ; 
and  where  the  allusion  is  sjjecifically  applied  to 
his  death,  considered  as  a  sacrifice. 

In  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  the  following  words 
of  Isaiah  are,  by  Philip  the  evangelist,  distinctly 
applied  to  our  Lord,  and  to  our  Lord's  death. 
"  He  was  led  as  a  sheep  to  the  slaughter;  and 
like  a  lamb  dumb  before  his  shearers,  so  opened 
he  not  his  mouth ;  in  his  humiliation  his  judgment 
was  taken  away,  and  who  shall  declare  his  gene- 
ration^ for  his  life  is  taken  from  the  earth;" 
therefore  it  was  to  his  death,  you  see,  that  the 
description  relates.  Now,  I  say,  that  this  is  applied 
to  Christ  most  distinctly ;  for  the  pious  eunuch 
who  was  reading  the  passage  in  his  chariot,  was 
at  a  loss  to  know  to  whom  it  should  be  applied. 
"I  pray  thee,"  saith  he  to  Philip,  "of  whom 
speaketh  the  prophet  thisl  of  himself  or  of  some 
other  manT'  And  Philip,  you  read,  taught  him 
that  it  was  spoken  of  Christ.  And  I  say,  secondly, 
that  this  particular  part  and  expression  of  the  pro- 
phecy being  a]jpl!ed  to  Christ's  death,  carries  the 
whole  prophecy  to  the  same  subject;  for  it  is  un- 
doubtedly one  entire  prophecy  ;  therefore  the  other 
expressions,  which  are  still  stronger,  are  appiica- 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


567 


ble  as  well  as  this.  "  He  was  wounded  for  our 
transgressions ;  he  was  bruised  for  our  iniquities ; 
the  chastisement  of  our  peace  was  upon  him  ;  and 
with  his  stripes  we  are  healed  ;  the  Lord  hath  laid 
on  him  the  iniquity  of  us  all."  There  is  a  strong 
and  very  apposite  text  of  St.  Peter's,  in  which  the 
application  of  the  term  "  Lamb"  to  our  Lord,  and 
the  sense  in  which  it  is  applied,  can  admit  of  no 
question  at  all.  It  is  in  the  1st  chapter  of  the 
ilrst  epistle,  the  18th  and  19th  verses :  "  Foras- 
much as  ye  know,  that  ye  were  not  redeemed  with 
corruptible  things,  but  with  the  precious  blood  of 
Christ,  as  of  a  lamb  without  blemish  and  without 
spot."  All  the  use  I  make  of  these  passages  is 
to  show,  that  the  prophet  Isaiah,  six  hundred 
years  before  his  birth ;  St.  John  the  Baptist,  upon 
the  commencement  of  his  ministry ;  St.  Peter,  his 
friend,  companion,  and  apostle,  after  the  transac- 
tion was  over,  speak  of  Christ's  death,  under  the 
figure  of  a  lamb  being  sacrificed ;  that  is,  as  having 
the  effect  of  a  sacrifice,  the  eflect  in  kind,  though 
infinitely  higher  in  degree,  upon  the  pardon  of 
sins,  and  the  procurement  of  salvation ;  and  that 
this  is  spoken  of  the  death  of  no  other  person 
whatever. 

Other  plain  and  distinct  passages,  declaring  the 
efficacy  of  Christ's  death,  are  the  following,  He- 
brews ix.  26 :  "  Now  once  in  the  end  of  the  world 
hath  he  appeared  to  put  away  sin  by  the  sacrifice 
of  himself  Christ  was  once  ofi'ered  to  bear  the 
sins  of  many,  and  unto  them  that  look  for  him 
shall  he  appear  the  second  time  without  sin  unto 
salvation."  And  in  the  xth  chapter,  12th  verse  : 
"  This  man,  after  he  had  offered  one  sacrifice  for 
sin,  for  ever  sat  down  on  the  right  hand  of  God, 
for  by  one  offering  he  hath  perfected  lor  ever  them 
that  are  sanctified."  I  observe  again,  that  nothing 
of  this  sort  is  said  of  the  death  of  any  other  per- 
son; no  such  efficacy  is  imputed  to  any  other 
martyrdom.  So  likewise  in  the  following  text, 
from  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans:  ""While  we 
were  yet  sinners,  Christ  died  for  us ;  much  more 
then  being  now  justified  by  his  blood  we  shall  be 
saved  from  wrath  through  him ;  for  if,  when  we 
were  enemies,  we  were  reconciled  to  God  by  the 
death  of  his  Son,  much  more,  being  reconciled,  we 
shall  be  saved  by  his  life."  "  Reconciled  to  God 
by  the  death  of  his  Son ;"  therefore  that  death  had 
an  efficacy  in  our  reconciliation ;  but  reconcilia- 
tion is  preparatory  to  salvation.  The  same  thing 
is  said  by  the  same  apostle  in  his  Epistle  to  the 
Colossians :  "  He  has  reconciled  us  to  his  Father 
in  his  cross,  and  in  the  body  of  his  fiesh  through 
death."  What  is  said  of  reconciliation  in  these 
texts,  is  said  in  other  texts  of  sanctification,  which 
also  is  preparatory  to  salvation.  Thus,  Hebrews 
X.  10;  "  We  are  sanctified :"  how]  namely,  "  by 
the  offering  of  the  body  of  Christ  once  for  all ;"  so 
again  in  the  same  epistle,  the  blood  of  Jesus  is  call- 
ed "  the  blood  of  the  covenant  by  which  we  are 
sanctified." 

In  these  and  many  other  passages,  that  lie 
spread  in  difl'erent  parts  of  the  New  Testament, 
it  appears  to  be  asserted,  that  the  death  of  Christ 
had  an  efficacy  in  the  procurement  of  human  sal- 
vation. Now  these  expressions  mean  something, 
mean  something  substantial ;  they  are  used  con- 
cerning no  other  person,  nor  the  death  of  any 
other  person  whatever.  Therefore  Christ's  death 
was  something  more  than  a  confirmation  of  his 
preaching ;  something  more  than  a  pattern  of  a 
holv  and  patient,  and  perhaps  voluntary  martyr- 


dom ;  something  more  than  necessarily  antecedent 
to  his  resurrection,  by  which  he  gave  a  grand  and 
clear  proof  of  human  resurrection.  Christ's  death 
was  all  these,  but  it  was  something  more  ;  because 
none  of  these  ends,  nor  all  of  them,  satisfy  the 
text  you  have  heard  ;  come  up  to  the  assertions 
and  declarations  which  are  delivered  concerning  it. 

Now  allowing  the  subject  to  stop  here,  allowing 
that  we  know  nothing,  nor  can  know  any  thing 
concerning  it  but  what  is  written,  and  that  no- 
thing more  is  written  than  that  the  death  of  Christ 
had  a  real  and  essential  effect  upon  human  salva- 
tion; we  have  certainly  before  us  a  doctrine  of  a 
very  peculiar,  perhaps  I  may  say  of  a  very  unex- 
pected kind,  in  some  measure  hidden  in  the  coun- 
cils of  the  divine  nature,  but  still  so  far  revealed  to 
us,  as  to  excite  two  great  religious  sentiments,  ad- 
miration and  gratitude. 

That  a  person  of  a  nature  different  from  all 
other  men;  nay,  superior,  for  so  he  is  distinctly 
described  to  be,  to  all  created  beings,  whether  men 
or  angels ;  united  with  the  Deity  as  no  other  per- 
son is  united ;  that  such  a  person  should  come 
down  from  heaven,  and  suffer  upon  earth  the 
pains  of  an  excruciating  death,  and  that  these  his 
submissions  and  sufferings  should  avail  and  pro- 
duce a  great  effect  in  the  procurement  of  the  fu- 
ture salvation  of  mankind,  cannot  but  excite  won- 
der. But  it  is  by  no  means  improbable  on  that 
account;  on  the  contrary,  it  might  be  reasonably 
supposed  beforehand,  that  if  any  thing  was  dis- 
closed to  us  touching  a  future  life,  and  touching 
the  dispensations  of  God  to  men,  it  would  be 
something  of  a  nature  to  excite  admiration.  In 
the  world  in  which  we  live,  we  may  be  said  to 
have  some  knowledge  of  its  laws,  and  constitution, 
and  nature :  we  have  long  experienced  them  ;  as 
also  of  the  beings  with  whom  we  converse,  or 
amongst  whom  we  are  conversant,  we  may  be 
said  to  understand  something,  at  least  they  are 
familiar  to  us;  we  are  not  surprised  with  appear- 
ances which  every  day  occur.  But  of  the  world 
and  the  life  to  which  we  are  destined,  and  of  the 
beings  amongst  whom  we  may  be  brought,  the 
case  is  altogether  different.  Here  is  no  experience 
to  explain  things ;  no  use  or  familiarity  to  take 
off  surprise,  to  reconcile  us  to  difficulties,  to  assist 
our  apprehension.  In  the  new  order  of  things, 
according  to  the  new  laws  of  nature,  every  thing 
will  be  suitable ;  suitable  to  the  beings  who  are  to 
occupy  the  future  world ;  but  that  suitableness 
cannot,  as  it  seems  to  me,  be  jwssibly  perceived  by 
us,  until  we  are  acquainted  with  that  order  and 
with  those  beings.  So  that  it  arises,  as  it  were, 
from  the  necessity  of  things,  that  what  is  told  us 
by  a  divine  messenger  of  heavenly  affairs,  of  af- 
fairs purely  spiritual,  that  is,  relating  purely  to 
another  world,  must  be  so  comprehended  by  us, 
as  to  excite  admiration. 

But,  secondly  ;  partially  as  we  may,  or  perhaps 
must,  comprehend  this  subject,  in  common  with 
all  subjects  which  relate  strictly  and  solely  to  the 
nature  of  our  future  life,  we  may  comprehend  it 
quite  sufficiently  for  one  purpose;  and  that  is  gra- 
titude. It  was  only  for  a  moral  purpose  that  the 
thing  was  revealed  at  all ;  and  that  purpose  is  a 
sense  of  gratitude  and  obligation.  This  was  the 
use  which  the  apostles  of  our  Lord,  who  knew 
the  most,  made  of  their  knowledge.  This  was  the 
turn  they  gave  to  their  meditations  upon  the  sub- 
ject; the  impression  it  left  upon  their  hearts. 
That  a  great  and  happy  Being  should  voluntarily 


568 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS 


enter  the  world  in  a  mean  and  low  condition,  and 
humble  himself  to  a  death  upon  the  cross,  that  is, 
to  be  executed  as  a  malefactor,  in  order,  by  what- 
ever means  it  was  done,  to  promote  the  attain- 
ment of  salvation  to  mankind,  and  to  each  and 
every  one  of  themselves,  was  a  theme  they  dwelt 
upon  with  feelings  of  the  warmest  thankfulness ; 
because  they  were  feelings  proportioned  to  the 
magnitude  of  the  benefit.  Earthly  benefits  are 
nothing  compared  with  those  which  are  heavenly. 
That  they  telt  from  the  Iwttom  of  their  souls. 
That,  in  my  opinion,  we  do  not  feel  as  we  ought. 
But  feeling  this,  they  never  cease  to  testify,  to 
acknowledge,  to  express  the  deepest  obligation, 
the  most  devout  consciousness  of  that  obligation 
to  their  Lord  and  Master;  to  him  whom,  for  what 
he  had  done  and  sufiered,  they  regarded  as  the 
finisher  of  their  faith,  and  the  author  of  their  sal- 
vation. 


SERMON  XIX. 
(PART  II.) 

ALL  STAND  IN  NEED  OP  A  REDEEMER. 

NoiD  once  in  the  end  of  the  world  hath  he  ap- 
peared to  put  away  sin  by  the  sacrifice  of  him- 
self— Hebrews  ix.  26. 

In  a  former  discourse  upon  this  text  I  have 
shown,  first,  That  the  Scriptures  expressly  state 
the  death  of  Jesus  Christ  as  having  an  efficacy  in 
the  procurement  of  human  salvation,  which  is  not 
attributed  to  the  death  or  sufferings  of  any  other 
person,  however  patiently  undergone,  or  unde- 
servedly inflicted ;  and  farther,  it  appears  that  this 
efficacy  is  quite  consistent  with  our  obligation  to 
obedience ;  that  good  works  still  remain  the  con- 
dition of  salvation,  though  not  the  cause ;  the 
cause  lieing  the  mercy  of  Almighty  God  through 
Jesus  Christ.  There  is  no  man  living,  perhaps, 
who  has  considered  seriously  the  state  of  his  soul, 
to  whom  this  is  not  a  consoling  doctrine,  and  a 
grateful  truth.  But  there  are  some  situations  of 
mind  which  dispose  us  to  feel  the  weight  and  im- 
portance of  this  doctrine  more  than  others.  These 
situations  I  will  endeavour  to  describe;  and,  in 
doing  so,  to  point  out  how  much  more  satisfactory 
it  Ls  to  have  a  Saviour  and  Redeemer,  and  the 
mercies  of  our  Creator  excited  towards  us,  and 
comnmnicated  to  us  by  and  through  that  Saviour 
and  Redeemer,  to  confide  in  and  rely  upon,  than 
any  grounds  of  merit  in  ourselves. 

First,  then,  souls  which  are  really  labouring  and 
endeavouring  after  salvation,  and  with  sincerity — 
such  souls  are  every  hour  made  sensible,  deeply 
sensible,  of  the  deficiency  and  imperfection  of 
their  endeavours.  Had  they  no  ground,  therefore, 
for  hope,  but  merit,  that  is  to  say,  could  they  look 
for  nothing  more  than  what  they  should  strictly 
deserve,  their  prospect  would  be  very  uncomforta- 
ble. I  see  not  how  they  could  look  for  heaven  at 
all.  They  may  form  a  conception  of  a  virtue  and 
obedience  which  might  seein  to  be  entitled  to  a 
high  reward  ;  but  when  they  come  to  review  their 
own  iJerformances,  and  to  compare  them  with  that 
conception ;  when  they  see  how  short  they  have 
proved  of  what  they  ought  to  have  been,  and  of 
what  they  might  have  been,  how  weak  and  broken 


were  their  best  offices ;  they  will  be  the  first  u. 
confess,  that  it  is  infinitely  for  their  comfort  that 
they  have  some  other  resource  than  their  own 
righteousness.  One  infalhble  eflect  of  sincerity 
in  our  endeavours  is,  to  beget  in  us  a  knowledge 
of  our  imperfections.  The  careless,  the  heedless, 
the  thoughtless,  the  nominal  Christian,  feels  no 
want  of  a  Saviour,  an  intercessor,  a  mediator,  be- 
cause he  feels  not  his  own  defects.  Try  in  earnest 
to  perfonn  the  duties  of  religion,  and  you  will  soon 
learn  how  incomplete  your  best  performances  are 
I  can  hardly  mention  a  branch  of  our  duty,  which 
is  not  liable  to  be  both  impure  in  the  motive,  and 
imperfect  in  the  execution;  or  a  branch  of  oui 
duty  in  which  our  endeavours  can  found  theit 
hopes  of  acceptance  upon  any  thing  but  extended 
mercy,  and  the  efficacy  of  th(ise  means  and 
causes  which  have  procured  it  to  be  so  extended. 

In  the  first  place,  is  not  this  the  case  with  our 
acts   of  ])iety  and   devotion  1     We   may  admit, 
that  pure  and  perfect  piety  has  a  natural  title  to 
reward  at  the  hand  of  God.     But  is  ours  ever 
such  1     To  be  pure  in  its  motive,  it  ought  to  pro- 
ceed from  a  sense  of  God  Almighty's  goodness 
towards  us,  and  from  no  other  source,  or  cause, 
or   motive   whatsoever.      Whereas   even    pious, 
comparatively  pious  men,  will  acknowledge  that 
authority,   custom,    decency,    imitation,    have    a 
share  in  most  of  their   religious  exercises,    and 
that  they  cannot  warrant  any  of  their  devotions 
to   be   entirely  indejiendent  of  these   causes.     I 
would  not  speak  disparagingly  of  the  considera- 
tions here  recited.     They  are  oftentimes  neces- 
sary inducements,  and  they  may  be  the  means  of 
bringing  us  to  better  ;  but  .still  it  is  true,  that  devo- 
tion is  not  pure  in  its  origin,  unless  it  flow  from 
a  sense  of  God   Almighty's  goodness,   unmixed 
with  any  other  reason.     But  if  our  worship  of 
God  be  defective  in  its  principle,  and  often  debased 
by  the  mixture  of  impure  motives,  it  is  still  more 
deficient,  when  we  come  to  regard  it  in  its  per- 
formances.    Our  devotions  are  broken  and  inter- 
rupted, or  they  are  cold  and  languid.     Worldly 
thoughts  intrude  themselves   upon  them.      Our 
worldly  heart  is   tied  down  to  the   earth.     Our 
devotions  are  unworthy  of  God.     We  lift  not  up 
our  hearts  unto  him.    Our  treasure  is  upon  earth, 
and   our   hearts   are  with    our   treasure.      That 
heavenly-mindedness  which  ought  to  be  insepara- 
ble from  religious  exercises  does  not  accompany 
ours ;  at  least  not  constantly.     1  speak  not  now 
of  the  hypocrite   in  religion,  of  him  who   only 
makes  a  show  of  it.     His  case  comes  not  within 
our  present  consideration.     I  speak  of  those  who 
are  sincere  men.     These  feel  the  imjierfection  of 
their  services,  and  will  acknowledge  that  I  have 
not  stated  it  more   strongly  than  what  is  true. 
Imperfection  cleaves  to   every    part  of  it.     Our 
thankfulness  is  never  what  it  ought  to  be,  or  any 
thing  like  it ;  and  it  is  only  when  we  have  sonie 
particular  reason  for  being  pleased  that  we  are 
thankful  at  all.     Formality  is  apt  continually  to 
steal  upon  us  in  our  worship :  more  especially  iji 
our  public  worship ;   and  formality  takes  away 
tlie    imnKHliate    consciousness    of  what   we   are 
doing ;   which  consciousness  is  the  very  life  of 
devotion  ;  all  that  we  do  without  it  being  a  dead 
ci^remony. 

No  man  reviews  his  services  towards  God,  his 
religious  services,  but  he  perceives  in  them  much 
to  be  forgiven,  much  to  be  excused ;  great  un- 
worthiness  as  respecting  the  object  of  all  worship; 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


5G9 


much  deficiency  and  imperfection  to  be  passed 
over,  before  our  service  can  be  deemed  in  its  nature 
an  acceptable  service.  That  such  services,  there- 
fore, should,  in  fact,  be  allowed  and  accepted, 
and  that  to  no  less  an  end  and  purpose  than  the 
attainment  of  heaven,  is  an  act  of  abounding 
grace  and  goodness  in  Him  who  accepts  them ; 
and  we  are  taught  in  Scripture,  that  this  so  much 
wanted  grace  and  goodness  abounds  towards  us 
through  Jesus  Christ ;  and  particularly  through 
his  sufferings  and  his  death. 

But  to  pass  from  our  acts  of  worship,  which 
tbrm  a  particular  part  only  of  our  duty  to  God  ; 
to  pass  from  these  to  our  general  duty,  what,  let 
us  ask,  is  that  duty  1  What  is  our  duty  towards 
God  1  No  other,  our  Sa%'iour  himself  tells  us, 
than  "  to  love  him  with  all  our  heart,  with  all  our 
soul,  with  all  our  strength,  and  with  all  our  mind  :" 
Luke  X.  27.  Are  we  conscious  of  such  love  to 
such  a  degree  1  If  we  are  not,  then,  in  a  most 
fundamental  duty,  we  fail  of  being  what  we  ought 
to  be.  Here,  then,  as  before,  is  a  call  for  pardon- 
ing mercy  on  the  part  of  God  ;  which  mercy  is 
extended  to  us  by  the  intervention  of  Jesus 
Christ ;  at  least  so  the  Scriptures  represent  it. 

In  our  duties  towards  one  another,  it  may  be 
said,  that  our  performances  are  more  adequate  to 
our  obligation,  than  in  our  duties  to  God  ;  that 
the  subjects  of  them  lie  more  level  with  our  capa- 
city; and  there  may  be  truth  in  this  observation. 
But  still  I  am  afraid,  that  both  in  principle  and 
execution  our  performances  are  not  only  defective, 
but  defective  in  a  degree  which  we  are  not  suffi- 
ciently aware  of.  The  rule  laid  down  for  us  is 
this,  "  to  love  our  neighbour  as  ourselves."  Which 
rule,  in  fact,  enjoins,  that  our  benevolence  be  as 
strong  as  our  self-interest :  that  we  be  as  anxious 
to  do  good,  as  quick  to  discover,  as  eager  to  em- 
brace every  opportunity  of  doing  it,  and  as  active, 
and  resolute,  and  persevering  in  our  endeavours 
to  do  it,  as  we  are  anxious  for  ourselves,  and 
active  in  the  pursuit  of  our  own  interest.  Now 
is  this  the  case  with  us  1  Wherein  it  is  not,  we 
fall  below  our  rule.  In  the  apostles  of  Jesus 
Christ,  to  whom  this  rule  was  given  from  his  own 
mouth,  you  may  read  how  it  operated ;  and  their 
example  proves,  what  some  deny,  the  possibility 
of  the  thing ;  namely,  of  benevolence  being  as 
strong  a  motive  as  self-interest.  They  firmly  be- 
lieved, that  to  bring  men  to  the  knowledge  of 
Christ's  religion  was  the  greatest  possible  good 
that  could  be  done  unto  them ;  was  the  highest 
act  of  benevolence  they  could  exercise.  And, 
accordingly,  they  set  about  this  work,  and  carried 
it  on  with  as  much  energy,  as  much  order,  as 
much  perseverance,  through  as  great  toils  and 
labours,  as  many  sufferings  and  difficulties,  as 
any  person  ever  pursued  a  scheme  for  their  own 
interest,  or  for  the  making  of  a  fortune.  They 
could  not  possibly  have  done  more  for  their  own 
sakes  than  what  they  did  for  the  sake  of  others. 
They  literally  loved  their  neighbours  as  them- 
selves. Some  have  followed  their  example  in 
this  ;  and  some  have,  in  zeal  and  energv,  followed 
their  example  in  other  methods  of  doing  good. 
For  I  do  not  mean  to  say,  that  the  particular  me- 
thod of  usefulness,  which  the  office  of  the  apostles 
cast  upon  them,  is  the  only  method,  or  that  it  is  a 
method  even  competent  to  many.  Doing  good, 
without  any  selfish  worldl}'  motive  for  doing  it,  is 
the  grand  thing :  the  mode  must  be  regulated  bv 
opportunity  and  occasion.  To  which  may  be 
4C 


added,  that  in  those  whose  power  of  doing  good, 
according  to  any  mode,  is  small,  the  principle  ^f 
benevolence  will  at  least  restrain  them  from  duini, 
harm.  If  the  principle  be  subsisting  in  their  hearts, 
it  will  have  this  operation  at  least.  I  ask  there- 
fore again,  as  I  asked  before,  are  we  as  solicitous 
to  seize  opportunities,  to  look  out  for  and  embrace 
occasions  of  doing  good,  as  we  are  certainly  soli- 
citous to  lay  hold  of  opportunities  of  making  ad- 
vantage to  ourselves,  and  to  embrace  all  occasions 
of  profit  and  self-interest  1  Nay,  is  benevolence 
strong  enough  to  hold  our  hand,  when  stretchrd 
out  for  mischief!  is  it  always  sufficient  to  make 
us  consider  what  misery  we  are  producing,  whilst 
we  are  compassing  a  selfish  end,  or  gratifying  a 
lawless  passion  of  our  own  1  Do  the  two  princi- 
ples of  benevolence  and  self-interest  possess  any 
degree  of  parallelism  and  equality  in  our  hearts, 
and  in  our  conduct  1  If  they  do,  then  so  far  we 
come  up  to  our  rule.  Wherein  they  do  not,  as  I 
said  before,  we  fall  below  it. 

When  not  only  the  generality  of  mankind,  but 
even  those  who  are  endeavouring  to  do  their  duty, 
apply  the  standard  to  themselves,  they  are  made 
to  learn  the  humiliating  lesson  of  their  own  defi- 
ciency. That  such  our  deficiency  should  be 
overlooked,  so  as  not  to  become  the  loss  to  us  of 
happiness  after  death  ;  that  our  poor,  weak,  hum- 
ble endeavours  to  comply  with  our  Saviour's  rule 
should  he  received  and  not  rejected  ; — 1  say,  if  we 
hope  for  this,  we  must  hope  for  it,  not  on  the 
ground  of  congruity  or  desert,  which  it  will  not 
bear,  but  from  the  extreme  benignity  of  a  merciful 
God,  arid  the  availing  mediation  of  a  Redeemer. 
You  will  observe  that  I  am  still,  and  have  been 
all  along,  speaking  of  sincere  men,  of  those  who 
are  in  earnest  in  their  duty,  and  in  religion ;  and 
I  say,  upon  the  strength  of  what  has  been  alleged, 
that  even  these  persons,  when  they  read  in  Scrip- 
ture of  the  riches  of  the  goodness  of  God,  of  the 
powerful  efficacy  of  the  death  of  Christ,  of  his 
mediation  and  continual  intercession,  know  and 
feel  in  their  hearts  that  they  stand  in  need  of 
them  all. 

In  that  remaining  class  of  duties,  which  are 
called  duties  to  our.selves,  the  observation  we  iiave 
made  upon  the  deficiency  of  our  endeavours  ap- 
plies with  equal  or  with  greater  force.  More  is 
here  wanted  than  the  mere  command  of  our  ac- 
tions. The  heart  itself  is  to  be  regulated ;  the 
hardest  thing  in  this  world  to  manage.  The 
affections  and  passions  are  to  be  kept  in  order ; 
constant  evil  propensities  are  to  be  constantly- 
opposed.  I  apprehend  that  every  sincere  man  is 
conscious  how  unable  he  is  to  fulfil  this  part  of 
his  duty,  even  to  his  own  satisfaction  ;  and  if  our 
conscience  accuse  us,  "  God  is  greater  than  our 
conscience,  and  knoweth  all  things."  If  we  see 
our  sad  failings.  He  must. 

God  forbid  that  any  thing  I  say,  either  upon 
this  or  the  other  branches  of  our  duty,  should 
damp  our  endeavours.  Let  them  be  as  vigorous 
and  as  steadfast  as  they  can.  They  will  be  so  if 
we  are  sincere ;  and  without  sincerity  there  is  no 
hope;  none  whatever.  But  there  will  always  be 
left  enough,  infinitely  more  than  enough,  to  hum- 
ble self-sufficiency. 

Contemplate,  then,  what  is  placed  before  us — 
heaven.  Understand  what  heaven  is :  a  state 
of  happiness  after  death;  exceeding  what,  with- 
out experience,  it  is  possible  for  us  to  conceive, 
and  unlimited  in  duration.  This  L=  a  rewa.ru  in- 
48* 


570 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


finitely  beyond  any  thing  we  can  pretend  to,  as 
of  right,  as  merited,  as  due.  Some  distinction 
between  us  and  others,  between  the  comparative- 
ly good  and  the  bad,  might  be  expected  ;  but  on 
these  grounds,  not  such  a  reward  as  this,  even 
were  our  services,  I  mean  the  services  of  sincere 
men,  perfect.  But  such  services  as  ours,  in  truth, 
are,  such  services  as,  in  fact,  we  perform,  so  poor, 
so  deficient,  so  broken,  so  mixed  with  alloy,  so 
imperfect  both  in  principle  and  execution,  what 
have  they  to  look  for  upon  their  own  foundation  1 
"When,  IheTefore,  the  Scriptures  speak  to  us  of  a 
redeemer,  a  mediator,  an  intercessor  for  us  ;  when 
they  display  and  magnify  the  exceeding  great 
mercies  of  God,  as  set  forth  in  the  salvation  of 
man,  according  to  any  mode  whatever  which  he 
might  be  pleased  to  appoint,  and  therefore  in  that 
mode  which  the  Gospel  holds  forth ;  they  teach 
us  no  other  doctrine  than  that  to  which  the  actual 
deficiencies  of  our  duty  and  a  just  consciousness 
and  acknowledgment  of  these  deficiencies,  must 
naturally  carry  our  own  minds.  What  we  feel 
in  ourselves  corresponds  with  what  we  read  in 
Scripture. 


SERMON  XX. 

'"HE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  DEATH  OP  CHRIST  CON- 
SISTENT WITH  THE  NECESSITY  OP  A  GOOD 
life:  the  one  being  the  cause,  the  OTHER 
THE  condition   OF    SALVATION. 

What  shall  we  say  then?  shall  ice  continue  in 
sin,  that  grace  viaij  abound?  God  forbid. — 
Romans  vi.  1. 

The  same  Scriptures  which  represent  the  death 
of  Christ  as  having  that  which  belongs  to  the 
death  of  no  other  person,  namely,  an  efficacy  in 
procuring  the  salvation  of  man,  are  also  constant 
and  uniform  in  representing  the  necessity  of  our 
own  endeavours,  of  our  own  good  works  for  the 
same  purpose.  They  go  further.  They  foresaw 
that  in  stating,  and  still  more  when  they  went 
about  to  extol  and  magnify  the  death  of  Christ,  as 
instrumental  to  salvation,  they  were  laying  a  foun- 
dation for  the  opinion,  that  men's  own  works, 
their  own  virtue,  their  personal  endeavours,  were 
superseded  and  dispensed  with.  In  proportion  as 
the  sacrifice  of  the  death  of  Christ  was  eflTcctual, 
in  the  same  proportion  were  these  less  necessary  : 
if  the  death  of  Christ  was  sufficient,  if  redemption 
was  complete,  then  were  these  not  necessary  at 
all.  They  foresaw  that  some  would  draw  this 
consequence  from  their  doctrine,  and  they  provided 
against  it. 

It  is  observable,  that  the  same  consequence 
might  he  deduced  from  the  goodness  of  God  in 
any  way  of  representing  it :  not  only  in  the  par- 
ticular and  peculiar  way  in  which  it  is  represent- 
ed in  the  redemptionof  the  v/orld  by  Jesus  Christ, 
but  in  any  other  way.  St,  Paul,  for  one,  was  s(mi- 
sible  of  this,  and  therefore,  when  he  speaks  of  the 
goodness  oi^  God,  even  in  general  terms,  he  takes 
care  to  point  out  the  only  true  turn  which  ought 
to  be  given  to  it  in  our  thouglits — "  Despisest  thou 
the  riches  of  his  goodness,  and  forliearance,  and 
long  suffering;  not  knowing  that  the  goodness  of 
God  ieadeth  thee  to  repentance?'  as  if  he  had 
said, — With  thee,  I  perceive,  that  the  considera- 


tion of  the  goodness  of  God,  leads  to  the  allowing 
of  thyself  in  sin :  this  is  not  to  know  w!)at  that 
consideration  ought  in  truth  to  lead  to  :  it  ought 
to  lead  thee  to  repentance,  and  to  no  other  conclu- 
sion. 

Again  When  the  apostle  had  been  speaking 
of  the  rignteousness  of  God  displayed  by  the  wick- 
edness of  man ;  he  was  not  unaware  of  the  mis- 
construction to  which  this  representation  was  lia- 
ble, and  which  it  had,  in  fact,  experienced  :  which 
misconstruction  he  states  thus, — "  We  be  slander- 
ously reported,  and  some  affirm,  that  we  say,  let 
us  do  evil  that  good  may  come."  This  int^inua- 
tion,  however,  he  regards  as  nothing  less  than  an 
unfair  and  wilful  perversion  of  his  words,  and  of 
the  words  of  other  Christian  teachers :  therefore 
he  says  concerning  those  who  did  thus  pervert 
them,  "their  condemnation  is  just:"  they  will  he 
justly  condemned  for  thus  abusing  the  doctrine 
which  we  teach.  The  passage,  however,  clearly 
shows,  that  the  application  of  their  expressions  to 
the  encouragement  of  licentiousness  of  life,  was 
an  application  contrary  to  their  intention;  and,  in 
fact,  a  perversion  of  their  words. 

In  like  manner  in  the  same  chapter, "our  apostle 
had  no  sooner  laid  down  the  doctrine,  that  "  a  man 
is  justified  by  faith  without  the  deeds  of  the  law," 
than  he  checks  himself,  as  it  were,  by  subjoining 
this  proviso :  "  Do  we  then  make  void  the  law 
through  faith  1  God  forbid  :  yea,  we  establish  the 
law."  Whatever  he  meant  by  his  assertion  con- 
cerning faith,  he  takes  care  to  let  them  know  he 
did  not  mean  this,  "to  make  void  the  law,"  or  to 
dispense  with  obedience. 

But  the  clearest  text  to  our  purpose  is  that,  un- 
doubtedly, which  I  have  prefixed  to  this  discourse. 
Saint  Paul,  after  expatiating  largely  ujion  the 
"  grace,"  that  is,  the  favour,  kindness,  and  mercy 
of  God,  the  extent,  the  greatness,  the  comprehen- 
siveness of  that  mercy,  as  manifested  in  the  Chris- 
tian dispensation,  puts  this  question  to  his  reader 
— "  What  shall  we  say  then  ?  shall  we  continue 
in  sin,  that  grace  may  abound  T'  which  lie  an- 
swers by  a  strong  negative — "  God  forbid."  What 
the  apostle  designed  in  this  passage  is  sufficient- 
ly evident.  He  knew  in  what  manner  some  might 
be  apt  to  construe  his  expressions;  and  he  an- 
ticipates their  mistake.  He  is  beforehand  with 
them,  by  protesting  against  any  such  use  being 
made  of  his  doctrine ;  which,  yet  he  was  aware, 
might  by  possibility  he  made. 

By  way  of  showing  scripturally  the  obligation 
and  the  necessity  of  personal  endeavours  after 
virtue,  all  the  numerous  texts  which  exhort  to  vir- 
tue, and  admonish  us  against  vice,  might  be 
quoted  ;  for  they  are  all  directly  to  the  purpose  : 
that  is  we  might  quote  every  page  of  the  New 
Testament.  "  Not  every  one  that  saith  unto  me. 
Lord,  Lord,  shall  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  hea- 
ven ;  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Father  which 
is  in  heaven."  "  If  ye  know  these  things,  happy 
are  ye  if  ye  do  them." — In  both  these  texts  the 
reward  attends  the  doing :  the  promise  is  annexed 
to  works.  Again:  "To  them,  who  by  patient 
continuance  in  well-doing  seek  for  glory  and  im- 
mortality, eternal  life:  but  unto  them  that  are  con- 
tentious, and  oliey  not  the  truth,  but  obey  unrighte- 
ousness, tribulation,  and  anguish  upon  every  soul 
of  man  that  doelh  evil."  Again  :  "  Of  the  which," 
namely,  certain  enumerated  vices,  "  I  tell  you  be- 
fore, as  I  have  also  told  you  in  time  past,  that  they 
which  do  such  things,  shall  not  inherit  the  kiiie 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


571 


dom  of  GoJ."  These  are  a  few  amongst  many 
texts  of  the  same  effect,  and  they  are  such  as  can 
never  be  got  over.  Stronger  terms  cannot  Ije  de- 
vised than  what  are  here  used.  Were  the  pur- 
pose, therefore,  simply  to  prove  from  Scripture  the 
necessity  of  virtue,  and  the  danger  of  vice,  so  lar 
as  salvation  is  concerned,  these  texts  are  decisive. 
But  when  an  answer  is  to  be  given  to  those,  who 
so  interpret  certain  passages  of  the  apostolic  writ- 
ings, especially  the  passages  which  speak  of  the 
elficacy  of  the  death  of  Christ,  or  draw  such  in- 
ferences from  these  passages,  as  amount  to  a  dis- 
pensing with  the  obligations  of  virtue;  then  the 
best  method  of  proving,  that  theirs  cannot  hie  a 
right  interpretation,  nor  theirs  just  inferences,  is  by 
showing,  which  fortunately,  we  are  able  to  do, 
that  it  is  the  very  interpretation,  and  these  the 
very  inferences,  which  the  apostles  were  them- 
selves aware  of,  which  they  provided  against,  and 
which  they  protested  against.  The  four  texts, 
quoted  from  the  apostolic  writings  in  this  discourse, 
were  quoted  with  this  view :  and  they  may  be  con- 
sidered, I  think,  as  showing  the  minds  of  the 
authors  upon  the  point  in  question  more  determi- 
natcly  than  any  general  exhortation  to  good  works, 
or  any  general  denunciation  against  sin  could  do. 
I  assume,  therefore,  as  a  proved  point,  that  what- 
ever was  said  by  the  apostles  concerning  the  effi- 
cacy of  the  death  of  Christ,  was  said  by  them  un- 
der an  apprehension  that  they  did  not  thereby  in 
any  manner  relax  the  motives,  the  obligation,  or 
the  necessity  of  good  works.  But  still  there  is 
another  important  question  behind;  namely,  whe- 
ther, notwithstanding  what  the  apostles  have  said, 
or  may  have  meant  to  say,  there  be  not,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  an  invincible  inconsistency  between  the 
efficacy  of  the  death  of  Christ,  and  the  necessity 
of  a  good  life ;  whether  those  two  propositions  can, 
in  fair  rea.soning,  stand  together;  or  whether  it 
does  not  necessarily  follow,  that  if  the  death  of 
Christ  be  efficacious,  then  good  works  are  no 
longer  necessary ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  that  if 
good  works  be  still  necessary,  then  is  the  death 
of  Christ  not  efficacious. 

Now,  to  give  an  account  of  this  question,  and 
of  the  difficulty  which  it  seems  to  present,  we 
must  bear  in  mind,  that  in  the  business  of  salva- 
tion there  are  naturally  and  properly  two  things, 
viz.  the  cause  and  the  condition;  and  that  these 
two  things  are  different.  We  should  see  better 
the  propriety  of  this  distinction,  if  we  would  allow 
ourselves  to  consider  well  ichat  salvation  is:  what 
the  being  saved  means.  It  is  nothing  less  than, 
after  this  life  is  ended,  being  placed  in  a  state  of 
hajjpiness  exceedingly  great,  both  in  degree  and 
duration  ;  a  state,  concerning  which  the  following 
things  are  said:  "the  sufferings  of  this  present 
world  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the 
glory  that  shall  be  revealed."  "  God  hath  in  store 
for  us  such  things  as  pass  man's  understanding." 
So  that,  you  see,  it  is  not  simply  escaping  punish- 
ment, simply  being  excused  or  forgiven,  simply 
being  compensated  or  repaid  for  the  little  good  we 
do,  but  it  is  infinitely  more.  Heaven  is  infinitely 
greater  than  mere  compensation,  which  natural  re- 
ligion Itself  might  lead  us  to  expect.  What  do 
the  Scriptures  call  it  1  "  Glory,  honour,  immor- 
tality, eternal  life."  "  To  them  that  seek  for  glory 
and  honour  and  immortality,  etern,al  hfe."  Will 
any  one  then  contend,  that  salvation  in  this  sense, 
and  to  this  extent ;  that  heaven,  eternal  life,  glory, 
honour,    immortality  ;  that  a  happiness  such  as 


that  there  is  no  way  of  describing  it,  but  by  say- 
ing that  it  surpasses  human  comprehension,  that 
it  casts  the  suflerings  of  this  life  at  such  a  distance, 
as  not  to  bear  any  comparison  with  it:  will  any 
one  contend,  that  this  is  no  more  than  what  virtue 
deserves,  what,  in  its  own  proper  nature,  and  by 
its  own  merit,  it  is  entitled  to  look  forward  to,  and 
to  receive  1  The  greatest  virtue  that  man  ever 
attained  has  no  such  pretensions.  The  best  good 
action  that  man  ever  performed  has  no  claim  to 
this  extent,  or  any  thing  like  it.  It  is  out  of  all 
calculation,  and  comparison,  and  proportion  above, 
and  more  than  any  human  works  can  possibly  de- 
serve. 

To  what  then  are  we  to  ascribe  it,  that  endea- 
vours after  virtue  should  procure,  and  that  they 
will,  in  fact,  procure,  to  those  who  sincerely  exert 
them,  such  immense  blessings'?  To  what,  but  to 
the  voluntary  bounty  of  Almighty  God,  who,  in 
his  inexpressible  good  pleasure,  hath  appointed  it 
so  to  be !  The  benignity  of  God  towards  man 
hath  made  him  this  mconceivably  advantageous 
offer.  But  a  most  kind  offer  may  still  be  a  condi- 
tional offer.  And  this,  though  an  infinitely  gra- 
cious and  beneficial  olfer,  is  still  a  conditional  of- 
fer, and  the  performance  of  the  conditions  is  as 
necessary  as  if  it  had  been  an  offer  of  mere  retri- 
bution. The  kindness,  the  bounty,  the  genero- 
sity of  the  offer,  do  not  make  it  less  necessary  to 
perform  the  conditions,  but  more  so.  A  condi- 
tional offer  may  be  infinitely  kind  on  the  part  of 
the  benefactor  who  makes  it,  may  he  infinitely  be- 
neficial to  those  to  whom  it  is  made.  If  it  be  from 
a  prince  or  governor,  may  be  infinitely  gracious 
and  merciful  on  his  part;  and  yet,  being  condi- 
tional, the  condition  is  as  necessary,  as  if  the  of- 
fer had  been  no  more  than  that  of  scanty  wages 
by  a  hard  taskmaster. 

In  considering  this  matter  iti  general,  the  whole 
of  it  appears  to  be  very  plain;  yet,  when  we  ap- 
ply the  consideration  to  rehgion,  there  are  two  mis- 
takes into  which  we  are  very  Uable  to  fall.  The 
first  is,  that  when  we  hear  so  much  of  the  exceed- 
ingly great  kindness  of  the  offer,  we  are  apt  to 
infer,  that  the  conditions  upon  which  it  was  made, 
will  not  be  exacted.  Does  that  at  all  follow'? 
Because  the  ofler,  even  with  these  conditions,  is 
represented  to  be  the  fruit  of  love,  and  mercy,  and 
kindness,  and  is  in  truth  so,  and  is  most  justly  so 
to  be  accounted,  docs  it  follow  that  the  conditions 
of  the  offer  are  not  necessary  to  be  performed  1 
This  is  one  error  into  which  we  slide,  against 
which  we  ought  to  guard  ourselves  most  diligent- 
ly ;  for  it  is  not  simply  false  in  its  principle,  but 
most  pernicious  in  its  application ;  its  applica- 
tion always  being  to  countenance  us  in  some  sin 
which  we  will  not  relinquish.  The  second  mis- 
take is,  that  when  we  have  performed  the  conditions, 
or  think  that  we  have  performed  the  conditions, 
or  when  we  endeavour  to  perform  the  conditions, 
upon  which  the  reward  is  ofli^red,  we  forthwith 
attribute  our  obtaining  the  reward  to  this  our  per- 
formance or  endeavour,  and  not  to  that  which  is 
the  beginning  and  foundation,  and  cause  of  the 
whole,  the  true  and  proper  cause,  namely,  the 
kindness  and  bounty  of  the  original  offer.  This 
turn  of  thought  likewise,  as  well  as  the  former,  it 
is  necessary  to  warn  you  against.  For  it  has 
these  consequences ;  it  damps  our  gratitude  to  God, 
it  tidies  off  our  attention  from  Him. 

Some,  who  allow  the  necessity  of  good  works  to 
salvation,  are  not  willing  that  they  should  be  called 


572 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


conditions  of  salvation.  But  this,  I  think,  is  a  dis- 
tinction too  relined  for  common  Christian  appre- 
luMision.  If  they  be  necessary  to  salvation,  they 
are  conditions  of  salvation,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  It 
is  a  (juestion,  however,  not  now  before  us. 

But  to  return  to  the  immediate  subject  of  our 
discourse.  Our  observations  have  carried  us  thus 
far;  that  in  the  business  of  human  salvation  there 
are  two  most  momentous  considerations,  the 
cause  and  the  conditions,  and  that  these  consider- 
ations are  distinct.  I  now  proceed  to  say,  that 
there  is  no  inconsistency  between  the  efficacy  of 
the  death  of  Christ  and  the  necessity  of  a  holy 
life,  (by  which  1  mean  sincere  endeavours  after 
holiness;)  because  the  first,  the  death  of  Christ, 
relates  to  the  cause  of  salvation  ;  the  second,  name- 
ly, good  works,  respects  the  conditions  of  salva- 
tion ;  and  that  the  cause  of  salvation  is  one  thing, 
the  conditions  another. 

The  cause  of  salvation  is  the  free  will,  the  free 
gift,  the  love  and  mercy  of  God.  That  alone  is 
the  source,  and  fountain,  and  cause  of  salvation  ; 
the  origin  from  which  it  springs,  from  which  all 
our  hopes  of  attaining  to  it  are  derived.  This 
cause  is  not  in  ourselves,  nor  in  any  thing  we  do, 
or  can  do,  but  in  God,  in  his  good  will  and  plea- 
sure. It  is,  as  we  have  before  shown,  in  the  gra- 
ciousnoss  of  the  original  offer.  Therefore,  what- 
ever shiill  liave  moved  and  excited,  and  conciliated 
that  good  will  and  pleasure,  so  as  to  have  procured 
that  otlcr  to  l.)e  made,  or  shall  have  formed  any 
part  or  portion  of  the  motive  from  which  it  was 
made,  may  most  truly  and  properly  be  said  to  be 
efficacious  in  human  salvation. 

This  efficacy  is  in  Scripture  attributed  to  the 
death  of  Christ.  It  is  attributed  in  a  variety  of 
ways  of  expression,  but  this  is  the  suhstance  of 
them  all.  He  is  "  a  sacrifice,  an  offering  to  God  ; 
a  propitiation  ;  the  precious  sacrifice  foreordained  ; 
the  lamb  slain  from  the  foundation  of  the  world  ; 
the  lamb  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world. 
We  are  washed  in  his  blood  ;  we  arc  justified  by 
his  blood  ;  we  are  saved  from  wrath  through  him  ; 
he  hath  once  suffered  for  sins,  the  just  for  the  un- 
just, that  he  might  bring  us  to  God."  All  these 
terms,  and  many  more  that  are  used,  assert  in  sub- 
stance the  same  thing,  namely,  the  efficacy  of  the 
death  of  Christ  in  the  procuring  of  human  salva- 
tion. To  give  to  these  expressions  their  proper 
moment  and  import,  it  is  necessary  to  reflect,  over 
and  over  again,  and  by  reflection  to  impress  our 
minds  with  a  just  idea,  what  and  how  great  a 
thing  salvation  is;  for  it  is  by  means  of  that  idea 
alone,  that  we  can  ever  come  to  be  sensible,  how 
unspeakalily  important,  how  inestimable  in  value, 
any  efficacy  which  operates  upon  that  event  nuist 
be  to  us  all.  The  highest  terms  in  which  the 
Scriptures  speak  of  that  efficacy  are  not  too  great: 
cannot  be  too  great;  because  it  respects  an  inter- 
est and  an  event  so  vast,  so  momentous,  as  to  make 
all  other  interests,  and  all  other  events,  in  com- 
parison contemptible. 

The  sum  of  our  argument  is  briefly  this.  There 
may  appear,  and  to  many  there  has  appeared,  to 
be  an  inconsistency  or  incompatibility  toween  the 
sfficacy  of  the  death  of  Christ,  and  the  necessity 
jf  sincere  endeavours  after  obedience.  "When  the 
subject  is  properly  exnn\ined,  there  turns  out  to 
be  no  such  incompatibility.  The  graciousness  of 
an  ofler  does  not  diminish  the  necessity  of  the 
condition.  Suppose  a  prince  to  promise  to  one  of 
his  subjects  upon  compliance  with  certain  terms, 


and  the  performance  of  certain  duties,  a  reward, 
in  magnitude  and  value,  out  of  all  competition  be- 
yond the  merit  of  the  compliance,  the  desert  of 
the  performance;  to  what  shall  such  a  sulijcct 
ascribe  the  happiness  held  out  to  him  1  He  is  an 
ungrateful  man,  if  he  attribute  it  to  any  cause 
whatever,  but  to  the  bounty  and  goodness  of  his 
prince  in  making  him  the  offer ;  or  if  he  suffer  any 
consideration,  be  it  what  it  will,  to  interfere  with, 
or  diminish  his  sense  of  that  bounty  and  good- 
ness. Still  it  is  true,  that  he  will  not  obtain  what 
is  offered,  unless  he  comply  with  the  terms.  So 
far  his  compliance  is  a  condition  of  his  happi- 
ness. But  the  grand  thing  is  the  offer  being 
made  at  all.  That  is  the  ground  and  origin  of 
the  whole.  That  is  the  cause  ;  and  is  ascribable 
to  favour,  grace,  and  goodness,  on  the  part  of  the 
prince,  and  to  nothing  else.  It  would,  therefore, 
be  the  last  degree  of  ingratitude  in  such  a  subject, 
to  forget  his  prince  while  he  thought  of  himself; 
to  forget  the  cause,  whilst  he  thought  of  the  con- 
dition ;  to  regard  every  thing  promised  as  merited. 
The  generosity,  the  kindness,  the  voluntariness, 
the  bounty  of  the  original  offer,  come  by  this 
means  to  be  neglected  in  his  mind  entirely.  This, 
in  my  opinion,  describes  our  situation  with  re- 
spect to  God.  The  love,  goodness,  and  grace  of 
God,  in  making  us  a  tender  of  salvation,  and  the 
effects  of  the  death  of  Christ,  do  not  diminish  the 
necessity  or  the  obligation  of  the  condition  of  the 
tender,  which  is  sincere  endeavours  after  holiness; 
nor  are  in  any  wise  inconsistent  witli  such  obliga- 
tion. 


SERMON  XXI. 


PURE  RELIGION. 


Pure  religion  and  undejiled  before  God  and  the 
Father,  is  this.  To  visit  thefuiherless  and  wi- 
dows in  their  ajfliction,  and  to  keep  himself 
unspotted  from  the  world. — James  i.  27. 

Nothing  can  be  more  useful  than  summary 
views  of  our  duty,  if  they  be  well  drawn  and 
rightly  understood.  It  is  a  great  advantage  to 
have  our  business  laid  before  us  altogether;  to 
see  at  one  comprehensive  glance,  as  it  were,  what 
we  are  to  do,  and  what  we  are  not  to  do.  It  would 
be  a  great  ease  and  satisfaction  to  both,  if  it  were 
possible  for  a  master  to  give  his  servant  directions 
for  his  conduct  in  a  single  sentence,  which  he,  the 
servant,  had  only  to  apply  and  draw  out  into  prac- 
tice, as  occasions  offered  themselves,  in  order  to 
discharge  every  thing  which  was  required  or  ex- 
pected from  him.  This,  which  is  not  practicable 
in  civil  life,  is  in  a  good  degree  so  in  a  religious 
life;  because  a  religious  life  proceeds  more  upon 
principle,  leaving  the  exercise  and  manifestation 
of  that  principle  mere  to  the  judgment  of  the  in- 
dividual, than  it  can  be  left  where,  from  the  na- 
ture of  the  case,  one  man  is  to  act  precisely  ac- 
cording to  another  man's  direction. 

But  then,  as  I  have  said,  it  is  essentially  neces- 
sary that  these  summaries  be  well  drawn  up,  and 
rightly  understood  ;  because  if  they  profess  to  state 
the  whole  of  men's  duties,  yet,  in  fact,  state  them 
partially  and  imperfectly,  all  who  read  them  are 
misled,  and  dangerously  misled.  In  religion,  as 
in  other  things,  we  are  too  apt  of  ourselves  to 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


573 


substitute  a  part  for  the  whole.     Substituting  a 
part  for  the  whole  is  the  grand  tendency  of  hu- 
man corruption,  in  matters  both  of  morality  and 
religion ;  which  propensity  therefore  will  be  en- 
couraged, when  that,  which  professes  to  exhibit 
the  whole  of  religion,  does  not,  in  truth,  exhibit 
the  whole.   What  is  there  omitted,  we  shall  omit, 
glad  of  the  occasion  and  excuse.     What  is  not 
set  down  as  our  duty,  we  shall  not  think  our- 
selves obliged  to  perform,  not  caring  to  increase 
the  weight  of  our  own  burden.     This  is  the  case 
whenever  we  use  summaries  of  religion,  which,  in 
truth,  are  imperfect  or  ill  drawn.     But  there  is 
another  case  more  common,  and  productive  of  the 
same  effect,  and  that  is,  when  we   misconstrue 
these  summary  accounts  of  our  duty ;  principally 
when  we  conceive  of  them  as  intending  to  express 
more  than  they  were  really  intended  to  express. 
For  then  it  comes  to  pass,  that  although  they  be 
right  and  perfect  as  to  what  they  were  intended 
for,  yet  they  are  wrong  and  imperfect  as  to  what 
we  construe  and  conceive  them  for.     This  obser- 
vation is  particularly  applicable  to  the  text.     St. 
James  is  here  describing  religion  not  in  its  prin- 
ciple, but  in  its  effects ;  and  these  effects  are  truly 
and  justly  and  fully  displayed.     They  are  by  the 
apostle  made  to  consist  of  two  large  articles ;  in 
succouring  the  distress  of  others,  and  maintaining 
our  own  innocency.     And  these  two  articles  do 
comprehend  the  whole  of  the  effects  of  true  reli- 
gion, which  were  exactly  what  the  apostle  meant 
to  describe.     Had  St.  James  intended  to  have  set 
forth  the  motives  and  principles  of  religion  as  they 
ought  to  subsist  in  the  heart  of  a  Christian,  I 
doubt  not  but  he  would  have  mentioned  love  to 
God,  and  faith  in  Jesus  Christ;  for  from  these 
must  spring  every  thing  good  and  acceptable  in 
our  actions.     In  natural  objects  it  is  one  thing  to 
describe  the  root  of  a  plant,  and  another  its  fruits 
and  flowers ;  and  if  we  think  a  writer  is  describ- 
ing the  roots  and  fibres,  when,  in  truth,  he  is  de- 
scribing the  fruit  or  flowers,  we  shall  mistake  his 
meaning,  and   our   mistake   must  produce  great 
confusion.     So  in  spiritual  affairs,  it  is  one  thing 
to  set  before  us  the  principle  of  religion,  and  an- 
other the  effects  of  it.     These  are  not  to  be  con- 
founded.    And  if  we  apply  a  description  to  one 
which  was  intended  for  the  other,  we  deal  unfairly 
by  the  writer  of  the  description,  and  erroneously 
by  ourselves.     Therefore,  first,  let  no  one  suppose 
the  love  of  God,  the  thinking  of  him,  the  being 
grateful  to  him,  the  fearing  to  disobey  him,  not  to 
be  necessary  parts  of  true  religion,  because  they 
are  not  mentioned  in  St.  James's  account  of  true 
religion.     The  answer  is,  that  these  compose  the 
princi|)les  of  true  religion;  St.  James's  account  re- 
lates to  the  eflects.     In  Uke  manner  concerning 
faith  in  Jesus  Christ.     St.  James  has  recorded  his 
opinion  upon  that  subject.     His  doctrine  is,  that 
the  tree  which  bears  no  fruit  cannot  be  sound  at 
tie  root;  that  the  faith  which  is  unproductive  is 
not  the  right  faith ;  but  then  this  is  allowing  (and 
not  denying,)  that  a  right  faith  is  the  source  and 
spring  of  true  virtue;  and  had  our  apostle  been 
asked  to  state  the  principle  of  religion,  I  am  per- 
suaded he  would  have  referred  us  to  a  true  faith. 
But  that  was  not  the  inquiry;  on  the  contrary, 
having  marked  strongly  the  futility  of  faith,  which 
produced  no  good  effects  upon  life  and  action,  he 
proceeds  in  the  text  to  tell  us  what  the  effects  are 
which  it  ought  to  produce ;  and  these  he  disposes 
into  two  comprehensive  classes,  (but  still  meaning 


to  describe  the  effects  of  religion,  and  not  its  root 
or  principle,)  positive  virtue  and  personal  inno- 
cence. 

Now,  I  say,  that  for  the  purpose  for  which  it 
was  intended,  the  account  given  by  St.  James  is 
full  and  complete.  And  it  carries  with  it  this  pe- 
culiar advantage,  that  it  very  specially  guards 
against  an  error,  natural,  I  believe,  and  common 
in  all  ages  of  the  world;  which  is,  the  making  be- 
neficence an  apology  for  licentiousness ;  the  think- 
ing that  doing  good  occasionally  may  excuse  us 
from  strictness  in  regulating  our  passions  and  de- 
sires. The  text  expressly  cuts  up  this  excuse, 
because  it  expressly  asserts  both  things  to  be  ne- 
cessary to  compose  true  religion.  Where  two 
things  are  necessary,  one  cannot  excuse  the  want 
of  the  other.  Now,  what  does  the  text  teach  1 
it  teaches  us  what  pure  and  undefiled  religion  is 
in  its  effects  and  in  its  practice ;  and  what  is  it  ] 
"to  visit  the  fatherless  and  widows  in  their  af- 
fliction, and  to  keep  himself  unspotted  from  the 
world."  Not  simply  to  visit  the  fatherless  and 
widows  in  their  atlliction  ;  that  is  not  all;  that  is 
not  sufficient ;  but  likewise  "  to  keep  himself  un- 
spotted from  the  workl." 

To  visit  the  fatherless  and  widows  in  their  af- 
fliction, is  describing  a  class  or  species,  or  kind  of 
virtue,  by  singling  out  one  eminent  example  of  it. 
I  consider  the  apo.stle  as  meaning  to  represent  the 
value,  and  to  enforce  the  obligation  of  active  cha- 
rity, of  positive  beneficence,  and  that  he  has  done 
it  by  mentioning  a  particular  instance.  A  stronger 
or  properer  instance  could  not  have  been  selected; 
but  still  it  is  to  be  regarded  as  an  instance,  not  as 
exclusive  of  other  and  similar  instances,  but  as  a 
specimen  of  these  exertions.  The  case  before  us, 
as  an  instance,  is  heightened  by  every  circum- 
stance which  could  give  to  it  weight  and  priority. 
The  apostle  exhiliits  the  most  forlorn  and  desti- 
tute of  the  human  species,  suffering  under  the  se- 
verest of  human  losses ;  helpless  children  deprived 
of  a  parent,  a  wife  bereaved  of  her  husband,  both 
sunk  in  affliction,  under  the  sharpest  anguish  of 
their  misfortunes.  To  visit,  by  which  is  meant 
to  console,  to  comfort,  to  succour,  to  relieve,  to  as- 
sist such  as  these,  is  undoubtedly  a  high  exercise 
of  religion  and  benevolence,  and  well  selected ; 
but  still  it  is  to  be  regarded  as  an  example,  and 
the  whole  class  of  beneficent  virtues  as  intended 
to  be  included.  This  is  not  only  a  just  and  fair, 
but  a  necessary  construction  ;  because,  although 
the  exercise  of  beneficence  be  a  duty  upon  everj' 
man,  yet  the  kind,  the  examples  of  it,  must  be 
guided  in  a  great  degree  by  each  man's  faculties, 
opportunities,  and  by  the  occasions  which  present 
themselves.  If  such  an  occasion,  as  that  which 
the  text  describes,  presents  itself,  it  cannot  be 
overlooked  without  an  abandonment  of  religion  ; 
but  if  other  and  different  occasions  of  doing  good 
present  themselves,  they  also,  according  to  the 
spirit  of  our  apostle's  declaration,  must  be  attend- 
ed to,  or  we  are  wanting  in  the  fruit  of  the  same 
faith. 

The  second  principal  expression  of  the  text, 
"to  keep  himself  unspotted  from  the  world,"  sig- 
nifies the  being  clean  and  clear  from  the  licentious 
practices  to  which  the  world  is  addicted.  So  that 
"  pure  religion  and  undefiled  before  God  and  the 
Father,"  consists  in  two  things ;  beneficence  and 
purity ;  doing  good  and  keeping  clear  from  sin. 
Not  in  one  thing,  but  in  two  things ;  not  in  one 
without  the  other,  but  in  both.     And  this,  in  my 


574 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


opinion,  is  a  great  lesson  and  a  most  important 
doctrine. 

1  shall  not,  at  present,  consider  the  case  of  those 
who  are  anxious,  and  cffectualh'  so,  to  maintain 
their  personal  innocency  without  endeavouring  to 
do  good  to  others  ;  because  I  really  believe  it  is 
not  a  common  case.  I  think  that  the  religious 
principle  which  is  able  to  make  men  confine  their 
passions  and  desires  within  the  hounds  of  virtue, 
is,  with  very  few  exceptions,  strong  enough,  at 
the  same  time  to  prompt  and  put  them  upon  ac- 
tive exertions. 

Therefore,  I  would  rather  apply  myself  to  that 
part  of  the  ca.se  which  is  more  common,  active  ex- 
ertions of  benevolence,  accompanied  with  loose- 
ness of  private  morals.  It  is  a  very  common  cha- 
racter ;  but,  I  say,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  an  incon- 
sistent character;  it  is  doing  and  undoing;  killing 
and  curing;  doing  good  by  our  charity,  and  mis- 
chief by  our  licentiousness :  voluntarily  relieving 
misery  with  one  hand,  and  voluntarily  producing 
and  spreading  it  with  the  other.  No  real  advance 
is  made  in  human  happiness  by  this  contradiction; 
no  real  betterness  or  improvement  promoted. 

But  then,  may  not  the  harm  a  man  does  by  his 
personal  vices  be  much  less  than  the  good  he  does 
by  his  active  virtues  ]  This  is  a  point,  in  which 
there  is  large  room  for  delusion  and  mistake.  Po- 
sitive charity  and  acts  of  humanity  are  often  of  a 
conspicuous  nature,  naturally  and  deservedly  en- 
gaging the  praises  of  mankind,  which  are  follow- 
ed h}'  our  own.  No  one  does,  no  one  ought  to 
speak  against  them,  or  attemjit  to  disparage  them  ; 
but  the  effect  of  vice  and  licentiousness,  not  only 
in  their  immediate  consequences,  but  in  their  re- 
mote and  ultimate  tendencies,  which  ought  all  to 
be  included  in  the  account;  the  mischief  which  is 
done  by  the  example,  as  well  as  by  the  act.  is 
seldom  honestly  computed  by  the  sinner  himself 
But  I  do  not  dwell  further  upon  this  comparison, 
because  I  insist,  that  no  man  has  a  right  to  make 
it ;  no  man  has  a  right,  whilst  he  is  doing  occa- 
sional good,  and  yet  indulging  his  vices  and  his 
passions,  to  strike  a  balance,  as  it  were,  between 
the  good  and  the  harm.  This  is  not  Christianity; 
this  is  not  pure  and  undefiled  religion  before  God 
and  the  Father,  let  the  balance  lie  on  which  side 
it  will.  For  our  text  declares,  (and  our  text  de- 
clares no  more  than  what  the  Scriptures  testify 
from  one  end  to  the  other,)  that  religion  demands 
both.  It  demands  active  virtue,  and  it  demands 
innocency  of  life.  I  mean  it  demands  sincere  and 
vigorous  endeavours  in  the  pursuit  of  active  vir- 
tue, and  endeavours  equally  sincere  and  firm  in 
the  preservation  of  personal  innocence.  It  makes 
no  calculation  which  is  better;  but  it  requires  both. 

Shall  it  be  extraordinary,  that  there  should  be 
men  forward  in  active  charity  and  in  positive  bene- 
ficence, who  yet  put  little  or  no  constraint  upon 
their  personal  vices  1  I  have  said  that  the  charac- 
ter is  common,  and  I  will  tell  you  why  it  is  com- 
mon. The  reason  is,  (and  there  is  no  other  rea- 
son,) that  it  is  usually  an  easier  thing  to  perform 
acts  of  beneficence,  even  of  expensive  and  trouble- 
some beneficence,  than  it  is  to  command  and  con- 
trol our  passions;  to  give  up  and  discard  our 
vices ;  to  burst  the  bonds  of  the  habits  which  en- 
slave us.  This  is  the  very  truth  of  the  case ;  so 
that  the  matter  comes  jirecisely  to  this  point. 
Men  of  active  benevolence,  but  of  loose  morals,  are 
men  who  are  for  performing  the  duties  which  are 
easy  to  them,  and  omitting  those  which  are  hard. 


They  may  place  their  own  character  to  themselves 
in  what  view  they  please ;  but  this  is  the  truth  of 
the  case,  and  let  any  one  say,  whether  this  be  re- 
ligion ;  whether  this  be  suflicient.  The  truly  re- 
ligious man,  when  he  has  once  decided  a  thiiifr  to 
be  a  duty,  has  no  farther  question  to  ask ;  whe 
ther  it  be  easy  to  be  done,  or  whether  it  be  hard 
to  be  done,  it  is  equally  a  duty.  It  then  becomes 
a  question  of  fortitude,  of  resolution,  of  firmness, 
of  self-command,  and  self-government;  but  not  of 
duty  or  obligation  ;  these  are  already  decided  upon. 
But  least  of  all,  (and  this  is  the  inference  from 
the  text,  which  I  wish  most  to  press  upon  your 
attention,)  least  of  all  does  he  conceive  the  hope 
of  reaching  heaven  by  that  sort  of  compromise, 
which  would  make  easy,  nay  perhaps  pleasant 
duties,  an  excuse  for  duties  which  are  irksome 
and  severe.  To  recur,  for  the  last  time,  to  the  in- 
stance mentioned  in  our  text,  I  can  very  well  be- 
lieve that  a  man  of  humane  temper  shall  have 
|)leasure  in  visiting,  when  by  visiting  he  can  suc- 
cour, the  fatherless  and  the  widow  in  their  afflic- 
tion :  but  if  he  believes  vSt.  James,  he  will  find 
that  this  must  be  joined  to  and  accompanied  with 
another  thing,  which  is  neither  easy  nor  pleasant, 
nay,  must  almost  always  be  effected  with  pain  and 
struggle,  and  mortification,  and  difficulty, — the 
"  keeping  himself  unspotted  from  the  world." 


SERMON  XXII. 

THE    AGENCY   OF   JF.SUS    CHRIST    SINCE   HIS 
ASCENSION. 

Jesus  Christ,  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for 
ever. — Hebrews  xiii.  8. 

The  assertion  of  the  text  might  be  supported 
by  the  consideration,  that  the  mission  and  preach- 
ing of  Christ  have  lost  nothing  of  their  truth  and 
importance  by  the  lapse  of  ages  which  has  taken 
place  since  his  appearance  in  the  world.  If  they 
seem  of  less  magnitude,  reality,  and  concern  to  us 
at  this  present  day,  than  they  did  to  those  who 
lived  in  the  days  in  which  they  were  carried  on  ; 
it  is  only  in  the  same  manner  as  a  mountain  or  a 
tower  appears  to  be  less,  when  seen  at  a  distance. 
It  is  a  delusion  in  both  cases.  In  natural  objects 
we  have  commonly  strength  enough  of  judgment 
to  prevent  our  being  imposed  upon  by  these  false 
appearances ;  and  it  is  not  so  much  a  want  or  de- 
fect of,  as  it  is  a  neglecting  to  exert  and  use  our 
judgment,  if  we  suffer  ourselves  to  be  deceived  by 
them  in  religion.  Distance  of  space  in  one  case, 
and  distance  of  time  in  the  other,  make  no  difler- 
ence  in  the  real  nature  of  the  object;  and  it  is 
a  great  weakness  to  allow  them  to  make  any  dif- 
ference in  our  estimate  and  apprehension.  The 
death  of  Jesus  Christ  is,  in  truth,  as  interesting 
to  lis,  as  it  was  to  those  who  stood  by  his  cross ; 
his  resurrection  from  the  grave  is  a  pledge  and  as- 
surance of  owr  future  resurrection,  no  less  than  it 
was  of  theirs  who  conversed,  who  eat  and  drank 
with  him,  after  his  return  to  life. 

But  there  is  another  sense,  in  which  it  is  still 
more  materially  true  that  "Jesus  Christ  is  the 
same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever."  He  is  per- 
sonally living,  and  acting  in  the  same  manner; 
has  been  so  all  along,  and  will  be  so  to  the  end  of 
the  world.  He  is  the  same  m  his  person,  in  his 
power,  in  his  office. 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


575 


First,  I  say,  that  he  is  tlie  same  indi-.idual  per- 
son, and  is  at  this  present  time  existing,  living, 
acting.     He  is  gone  up  on  high.     The  clouds,  at 
his  ascension,  received  him  out  of  human  sight. 
But  whither  did  he  go'?  to  sit  for  ever  at  the  right 
hand  of  God.   This  is  expressly  declared  concern- 
ing iiim.     It  is  also  declared  of  him,  that  death 
hath  no  more  dominion  over  him,  that  he  is  no 
more  to  return  to  corruption.     So  that,  since  his 
ascension,  he  hath  continued  in  heaven  to  live 
and  act.    His  human  body,  we  are  likewise  given 
to  believe,  was  changed  upon  his  ascension,  that 
is,  was   glorilied,  whereb}'  it    became   fitted    for 
heaven,  and  fitted  for  immortality;  no  longer  lia- 
ble to  decay  or  age,  but  thenceforward  remaining 
literally  and  strictly  the  same,  yesteniay,  to-day, 
and  for  ever.     This  change  in  the  human  person 
of  Christ  is  in  effect  asserted,  or  rather  is  referred 
to,  as  a  thing  already  known,  in  that  text  of  Saint 
Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Philippians,  wherein  we  are 
assured,  that  hereafter  Clirist  shall  change  our 
vile  body,  that  it  may  be  like  his  glorious  body. 
Now,  the  natural  body  of  Christ,  before  his  resur- 
rection at  least,  was  like  the  natural  body  of  other 
men  ;   was  not   a  glorious  body.     At  this  time, 
therefore,  when  Saint  Paul  calls  it  his  glorious 
body,   (for  it  was  after  his  ascension  that  Saint 
Paul  wrote  these  words,)  it  must  have  undergone 
a  great  change.  In  this  exalted  and  glorified  state 
our  Lord  was  seen  by  Saint  Stephen,  in  the  mo- 
ment of  his  martyrdom.     Being  full,  you  read,  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  Stephen  looked  up  steadflistly 
unto  heaven,  and  saw  the  glory  of  God,*  and  Jesus 
standing  on  the  right  hand  of  God.  At  that  seem- 
ingly dreadful  moment,  even  when  the  martyr 
was   surrounded   by  a   band   of  assassins,  with 
stones  ready  in  their  hands  to  stone  him  to  death, 
the  spectacle,  nevertheless,  filled   his  soul  with 
rapture.     He  cried  out  in  ecstasy,  "  Behold  1  see 
the  heavens  opened,  and  the  Son  of  Man  stand- 
ing on  the  right  hand  of  God."     The  same  glori- 
ous vision  was  vouchsafed  to  Saint  Paul  at  his 
conversion;  and  to  Saint  John,  at  the  delivery  of 
the  revelations.     This  change  of  our  Lord's  body 
was  a  change,  we  have  reason  to  believe,  of  nature 
and  substance,  so  as  to  be  thenceforward  incapa- 
ble of  decay  or  dissolution.     It  might  be  suscepti- 
ble of  any  external  form,  which  the  particular  pur- 
pose of  his  appearance  should  require.     So  when 
he  appeared  to  Stephen  and  Paul,  or  to  any  of 
his  saints,  it  was  necessary  he  should  assume  the 
form  which  he   had   born  in  the  fiesh,  that  he 
might  be  known  to  them.    But  it  is  not  necessary 
to   supjwse   that  he  was  confined  to  that  form. 
The  contrary  rather  appears  in  the  revelation  of 
Saint  John,  in  which,  after  once  showmg  himself 
to  the  apostle,  our  Lord  was  afterwards  represent- 
ed to  his  eyes  under  different  forms.     All,  how- 
ever, that  is  of  importance  to  us  to  know,  all  that 
beioncrs  to  our  present  subject  to  observe,  is.  that 
Christ's  glorified  person  was  incapable  of  dying 
any  more;  that  it  continues  at  this  day;  that  it 
hath  all  along  continued  the  same  real,  identic-al 
neing,  as  that  which  went  up  into  heaven  in  the 
sight  of  his  apostles ;  the  same  essential  nature, 
the  same   glorified   substance,  the   same   proper 
person. 

But,  secondlj',  He  is  the  same  also  in  power. 

*  Thp  "  elory  of  God,"  in  Scripturp,  when  spoken  of 
as  an  object  of  vision,  always.  I  Ihink.  means  a  lumi- 
nous: appi'arance,  hri^ht  and  rcfulgpnt,  beyond  the 
spl  itioiir  of  any  natural  object  whatever. 


The    Scripture    doctrine   concerning   our   Lord 
seems  to  be  this,  that  when  his  appointed  com- 
mission and  his  sufferings  were  closed  upon  earth, 
he  was  advanced  in  heaven  to  a  still  higher  state 
than  what  he  possessed  before  he  came  into  the 
world.*     This  point,  as  well  as  the  glory  of  his 
nature,  both  before  and  after  his  appearance  in 
the  (iesh,  is  attested  by  Saint  Paul,  in  the  second 
chapter  of  his  Epistle  to  the  Philippians.     "  Being 
in  the  form  of  God  he  thought  it  not  robbery  to  be 
equal  with  God."     He  did  not  aflect  to  be  equal 
with  God,  or  to  appear  with  divine  honours  (for 
such  is  the  sense  which  the  words  in  the  original 
will  bear,)  "but  made  himself  of  no  reputation, 
and  took  upon  him  the  form  of  a  servant,  and  was 
made  in  the  likeness  of  man,  and  became  obedient 
unto  death,  even  the  death  of  the  cross.     Where- 
fore," i.  e.  for  this  his  obedience  even  to  the  last 
extremity,  even  unto  death,  "  God  also  hath  highly 
exalted  him  ;"  or,  as  it  is  distinctly  and  perspicu- 
ously expressed  in  the  original,  "  God  also  hath 
more  highly  exalted  him,     that  is,  to  a  higher 
state  than  what  he  even  before  possessed  ;   inso- 
much that  he  hath  "given  him  a  name  which  is 
above  every  name  :  that  at"  or,  more  properly,  in, 
"  the  name  of  Jesus  every  knee  should  bow,  of 
things  in  heaven,  and  things  in  earth,  and  things 
under  the  earth;  and  that  every  tongue  should 
confess  that  Jesus  Christ  is  Lord,  to  the  glory  of 
God  the  Father;"  exactly  agreeable  to  what  our 
Lord  himself  declared  to  his  disciples  after  his 
resurrection, — "  All  power  is  given  unto  me  in 
heaven  and  in  earth :"  Matt,  xxviii.   18.     You 
will  observe  in  this  passage  of  Saint  Paul,   not 
only  the  magnificent  terms  in  which  '.'hTist's  ex- 
altation is  described,  viz.  "  that  every  imee  should 
thenceforward  bow  in  his  name,  and   that  every 
tongue  should  confess  hiui  to  be  the   Lord  ;"  but 
you  will  observe  also,  the  comprehension  and  ex- 
tent of  his  dominion,  "  of  things  in  heaven,  of 
things  on  earth,  of  things  under  the  earth."     And 
that  we  are  specifically  comprised  under  this  au- 
thority and  this  agency,  either  of  the  two  follow- 
ing texts  may  he  brought  as  a  sufficient  proof: 
"  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together,  there 
am  I  in  the  midst  of  you;"  Malt,  xviii.  20;  which 
words  of  our  Lord  imply  a  knowledge  of,  an  ob- 
servation of,  an  attention  to,  and  an  interference 
with,  what  passes  amongst  his  disciples  upon  earth. 
Or  take  his  final  words  to  his  followers,  as  record- 
ed by  Saint  Matthew:    "Lo,  I  am  with  you  al- 
ways, to  the  end  of  the  world,"  and  they  carry 
the  same  implication.     And,  lastly,  that,  in  the 
most  awful  scene  and  event  of  our  existence,  the 
day  of  judgment,  we  shall  not  only  become  the 
objects,    but    the    immediate   objects   of  Christ's 
power  and  agency,  is  set  forth  in  two  clear  and 
positive  texts :  "  The  hour  is  coming,  and  now  is, 
when  the  dead  shall  hear  the  voice  of  the  Son  of 
God,"  John  V.  25,  not  the  voice  of  God,  but  the 
voice  of  the  Son  of  God.     And  then,  pursuing  the 
<iescription  of  what  will  afterwards  take  place,  our 
Lord  adds,  in  the  next  verse  but  one,  "  that  the 
Father  hath  given  him  authority  to  execute  judg- 
ment also,  because  he  is  the  Son  of  Man :"  which 
is  in  perfect  conformity  with  what  Saint  Paul  an- 
nounced to  the   Athenians,  as  a  great  and  new 
doctrine,   namelv,    "that  God  hath  appointed    a 
day,  in  which   he  will  judge  the  world  in  right 
cousness  by  that  man  whom  he  hath  oroainea 

*  See  Sherlock's  Serm.  on  Phil  ii.  9. 


576 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


whereof  he  hath  given  assurance  unto  all  men,  in 
that  he  hath  raised  him  from  the  dead." 

Having  shown  that  the  power  of  Jesus  Christ 
is  a  subsisting  yiower  at  this  time,  the  next  ques- 
tion is,  as  to  its  duration.  Now  so  far  as  it  re- 
spects mankind  in  this  present  world,  we  are  as- 
sured that  it  shall  continue  until  the  end  of  the 
world.  The  same  texts  which  have  been  adduced 
prove  this  jwint,  as  well  as  that  for  which  they 
were  quoted ;  and  they  are  confirmed  by  Saint 
Paul's  declaration,  1  Cor.  xv.  24, — "  Then  cometh 
the  end,  when  he  shall  have  delivered  up  the 
kingdom  to  God,  even  the  Father:"  therefore  he 
shall  retain  and  exercise  it  until  then.  But  far- 
ther, this  power  is  not  only  perpetual,  but  pro- 
gressive ;  advancing  and  proceeding  by  different 
steps  and  degrees,  until  it  shall  become  supreme 
and  coinj)lete,  and  shall  prevail  against  every 
enemy  and  every  opposition.  That  our  Lord's 
dominion  will  not  only  remain  unto  the  end  of  the 
world,  but  that  its  effects  in  the  world  will  be 
greatly  enlarged  and  increased,  is  signified  very  ex- 
pressly in  the  second  chapter  of  the  Epistle  to  the 
Hebrews.  The  apostle  in  this  passage  applies  to 
our  Lord  a  quotation  from  the  Psalms:  "Thou 
hast  put  all  things  in  subjection  under  his  feet;" 
and  then  draws  from  it  a  strict  inference  ;  "  for  in 
that  he  put  ail  things  in  subjection  under  him,  he 
left  nothing  that  he  did  not  put  under  him."  And 
then  he  remarks,  as  a  fact,  "  but  now  we  see  not 
yet  a'J  things  put  under  him."  That  complete 
entire  subjection,  which  is  here  promised,  hath 
not  yet  taken  place.  The  promise  must,  there- 
fore, refer  to  a  still  future  order  of  things.  This 
doctrine  of  the  progressive  increase,  and  final  com- 
pleteness of  our  Lord's  kingdom,  is  also  virtually 
laid  down  in  the  passage  from  the  Corinthians 
already  cited:  "  He  nmst  reign  till  he  hath  put  all 
enemies  under  his  feet."  For  that  this  subjuga- 
tion of  his  several  enemies  will  be  successive,  one 
after  another,  is  strongly  intimated  by  the  expres- 
sion, "  the  last  enemy  that  shall  be  destroyed  is 
death." 

Now,  to  apprehend  the  probability  of  these 
things  coming  to  pass,  or  rather  to  remove  any 
opinion  of  their  improbability,  we  ought  con- 
stantly to  bear  in  our  mind  this  momentous  truth, 
that  in  the  hands  of  the  Deity  time  is  nothing ; 
that  he  has  eternity  to  act  in.  The  Christian 
dispensation,  nay,  the  world  itself,  may  be  in  its 
infancy.  A  more  perfect  display  of  the  power  of 
Christ,  and  of  his  religion,  may  be  in  reserve ;  and 
the  ages  which  it  may  endure,  after  the  obstacles 
and  impediments  to  its  reception  are  removed, 
may  be,  beyond  comparison,  longer  than  those 
which  we  have  seen,  in  which  it  has  been  strug- 
gling with  great  ditriculties,  most  especially  with 
ignorance  and  prejudice.  We  ought  not  to  be 
moved  any  more  than  the  apostles  were  moved, 
with  the  reflection  which  was  cast  upon  their  mis- 
sion, that  since  the  "  fathers  fell  asleep,  all  things 
continue  as  they  were."  We  ought  to  return  the 
answer  which  one  of  them  returned,  that  what 
we  call  tardiness  in  the  Deity,  is  not  so ;  that  our 
so  thinking  it  arises  from  not  allowing  for  the 
different  importance,  nay,  probably,  for  the  differ- 
ent apprehension  of  time,  in  the  divine  mind  and 
in  ours ;  tliat  with  him  a  thousand  years  are  as 
one  day  ;  words  which  confound  and  astonish  hu- 
man understanding,  yet  strictly  and  metaphysi- 
;ally  true. 
Again :  We  should  remember  that  the  apostles, 


the  very  persons  who  asserted  that  God  vwuld 
put  all  things  under  him,  themselves,  as  we  have 
seen,  acknowledged  that  it  was  not  yet  done.  In 
the  mean  time,  from  the  whole  of  their  declara- 
tions and  of  this  discussion,  we  collect,  that  Jesus 
Christ  ascended  into  the  heavens,  is,  at  this  day, 
a  great  efficient  Being  in  the  universe,  invested 
by  his  Father  with  a  high  authority,  which  he 
exercises,  and  will  continue  to  exercise  until  the 
end  of  the  world. 

Thirdly,  he  is  the  same  in  his  office.  The 
principal  offices  assigned  by  the  Scriptures  to  our 
Lord  in  his  glorified  state,  that  is,  since  his  ascen- 
sion into  heaven,  are  those  of  a  mediator  and  in- 
tercessor. Of  the  mediation  of  our  Lord,  the 
Scripture  speaks  in  this  wise:  "There  is  one 
God,  and  one  mediator  between  God  and  men, 
the  man  Christ  Jesus:"  1  Tim.  ii.  5.  It  was 
after  our  Lord's  ascension  that  this  was  spoken 
of  him;  and  it  is  plain  from  the  form  and  turn  of 
the  ex[)ression,  that  his  mediatorial  character  and 
office  was  meant  to  be  represented  as  a  perpetual 
character  and  office,  because  it  is  described  in 
conjunction  with  the  existence  of  God  and  men, 
so  long  as  men  exist ;  "  there  is  one  mediator  be- 
tween God  and  men,  the  man  Jesus  Christ." — 
"  Hitherto  ye  have  asked  nothing  in  my  name:" 
"  At  that  day  ye  shall  ask  in  my  name :"  John 
xvi.  24,  26.  These  words  form  part  of  our  Lord's 
memorable  conversation  with  his  select  disciples, 
not  many  hours  before  his  death ;  and  clearly  in- 
timate the  mediatorial  office  which  he  was  to  dis- 
charge after  his  ascension. 

Concerning  his  intercession,  not  that  which  he 
occasionally  exercised  upon  earth,  when  he  pray- 
ed, as  he  did  most  fervently  for  his  disciples,  but 
that  which  he  now  at  this  present  time  exercises, 
we  have  the  following  text,  explicit,  satisfactory, 
and  full:  "But  this  man,  because  he  continueth 
ever,  hath  an  unchangeable  priesthood:"  by  priest- 
hoo(l  is  here  meant  the  office  of  praying  for  others. 
"  Wherefore  he  is  able  to  save  them  to  the  utter- 
most that  come  unto  God  by  him,  seeing  he  ever 
liveth  to  make  intercession  for  us."  No  wonls 
can  more  plainly  declare  than  these  words  do, 
the  perpetuity  of  our  Lord's  agency;  that  it  did 
not  cease  with  his  presence  upon  earth,  but  con- 
tinues. "  He  continueth  ever  ;  he  ever  liveth ;  he 
hath  an  unchangeable  priesthood."  Surely  this 
justifies  what  our  text  saith  of  him;  that  he  is 
"  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever ;"  and 
that  not  in  a  figurative  or  metaphorical  sense,  but 
literally,  effectually,  and  really.  Moreover,  in  this 
same  passage,  not  only  the  constancy  and  perpe- 
tuity, but  the  power  and  efficacy  of  our  Lord's  in- 
tercession are  asserted  :  "  He  is  able  to  save  them 
to  the  uttermost,  that  come  unto  God  by  him." 
They  must  come  unto  God ;  they  must  come  by 
him  ;  and  then  he  is  able  to  save  them  completely. 
These  three  heads  of  observation,  namely,  upon 
his  person,  his  power,  and  his  office,  comprise  the 
relation  in  which  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  stands  to 
us,  whilst  we  remain  in  this  mortal  life.  There 
is  another  consideration  of  great  solemnity  and 
interest,  namely^  the  relation  which  we  shall  bear 
to  him  in  our  future  slate.  Now  the  economy 
which  appears  to  be  destined  for  the  human  crea- 
tion, I  mean,  for  that  part  of  it  which  shall  be  re- 
ceived to  future  happiness,  is,  that  they  shrill  Uve 
in  a  state  of  local  society  with  one  anotiier,  and 
under  Jesus  Christ  as  their  head;  experiencing  a 
sensible  connexion  amongst  themselves,  as  well  as 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


577 


the  operation  of  his  autliority,  as  their  Lord  and 
Governor.  I  think  it  hkely  that  our  Saviour  had  tlie 
state  of  things  in  view,  when,  in  his  final  discourse 
with  his  apostles,  he  tells  them:  "I  go  to  prepare 
a  place  for  you.  And  if  I  go  and  prepare  a  place 
for  you,  I  will  come  again  and  receive  you  unto 
myself;  that  where  I  am,  there  ye  may  be  also:" 
John  xiv.  2,  3.  And  again,  in  the  same  discourse, 
and  referring  to  the  same  economy,  "  Father," 
says  he,  "  I  will  that  they  also,  whom  thou  hast 
given  me,  be  with  me  where  I  am;  that  they  may 
behold  my  glory  which  thou  hast  given  me  :"  for 
that  this  was  spoken,  not  merely  of  the  twelve, 
who  were  then  sitting  with  Jesus,  and  to  whom 
his  discourse  was  addressed,  but  of  his  disciples  in 
future  ages  of  the  world,  is  fairly  collected  from 
his  words,  (John  xvii.  20.)  "  Neither  pray  I  for 
these  alone,  but  for  them  also  which  shall  believe 
on  me  through  their  word."  Since  the  prayer 
here  stated  was  part  of  the  discourse,  it  is  reason- 
able to  infer  that  the  discourse,  in  its  object,  ex- 
tended as  far  as  the  prayer,  which  we  have  seen 
to  include  believers,  as  well  of  succeeding  ages  as 
of  that  then  present. 

Now  concerning  this  future  dispensation,  sup- 
posing it  to  consist,  as  here  represented,  of  accepted 
spirits,  participating  of  happiness  in  a  state  of  sen- 
sible society  with  one  another,  and  with  Jesus 
Christ  himself  at  their  head,  one  train  of  reflection 
naturally  arises;  namely,  first,  that  it  is  highly 
probable  there  should  be  many  expressions  of 
Scripture  which  have  relation  to  it ;  secondly,  that 
such  expressions  must,  by  their  nature,  appear  to 
us,  at  present,  under  a  considerable  degree  of  ob- 
scurity, which  we  may  be  apt  to  call  a  defect ; 
thirdly,  that  the  credit  due  to  such  expressions 
must  depend  upon  their  authority  as  portions  of 
the  written  word  of  God,  and  not  upon  the  pro- 
bability, much  less  upon  the  clearness  of  what 
they  contain ;  so  that  our  comprehension  of  what 
they  mean  must  stop  at  very  general  notions;  and 
our  belief  in  them  rest  in  the  deference  to  which 
they  are  entitled,  as  Scripture  declarations.  Of 
this  kind  are  many,  if  not  all,  of  those  expressions 
which  speak  so  strongly  of  the  value,  and  benefit, 
and  efficacy  of  the  death  of  Christ,  of  its  sacrili- 
cial,  expiatory,  and  atoning  nature.  We  may  be 
assured,  that  these  expressions  mean  something 
real,  refer  to  something  real,  though  it  be  some- 
thing which  is  to  take  place  in  that  future  dispen- 
sation of  which  we  have  been  speaking.  It  is 
reasonable  to  expect,  that,  when  we  come  to  ex 
perience  what  that  state  is,  the  same  experience 
will  open  to  us  the  distinct  propriety  of  these  ex- 
pressions, their  truth,  and  the  substantial  truth 
which  they  contain  ;  and  likewise  show  us,  that 
however  strong  and  exalted  the  terms  are  which 
we  see  made  use  of,  they  are  not  stronger  nor 
higher  than  the  subject  called  for.  But  for  the 
present  we  must  be,  what  I  own  it  is  difficult  to 
be,  content  to  take  up  with  very  general  notions, 
humbly  hoping,  that  a  disposition  to  receive  and 
acquiesce  in  what  appears  to  us  to  be  revealed,  be 
it  more  or  be  it  less,  will  be  regarded  as  the  duty 
which  belongs  to  our  subsisting  condition,  and  the 
measure  of  information  with  which  it  is  favoured  ; 
and  will  stand  in  the  plac«  of  what,  from  our  deep 
interest  in  the  matter,  we  are  sometimes  tempted 
to  desire,  but  which,  nevertheless,  might  be  unfit 
for  us,  a  knowledge  which  not  only  was,  but 
which  we  perceived  to  be,  fully  adequate  to  the 
subject. 

^  4D 


There  is  another  class  of  expressions,  which, 
since  they  profcs.sedly  refer  to  circumstances  that 
are  to  take  place  in  this  new  state,  and  not  before, 
will,  it  is  likely,  be  rendered  quite  intelligible  by 
our  experience  in  that  state ;  but  must  necessarily 
convey  their  imperfect  information  until  they  be 
so  explained.  Of  this  kind  are  many  of  the  pas- 
sages of  Scripture  which  we  have  already  noticed, 
as  referring  to  the  changes  which  will  be  wrought 
in  our  mortal  nature ;  and  the  agency  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  and  the  intervention  of  his  power  in 
producing  those  changes,  and  the  nearer  similitude 
which  our  changed  natures  and  the  bodies  with 
which  we  shall  then  be  clothed,  will  bear  to  his. 
We  read,  "that  he  shall  change  our  vile  body, 
that  it  may  be  Uke  his  glorious  body."  A  mo- 
mentous assurance,  no  doubt ;  yet,  in  its  particu- 
lar signification,  waiting  to  be  cleared  up  by  our 
experience  of  the  event.  So  likewise  are  some 
other  particular  expressions  relating  to  the  same 
event;  such  as  being  " unclothed ;  clothed  upon; 
the  dead  in  Christ  rising  first ;  meeting  the  Lord 
in  the  air ;  they  that  are  alive  not  preventing  those 
that  are  asleep,"  and  the  like.  These  are  all  most 
interesting  intimations,  yet  to  a  certain  degree  ob- 
scure. They  answer  the  purpose  of  ministering 
to  our  hopes,  and  comfort,  and  admonition,  which 
they  do  without  conveying  any  clear  ideas ;  and 
this,  and  not  the  satisfaction  of  our  curiosity,  may 
be  the  grand  purpose  for  the  sake  of  which  intima- 
tions of  these  things  were  given  at  all.  But  then, 
in  so  far  as  they  describe  a  change  in  the  order  of 
nature,  of  which  change  we  are  to  he  the  objects, 
it  seems  to  follow,  that  we  shall  be  furnished  with 
experience  which  will  discover  to  us  the  full  sense 
of  this  language.  The  same  remark  may  be  re- 
peated concerning  the  first  and  second  death, 
which  are  expressly  spoken  of  in  the  Revelations, 
and  as  I  think  alluded  to  and  supposed  in  other 
passages  of  Scripture  in  which  they  are  not 
named. 

The  lesson,  inculcated  by  the  observation  here 
pointed  out,  is  this,  that,  in  the  difficulties  which 
we  meet  with  in  interpreting  Scripture,  instead 
of  being  too  uneasy  under  them,  by  reason  of  the 
obscurity  of  certain  passages,  or  the  degree  of 
darkness  which  hangs  over  certain  subjects,  we 
ought  first  to  take  to  ourselves  this  safe  and  con- 
sohng  rule,  namely,  to  make  up  for  the  deficiency 
of  our  knowledge  by  the  sincerity  of  our  practice ; 
in  other  words,  to  act  up  to  what  we  do  know,  or, 
at  least,  earnestly  strive  so  to  do.  So  far  as  a  man 
holds  fast  to  this  rule,  he  has  a  strong  ground  of 
comfort  under  every  degree  of  ignorance,  or  even 
of  error.  And  it  is  a  rule  applicable  to  the  rich 
and  to  the  poor,  to  the  educated  and  to  the  unedu- 
cated, to  every  state  and  station  of  hfe,  and  to  all 
the  differences  which  arise  from  different  oppor- 
tunities of  acquiring  knowledge.  DiflTerent  obli- 
gations may  result  from  different  means  of  obtain- 
ing information ;  but  this  rule  comprises  all  dif- 
ferences. 

The  next  reflection  is,  that  in  meeting  with 
difficulties,  nay,  very  great  difficulties,  we  meet 
with  nothing  strange,  nothing  but  what  in  truth 
might  reasonably  have  been  expected  beforehand. 
It  was  to  be  expected,  that  a  revelation,  which 
was  to  have  its  completion  in  another  state  of  ex- 
istence, would  contain  many  expressions  which 
referred  to  that  state ;  and  which,  on  account  of 
such  reference,  would  be  made  clear  and  perfectly 
intelligible  only  to  those  who  haJ  experience  uf 
49 


578 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


that  state,  and  to  us  after  we  had  attained  to  that 
experience ;  whilst,  however,  in  the  mean  time, 
they  may  convey  to  us  enough  of  information,  to 
admonish  us  in  our  conduct,  to  support  our  liope, 
and  to  incite  our  endeavours.  Therefore  the 
meeting  with  difficulties,  owing  to  this  cause, 
ought  not  to  surprise  us,  nor  to  trouble  us  over 
much.  Seriousness,  nay,  even  anxiety,  touching 
every  thing  which  concerns  our  salvation,  no 
thoughtful  man  can  help;  but  it  is  possible  we 
may  be  distressed  by  doubts  and  ditficulties  more 
than  there  is  any  occasion  to  be  distressed. 

Lastly,  under  all  our  perplexities,  under  all  the 
misgivings  of  mind,  to  which  even  good  men 
(such  is  the  infirmity  of  human  nature)  are  sub- 
ject, there  is  this  important  assurance  to  resort  to, 
that  we  have  a  protection  over  our  heads,  which 
is  constant  and  abiding;  that  God,  blessed  be  his 
name,  is  for  evermore ;  that  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord 
is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever  ;  that, 
like  as  a  traveller  by  land  or  sea,  go  where  he  will, 
always  sees,  when  he  looks  up,  the  same  sun  ;  so 
in  our  journey  through  a  varied  existence,  whe- 
ther it  be  in  our  present  state,  or  in  our  next  state, 
or  in  the  awful  passage  from  one  to  the  other ;  in 
the  world  in  which  we  live,  or  in  the  country 
which  we  seek;  in  the  hour  of  death,  no  less  than 
in  the  midst  of  health,  we  are  in  the  same  uphold- 
ing hands,  under  the  same  sufficient  and  unfailing 
support. 


SERMON  XXIII. 

or  SPIRITUAL  INFLUENCE  IN  GENERAL. 
IN  THREE  PARTS. — (PART  I.) 

Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  temple  of  God,  and 
that  the  Spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in  you  7 — 
1  Cor.  ui.  16. 

There  are  ways  of  considering  the  subject  of 
spiritual  influence,  as  well  as  a  want  of  consider- 
ing it,  which  lay  it  open  to  difficulties  and  to 
misconceptions.  But  if  the  being  liable  to  misap- 
prehension and  to  misrepresentation  be  thought 
an  objection  to  any  doctrine,  I  know  of  no  doc- 
trine which  is  not  liable  to  the  same ;  nor  any 
which  has  not,  in  fact,  been  loaded  at  various  times 
with  great  mistakes. 

One  difficulty  which  has  struck  the  minds  of 
some  is,  that  the  doctrine  of  an  influencing  Spirit, 
and  of  the  importance  of  this  influence  to  human 
salvation,  is  an  arbitrary  system ;  making  every 
thing  to  depend,  not  upon  ourselves,  nor  upon 
any  exertion  of  our  own,  but  upon  the  gift  of  the 
Spirit. 

It  is  not  for  us,  we  allow,  to  canvass  the  gifts  of 
God  ;  because  we  do  not,  and  it  seems  impossible 
that  we  should,  sufficiently  understand  the  mo- 
tive of  the  giver.  In  more  ordinary  cases,  and  in 
cases  more  level  to  our  comprehension,  we  seem 
to  acknowledge  the  difference,  between  a  debt  and 
1  gift.  A  debt  is  bound,  as  it  were,  by  known 
rules  of  justice :  a  gift  depends  upon  the  motive 
of  the  giver,  which  often  can  be  known  only  to 
Jiimself.  To  judge  of  the  propriety  either  of 
granting  or  withholding  that  to  which  there  is  no 
nlaim  (which  is,  in  the  strictest  sense,  a  favour, 
which,  as  such,  rests  with  the  donor  to  bestow  as 


to  him  seemeth  good,j  we  must  have  the  several 
motives  which  presented  themselves  to  the  mind 
of  the  donor  before  us.  This,  with  respect  to  the 
Divine  Being,  is  impossible.  Therefore  we  allow, 
that,  either  in  this,  or  any  other  matter,  to  canvass 
the  gifts  of  God  is  a  presumption  not  flt  to  be  in- 
dulged. We  are  to  receive  our  jwrtion  of  them 
with  thankfulness.  We  are  to  be  thankful,  for 
instance,  for  the  share  of  health  and  strength 
which  is  given  us,  without  inquiring  why  otlicrs 
are  healthier  and  stronger  than  ourselves"  This 
is  the  right  disposition  of  mind  with  resjiect  to  all 
the  benefoctions  of  God  Almighty  towards  us. 

But  unsearchable  does  not  mean  arbitrary. 
Our  necessary  ignorance  of  the  motives  which 
rest  and  dwell  in  the  Divine  mind  in  the  bestow- 
ing of  his  grace,  is  no  proof  that  it  is  not  bestowed 
by  the  justest  reason.  And  with  regard  to  the 
case  at  present  before  us,  viz.  the  gifts  and  graces 
of  the  Spirit,  the  charge  against  it,  of  its  being  an 
arbitrary  system,  or,  in  other  words,  independent 
of  our  own  endeavours,  is  not  founded  in  any  doc- 
trine or  declaration  of  Scripture,  it  is  not  arbitrary 
in  its  origin,  in  its  degree,  or  in  its  final  success. 

First ;  It  is  not  arbitrary  in  its  origin  ;  for  you 
read  that  it  is  given  to  prayer.  "  If  ye,  being 
evil,  know  how  to  give  good  gifts  unto  your  chil- 
dren, how  much  more  shall  your  heavenly  Father 
give  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  it  ?"  But 
whether  we  will  ask  it  or  not,  depends  upon  our- 
selves. It  is  proposed,  you  find,  as  a  subject  for 
our  prayers;  for  prayer,  not  formal,  cold,  heart- 
less, transitory,  but  prayer  from  the  soul,  prayer 
earnest  and  piersevering ;  for  this  last  alone  is 
what  the  Scripture  means  by  prayer.  In  this, 
therefore,  it  cannot  be  said  to  be  arbitrary,  or  in- 
dependent of  our  endeavours.  On  the  contrary, 
the  Scripture  exhorts  us  to  a  striving  in  prayer  for 
this  best  of  all  gifts. 

But,  it  will  be  asked,  is  not  the  very  first  touch 
of  true  religion  upon  the  soul,  sometimes  at  least, 
itself  the  action  of  the  Holy  Spirit  1  this,  there- 
fore, must  be  prior  to  our  praying  for  it.  And  so 
it  may  be,  and  not  yet  be  arbitrarily  given.  The 
religious  state  of  the  human  soul  is  exceedingly 
various.  Amongst  others,  there  is  a  state  in 
which  there  may  be  good  latent  dispositions,  suit- 
able faculties  for  religion,  yet  no  religion.  In  such 
a  state,  the  spark  alone  is  wanting.  To  such  a 
state,  the  elementary  principle  of  religion  may  be 
communicated,  though  not  prayed  for.  Nor  can 
this  be  said  to  be  arbitrary.  The  Spirit  of  God 
is  given  where  it  is  wanted ;  where,  when  given, 
it  would  produce  its  effect;  but  that  state  of 
heart  and  mind,  upon  which  the  effect  was  to  be 
produced,  might  still  be  the  result  of  moral  quali- 
fication, improvement,  and  voluntary  endeavour. 
It  is  not,  I  think,  difficult  to  conceive  such  a  case 
as  this. 

Nevertheless  it  may  be  more  ordinarily  true, 
that  the  gift  of  the  Spirit  is  holden  out  to  the 
struggling,  the  endeavouring,  the  approaching 
Christian.  When  the  penitent  prodigal  was  yet 
a  great  way  off,  his  father  saw  him.  This  para- 
ble was  delivered  by  our  Lord  expressly  to  ty})ify 
God's  dealing  with  such  sinners  as  are  touched 
with  a  sense  of  their  condition.  And  this  is  one 
circumstance  in  it  to  be  particularly  noticed.  God 
sees  the  returning  mind ;  sees  every  step  and  every 
advance  towards  him,  "  though  we  be  yet  a  great 
way  off;"  yet  at  a  great  distance ;  though  much 
remains  to  be  done,  and  to  be  attained,  and  to  be 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


579 


uccomplished.  And  what  he  sees,  he  helps.  His 
aid  and  influence  are  assisting  to  the  wilhng 
Christian,  truly  and  sincerely  willing,  though  yet 
in  a  low  and  imperfect  state  of  proficiency ;  nay, 
though  in  the  outset,  as  it  were,  of  his  religious 
progress.  "  The  Lord  is  nigh  unto  them  that  are 
of  a  contrite  heart ;"  Psalm  xxxiv.  18.  But  in 
all  this  there  is  nothing  arbitrary. 

Nor,  secondly,  is  the  operation  of  the  Spirit 
arbitrary  in  its  degree.  It  has  a  rule,  and  its 
rule  is  this :  "  Whosoever  hath,  to  him  shall  be 
given,  and  he  shall  have  more  abundance ;  and 
whosoever  hath  not,  from  him  shall  be  taken 
away  even  that  which  he  hath."  Now,  of  this 
rule,  which  is  expressed  under  some,  but  under  no 
great  difference  of  phrase,  in  all  the  first  three 
Gospels,  I  have  first  to  observe,  that  though  it 
carry  the  appearance  of  harshness  and  injustice, 
it  is  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  but  is  correctly 
and  fundamentally  just.  The  meaning  is,  that 
whosoever  uses,  exercises,  and  improves  the  gifts 
which  he  has  received,  shall  continue  to  receive 
still  larger  portions  of  these  gifts ;  nay,  he  who 
has  already  received  the  largest  portion,  provided 
he  adequately  and  proportionabl}'  uses  his  gifts, 
shall  also  in  future  receive  the  largest  portion. 
More  and  more  will  be  added  to  him  that  has  the 
most ;  whilst  he  who  neglects  the  little  which  he 
has,  shall  be  deprived  even  of  that.  That  this  is 
the  sound  exposition  of  these  texts,  is  proved  from 
hence,  that  one  of  them  is  used  as  the  application 
of  the  parable  of  the  talents,  concerning  the  mean- 
ing of  which  parable  there  can  be  no  doubt  at  all ; 
for  there,  he  who  had  received,  and,  having  re- 
ceived, had  duly  improved  ten  talents,  was  placed 
over  ten  cities ;  and  of  him  the  expression  in 
question  is  used,  "  whosoever  hath,  to  him  shall 
be  given,  and  he  shall  have  more  abundance." 
On  the  contrary,  he  who  had  received  one  talent, 
and  had  neglected  what  he  had  received,  had  it 
taken  from  him;  and  of  him  the  other  part  of  the 
expression  is  used :  "  whosoever  hath  not,  from 
him  shall  be  taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath." 
But  there  is  a  point  still  remaining,  viz.  whether 
this  Scripture  rule  be  applicable  to  spiritual  gifts. 
I  answer  that  it  is  so  applied,  more  especially  to 
spiritual  knowledge,  and  the  use  which  we  make 
thereof  "  Take  heed  how  ye  hear;  unto  you 
that  hear  shall  more  be  given  ;  for  he  that  hath  to 
him  shall  be  given,  and  he  that  hath  not,  from 
him  shall  be  taken  even  that  which  he  hath." 
So  stands  the  passage  in  Mark  ;  and  substantially 
the  same,  that  is,  with  a  view  to  the  same  applica- 
tion, the  passage  stands  in  Matthew  and  Luke. 
I  consider  it,  therefore,  to  be  distinctly  asserted, 
that  this  is  the  rule  with  regard  to  spiritual 
knowledge.  And  I  think  the  analogy  conclusive 
with  regard  to  other  spiritual  gifts.  In  all  which 
there  is  nothing  arbitrary. 

Nor,  thirdly,  is  it  arbitrary  in  its  final  success. 
"Grieve  not  the  Spirit  of  God."  Therefore  he 
may  be  grieved.  "  And  hath  done  despite  unto 
the  Spirit  of  grace  :"  Heb.  x.  29.  Therefore  he 
may  be  despised.  Both  these  are  leading  texts 
upon  the  subject.  And  so  is  the  following : 
"  And  his  grace,  which  was  bestowed  upon  me, 
was  not  in  vain :"  1  Cor.  xv.  10.  Therefore  it 
might  have  been  in  vain.  The  influence,  there- 
fore, of  the  Spirit,  may  not  prevail,  even  as  the 
admonitions  of  a  friend,  the  warnings  of  a  parent, 
may  not  prevail,  may  not  be  successful,  may  not 
be  attended  to;  mav  be  rejected,  may  be  resisted, 


may  be  despised,  may  be  lost.  So  that  both  in 
its  gift,  in  its  degree,  operation,  and  progress,  and, 
above  all,  in  its  final  eflect,  it  is  connected  with 
our  own  endeavours;  it  is  not  arbitrary.  Through- 
out the  whole,  it  does  not  supersed-.',  but  co-ope- 
rates with  ourselves. 

But  another  objection  is  advanced,  and  from  an 
opposite  quarter.  It  is  said,  that  if  the  intluence 
of  the  Spirit  depend,  after  all,  upon  our  endea- 
vours, the  doctrine  is  nugatory ;  it  comes  to  the 
same  thing,  as  if  salvation  was  put  upon  ourselves 
and  our  own  endeavours  alone,  exclusive  of  every 
further  consideration,  and  without  referring  us  to 
any  influence  or  assistance  whatever.  I  answer, 
that  this  is  by  no  means  true ;  that  it  is  not  the 
same  thing  either  in  reality,  or  in  opinion,  or  in 
the  consequences  of  that  opinion. 

Assuredly  it  is  not  the  same  thing  in  reality.  Is 
it  the  same  thing,  whether  we  perform  a  work  by 
our  own  strength,  or  by  obtaining  the  assistance 
and  co-operation  of  another  1  Or  does  it  make  it 
the  same  thing,  that  this  assistance  is  to  be  ob- 
tained by  means  which  it  is  in  our  own  choice  to 
use  or  not.  Or  because,  when  the  assistance  is  ob- 
tained, we  may,  or  may  not,  avail  ourselves  of  it ; 
or  because  we  may,  by  neglecting,  lose  it  1  After 
ail,  they  are  two  different  things,  performing  a 
work  by  ourselves,  and  performing  it  by  means  of 
help. 

Again;  It  is  not  the  same  thing  in  the  opi- 
nions, and  sentiments,  and  dispositions  which 
accompany  it.  A  person  who  knows  or  believes 
himself  to  be  beholden  to  another  for  the  progress 
and  success  of  an  undertaking,  though  still  carried 
on  by  his  own  endeavours,  acknowledges  his 
friend  and  his  benefactor;  feels  his  dependency 
and  his  obligation ;  turns  to  him  for  help  and  aid 
in  his  difficulties ;  is  humble  under  the  want  and 
need  which  he  finds  he  has  of  assistance ;  and, 
above  all  things,  is  solicitous  not  to  lose  the  benefit 
of  that  assistance.  This  is  a  different  turn  of 
mind,  and  a  different  way  of  thinking  from  his, 
who  is  sensible  of  no  such  want,  who  relies  en- 
tirely upon  his  own  strength ;  who,  of  course,  can 
hardly  avoid  being  proud  of  his  success,  or  feeling 
the  confidence,  the  presumption,  the  self-com- 
mendation, and  the  pretensions,  which,  however 
they  might  suit  with  a  being  who  achieves  his 
work  by  his  own  powers,  by  no  means,  and  in  no 
wise  suit  with  a  frail  constitution,  which  must 
ask  and  obtain  the  friendly  aid  and  help  of  a  kind 
and  gracious  benefactor,  before  he  can  proceed  in 
the  business  set  out  for  him,  and  which  it  is  of 
unspeakable  consequence  to  hum  to  execute  some- 
how or  other. 

It  is  thus  in  religion.  A  sense  of  spiritual 
weakness  and  of  spiritual  wants,  a  belief  that 
divine  aid  and  help  are  to  be  had,  are  principles 
which  carry  the  soul  to  God ;  make  us  think  of 
him,  and  think  of  him  in  earnest ;  convert,  in  a 
word,  morality  into  religion ;  bring  us  round  to 
holiness  of  life,  by  the  road  of  piety  and  devotion ; 
render  us  humble  in  ourselves  and  grateful  towards 
God.  There  are  two  dispositions  which  compose 
the  true  Christian  character ;  humility  as  to  our- 
selves, affection  and  gratitude  as  to  God  ;  and 
both  these  are  natural  fruits  and  eiTects  of  the 
persuasion  we  speak  of.  And  what  is  of  the  most 
importance  of  all,  this  persuasion  will  be  accom- 
panied with  a  corresponding  fear,  lest  we  should 
neglect,  and,  by  neglecting,  lose  this  mva/uable 
assistance. 


580 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


On  the  one  hand,  therefore,  it  is  not  true,  that 
the  doctrine  of  an  influencing  Spirit  is  an  arbi- 
trary system,  setting  aside  our  own  endeavours. 
Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  is  it  true,  that  the  con- 
necting it  with  our  own  endeavours,  as  obtained 
through  them,  as  assisting  them,  as  co-operating 
with  them,  renders  the  doctrine  unimportant,  or 
all  one  as  putting  the  whole  upon  oar  endeavours 
without  any  such  doctrine.  If  it  be  true,  in  fact, 
that  the  feebleness  of  our  nature  requires  the  suc- 
couring influence  of  God's  Spirit  in  carrying  on 
the  grand  business  of  salvation ;  and  in  every 
state  and  stage  of  its  progress,  in  conversion,  in 
regeneration,  in  constancy,  in  perseverance,  in 
sanctilication ;  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
this  truth  be  declared,  and  understood,  and  con- 
fessed, and  felt ;  because  the  perception  and  sin- 
cere acknowledgment  of  it  will  be  accompanied  by 
a  train  of  sentiments,  by  a  turn  of  thought,  by  a 
degree  and  species  of  devotion,  by  humility,  by 
prayer,  by  piety,  by  a  recourse  to  God  in  our 
religious  warfare,  different  from  what  will,  or  per- 
haps can,  be  found  in  a  mind  unacquainted  with 
this  doctrine ;  or  in  a  mind  rejecting  it,  or  in  a 
mind  unconcerned  about  these  things  one  way  or 
other. 


SERMON  XXIV. 

ON  THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

(PART  II.) 

Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  temple  of  God,  and 
that  the  Spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in  you  1 — 1  Cor. 
iii.  16. 

It  is  undoubtedly  a  difficulty  in  the  doctrine  of 
spiritual  influence,  that  we  do  not  so  perceive  the 
action  of  the  Spirit,  as  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
suggestions  of  our  own  minds.  Many  good  men 
acknowledge,  that  they  are  not  conscious  of  any 
such  immediate  perceptions.  They,  who  lay 
clann  to  them,  cainiot  advance,  like  the  apostles, 
such  proofs  of  their  claim  as  must  necessarily  satis- 
fy others,  or,  perhaps,  secure  themselves  from  de- 
lusion. And  this  is  made  a  ground  of  objection 
to  the  doctrine  itself  Now,  I  think,  the  objec- 
tion proceeds  upon  an  erroneous  principle,  name- 
ly, our  expecting  more  than  is  promised.  The 
agency  and  influence  of  the  Divine  Spirit  are 
spoken  of  in  Scripture,  and  are  promised  ;  but  it 
is  no  where  promised  that  its  operations  shall  be 
always  sensible,  viz.  distinguishable  at  the  time 
from  the  impulses,  dictates,  and  thoughts  of  our 
own  minds.  I  do  not  take  upon  me  to  say  that 
they  are  never  so :  I  only  say  that  it  is  not  neces- 
sary, in  the  nature  of  things,  that  they  should  be 
so ;  nor  is  it  asserted  in  the  Scripture  that  they  are 
so ;  nor  is  it  promised  that  they  will  be  so. 

The  nature  of  the  thing  does  not  imply  or  re- 
quire it :  by  which  I  mean,  that,  according  to  the 
constitution  of  the  human  mind,  as  far  as  we  are 
acquainted  with  that  constitution,  a  foreign  influ- 
ence or  impulse  may  act  upon  it  without  being 
distinguished  in  our  perception  from  its  natural 
operations,  that  is,  without  being  perceived  at  the 
time.  The  case  appears  to  me  to  be  this :  The 
order  in  which  ideas  and  motives  rise  up  in  our 
minds  is  utterly  unknown  to  us,  consequently  it 


will  be  unknown  when  that  order  is  disturbed,  oi 
altered,  or  affected ;  therefore  it  may  be  altered,  it 
may  be  affected,  by  the  interposition  of  a  foreign 
influence,  without  that  interposition  being  per- 
ceived. 

Again,  and  in  like  manner,  not  only  the  order 
in  which  thoughts  and  motives  rise  up  in  our 
minds  is  unknown  to  ourselves,  but  the  causes 
also  are  unknown,  and  are  incalculable,  upon 
which  the  vividness  of  the  ideas,  the  force  and 
strength,  and  impression  of  the  motives  which 
enter  into  our  minds,  depend.  Therefore  that 
vividness  may  be  made  more  or  less,  that  force 
may  be  increased  or  diminished,  and  both  by  the 
influence  of  a  spiritual  agent,  without  any  distinct 
sensation  of  such  agency  being  felt  at  the  time. 
Was  the  case  otherwise ;  was  the  order,  according 
to  which  thoughts  and  motives  rise  up  in  our 
minds  fixed,  and  being  fixed,  known ;  then  I  do 
admit  the  order  could  not  be  altered  or  violated, 
nor  a  foreign  agent  interfere  to  alter  or  violate  it, 
without  our  being  immediately  sensible  of  what 
was  passing.  As  also,  if  the  causes  upon  which 
the  power  and  strength  of  either  good  or  bad  mo- 
tives depend  were  ascertained,  then  it  would  lilce- 
wise  be  ascertained  when  this  force  was  ever  in- 
creased or  diminished  by  external  influence  and 
operation ;  then  it  might  be  true,  that  external 
influence  could  not  act  upon  us  without  being 
perceived.  But  in  the  ignorance  under  which  we 
are  concerning  the  thoughts  and  motives  of  our 
minds,  when  left  to  themselves,  we  must,  natu- 
rally speaking,  be,  at  the  time,  both  ignorant  and 
insensible  of  the  presence  of  an  interfering  power ; 
one  ignorance  will  correspond  with  the  other; 
whilst,  nevertheless,  the  assistance  and  benefit  de- 
rived from  that  power,  may,  in  reaUty,  be  exceed- 
ingly great. 

In  this  instance,  philosophy,  in  my  opinion, 
comes  in  aid  of  religion.  In  the  ordinary  state  of 
the  mind,  both  the  presence  and  the  power  of  the 
motives  which  act  upon  it,  proceed  from  causes 
of  which  we  know  nothing.  This  philosophy 
confesses,  and  indeed  teaches.  From  whence  it 
follows,  that  when  these  causes  are  interrupted  or 
influenced,  that  interruption  and  that  influence 
will  be  equally  unknown  to  us.  Just  reasoning 
shows  this  proposition  to  be  a  consequence  of  the 
former.  From  whence  it  follows  again,  that  im- 
mediately and  at  the  time  perceiving  the  operation 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  is  not  only  not  necessary  to 
the  reality  of  these  operations,  but  that  it  is  not 
consonant  to  the  frame  of  the  human  mind  that 
it  should  be  so.  I  repeat  again,  that  we  take  not 
upon  us  to  assert  that  it  is  never  so.  Undoubtedly 
God  can,  if  he  please,  give  that  tact  and  quality  to 
his  communications,  that  they  shall  be  perceived 
to  be  divine  communications  at  the  time.  And 
this  probably  was  very  frequently  the  case  with 
the  prophets,  with  the  apostles,  and  with  inspired 
men  of  old.  But  it  is  not  the  case  naturally;  by 
which  I  mean,  that  it  is  not  the  case  according  to 
the  constitution  of  the  human  soul.  It  does  not 
appear  by  experience  to  be  the  case  usually. 
What  would  be  the  effect  of  the  influence  of  the 
Divine  Spirit  being  always  or  generally  accom- 
panied with  a  distinct  notice,  it  is  difficult  even  to 
conjecture.  One  thing  may  be  said  of  it,  that  it 
would  be  putting  us  under  a  quite  different  dis- 
pensation. It  would  be  putting  us  under  a  mira- 
culous dispensation;  for  the  agency  of  the  Spirit 
in  our  souls  distinctly  perceived  is,  properly  speak- 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


581 


big.  a  miracle.  Now  miracles  are  instruments  in 
the  hand  of  God  of  signal  and  extraordinary  ef- 
fects, produced  upon  signal  and  extraordinary  oc- 
casions. Neither  internally  nor  externally  do 
they  form  the  ordinary  course  of  his  proceeding 
with  his  reasonable  creatures. 

And  in  this  there  is  a  close  analogy  with  the 
course  of  nature,  as  carried  on  under  the  divine 
government.  We  have  every  reason  which  Scrij)- 
ture  can  give  us,  for  believing  that  God  frequently 
interposes  to  turn  and  guide  the  order  of  events  in 
the  world,  so  as  to  make  them  execute  his  pur- 
pose :  yet  we  do  not  so  perceive  these  interpositions, 
as,  either  always  or  generally,  to  distinguish  them 
from  the  natural  progress  of  things.  His  provi- 
dence is  real,  but  unseen.  We  distinguish  not 
between  the  acts  of  God  and  the  course  of  nature. 
It  is  so  with  the  Spirit.  When,  therefore,  we 
teach  that  good  men  may  be  led,  or  bad  men  con- 
verted, by  the  Spirit  of  God,  and  yet  they  them- 
selves not  distinguish  his  holy  influence ;  we  teach 
no  more  than  is  conformable,  as,  I  think,  has  been 
shown,  to  the  frame  of  the  human  mind,  or  rather 
to  our  degree  of  acquaintance  with  that  frame; 
and  also  analogous  to  the  exercise  of  divine  power 
in  other  things  ;  and  also  necessary  to  be  so ;  un- 
less it  should  have  pleased  God  to  put  us  under  a 
quite  different  dispensation,  that  is,  under  a  dis- 
pensation of  constant  miracles. 

I  do  not  apprehend  that  the  doctrine  of  spiritual 
influence  carries  the  agency  of  the  Deity  much 
farther  than  the  doctrine  of  providence  carries  it; 
or,  however,  than  the  doctrine  of  prayer  carries  it. 
For  all  prayer  supposes  the  Deity  to  be  intimate 
with  our  minds. 

But  if  we  do  not  know  the  influence  of  the  Spi- 
rit by  a  distinguishing  perception  at  the  time,  by 
what  means  do  we  know  any  thing  of  it  at  all  1  I 
answer  by  its  effects,  and  by  those  alone.  And 
this  I  conceive  to  be  that  which  our  Saviour  said 
to  Nicodemus.  "  The  wind  bloweth  where  it 
listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but 
canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it 
goeth;  so  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit:" 
that  is,  thou  perceivest  an  effect,  but  the  cause 
which  produces  that  effect  operates  in  its  own  way, 
without  tliy  knowing  its  rule  or  manner  of  opera- 
tion. With  regard  to  the  cause,  "  thou  canst  not 
tell  whence  it  cometh  or  whither  it  goeth."  A 
change  or  improvement  in  thy  religious  state  is 
necessary.  The  agency  and  help  of  the  Spirit  in 
working  that  change  or  promoting  that  improve- 
ment, are  likewise  necessary. 

"  Except  a  man  be  born  of  the  Spirit,  he  cannot 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God."  But  according 
to  what  particular  manner,  or  according  to  what 
rule  the  Spirit  acts,  is  as  unknown  to  us  as  the 
causes  arc  which  regulate  the  blowing  of  the  wind, 
tlie  most  incalculable  and  unknown  thing  in  the 
world.  Its  origui  is  unknown ;  its  mode  is  un- 
knowTi ;  but  still  it  is  known  in  its  effects :  and  so 
it  is  with  the  Spirit.  If  the  change  have  taken 
place  ;  if  the  improvement  be  produced  and  be 
proceeding;  if  our  religious  aflliirs  go  on  well, 
then  have  we  ground  for  trust,  that  the  enabling, 
assisting  Spirit  of  God  is  with  us ;  though  we  have 
no  other  knowledge  or  perception  of  the  matter 
than  what  this  aflbrds. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  subject  whatever,  in  which 
we  ought  to  be  so  careful  not  to  go  before  our 
guide  as  in  this  of  spiritual  influence.  We  ought 
neither  to  expect  more  than  what  is  promised,  nor 


to  take  upon  ourselves  to  determine  what  the 
Scriptures  have  not  determined.  This  safe  rule 
will  produce  both  caution  in  judging  of  ourselves, 
and  moderation  in  judging,  or  rather  a  backward- 
ness in  taking  upon  us  to  judge  of  others.  The 
modes  of  operation  of  God's  Spirit  are  probably 
extremely  various  and  numerous.  This  variety 
is  intimated  by  our  Saviour's  comparing  it  with 
the  blowing  of  the  wind.  We  have  no  right  to 
limit  it  to  any  particular  mode,  forasmuch  as  the 
Scriptures  have  not  limited  it ;  nor  does  observa- 
tion enable  us  to  do  it  with  any  degree  of  certainty. 

The  conversion  of  a  sinner,  for  instance,  may 
be  sudden ;  nay,  may  be  instantaneous,  yet  be 
both  sincere  and  permanent.  We  have  no  au- 
thority whatever  to  deny  the  possibility  of  tliis. 
On  the  contrary,  we  ought  to  rejoice  when  we 
observe  in  any  one  even  the  appearance  of  such  a 
change.  And  this  change  may  not  only  by  pos- 
sibility be  sudden,  but  sudden  changes  may  be 
more  frequent  than  our  observations  would  lead 
us  to  expect.  For  we  can  observe  only  eflects, 
and  these  must  have  time  to  show  themselves  in  ; 
while  the  change  of  heart  may  be  already  wrought. 
It  is  a  change  of  heart  which  is  attributable  to  the 
Spirit  of  God,  and  this  may  be  sudden.  The 
fruits,  the  corresponding  effects,  internal  reforma- 
tion and  external  good  actions,  will  follow  in  due 
time.  "  I  will  take  the  stony  heart  out  of  their 
flesh,  and  will  give  them  an  heart  of  flesh." — 
(Ezek.  xi.  19.)  These  words  may  well  describe 
God's  dealings  with  his  moral  creatures,  and  the 
operations  of  his  grace.  Then  follows  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  eflects  of  these  dealings,  of  these  opera- 
tions, of  that  grace,  viz.  that  they  may  walk  in 
my  statutes,  and  keep  my  ordinances  and  do  them;" 
which  represents  a  permanent  habit  and  course 
of  life  (a  thing  of  continuance,)  resulting  from  an 
inward  change,  (which  might  be  a  thing  produced 
at  once.) 

In  the  mean  time  it  may  be  true,  that  the  more 
ordinary  course  of  God's  grace  is  gradual  and 
successive ;  helping  from  time  to  time  our  endea- 
vours, succouring  our  infirmities,  strengthening 
our  resolutions ;  "  making  with  the  temptation  a 
way  to  escape ;"  promoting  our  improvement,  as- 
sisting our  progress ;  warning,  rebuking,  encou- 
raging, comforting,  attending  us,  as  it  were, 
through  the  diflerent  stages  of  our  laborious  ad- 
vance in  the  road  of  salvation. 

And  as  the  operations  of  the  Spirit  are  indefi- 
nite, so  far  as  we  know,  in  respect  of  time,  so  are 
they  likewise  in  respect  of  mode.  They  may  act, 
and  observation  affords  reason  to  believe  that  they 
do  sometimes  act,  by  adding  force  and  efficacy  to 
instruction,  advice,  or  admonition.  A  passage 
of  Scripture  sometimes  strikes  the  heart  with 
wonderful  power ;  adheres,  as  it  were,  and  cleaves 
to  the  memory,  till  it  has  wrought  its  work.  An 
impressive  sermon  is  often  known  to  sink  very 
deep.  It  is  not,  perhaps,  too  much  to  hope,  that 
the  Spirit  of  God  should  accompany  his  ordi- 
nances, provided  a  person  bring  to  them  serious- 
ness, humility,  and  devotion.  For  example,  the 
devout  receiving  of  the  holy  sacrament  may  draw 
down  upon  us  the  gill  and  benefit  of  divine  grace, 
or  increase  our  measure  of  it.  This,  as  being  the 
most  solemn  act  of  our  religion,  and  also  an  ap- 
pointment of  the  religion  itself,  may  be  properly 
placed  first ;  but  every  species  of  prayer,  provided 
it  be  earnest;  every  act  of  worship,  provided  it  be 
sincere  may  participate  in  the  same  effect ;  may 
49* 


582 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


be  to  us  the  occasion,  the  time,  and  the  instru- 
ment of  this  greatest  of  all  giils. 

In  all  these  instances,  and  in  all  indeed  that 
relate  to  the  operations  of  the  Spirit,  we  are  to 
judge,  if  we  will  take  upon  us  to  judge  at  all, 
(which  I  do  not  see  that  we  are  obliged  to  do,) 
not  only  with  great  candour  and  moderation,  but 
also  with  great  reserve  and  caution ;  and  as  to 
the  modes  of  Divine  grace,  or  of  its  proceedings  in 
the  hearts  of  men,  as  of  things  undetermined  in 
Scripture,  and  undeterminable  by  us.  In  our  own 
case,  which  it  is  of  infinitely  more  importance  to 
each  of  us  to  manage  rightly,  than  it  is  to  judge 
even  truly  of  other  men's,  we  are  to  use  perse- 
veringly,  every  appointed,  every  reasonable,  every 
probable,  every  virtuous  endeavour  to  render  our- 
selves objects  of  that  merciful  assistance,  which 
undoubtedly  and  confessedly  we  much  want,  and 
which,  in  one  way  or  other,  God,  we  are  assured, 
is  wilhng  to  afford. 


SERMON  XXV. 

ON    THE    INFLUENCE    OP    THE    SPIRIT. 

(PART  III.) 

Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  temple  of  God ;  and 
that  the  Spirit  of  God  duelleth  in  you? — 1  Cor. 
iii.  16. 

As  all  doctrine  ought  to  end  in  practice,  and  all 
sound  instruction  lead  to  right  conduct,  it  comes, 
in  the  last  place,  to  be  considered,  what  obligations 
follow  from  the  tenet  of  an  assisting  grace  and 
spiritual  influence ;  what  is  to  be  done  on  our  part 
in  consequence  of  holding  such  a  persuasion; 
what  is  the  behaviour  corresponding  and  consist- 
ent with  such  an  opinion.  For  we  must  always 
bear  in  mind,  that  the  Grace  and  Spirit  of  God 
no  more  take  away  our  freedom  of  action,  our 
personal  and  moral  liberty,  than  the  advice,  the 
admonitions,  the  suggestions,  the  reproofs,  the 
expostulations,  the  counsels  of  a  friend  or  parent 
would  take  them  away.  We  may  act  either  right 
or  wrong,  notwithstanding  these  interferences.  It 
still  depends  upon  ourselves  which  of  the  two  we 
will  do.  We  are  not  machines  under  these  im- 
pressions ;  nor  are  we  under  the  impression  of  the 
Holy  Spirit.  Therefore  there  is  a  class  of  duties 
relating  to  this  subject,  as  much  as  any  other ; 
and  more,perhaps,  than  any  other  important. 

And,  first,  I  would  apply  myself  to  an  objection, 
which  belongs  to  this,  namely,  the  practical  part 
of  the  subject;  which  objection  is,  that  (he  doc- 
trine of  spiritual  influence,  and  the  preaching  of 
this  doctrine,  causes  men  to  attend  chiefly  to  the 
feelings  within  them,  to  place  religion  in  feelings 
and  sensations,  and  to  be  content  with  such  feel- 
ings and  sensations,  without  coming  to  active  du- 
ties and  real  usefulness:  that  it  tends  to  produce 
a  contemplative  religion,  accompanied  with  a  sort 
of  abstraction  from  the  interests  of  this  world,  as 
respecting  either  ourselves  or  others;  a  sort  of 
(juietism  and  indifference  which  contributes  no- 
thing to  the  good  of  mankind,  or  to  make  a  man 
serviceable  in  his  generation  ;  that  men  of  this  de- 
scrij)tion  sit  brooding  over  what  passes  in  their 
hearts,  without  performing  any  good  actions,  or 
well  discharging  their  social  or  domestic  obliga- 
tions, or  indeed  guarding  their  outward  conduct 
with  sufficient  care. 


Now,  if  there  be  any  foundation  m  fact  for  this 
charge,  it  arises  from  some  persons  holding  this 
doctrine  defectively ;  I  mean  from  their  not  attend- 
ing to  one  main  point  in  the  doctrine,  which  is, 
that  the  promise  is  not  to  those  who  have  the  Spi- 
rit, but  to  those  who  are  led  by  the  Spirit;  not  to 
those  who  are  favoured  with  its  suggestions,  but 
to  those  who  give  themselves  up  to  follow,  and  do 
actually  j'oZZow  these  suggestions.   Now,  though  a 
person,  by  attending  to  his  feelings  and  conscious- 
nesses may  persuade  himself  that  he  has  the  Spi- 
rit of  God ;  yet  if  he  stop  and  rest  in  these  sensa- 
tions without   consequential  practical  exertions, 
it  can  by  no  possibility  be  said  of  him,  nor,  one 
would  think,  could  he  possibly  bring  himself  to 
believe,  that  he  is  led  by  the  Spirit,  that  he  follows 
the   Spirit ;    for  these   terms    necessarily  imply 
something  done  under  that  influence,  necessarily 
carry  the  thoughts  to  a  course  of  conduct  entered 
into  and  pursued  in  obedience  to,  and  by  virtue  of, 
that  influence.     Whether  the  objection  here  no- 
ticed has  any  foundation  in  the  conduct  of  those 
who  hold  the  doctrine  of  which  we  treat,  I  am 
uncertain;    accounts   are   different:    but   at  any 
rate  the  objection  lies  not  against  the  doctrine, 
but  against  a  defective  apprehension  of  it.     For, 
in  confirmation  of  all  which  we  have  said,  we  may 
produce  the  example  of  St.  Paul.    No  one  carried 
the  doctrine  of  spiritual  influence  higher  than  he 
did,  or  spoke  of  it  so  much;  yet  no  character  in 
the  world  could  be  farther  than  his  was  from  rest- 
ing in  feelings  and  sensations.     On  the  contrary, 
it  was  all  activity  and  usefulness.   His  whole  his- 
tory confirms  what  he  said  of  himself,  that  "in 
labours,"  in  positive  exertions,  both  of  mind  and 
body,  he  was  "  above  measure."     It  will  be  said, 
perhaps,  that  these  exertions  were  in  a  particular  ' 
way,  viz.  in  making  converts  to  his  opinions ;  but 
it  was  the  way  in  which,  as  he  believed,  he  was 
promoting  the  interest  of  his  fellow-creatures  in 
the  greatest  degree  possiljle  for  him  to  promote  it ; 
and  it  was  the  way  also  which  he  believed  to  be 
enjoined  upon  him  by  the  express  and  particular 
command  of  God.  Had  there  been  any  other  me- 
thod, any  other  course  and  line  of  beneficent  en- 
deavours, in  which  he  thought  he  could  have  been 
more  useful,  and  had  tlie  choice  been  left  to  him- 
self, (which  it  was  not,)  the  same  principle,  the 
same   eager  desire   of  doing   good,   would  have 
manifested  itself  with  equal  vigour  in  that  other 
line.     His  sentiments  and  jjrccepts  corresponded 
with  his  example  :   "  Do  good  unto  all  men,  espe- 
cially  unto   them  that  are  of  the  household  of 
Christ."     Here  doing  is  enjoined.     Nothing  less 
than  doing  can  satisfy  this  precept.   Feelings  and 
sensations   will   not,   though   of  the   best   kind. 
"  Let  him  that  stole,  steal  no  more,  but  rather  let 
him  labour  with  his  hands,  that  he  may  have  to 
give  to  him  that  needeth."     This  is  carrying  ac- 
tive beneficence  as  far  as  it  can  go.     Men  are 
commanded  to  relieve  the  necessities  of  their  poor 
brethren  out  of  the  earnings  of  their  manual  la- 
bour, nay,  to  labour  for  that  very  purpose ;  and 
their  doing  so  is  stated  as  the  best  expiation  for 
former  dishonesties,  and  the  best  proof  how  much 
and  how  truly  they  are  changed  from  what  they 
were.  "  Let  him  that  ruleth,  do  it  with  diligence." 
This  is  a  precept  which  cannot  be  complied  with 
without  activity.     These  instructions  could  not 
come  from  a  man  who  placed  religion  in  feelings 
and  sensations. 

Having  noticed  this  objection  (for  it  well  de- 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


583 


served  notice,)  I  proceed  to  state  the  particular 
duties  which  relate  to  the  doctrine  of  spiritual  as- 
sistance. And  the  first  of  these  duties  is  to  prai/ 
for  it.  It  is  by  prayer  that  it  is  to  be  sought ;  by 
Drayer  that  it  is  to  be  obtained.  This  the  Scrip- 
cures  expressly  teach.  "  How  much  more  will 
your  Heavenly  Father  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to 
them  that  ask  him?"  The  foundation  of  prayer, 
in  all  cases,  is  a  sense  of  want.  No  man  prays 
in  earnest  or  to  any  purpose  for  what  he  does  not 
feel  that  he  wants.  Know  then  and  feel  the 
weakness  of  your  nature.  Know  the  infinite  im- 
portance of  holding  on,  nevertheless,  in  a  course 
of  virtue.  Know  these  two  points  thoroughly, 
and  you  can  stand  in  need  of  no  additional  mo- 
tive (indeed  none  can  be  added,)  to  excite  in  you 
strong  unwearied  supplications  for  Divine  help ; 
not  a  cold  asking  for  it  in  any  prescribed  form  of 
prayer,  but  cryings  and  supplications  for  it,  strong 
and  unwearied.  The  description  in  the  Epistle 
to  the  Hebrews,  of  our  Lord's  own  devotion,  may 
serve  to  describe  the  devotion  of  a  Christian,  pray- 
ing, as  he  ought,  for  the  Spirit ;  that  is,  praying 
from  a  deep  understanding  of  his  own  condition, 
a  conviction  of  his  wants  and  necessities.  "  He 
ofiered  up  prayers  and  supplications  with  strong 
crying  and  tears  unto  him  that  was  able  to  save 
him  from  death  ;  and  was  heard  in  that  he  feared." 
This  is  devotion  in  reality. 

There  are  occasions  also,  which  ought  to  call 
forth  these  prayers  with  extraordinary  and  pecu- 
liar force. 

Is  it  superstition  1  is  it  not,  on  the  contrary,  a 
iust  and  reasonable  piety  to  implore  of  God  the 
guidance  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  when  we  have  any 
thing  of  great  importance  to  decide  upon,  or  to 
undertake  ;  especially  any  thing  by  which  the  hap- 
piness of  others,  as  well  as  our  own,  is  likely  to 
be  aflected  ] 

It  would  be  difficult  to  enumerate  the  passages 
and  occasions  of  a  man's  life,  in  which  he  is  par- 
ticularly bound  to  apply  to  God  for  the  aid  and 
direction  of  his  Si)irit.  In  general,  in  every  turn, 
as  it  may  be  called,  of  life ;  whenever  any  thing 
critical,  any  thing  momentous,  any  thing  whicli 
is  to  fix  our  situation  and  course  of  life ;  most  es- 
pecially any  thing  which  is  likely  to  have  an  in- 
fluence upon  our  moral  com^uct  and  disposition, 
and  thereby  affect  our  condition,  as  candidates  for 
heaven,  and  as  the  religious  servants  of  God,  is  to 
be  resolved  upon;  there  and  then  ought  we  to  saj' 
our  prayers ;  most  ardently  supplicating  from  our 
Creator  and  Preserver  the  grace  and  guidance  of 
his  Holy  Spirit. 

Is  it  not,  again,  a  time  for  calling  earnestly  for 
the  Spirit  of  God,  and  for  a  greater  measure  of 
that  Spiri:t,  if  he  be  pleased  to  grant  it  to  us,  when 
we  are  recovering  from  some  sin  into  which  we 
have  been  betrayed  ]  This  case  is  alwaj's  critical. 
The  question  now  is,  whether  we  shall  fall  into  a 
settle(i  course  of  sinning,  or  whether  we  shall  be 
restored  to  our  former,  and  to  better  than  our 
former  endeavours  to  maintain  the  line  of  duty. 
That,  under  the  sting  and  present  alarm  of  our 
conscience,  we  have  formed  resolutions  of  virtue 
for  the  future  is  supposed ;  but  whether  these  reso- 
lutions will  stand,  is  the  point  now  at  issue.  And 
in  this  peril  of  our  souls  we  cannot  be  too  earnest 
or  importunate  in  our  supplications  for  Divine  suc- 
cour. It  can  never  come  to  our  aid  at  a  time 
when  we  more  want  it.  Our  fall  proves  our 
weakness.     Our  desire  of  recovery  proves,  that. 


though  fallen,  we  may  not  he  lost.  This  is  a 
condition  which  flies  to  aid  and  help,  if  aid  and 
help  can  be  had ;  and  it  is  a  condition  to  which  the 
promised  support  of  the  Spirit  most  peculiarly  ap- 
plies. On  such  an  occasion,  therefore,  it  will  be 
sought  with  struggles  and  strong  contention  of 
mind,  if  we  be  serious  in  these  matters.  So 
sought,  it  will  be  obtained. 

Again  :  Is  it  not  always  a  fit  subject  of  prayer, 
that  the  Holy  Spirit  would  inform,  animate,  warm, 
and  support  our  devotion?  St.  Paul  speaks  of 
the  CO  operation  of  the  Spirit  with  us  in  this  very 
article.  "  Likewise  the  Spirit  also  helpeth  our  in- 
firmities, for  we  know  not  what  we  should  pray 
for  as  we  ought ;  but  the  Spirit  maketh  interces- 
sion for  us  with  groanings  that  cannot  be  uttered." 
The  specific  help  here  described  is  to  supply  our 
ignorance.  But  the  words  speak  also  generally 
of  helping  our  infirmities;  meaning,  as  the  pas- 
sage leads  us  to  suppose,  the  infirmities  which  at- 
tend our  devotion.  Now  these  infirmities  are  not 
only  ignorance,  but  coldness,  wanderings,  ab- 
sence ;  for  all  which  a  remedy  is  to  be  sought  in 
the  aid  and  help  of  the  Spirit. 

Next  in  order  of  time,  to  praying  for  the  Spirit 
of  God,  but  still  superior  to  it  in  importance,  is  lis- 
tening and  yielding  ourselves  to  his  suggestions. 
This  is  the  thing  in  which  we  fail. 

Now,  it  being  confessed  that  we  cannot  ordina- 
rily distinguish  at  the  time  the  suggestions  of  the 
Spirit  from  the  operations  of  our  nunds,  it  may  be 
asked,  how  are  we  to  hsten  to  theml  The  answer 
is,  by  attending  universally  to  the  admonitions 
within  us.  Men  do  not  listen  to  their  consciences. 
It  is  through  the  whisperings  of  conscience  that 
the  Spirit,  speaks.  If  men  then  are  wilfully  deaf 
to  their  consciences,  they  cannot  hear  the  Spirit. 
If  hearing,  if  being  compelled  to  hear,  the  remon- 
strances of  conscience,  they  nevertheless  decide, 
and  resolve,  and  determine  to  go  against  them ; 
then  they  grieve,  then  they  defy,  then  they  do  de- 
spite to  the  Spirit  of  God.  In  both  cases,  that  is, 
both  of  neglecting  to  consult,  and  of  defying, 
when  they  cannot  help  fceUng  the  admonitions 
which  rise  up  within  them,  they  have  this  judg- 
ment hanging  over  their  heads :  "  He  that  hath 
not,  from  hinl  shall  be  taken  even  that  which  he 
hath."  He  that  misuses  or  abuses  the  portion 
and  measure  of  spiritual  assistance  which  is  af- 
forded him,  shall  lose  even  that. 

The  efficacy  of  the  Spirit  is  to  be  judged  of  by 
its  fruits.  Its  immediate  effects  are  upon  the  dis- 
position. A  visible  outward  conduct  will  ensue ; 
but  the  true  seat  of  grace  and  of  spiritual  energy 
is  in  the  heart  and  inward  disposition.  When- 
ever, therefore,  we  find  religious  carelessness  suc- 
ceeded within  us  by  religious  seriousness;  con- 
science, which  was  silent  or  unheard,  now  power- 
fully speaking  and  obeyed ;  sensuality  and  selfish- 
ness, the  two  grand  enemies  of  salvation,  the  two 
great  powers  of  darkness  which  rule  the  natural 
man — when  we  find  even  these  giving  way  to  the 
inward  accusing  voice  of  conscience;  when  we 
find  the  thoughts  of  the  mind  drawing  or  drawn 
more  and  more  towards  heavenly  things ;  the  va- 
lue and  interest  of  these  expectations  plainer  to 
our  view,  a  great  deal  more  frequent  than  hereto- 
fore in  our  meditations,  and  more  fully  discerned . 
the  care  and  safety  of  our  souls  rising  gradually 
above  concerns  and  anxieties  about  worldly  af- 
fairs; when  we  find  the  force  of  temptation  and 
of  evil  propensities  not  extinct,  but  retreating  be- 


584 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


fore  a  sense  of  duty;  self-government  maintain- 
ed ;  the  interruptions  of  it  immediately  perceived, 
bitterly  deplored,  and  soon  recovered ;  sin  rejected 
and  repelled ;  and  this  not  so  much  with  an  in- 
crease of  confidence  in  our  strength,  as  of  reliance 
upon  the  assisting  grace  of  God;  when  we  find 
ourselves  touched  with  the  love  of  our  Maker, 
laking  satisfaction  in  his  worship  and  service; 
when  we  feel  a  growing  taste  and  relish  for  reli- 
gious subjects  and  religious  exercises ;  above  all, 
when  we  begin  to  rejoice  in  the  comfort  of  the 
Holy  Ghost ;  in  the  prospect  of  reaching  heaven ; 
in  the  powerful  aids  and  helps  which  are  given  us 
in  accomplishing  this  great  end,  and  the  strength, 
and  firnmess,  and  resolution,  which,  so  helped  and 
aided,  we  experience  in  our  progress :  when  we 
feel  these  things,  then  may  we,  without  either  en- 
thusiasm or  superstition,  humlily  believe  that  the 
Spirit  of  God  hath  been  at  work  within  us.  Ex- 
ternal virtues,  good  actions  will  follow,  as  occa- 
sions may  draw  them  forth  ;  but  it  is  icilhin  that 
we  must  look  for  the  change  which  the  inspiration 
of  God's  Spirit  produces. 

With  respect  to  positive  external  good  actions, 
we  have  said  that  they  must  depend  m  some  mea- 
sure upon  occasions,  and  abilities,  and  opportuni- 
ties, and  that  they  must  wait  for  opportunities; 
but,  observe,  it  is  not  so  with  the  breaking  off  of 
our  sins,  be  they  what  they  will.  That  work  must 
wait  for  nothing.  Until  that  be  effected,  no  change 
IS  made.  No  man,  going  on  in  a  known  sin,  has 
any  right  to  say,  that  the  Spirit  of  Gotl  has  done 
its  offii-e  within  him.  Either  it  has  not  been  given 
to  him,  or  heing  given,  it  has  been  resisted,  de- 
spised, or,  at  least,  neglected.  Such  a  person  has 
either  yet  to  obtain  it  by  prayer,  or,  when  obtain- 
ed, to  avail  himself  duly  of  its  assistance.  Let 
him  understand  this  to  be  his  condition. 

The  next  duty,  or  rather  disposition,  which 
flows  from  the  doctrine  of  spiritual  influence,  is 
humility  There  never  was  a  truer  saying  than 
that  pride  is  the  adversary  of  religion,  lowliness 
and  humility  the  tempers  for  it.  Now  religious 
humility  consists  in  the  habit  of  referring  every 
thing  to  God.  From  one  end  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment to  the  other,  God  is  set  forth  and  magnified 
in  his  agency  and  his  operations.  In  the  greatest 
of  all  businesses,  the  business  of  salvation,  he  is 
operating,  and  we  co-operating  with  him.  "Work 
out  your  own  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling;" 
and  why  ?  "  for  it  is  God  that  worketh  in  us  to 
will  and  to  do,  according  to  his  good  pleasure." 
He  is  not  superseding  our  endeavours,  (the  very 
contrary  is  implied  by  commanding  us  to  exert 
them,)  but  still  nothing  is  done  without  him.  If 
we  have  moral  strength,  we  are  strong  in  the  in- 
ward might  of  the  Holy  Ghost:  consequently  all 
boasting,  aJl  vanity,  all  self  sufficiency,  all  despis- 
ing of  others,  on  the  score  of  moral  and  religious 
inferiority,  are  excluded.  Without  the  grace  of 
God,  we  might  have  been  as  the  worst  of  them. 
There  is  in  the  nature  of  things,  one  train  of  sen- 
timent belonging  to  him  who  has  achieved  a  work 
by  his  own  might,  and  power,  and  prowess ;  and 
another  to  him,  who  has  been  fain  to  beg  for  suc- 
cour and  assistance,  and  by  that  assistance  alone 
has  been  carried  through  difficulties  which  were 
too  great  for  his  own  strength  and  faculties.  This 
last  is  the  true  sentiment  for  us.  It  is  not  for  a 
nan,  whose  life  has  be^n  saved  in  a  shipwreck  by 
ihe  compassionate  help  of  others  ;  it  is  not  for  a 
man.  so  saved,  to  boast  of  his  own  alertness  and 


vigour;  though  it  be  true,  that  unless  he  had  ex- 
erted what  power  and  strength  he  was  possessed 
of,  he  would  not  have  been  saved  at  all. 

Lastly  :  This  doctrine  shuts  the  door  against  a 
most  general,  a  most  specious,  and  a  most  deceiv- 
ing excuse  for  our  sins  ;  which  excuse  is,  that  we 
have  striven  against  them,  but  are  overpowered  by 
our  evil  nature,  by  that  nature  which  the  Scrip- 
tures themselves  represent  as  evil ;  in  a  word,  that 
we  have  done  what  we  could.      Now.  until  by 
supplication  and  prayer  we  have  called  for  the  pro- 
mised  assistance  of  God's    Spirit,  and  with   an 
earnestness,  devotion,  perseverance,  and  importu- 
nity, proportioned  to  the  magnitude  of  the  con 
cern  ;  until  we  have  rendered  ourselves  objects  of 
that  influence,  and  yielded  ourselves  to  it,  it  is  not 
true,   "that  we  have  done  all  that  we  can."     We 
must  not  rely  upon  that  excuse  ;  for  it  is  not  true 
in  fact.     If,  experiencing  the  depravity  and  imbe- 
cility of  our  nature,  we  see  in  this  corruption  and 
weakness  an  excuse  for  our  sins,  and  taking  up 
with  this  excuse,  we  surrender  ourselves  to  them; 
if  we  give  up,  or  relax  in  our  opposition  to  them, 
and  struggles  against  them,  at  last  consenting  to 
our  sins,  and  falling  down  with  the  stream  which 
■we  have  found  so  hard  to  resist ;  if  things  take  this 
turn  with  us,  then  are  we  in  a  state  to  be  utterly, 
finally,  and  fatally  undone.     We  have  it  in  our 
power  to  shut  our  eyes  against  the  danger ;  we 
naturally  shall   endeavour  to  make  ourselves  as 
easy  and  contented  in  our  situation  as  we  can ; 
but  the  truth,  nevertheless,  is,  that  we  are  hasten- 
ing to  certain  perdition.     If,  on  the  contrarv,  per- 
ceiving the  feebleness  of  our  nature,  we  be  driven 
by  the  perception,  as  St.  Paul  was  driven,  to  fly 
for  deliverance  from  our  sins  to  the  aid,  and  influ- 
ence, and  power  of  God's  Spirit;  to  seek  for  Di- 
vine help  and  succour,  as  a  sinking  mariner  calls 
out  for  help  and  succour,  not  formally,  we  may  be 
sure,  or  coldly,  but  with  cries,  and  tears,  and  sup- 
plications, as  for  life  itself;  if  we  be  prepared  to 
co-operate  with  this  help,  with  the  holy  workincr 
of  God's  grace  within  us ;  then  may  we  trust,  both 
that  it  will  be  given  to  us,  (yet  in  such  manner  as 
to  God  shall  seem  fit,  and  which  cannot  be  limit- 
ed by  us,)  and  also  that  the  portion  of  help  which 
is  given,  being  duly  used  and  improved,  (not  de- 
spised, neglected,  put  away.)  more  and  more  will 
be  continually  added  for  the  ultimate  accomplish- 
ment of  our  great  end  and  object,  the  deliverance 
of  our  souls  from  the  captivity,  and  the  conse- 
quences of  sin. 


SERMON  XXVI. 


SIN    ENCOUNTERKD    BY    SPIRITUAL    AID. 


IN  THREE   I'.iRT.-s. — (PART  I.) 


O,  wretched  man  that  I  am!  who  shall  deliver 
me  from  the  hody  of  this  death  7 — Roin.  vii.  24. 

Before  we  can  explain  what  is  the  precise 
subject  of  this  heavy  lamentation,  and  what  the 
precise  meaning  of  the  solemn  question  here  ask- 
ed, we  must  endeavour  to  understand  what  is  in- 
tended by  theexjiression,  "the  hody  of  this  death," 
or,  as  some  render  it,  "  this  body  of  death." 

Now,  let  it  be  remembered,  that  death,  in  Saint 
Paul's  epistles,  hardly  ever  signifies  a  naturn! 
death,  to  which  all  men  of  all  kinds  are  equally 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


5S5 


sulijected  ;  hut  it  moans  a  spiritual  death,  or  tha: 
perdition  and  destruction  to  which  sin  brings  men 
in  a  future  state. — "  The  wages  of  sin  is  death ;" 
not  the  death  which  we  must  all  undergo  in  this 
world,  for  that  is  the  fate  of  righteousness  as  well 
as  sin,  but  the  state,  whatever  it  be,  to  which  sin 
and  sinners  will  be  consigned  in  the  world  to  come. 
Not  many  verses  after  our  text,  St.  Paul  says, 
"carnal  mindedness  is  death:"  "to  be  carnally 
minded  is  death  ;"  leads,  that  is,  inevitably  to  that 
future  destruction  which  awaits  the  sinful  indul- 
gence of  carnal  propensities,  and  which  destruc- 
tion is,  as  it  were,  death  to  the  soul.  The  book 
of  Revelation,  alluding  to  this  distinction,  speaks 
expressly  of  a  second  death,  in  terms  very  fit  to 
be  called  to  mind  in  the  consideration  of  our  pre- 
sent text.  "  I  saw  the  dead,  small  and  great, 
stand  before  God ;  and  the  books  were  opened ; 
and  another  book  was  opened,  which  is  the  book 
of  life ;  and  the  dead  were  judged  out  of  those 
things  which  were  written,  according  to  their 
works :  and  the  sea  gave  up  the  dead  which  were 
in  it,  and  death  and  hell  (which  last  word  denotes 
here  simply  the  place  of  the  dead,  not  the  place 
of  punishment)  delivered  up  the  dead  that  were 
in  them ;  and  they  were  judged  every  man  accord- 
ing to  their  works  ;  and  death  and  hell  were  cast 
into  the  lake  of  fire ;"  (that  is,  natural  death,  and 
the  receptacle  of  those  who  died,  were  thenceforth 
superseded.)  This  is  the  second  death.  "  And 
whatsoever  was  not  found  written  in  the  book  of 
life,  was  cast  into  the  lake  of  fire."  This  descrip- 
tion, which  is  exceedingly  awful,  is  given  in  the 
last  three  verses  of  the  20th  chapter.  In  reference 
to  the  same  event,  this  book  of  Revelation  had  be- 
fore told  us,  viz.  in  the  2d  chapter  and  11th  verse, 
that  he  who  overcometh  shall  not  be  hurt  of  the 
second  death ;  and  in  like  manner  in  the  above 
quoted  20th  chapter,  "  Blessed  and  holy  is  he  that 
hath  part  in  this  resurrection :  on  such  the  second 
death  hath  no  power."  Our  Lord  himself  refers 
to  this  death  in  those  never  to  be  forgotten  words 
which  he  uttered,  "  He  that  liveth,  and  helieveth 
in  me,  shall  not  die  eternally."  Die  he  must,  but 
not  eternally:  die  the  first  death,  but  not  the  se- 
cond. It  is  undoubtedly,  therefore,  the  second 
death  which  Saint  Paul  meant  by  the  word 
death,  when  he  wrote  down  the  sentence  "  the 
body  of  this  death ;"  and  the  second  death  is  the 
punishment,  perdition,  and  destruction,  which  the 
souls  of  sinners  will  suffer  in  a  future  state.  It  is 
well  worthy  of  observation,  that  this  was  indeed 
the  only  death  which  those  who  wrote  the  New 
Testament,  and  probably  all  sincere  Christians  of 
that  age,  regarded  as  important,  as  the  subject  of 
their  awe,  and  dread,  and  solicitude.  The  first 
death,  the  natural  and  universal  disease  of  the 
body,  they  looked  to  simply  as  a  change  ;  a  going 
out  of  one  room  into  another;  a  putting  off  one 
kind  of  clothing,  and  putting  on  a  different  kind. 
They  esteemed  it,  compared  with  the  other,  of  lit- 
tle moment  or  account.  In  this  respect,  there  is 
a  wide  difierence  between  the  Scripture  appre- 
hension of  the  subject  and  ours.  We  think  en- 
tirely of  the  first  death:  they  thought  entirely  of 
the  second.  We  speak  and  talk  of  the  death 
which  we  see :  they  spoke,  and  taught,  and  wrote, 
of  a  death  which  is  future  to  that.  We  look  to  the 
first  with  terror :  they  to  the  second  alone.  The  se- 
cond alone  they  represent  as  formidable.  Such  is 
the  view  which  Christianity  gives  us  of  these  things, 
so  different  from  what  we  naturally  entertain. 
4E 


You  see  then  what  death  is  in  the  Scripture 
.ense;  in  St.  Paul's  sense.  "  The  body  of  this 
death."  The  phrase  and  expression  of  the  text 
cannot,  however,  mean  this  death  itself,  because 
he  prays  to  be  delivered  from  it;  whereas  from 
that  death,  or  that  perdition  understood  by  it, 
when  it  once  overtakes  the  sinner,  there  is  no  de- 
liverance that  we  know  of  The  "body,"  then, 
"of  this  death,"  is  not  the  death  itself,  but  a  state 
leading  to  and  ending  in  the  second  death;  namely, 
in  misery  and  punishment,  instead  of  hapf)iness 
and  rest,  after  our  departure  out  of  this  world. 
And  this  state  it  is,  from  which  St.  Paul,  with 
such  vehemence  and  concern  upon  his  spirit,  seeks 
to  be  delivered. 

Having  seen  the  signification  of  the  principal 
phrase  employed  in  the  text,  the  next,  and  the 
most  important  question  is,  to  what  condition  of 
the  soul,  in  its  moral  and  religious  concerns,  the 
apostle  applies  it.  Now  in  the  verses  preceding 
the  text,  indeed  in  the  whole  of  this  remarkable 
chapter,  St.  Paul  has  been  describing  a  state  of 
struggle  and  contention  with  sinful  propensities  ; 
whicK  propensities,  in  the  present  condition  of 
our  nature,  we  all  feel,  and  which  are  never 
wholly  abolished.  But  our  apostle  goes  further  : 
he  describes  also  that  state  of  unsuccessful  strug- 
gle and  unsuccessful  contention,  by  which  many 
so  unhappily  fall.  His  words  are  these :  "  That 
which  I  do, I  allow  not:  for  what  I  would,  that  1 
do  not ;  hut  what  I  hate,  that  do  I.  For  I  know 
that  in  me,  that  is,  in  my  flesh,  dwelleth  no  good 
thing :  for  to  will  is  present  with  me,  but  how  to 
perform  that  which  is  good  I  find  not :  for  the  good 
that  I  would,  I  do  not;  but  the  evil  which  I  would 
not,  that  I  do.  I  find  a  law,  that,  when  I  would 
do  good,  evil  is  present  with  me.  For  I  delight 
in  the  law  of  God  after  the  inward  man.  But  1 
see  another  law  in  my  members  warring  against 
the  law  of  my  mind,  and  bringing  me  into  captivi- 
ty to  the  law  of  sin  which  is  in  my  members." 

This  account,  though  the  style  and  manner  of 
expression  in  which  it  is  dcHvered  be  very  pecu- 
liar, is,  in  its  substance,  no  other  than  what  is 
strictly  applicable  to  the  case  of  thousands.  "  The 
good  that  I  would,  I  do  not ;  the  evil  which  I  would 
not,  that  I  do."  How  many,  who  read  this  dis- 
course, may  sav  the  same  of  themselves  !  as  also, 
"what  I  would,  that  do  I  not;  but  what  I  hate, 
that  I  do."  This  then  is  the  case  which  St.  Paul 
had  in  view.  It  is  a  case,  fir.st,  which  supposes 
an  informed  and  enlightened  conscience:  "I  de- 
light in  the  law  of  God."  "  I  had  not  known  sin 
but  by  the  law."  "  I  consent  unto  the  law  that 
it  is  good."  These  sentiments  could  only  be  ut- 
tered by  a  man  who  was  in  a  considerable  degree 
at  least,  acquainted  with  his  duty,  and  who  also 
approved  of  the  rule  of  duty  which  he  found  laid 
down. 

Secondly :  The  case  before  us  also  supposes  an 
inclination  of  mind  and  judgment  to  perform  our 
duty.  "  When  I  would  do  good,  evil  is  present 
with  me:  to  will  is  present  with  me,  but  how  to 
perform  that  which  is  good.  I  find  not." 

Thirdly:  It  supposes  this  inclination  of  mind 
and  judgment  to  be  continually  overpowered.  "  1 
see  another  law  in  my  members  warring  against 
the  law  of  my  mind,  and  bringing  me  into  captivi- 
ty to  the  law  of  sin,  which  is  in  my  members  ;" 
that  is,  the  evil  principle  not  only  opposes  the 
judgment  of  the  mind,  and  the  co'nduct  which 
that  judgment  dictates,  (which  may  be  the  case 


586 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


with  all,)  but  in  the  present  case  subdues  and  gets 
the  better  of  it :  '■'  Not  only  wars  against  the  law 
of  my  mind,  but  brings  ine  into  captivity." 

Fourthly :  The  case  supposes  a  sense  and 
thorough  consciousness  of  all  this  :  of  the  rule  of 
duty ;  of  the  nature  of  sin ;  of  the  struggle ;  of  the 
defeat.  It  is  a  prisoner  sensible  of  his  chains.  It 
is  a  soul  tied  and  bound  by  the  fetters  of  its  sins, 
and  knowing  itself  to  be  so.  It  is  by  no  means 
the  case  of  the  ignorant  sinner  ;  it  is  not  the  case 
of  an  erring  mistaken  conscience ;  it  is  not  the 
case  of  a  seared  and  hardened  conscience.  None 
of  these  could  make  the  rellection  or  the  complaint 
which  is  here  described.  "  The  commandment 
which  was  ordained  unto  life,  /found  to  be  unto 
death.  I  am  carnal,  sold  under  sin.  In  me 
dwelleth  no  good  thing.  The  law  is  holy ;  and 
the  commandment  holy,  just,  and  good  ;  but  sin, 
that  it  might  appear  sin,  (that  it  might  be  more 
conspicuous,  aggravated,  and  inexcusable,)  works 
death  in  me  by  that  which  is  good."  This  lan- 
guage by  no  means  belongs  to  the  stupiiied  in- 
sensible sinner. 

Nor,  fifthly,  as  it  cannot  belong  to  an  original 
insensibility  of  conscience,  that  is,  an  insensibility 
of  which  the  person  himself  does  not  remember 
the  beginning,  so  neither  can  it  belong  to  the  sin- 
ner who  has  got  over  the  rebukes,  distrusts,  and 
uneasiness  which  sin  once  occasioned.  True  it 
is,  that  this  uneasiness  mat/  be  got  over  almost 
entirely ;  so  that  whilst  the  danger  remains  the 
same,  whilst  the  final  event  will  be  the  same, 
whilst  the  coming  destruction  is  not  less  sure  or 
dreadful,  the  uneasiness  and  the  apprehension  are 
gone.  This  is  a  case  too  common,  too  deplorable, 
too  desperate ;  but  it  is  not  the  case  of  which  we 
are  now  treating,  or  of  which  St.  Paul  treated. 
Here  we  are  presented  throughout  with  complaint 
and  uneasiness ;  with  a  soul  exceedingly  dissatis- 
fied, exceedingly  indeed  disquieted,  and  disturbed, 
and  alarmed,  with  the  view  of  its  condition. 

Upon  the  whole,  St.  Paul's  account  is  the  ac- 
count of  a  man  in  some  sort  struggling  with  his 
vii-es ;  at  least  deeply  conscious  of  what  they  are, 
whither  they  are  leading  him,  where  they  will 
end ;  acknowledging  the  law  of  God,  not  only  in 
words  and  speeches,  but  in  his  mind ;  acknowledg- 
ing its  excellency,  its  authority ;  wishing  also, 
and  willing  to  act  up  to  it,  but,  in  fact,  doing  no 
such  thing;  feeling  in  practice  a  lamentable  ina- 
bility of  doing  his  duty,  yet  perceiving  that  it 
must  be  done.  All  he  has  hitherto  attained  is  a 
state  of  succes.sive  resolutions  and  relapses.  Much 
is  willed,  nothing  is  efiected.  No  furtherance,  no 
advance,  no  progress,  is  made  in  the  way  of  sal- 
vation. He  feels  indeed  his  double  nature;  but 
he  finds  that  the  law  in  his  members,  the  law  of 
the  fiesh,  brings  the  whole  man  into  captivity. 
He  may  have  some  better  strivings,  but  they  are 
unsuccessful.  The  result  is,  that  he  obeys  the 
law  of  sin. 

This  is  the  picture  which  our  apostle  contem- 
plated, and  he  saw  in  it  nothing  but  misery  :  "  O 
wretched  man  that  I  am  !"  Another  might  have 
seen  it  in  a  more  comfortable  light.  He  might 
have  hoped  that  the  will  would  be  taken  for  the 
deed;  that  since  he  felt  in  his  mind  a  strong  ap- 
probation of  the  law  of  God ;  nay,  since  he  felt  a 
delight  in  contemjjlating  it,  and  openly  professed 
to  do  so ;  since  he  was  neither  ignorant  of  it,  nor 
forgetful  of  it,  nor  insensible  of  its  obligation,  nor 
pver  set   himself  to  dispute  its   authority;   nay, 


since  he  had  occasionally  likewise  endeavoured  to 
bring  himself  to  an  obedience  to  this  law,  however 
unsuccessful  his  endeavours  had  been  ;  above  all, 
since  he  had  sincerely  deplored  and  bewailed  his 
fallings  ofl'from  it,  he  might  hope,  I  say,  that  his 
was  a  case  for  favourable  acceptance. 

St.  Paul  saw  it  not  in  this  light.  He  saw  in  it 
no  ground  of  confidence  or  satisfaction.  It  was  a 
state,  to  which  he  gives  no  better  name  than  "  the 
body  of  death."  It  was  a  state  not  in  which  he 
hoped  to  be  saved,  but  from  which  he  sought  to 
be  delivered.  It  was  a  state,  in  a  word,  of  bitter- 
ness and  terror ;  drawing  from  him  expressions 
of  the  deepest  anguish  and  distress :  '•  O,  wretched 
man  that  I  ain!  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the 
body  of  this  death  T' 


SERMON  XXVII. 

EVIL  PROPENSITIES  ENCOUNTERED  BY  THE  AID  OF 
THE    SPIRIT. 

(PART  II.) 

O,  wretched  man  that  I  am  !  who  shall  deliver 
me  from  the  body  of  this  death? — Rom.  vii.  24. 

He  who  has  not  felt  the  weakness  of  his  nature, 
it  is  probable,  has  reflected  little  upon  the  subject 
of  religion.  I  should  conjecture  this  to  be  the 
case. 

But  then,  when  men  do  feel  the  weakness  of 
their  nature,  it  is  not  always  that  this  conscious- 
ness carries  them  into  a  right  course,  but  some- 
times into  a  course  the  very  contrary  of  what  is 
right.  They  may  see  in  it,  as  hath  been  observed, 
and  many  do  see  in  it,  nothing  but  an  excuse  and 
apology  lor  their  sins.  Since  it  is  acknowledged 
that  we  carry  about  with  us  a  frail,  not  to  call  it 
a  depraved,  corrupted  nature,  surely,  they  say,  we 
shall  not  be  amenable  to  any  severities  or  extremi- 
ties of  judgment  for  delinquencies  to  which  such 
a  nature  must  ever  be  liable  ;  or,  which  is  indeed 
all  the  difference  there  is  between  one  man  and 
another,  for  greater  degrees  or  less,  for  more  or 
fewer  of  these  delinquencies.  The  natural  man 
takes  courage  from  this  consideration.  He  finds 
ease  in  it.  It  is  an  opiate  to  his  fears.  It  lulls 
him  into  a  forgetfulness  of  danger,  and  of  the 
dreadful  end,  if  the  danger  be  real.  Then  the 
practical  consequence  is,  that  he  begins  to  relax 
even  of  those  endeavours  to  obey  God  which  he 
has  hitherto  exerted.  Imperfect  and  inconstant 
as  these  endeavours  were  at  best,  they  become 
gradually  more  languid  and  more  unfrequent,  and 
more  insincere  than  they  were  before  :  his  sins 
increase  upon  him  in  the  same  proportion :  he 
proceeds  rapidly  to  the  condition  of  a  confirmed 
sinner,  either  secret  or  open ;  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence as  to  his  salvation.  And  this  descent  into 
the  depths  of  moral  vileness  and  depravity  began, 
in  some  measure,  with  perceiving  and  confessing 
the  weakness  of  his  nature ;  and  giving  to  this 
perception  that  most  erroneous,  that  most  fatal 
turn,  the  regarding  it  as  an  excuse  for  every  thing ; 
and  as  dispensing  even  with  the  self-denials,  and 
with  the  exertions  of  self-government,  which  a 
man  had  formerly  thought  it  necessary  to  exercise, 
and  in  some  sort,  though  in  no  sulficient  sort,  had 
exercised. 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


587 


Now,  1  ask,  was  this  St.  Paul's  way  of  con- 
sklering  the  subject  1  Was  this  the  turn  which 
/ie  gave  to  if?  Altogether  the  contrary.  It  was 
impossible  for  any  Christian  of  any  age,  to  Ije 
more  deeply  impressed  with  a  sense  of  the  weak- 
ness of  human  nature  than  he  was ;  or  to  express 
it  more  strongly  than  he  has  done  in  the  chapter 
before  us.  But,  observe ;  feeling  most  sensibly, 
and  painting  most  forcibly,  the  sad  condition  of 
his  natuEe,  he  never  alleges  it  as  an  excuse  for 
sin  :  he  does  not  console  himself  with  any  such 
excuse.  He  does  not  make  it  a  reason  for  setting 
himself  at  rest  upon  the  subject.  He  finds  no 
relief  to  his  fears  in  any  such  consideration.  It  is 
not  with  him  a  ground  for  expecting  salvation : 
on  the  contrary,  ne  sees  it  to  be  a  state  not  lead- 
ing to  salvation ;  otherwise,  why  did  he  seek  so 
earnestly  to  be  delivered  from  it  1 

And  how  to  be  delivered?  that  becomes  the 
next  question.  In  order  to  arrive  at  St.  Paul's 
meaning  in  this  matter,  we  must  attend  with  some 
degree  of  care,  not  only  to  the  text,  but  to  the 
words  which  follow  it.  The  24th  verse  contains 
the  question,  "  Who  shall  deUver  me  from  the 
body  of  this  death  V  and  then  the  25th  verse  goes 
on,  "  I  thank  God  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 
Now  there  is  good  reason  to  believe,  that  this 
25th  verse  does  not  appear  in  our  copies  as  it 
ought  to  be  read.  It  is  most  probable  that  the 
passage  stood  thus:  the  24th  verse  asks,  "Who 
shall  deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this  death?" 
Then  the  25th  verse  answers,  "The  grace  of 
God,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord."  Instead 
of  the  words  "  I  thank  God,"  put  the  words  "  The 
grace  of  God,"  and  you  will  find  the  sense  cleared 
up  by  the  change  very  much.  I  say,  it  is  highly 
probable  that  this  change  exhibits  what  St.  Paul 
really  wrote.  In  English  there  is  no  resemblance 
either  in  sound  or  writing  between  the  two  sen- 
tences, "  I  thank  God,"  and  "  The  grace  of  God ;" 
but  in  the  language  in  which  the  epistle  was  writ- 
ten there  is  a  very  great  resemblance.  And,  as  1 
have  said,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  in  the 
transcribing  one  has  been  confounded  with  the 
other.  Perha])s  the  substantial  meaning  may  be 
the  same  \\hichever  way  you  read  the  passage  : 
but  what  is  implied  only  in  one  way,  is  clearly 
expressed  in  the  other  way. 

The  question,  then,  which  St.  Paul  so  earnest- 
ly and  devoutly  asks  is,  "  Who  shall  deliver  me 
from  this  body  of  death  V  from  the  state  of  soul 
which  I  feel,  and  which  can  only  lead  to  final  per- 
dition 1  And  the  answer  to  the  question  is,  "  The 
grace  of  God,  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 
Can  a  more  weighty  question  be  asked"?  Can 
an  answer  be  given  which  better  deserves  to  be 
thoroughly  considered  1 

The  question  is,  "Who  shall  dehver  usi" 
The  answer:  "  The  grace  of  God,  through  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord."  The  "grace  of  God"  means 
the  favour  of  God  :  at  present,  therefore,  the  an- 
swer stands  in  general  terms.  We  are  only 
informed,  that  we  are  rescued  from  this  state  of 
moral  difficulty,  of  deep  rehgious  distress,  by  the 
favour  of  God,  through  Jesus  Christ.  It  remains 
to  be  gathered  from  what  follows,  in  what  parti- 
cularly this  grace  or  favour  consists.  St.  Paul 
having  asked  the  question,  and  given  the  answer 
m  general  terms,  proceeds  to  enlarge  upon  the 
answer  in  these  words : — "  There  is  therefore 
now  no  condemnation  to  them  who  are  in  Christ 
Jesus,  who  vfalk  not  after  the  flesh  but  after  the 


Spirit."  There  is  now  no  condemnation  :  but  ot 
whom,  and  to  whom,  is  this  spoken  1  It  is  to 
them  who  first  are  in  Christ  Jesus  ;  who,  second- 
ly, walk  not  after  the  flesh;  who,  thirdly,  walk 
after  the  Spirit. 

And  whence  arises  this  alteration  and  improve- 
ment in  our  condition  and  our  hopes  ;  this  exemp- 
tion, or  rather  deliverance,  from  the  ordinary  state 
of  man  1  St.  Paul  refers  us  to  the  cause.  "  The 
law  of  the  Spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus  hath  made 
me  free  from  the  law  of  sin  and  death."  Which 
words  can  hardly  bear  any  other  signification  than 
this,  viz.  "  That  the  aid  and  operation  of  God's 
Spirit,  given  through  Jesus  Christ,  hath  subdued 
the  power  which  sin  had  obtained,  and  once 
exercised  over  me."  With  this  interpretation 
the  whole  sequel  of  St.  Paul's  reasoning  agrees. 
Every  sentence  almost  that  follows  illustrates  the 
interpretation,  and  proves  it  to  be  the  true  one. 
With  what,  but  with  the  operation  and  the  co- 
operation of  the  Spirit  of  God,  as  of  a  real,  effi- 
cient, powerful,  active  Being,  can  such  expressions 
as  the  following  be  made  to  suit? — "  If  so  be  that 
the  Spirit  of  God  dwell  in  you." — "  If  any  man 
have  not  the  Spirit  of  Christ,  he  is  none  of  his." 
— "  If  the  Spirit  of  him  that  raised  up  Jesus  from 
the  dead  dwell  in  you." — "  By  his  Spirit  that 
dwelleth  in  you." — "  Ye  have  received  the  Spirit 
of  adoption." — "  The  Spirit  itself  bcareth  witness 
with  our  spirit."  All  which  expressions  are  found 
in  the  eighth  chapter,  namely,  the  chapter  follow- 
ing the  text,  and  all,  indeed,  within  the  compass 
of  a  few  verses.  These  passages  either  assert 
or  assume  the  fact,  namely,  the  existence  and 
agency  of  such  a  Spirit;  its  agency,  I  mean,  in 
and  upon  the  human  soul.  It  is  by  the  aid,  there- 
fore, of  this  Spirit,  that  the  deliverance  so  earnestly 
sought  for  is  effected  ;  a  deliverance  represented 
as  absolutely  necessary  to  be  effected  in  some  way 
or  other.  And  it  is  also  represented  as  one  of 
the  grand  benefits  of  the  Christian  dispensation. 
"  What  the  law  could  not  do  in  that  it  was  weak 
through  the  flesh,  God  sending  his  own  Son  in 
the  likeness  of  sinful  flesh,  and  for  sin,  con- 
demned sin  in  the  flesh,  that  the  righteousness  of 
the  law  might  be  fulfilled  in  us,  who  walk  not 
after  the  flesh,  but  after  the  Spirit."  Which  pas- 
sage I  expound  thus  :  A  mere  law,  that  is,  a  rule 
merely  telling  us  what  we  ought  to  do,  without 
enabling  us,  or  affording  us  any  help  or  aid  in 
doing  it,  is  not  calculated  for  such  a  nature  as 
ours;  "it  is  weak  through  the  flesh;"  it  is  inef- 
fectual by  reason  of  our  natural  infirmities.  Then 
what  the  law.  or  a  mere  rule  of  rectitude,  (for 
that  is  what  any  law,  as  such  is.)  could  not 
do,  was  done  under  the  Christian  dispensation ; 
and  how  done  1  The  righteousness  of  the  law, 
that  is,  the  righteousness  which  the  law  dictated, 
and  which  it  aimed,  as  far  as  it  could,  to  procure 
and  produce,  is  fulfilled  in  us,  who  v.alk  not  after 
the  flesh,  but  after  the  Spirit ;  is  actually  produced 
and  procured  in  us,  who  live  under  the  influence 
and  direction  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  By  this  Holy 
Spirit  we  have  that  assistance  which  the  law 
could  not  impart,  and  without  which,  as  a  mere 
rule,  though  ever  so  good  and  right  a  rule,  it  was 
weak  and  insufficient,  forasmuch  us  it  had  not 
force  or  strength  sufiicient  to  produce  obedience 
in  those  who  acknowledged  its  authority. 

To  communicate  this  so  much  wanted  assist- 
ance, was  one  end  and  effect  of  Christ's  coming. 
So  it  is  intimated  by  St.  Paul,  "  What  the  law 


588 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


rould  not  do,  in  that  it  was  weak  throuirh  the 
flesh,  God  did;  that  is,  God  "sending  liis  own 
Son  in  the  Hkeness  of  sinful  flesh  and  lor  sin," 
nanjely,  senchng  him  by  reason  or  on  account  of 
sin,  "condemned  sin  in  the  flesh ;''  vouchsafed,  that 
is,  spiritual  aid  and  ability,  by  which  aid  and 
ability  sin  and  the  [xjwer  of  sin  might  be  eflec- 
tually  opposed,  encountered,  and  repelled. 


SERMON  XXVIII. 

THE  AID  OF  THK  SPIRIT  TO  BE  SOUGHT  AND 
PRESERVED  BY  PRAYER. 

(PART  III.) 

O,  wretched  man  that  lam!  who  shall  deliver  me 
from  the  body  of  tins  death  ? — Rom.  vii.  24. 

If  it  be  doctrinally  true,  that  man  in  his  ordi- 
nary state,  in  that  state  at  least  in  which  great 
numbers  find  themselves,  is  in  a  deplorable  condi- 
tion, a  condition  which  ought  to  be  a  subject  to 
him  of  great  and  bitter  lamentation,  viz.  that  his 
moral  powers  are  ineffectual  for  his  duty ;  able, 
perhaps,  on  most  occasions,  to  perceive  and  ap- 
prove of  the  rule  of  right ;  able,  perhaps,  to  will 
it;  able,  perhaps,  to  set  on  foot  unsuccessful,  frus- 
trated, and  defeated  endeavours  after  that  will, 
but  by  no  means  able  to  pursue  or  execute  it : — 
if  it  be  also  true,  that  strength  and  assistance 
may  and  can  be  communicated  to  this  feeble  na- 
ture, and  that  it  is  by  the  action  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  upon  the  soul,  that  it  is  so  communicated  ; 
that  with  this  aid  and  assistance  sin  may  be  suc- 
cessfully encountered,  and  such  a  course  of  duty 
maintained  as  may  render  us  accepted  in  Christ; 
and  further,  that  to  impart  the  above  described 
assistance  is  one  of  the  ends  of  Christ's  coming, 
and  one  of  the  operations  of  his  love  towards  man- 
kind:— if,  I  say,  these  propositions  be  doctrinally 
true,  then  follow  from  them  these  three  practical 
rules :  first.  That  we  are  to  pray  sincerely,  earn- 
estly, and  incessantly  for  this  assistance ;  secondly. 
That  by  so  doing  we  are  to  obtain  it ;  thirdly. 
That  being  obtained,  we  are  to  yield  ourselves  to 
Its  agency,  to  be  obedient  to  its  dictates. 

First :  We  are  to  pray  sincerely,  earnestly, 
and  incessantly,  for  this  assistance.  A  funda- 
mental, and,  as  it  seeins  to  me,  an  insurmounta- 
ble text,  upon  this  head,  is  our  Saviour's  declara- 
tion, Luke  xi.  13, — "  If  ye,  being  evil,  know  how 
to  give  good  gifts  unto  your  children,  how  much 
more  shall  your  heavenly  Father  give  the  Holy 
Spirit  to  them  that  ask  him  V  This  declaration, 
besides  exjiressing  (which  was  its  primary  object) 
God's  benignant,  prompt,  and  merciful  disposition 
towards  us;  which  here,  as  in  other  places,  our 
Saviour  compares  with  the  disposition  of  a  parent 
towards  his  children  ;  beside  this,  the  text  un- 
doubtedly assumes  the  fact  of  there  being  a  Holy 
Spirit,  of  its  being  the  gift  of  God,  of  its  being 
given  to  them  that  ask  him;  that  these  things  are 
all  realities ;  a  real  spiritual  a.ssistance,  really 
given,  and  given  to  prayer.  But  let  it  be  well 
observed,  that  whensoever  the  Scripture  speaks 
of  prayer,  whensoever  it  uses  that  term,  or  other 
terms,  equivalent  to  it,  it  means  prayer,  sincere 
and  earnest;  in  the  full  and  proper  sense  of  these 
words,  prayer  proceeding  from  the  heart  and  soul. 


It  does  not  mean  an)'  particular  form  of  words 
whatever ;  it  does  not  mean  any  service  of  the 
lips,  any  utterance  or  pronunciation  of  prayer, 
merely  as  such,  but  supplication  actually  and 
truly  proceeding  from  the  heart.  Prayer  may  1x3 
solemn  without  being  sincere.  Every  decency, 
every  proprietj',  every  visible  mark  and  token  of 
prayer  may  be  present,  yet  the  heart  not  engaged. 
This  is  the  requisite  which  must  make  prayer 
availing  ;  this  is  the  requisite  indeed  which  must 
make  it  that  which  the  Scripture  means  whenever 
it  speaks  of  prayer.  Every  outward  act  of  wor- 
ship, without  this  participation  of  the  heart,  fails, 
not  because  men  do  not  pray  sincerely,  but  be- 
cause, in  Scripture  sense,  they  do  not  pray  at  all. 

If  these  qualities  of  internal  seriousness  and  im- 
pression belong  to  prayer,  whenever  prayer  is 
mentioned  in  Scripture,  they  seem  more  pecuharly 
essential  in  a  case,  and  for  a  blessing,  purely  and 
strictly  spiritual.  We  must  pray  with  the  spirit, 
at  least  when  we  pray  for  spiritual  succour. 

Furthermore  ;  there  is  good  authority  in  Scrip- 
ture, which  it  would  carry  us  too  widely  from  oui 
subject  to  state  at  present,  tor  persevering  in 
prayer,  even  when  long  unsuccessful.  Persever- 
ance in  unsuccessful  prayer  is  one  of  the  doctrines 
and  of  the  lessons  of  the  New  Testament. 

But  again:  We  must  pray  for  the  Spirit  ear- 
nestly, I  mean  with  a  degree  of  earnestness  pro- 
portioned to  the  magnitude  of  the  request.  The 
earnestness  with  which  we  pray  will  always  be  in 
proportion  to  our  sense,  knowledge,  and  conscious- 
ness of  the  importance  of  the  thing  which  we 
ask.  This  consciousness  is  the  source  and  prin- 
ciple of  earnestness  in  prayer;  and  in  this,  I  fear, 
we  are  greatly  deficient.  We  do  not  possess  or 
feel  it  in  the  manner  in  which  we  ought ;  and  we 
are  deficient  upon  the  subject  of  spiritual  assist- 
ance most  particularly.  I  fear  that  many  under- 
stand and  reflect  little  upon  the  importance  of 
what  they  are  about,  upon  the  exceedingly  great 
consequence  of  what  they  are  asking,  when  they 
pray  to  God,  as  we  do  in  our  liturgy,  "  to  cleanse 
the  thoughts  of  our  hearts  by  the  inspiration  of 
his  Holy  Spirit ;"  "  to  make  clean  our  hearts  with- 
in us  ;"  "  not  to  take  his  Holy  Spirit  from  us ;"  "  to 
give  us  increase  of  jirace  ;"  "  to  grant  that  his  Holy 
Spirit  may  in  all  things  direct  and  rule  our  hearts." 

These  are  momentous  petitions,  little  as  we 
may  perceive,  or  think,  or  account  of  them  at  the 
time.  It  has  been  truly  said,  that  we  are  hardly 
ever  certain  of  praying  aright,  except  when  we 
pray  for  the  Spirit  of  God.  When  we  pray  for 
temporal  blessings,  we  do  not  know,  though  God 
does,  whether  we  ask  what  is  really  for  our  good  : 
when  we  ask  for  the  assistance  and  sanctification 
of  God's  Spirit  in  the  work  and  warfere  of  religion, 
we  ask  for  that  which  by  its  very  nature  is  good, 
and  which  without  our  great  fault,  will  be  good 
to  us. 

But,  secondly;  We  must  obtain  it.  God  is 
propitious.  You  hear  that  he  has  promised  it  to 
prayer,  to  prayer  really  and  truly  such  ;  to  prayer, 
viz.  issuing  from  the  heart  and  soul ;  for  no  otlicr 
is  ever  meant.  We  are  suppliants  to  our  Maker 
for  various  and  continual  blessings;  for  health,  for 
ease,  it  may  be  for  prosperity  and  success.  There 
is,  as  hath  already  been  observed,  some  degree  of 
uncertainty  in  all  these  cases,  whether  we  ask 
what  is  fit  and  proper  to  be  granted,  or  even  what 
if  granted,  would  do  us  good.  There  is  this  like- 
wise farther  to  be  observed,  that  they  are  what,  if 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


589 


such  be  the  pleasure  of  God,  we  can  do  without. 
But  how  hicapable  we  are  of  doing  without  God's 
Spirit,  of  proceeding  in  our  spiritual  course  upon 
our  own  strength  and  our  own  resources,  of  final- 
ly accomplishing  the  work  of  salvation  without  it, 
the  strong  description  which  is  given  by  St.  Paul 
may  convince  us,  if  our  own  experience  had  not 
convinced  us  before.  Many  of  us,  a  large  majori- 
ty of  us,  either  require,  or  have  required,  a  great 
change,  a  moral  regeneration.  This  is  to  be  ef- 
fectuated by  the  aid  of  God's  Spirit.  Vitiated 
hearts  will  not  change  themselves ;  not  easily,  not 
frequently,  not  naturally,  perhaps,  not  possibly. 
Yet,  "  without  holiness  no  man  shall  see  God." 
How  then  are  the  unholy  to  become  holy  1  Holi- 
ness is  a  thing  of  the  heart  and  soul.  It  is  not  a 
few  forced,  constrained  actions,  though  good  as 
actions,  which  constitute  holiness.  It  must  reside 
within  us  ;  it  is  a  disposition  of  soul.  To  acquire, 
therefore,  that  which  is  not  yet  acquired,  to  change 
that  which  is  not  yet  changed,  to  go  to  the  root 
of  the  malady,  to  cleanse  and  purify  the  inside  of 
the  cup,  the  foulness  of  our  mind,  is  a  work  of 
the  Spirit  of  God  within  us.  Nay,  more :  many, 
as  the  Scripture  most  significantly  expresses  it, 
are  dead  in  sins  and  trespasses ;  not  only  commit- 
ting sins  and  trespasses,  but  dead  in  them  :  that  is, 
as  insensible  of  their  condition  under  them,  as  a 
dead  man  is  insensible  of  his  condition.  Where 
this  is  the  case,  the  sinner  must,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, be  roused  and  quickened  to  a  sense  of  his 
condition,  of  his  danger,  his  fate ;  in  a  word,  he 
must  by  some  means  or  other  be  brought  to  feel  a 
strong  compunction.  This  is  also  an  office  for 
the  Spirit  of  God.  ''  You  hath  he  quickened,  who 
were  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,"  Eph.  ii.  1. 
"  Awake,  thou  that  sleepest,  and  arise  from  the 
dead,  and  Christ  shall  give  thee  light,"  Eph.  v.  14. 
"Whether,  therefore,  we  be  amongst  the  dead  in 
sin,  or  whether  we  be  of  the  number  of  those  with 
whom,  according  to  St.  Paul's  description,  to  will 
is  present,  but  how  to  perform  that  which  is  good 
they  find  not ;  who,  though  they  approve  the  law 
of  God,  nay  delight  in  it,  after  the  inward  man, 
that  is,  in  the  answers  of  their  conscience,  are 
nevertheless  brought  into  captivity  to  the  law  of 
sin  which  is  in  their  members  ;  carnal,  sold  under 
sin  ;  doing  what  they  allow  not,  what  they  hate  ; 
doing  not  the  good  which  they  would,  but  the 
evil  which  they  would  not ;  whichever  of  these  be 
our  wretched  estate,  for  such  the  apostle  pro- 
nounces it  to  be,  the  grace  and  influence  of  God's 
Spirit  must  be  obtained  in  order  to  rescue  and  de- 
liver us  from  it ;  and  the  sense  of  this  want  and 
of  this  necessity  lies  at  the  root  of  our  devotions, 
when  directed  to  this  object. 

To  those  who  are  in  a  better  state  than  what 
has  been  here  described,  little  need  be  said,  be- 
cause the  very  supposition  of  their  being  in  a  bet- 
ter state  includes  that  earnest  and  devout  applica- 
tion by  prayer,  for  the  continual  aid,  presence,  and 
indwelling  of  God's  Holy  Spirit,  which  we  state 
to  be  a  duty  of  the  Christian  religion. 

But.  thirdly.  The  assistance  of  God's  Spirit 
'being  obtained,  we  are  to  yield  ourselves  to  its  di- 
rection ;  to  consult,  attend,  and  listen  to  its  dictates, 
suggested  to  us  through  the  admonitions  of  our 
conscience.  The  terms  of  Scripture  represent  the 
Spirit  of  God  as  an  assisting,  not  a  forcing  power ; 
as  not  suspending  our  own  powers,  but  enabling 
them ;  as  imparting  strength  and  faculty  for  our 
religious  work,  if  we  will  use  them ;  but  whether 


we  will  use  them  or  not,  still  depending  upon  our- 
selves. Agreeably  hereunto  St.  Paul,  you  have 
heard,  asserts,  that  there  is  no  condenmation  to 
them  who  walk  not  after  the  flesh  but  after  the 
Spirit.  The  promise  is  not  to  them  who  have 
the  Spirit,  hut  to  them  who  walk  after  the  Spirit. 
To  walk  after  the  flesh,  is  to  follow  wherever  the 
impulses  of  sensuality  and  selfishness  lead  us  ; 
which  is  a  voluntary  act.  To  walk  after  the  Spi- 
rit, is  steadily  and  resolutely  to  obey  good  motions 
within  us,  whatever  they  cost  us ;  which  also  is  a 
voluntary  act.  All  the  language  of  this  remark- 
able chapter  (Rom.  vii.)  proceeds  in  the  same 
strain ;  namely,  that  after  the  Spirit  of  God  is 
given,  it  remains  and  rests  with  ourselves  whether 
we  avail  ourselves  of  it  or  not.  "  If  ye  through 
the  Spirit  do  mortify  the  deeds  of  the  flesh,  ye  shall 
live."  It  is  through  the  Spirit  that  we  are  ena- 
bled to  mortify  the  deeds  of  the  flesh.  But  still, 
whether  we  mortify  them  or  not,  is  our  act,  be- 
cause it  is  made  a  subject  of  precept  and  exhorta- 
tion so  to  do.  Health  is  God's  gift,  but  what  use 
we  will  make  of  it  is  our  choice.  Bodily  strength 
is  God's  gift,  but  of  what  advantage  it  shall  be  to 
us  depends  upon  ourselves.  Even  so  the  higher 
gift  of  the  Spirit  remains  a  gift,  the  value  of  which 
will  be  exceedingly  great,  will  be  httle,  will  be 
none,  will  be  even  an  increase  of  guilt  and  con- 
demnation, according  as  it  is  applied  and  obeyed, 
or  neglected  and  withstood.  The  fourth  cha[)ter 
of  Ephesians,  verse  30,  is  a  warning  voice  upon 
this  subject :  "  Grieve  not  the  Spirit  of  God ;" 
therefore  he  may  be  grieved :  being  given,  he  may 
be  rejected ;  rejected,  he  may  be  withdrawn. 

St.  Paul,  Rom.  viii.,  represents  the  gilt  and  pos- 
session of  the  Spirit  in  these  words:  "  Ye  are  not 
in  the  flesh,  but  in  the  Spirit,  if  so  be  that  the 
Spirit  of  God  dwell  in  you."  and  its  efficacy, 
where  it  is  efficacious,  in  the  following  magnificent 
terms:  "If  the  Spirit  of  him  that  raised  Christ 
from  the  dead  dwell  in  you,  he  that  raised  up 
Christ  from  the  dead  shall  also  quicken  your  mor- 
tal bodies,  by  his  Spirit  that  dwelleth  in  you." 
AVhat,  nevertheless,  is  the  practical  inference 
therefrom  stated  in  the  very  next  words  1  "  There- 
fore, brethren,  we  are  debtors  not  to  the  flesh,  to 
live  after  the  flesh;  for  if  ye  live  after  the  flesh,  ye 
shall  die:"  consequently  it  is  still  possible,  and 
plainly  conceived,  and  supposed,  and  stated  to  be 
so,  even  after  this  communication  of  the  Spirit,  to 
five,  notwithstanding,  according  to  the  flesh;  and 
still  true,  that,  "  if  ye  live  after  the  flesh,  ye  shall 
die."  "  "VVe  are  debtors ;"  our  obligation,  our  duty 
imposed  upon  us  by  this  gift  of  the  Spirit,  is  no 
longer  to  live  after  the  flesh;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
through  the  Spirit  so  given,  to  do  that  which, 
without  it,  we  could  not  have  done,  to  "  mortify 
the  deeds  of  the  body."  Thus  following  the  sug- 
gestions of  the  Spirit,  ye  shall  live ;  for  "  as  many 
as  are  led  by  the  Spirit  of  God,"  as  many  as  yield 
themselves  to  its  guidance  and  direction,  "  they 
are  the  sons  of  God." 

To  conclude  the  subject  :  The  diflTerence  be- 
tween those  who  succeed,  and  those  who  fail  in 
their  Christian  course,  between  those  who_ obtain, 
and  those  who  do  not  obtain  salvation,  is  this : 
They  may  both  feel  equally  the  weakness  of  their 
nature,  the  existence  and  the  power  of  evil  pro- 
pensities within  them  ;  but  the  former,  by  praying 
with  their  whole  heart  and  soul,  and  that  pcrse- 
veringly,  for  spiritual  assistance,  obtain  it;  and 
liy  the  aid  so  obtained,  are  enabled  to  withstand 
50 


590 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


and  do,  in  fact,  withstand,  their  evil  propensities; 
the  latter  sink  under  them.  I  will  not  say  that  all 
are  conipriscd  under  this  description  :  for  neither 
■ire  all  included  in  St.  Paul's  account  of  tlie  matter, 
from  which  our  discourse  set  out ;  but  I  think,  that 
it  represents  the  general  condition  of  Christians 
as  to  their  spiritual  state,  and  that  the  greatest 
part  of  those  who  read  this  discourse,  will  find, 
that  the^-  belong  to  one  side  or  other  of  the  alter- 
native here  stated. 


SERMON  XXIX. 

THE  DESTRUCTION  OP  THE   C.4NAANITES. 

So  Joshua  smote  all  the  country  of  the  hills,  and 
of  the  south,  and  of  the  vale,  and  of  the  springs, 
and  all  their  kings:  he  left  none  remaining, 
but  utterly  destroyed  all  that  breathed,  as  the 
Lord  God  of  Israel  commanded. — Joshua  x.  40. 

I  HAVE  known  serious  and  well-disposed  Chris- 
tians much  affected  with  the  accounts  which  are 
delivered  in  the  Old  Testament,  of  the  Jewish 
wars  and  dealings  with  the  inhabitants  of  Canaan. 
From  the  Israelites'  first  setting  foot  in  that  coun- 
try, to  their  complete  establishment  in  it,  which 
takes  up  the  whole  book  of  Joshua  and  part  of  the 
book  of  Judges,  we  read,  it  must  be  confessed,  of 
massacres  and  desolations  unlike  what  are  prac- 
tised now-a-days  between  nations  at  war,  of  cities 
and  districts  laid  waste,  of  the  inlinbitants  being 
totally  destroyed,  and  this,  as  it  is  alleged  in  the 
history,  by  the  authority  and  command  of  Al- 
mighty God.  Some  have  been  induced  to  think 
such  accounts  incredible,  inasmuch  as  such  con- 
duct could  never,  they  say,  be  authorised  by  the 
good  and  merciful  Governor  of  the  universe. 

I  intend  in  the  following  discourse  to  consider 
this  matter  so  far  as  to  show  that  these  transac- 
tions were  calculated  for  a  beneficial  purpose,  and 
for  the  general  advantage  of  mankind,  and  being 
so  calculated,  were  not  incon.sistent  either  with 
the  justice  of  God,  or  with  the  usual  proceedings 
of  divine  providence. 

Now  the  first  and  chief  thing  to  be  observed  is, 
that  the  nations  of  Canaan  were  destroyed  for 
their  wickedness.  In  jiroof  of  this  point,  I  pro- 
duce the  18th  chapter  of  Leviticus,  the  24th  and 
the  following  verses.  Moses  in  this  chapter,  after 
laying  down  prohibitions  against  brutal  and  abo- 
minable vices,  proceeds  in  the  24th  verse  thus: 
"  Defile  not  yourselves  in  any  of  these  things,  for 
in  all  these  the  nations  are  defiled  which  I  cast 
out  before  you,  and  the  land  is  defiled ;  therefore  I 
do  visit  the  iniquity  thereof  upon  it,  and  the  land 
itself  vomiteth  out  her  inhabitants.  Ye  shall 
therefore  keep  my  statutes  and  my  judgments, 
and  shall  not  commit  any  of  these  abominations, 
neither  any  of  your  own  nation,  nor  any  stranger 
that  sojourncth  among  you :  for  all  these  abomi- 
nations have  the  men  of  the  land  done  which  were 
before  you,  and  the  land  is  defiled ;  that  the  land 
vomit  not  you  out  also,  when  ye  defile  it,  as  it 
vomited  out  the  nations  that  were  before  you. 
For  whosoever  shall  commit  any  of  these  abomi- 
nations, even  the  souls  that  commit  them  shall  be 
cut  off  from  amongst  their  people.  Therefore 
fihall  ye  keep  my  ordinances  that  ye  commit  not 
Anv  of  these  abominable  customs  which  were  com- 


mitted before  you ;  and  that  you  defile  not  yourselves 
therein."  Now  the  facts  disclosed  in  this  passage, 
are,  for  our  [jresent  purpose,  extremely  material 
and  extremely  satisfactory.  First,  The  passage 
testifies  the  principal  point,  namely,  that  the  Ca- 
naanites  were  the  wicked  people  we  represent 
them  to  be ;  and  that  this  point  does  not  rest  upon 
supposition,  but  upon  proof:  in  particular,  the 
following  words  contain  an  express  assertion  of 
the  guilt  of  that  people.  "  In  all  these  the  nations 
are  defiled  which  I  cast  out  before  you ;  for  all 
these  abominations  have  the  men  of  the  land 
done."  Secondly,  The  form  and  turn  of  expres- 
sion seems  to  show  that  these  detestable  practices 
were  general  among  them,  and  habitual :  they  are 
said  to  be  abominable  customs  which  were  com- 
mitted. Now  the  word  custom  is  not  applicable 
to  a  few  single,  or  extraordinary  instances,  but  to 
usage  and  to  national  character;  which  argues, 
that  not  only  the  practice,  but  the  sense  anti  no- 
tion of  morality  was  corrupted  among  them,  or 
lost ;  and  it  is  observable,  that  these  practices,  so 
far  from  being  checked  by  their  religion,  formed  a 
part  of  it.  They  are  described  not  only  under 
the  name  of  abominations,  but  of  abominations 
which  they  have  done  unto  their  gods.  "What  a 
state  of  national  morals  must  that  have  been  ! 
Thirdly,  The  passage  before  us  positively  and  di- 
rectly asserts,  that  it  was  for  these  sins  that  the 
nations  of  Canaan  were  destroyed.  I'his,  in  my 
judgment,  is  the  important  part  of  the  inquiry. 
And  what  do  the  words  under  consideration  de- 
clare 1  "  In  all  these,  namely,  the  odious  and  bru- 
tal vices  which  had  been  spoken  of,  the  nations 
are  defiled  which  I  cast  out  before  you ;  and  the 
land  is  defiled  :  therefore  I  do  visit  the  iniquity 
thereof  upon  it."  This  is  the  reason  and  cause 
of  the  calamities  which  I  bring  on  it.  The  land 
itself  vomiteth  out  her  inhabitants.  The  very 
land  is  sick  of  its  inhabitants;  of  their  odious  and 
brutal  practices  ;  of  their  corruption  and  wicked- 
ness. This,  and  no  other,  was  the  reason  for  de- 
stroying them :  this,  and  no  other,  is  the  reason 
here  alleged.  It  was  not,  as  hath  been  imagined, 
to  make  way  for  the  Israelites  ;  nor  was  it  simply 
for  their  idolatry. 

It  appears  to  me  extremely  probable,  that  idola- 
try in  those  times  led,  in  all  countries,  to  the  vices 
here  described;  and  also  that  the  detestation, 
threats,  and  severities,  expressed  against  idolatry 
in  the  Old  Testament,  were  not  against  idolatry 
simply,  or  considered  as  an  erroneous  religion, 
but  against  the  abominable  crimes  which  usually 
accompanied  it.  I  think  it  quite  certain  that  the 
case  was  so  in  the  nations  of  Canaan.  Fourthly, 
It  appears  from  the  passage  before  us,  and  what 
is  surely  of  great  consequence  to  the  question,  that 
God's  abhorrence  and  God's  treatment  of  these 
crimes  were  impartial,  without  distinction,  and 
without  respect  of  nations  or  persons.  The  words 
which  point  out  the  divine  impartiality  are  those 
in  which  Moses  warns  the  Israelites  against  fall- 
ing into  any  of  the  like  wicked  courses  ;  ''  that  the 
land,"  says  he,  "cast  not  you  out  also,  when  you 
defile  it,  as  it  cast  out  the  nations  that  were  before 
you ;  for  whoever  shall  commit  any  of  these  abo- 
minations, even  the  souls  that  conunit  them,  shall 
be  cut  off  from  among  their  people."  The  Jews 
are  sometimes  called  the  chosen  and  favoured  peo- 
ple of  God;  and,  in  a  certain  sen.se,  and  for  some 
purposes  they  were  so:  yet  is  this  very  people, 
both  in  this  place,  and  in  other  places,  over  and 


SERMOrsS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


591 


over  again  reminded,  that  if  they  followed  the 
same  practices,  they  must  expect  the  same  fate ; 
"Ye  shall  not  walk  in  the  way  of  the  nations 
which  I  cast  out  before  you ;  for  they  committed 
all  those  things,  and  therefore  I  abhorred  them : 
as  the  nations  which  the  Lord  destroyed  before 
your  face,  so  shall  ye  perish :  because  ye  were  not 
obedient  unto  the  voice  of  the  Lord  your  God." 

What  farther  proves  not  only  the  justice  but 
the  clemency  of  God,  his  long-suf5ering,  and  that 
it  was  the  incorrigible  wickedness  of  those  nations, 
which  at  last  drew  down  upon  them  their  destruc- 
tion, is.  that  he  suspended,  as  we  may  so  say,  the 
stroke,  till  their  wickedness  was  come  to  such  a 
pitch,  that  they  were  no  longer  to  be  endured. 
In  the  i5th  chapter  of  Genesis,  God  tells  Abra- 
ham, that  his  descendants  of  the  fourth  genera- 
tion, should  return  into  that  country,  and  not  be- 
fore ;  "for  the  iniquity,"  saith  he,  "  of  the  Amorites 
is  not  yet  full."  It  should  seem  from  hence,  that 
so  long  as  their  crimes  were  confined  within  any 
bounds,  they  vvere  permitted  to  remain  in  their 
country.  We  conclude,  therefore,  and  we  are 
well  warranted  in  concluding,  that  the  Canaanites 
were  destroyed  on  account  of  their  wickedness. 
And  that  wickedness  was  perhaps  aggravated  by 
their  having  had  among  them  Abraham,  Isaac, 
and  Jacob — examples  of  a  purer  religion  and  a 
better  conduct;  still  more  by  the  judgments  of 
God  so  remarkably  set  before  them  in  the  history 
of  Abraham's  family ;  particularly  by  the  destruc- 
tion of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah:  At  least  these 
things  prove  that  they  were  not  without  warning, 
and  that  God  did  not  leave  himself  without  wit- 
ness among  them. 

Now,  when  God,  for  the  wickedness  of  a  peo- 
ple, sends  an  earthquake,  or  a  fire,  or  a  plague 
among  them,  there  is  no  complaint  of  injustice, 
especially  when  the  calamity  is  known,  or  ex- 
pressly declared  beforehand,  to  be  inflicted  for  the 
wickedness  of  such  people.  It  is  rather  regarded 
as  an  act  of  exemplary  penal  justice,  and,  as  such, 
consistent  with  the  character  of  the  moral  Gover- 
nor of  the  universe.  The  objection,  therefore,  is 
not  to  the  Canaanitish  nations  being  destroyed ; 
(for  when  their  national  wickedness  is  considered, 
and  when  that  is  expressly  stated  as  the  cause  of 
their  destruction,  the  dispensation,  however  se- 
vere, will  not  be  questioned;)  but  the  objection  is 
solelv  to  the  manner  of  destroying  them.  I  mean 
there  is  nothing  but  the  manner  left  to  be  objected 
to:  their  wickedness  accounts  for  the  thing  itself 
To  which  objection  it  may  be  replied,  that  if  the 
thing  itself  be  just,  the  manner  is  of  little  signifi- 
cation ;  of  little  signification  even  to  the  sulferers 
themselves :  For  where  is  the  great  dillerence, 
even  to  them,  whether  they  were  destroyed  by  an 
earthquake,  a  pestilence,  a  famine,  or  by  the  hands 
of  an  enemy"?  Where  is  the  difference,  even  to 
our  imperfect  apprehensions  of  divine  justice,  pro- 
vided it  be,  and  is  known  to  be,  for  their  wicked- 
ness that  they  are  destroyed  ]  But  this  destruc- 
tion, you  say,  confounded  the  innocent  with  the 
guilty.  Theswordof  Joshua  and  of  the  Jews  spared 
neither  women  nor  children.  Is  it  not  the  same 
with  all  other  national  visitations  1  Would  not  an 
earthquake,  or  a  fire,  or  a  plague,  or  a  faranie 
amongst  them  have  done  the  samel  Even  in  an 
ordinary  and  natural  death  the  same  thing  hap- 
pens. God  takes  away  the  life  he  lends,  without 
regard,  that  we  can  perceive,  to  age,  or  sex,  or 
character.     But,  after  all,  promiscuous  massacres, 


the  burning  of  cities,  the  laying  waste  of  coun- 
tries, are  things  dreadful  to  reflect  upon.  Who 
doubts  itl  so  are  all  the  judgments  of  Ahiiigbty 
God.  The  efi'cct,  in  whatever  way  it  shows  it- 
self, must  necessarily  be  tremendous,  when  the 
Lord,  as  the  Psalmist  expresses  it,  "moveth  out 
of  his  place  to  punish  the  wicked.'"'  But  it  ought 
to  satisfy  us,  at  least  this  is  the  point  upon  which 
we  ought  to  rest  and  fix  our  attention — that  it  was 
for  excessive,  wilful,  and  forewarned  wickedness, 
that  all  this  befel  them,  and  that  it  is  expressly  so 
declared  in  the  history  which  recites  it. 

But  further:  If  punishing  them  by  the  hands 
of  the  Israelites,  rather  than  by  a  pestilence,  an 
earthquake,  a  fire,  or  any  such  calamity,  be  still 
an  objection,  we  may  perceive,  I  think,  some  rea- 
sons for  this  method  of  punishment  in  preference 
to  any  other  whatever ;  always,  however,  bearing 
in  our  mind,  that  the  question  is  not  concerning 
the  justice  of  the  punishment,  but  the  mode  of  it. 
It  is  well  known  that  the  people  of  those  ages 
were  affected  by  no  proof  of  the  power  of  the 
gods  which  they  worshipped  so  deeply,  as  by 
their  giving  them  victory  in  war.  It  was  by  this 
species  of  evidence  that  the  superiority  of  their 
own  gods  above  the  gods  of  the  nations  which  they 
conquered  was  in  their  opinion  evinced.  This 
being  the  actual  persuasion  which  then  prevailed 
in  the  world,  no  matter  whether  well  or  ill  founded, 
how  were  the  neighbouring  nations,  for  whose  ad- 
monition this  dreadful  example  was  intended,  how 
were  they  to  be  convinced  of  the  supreme  power 
of  the  God  of  Israel  above  the  pretended  gods  of 
other  nations,  and  of  the  righteous  character  of 
Jehovah,  that  is  of  his  abhorrence  of  the  vices 
which  prevailed  in  the  land  of  Canaan?  how,  I 
say,  were  they  to  be  convinced  so  well,  or  at  all 
indeed,  as  by  enabling  the  Israelites,  whose  God 
he  was  known  and  acknowledged  to  be,  to  conquer 
under  his  banner,  and  drive  out  before  them  those 
who  resisted  the  execution  of  that  commission 
with  which  the  Israelites  declared  themselves  to 
be  invested — the  expulsion  and  extermination  of 
the  Canaanitish  nations  1  This  convinced  sur- 
rounding countries,  and  all  who  were  observers  or 
spectators  of  what  passed;  first.  That  the  God  of 
Israel  was  a  real  God;  secondly,  That  the  gods 
which  other  nations  worshipped  were  either  no 
gods,  or  had  no  power  against  the  God  of  Israel ; 
and,  thirdly,  That  it  was  he,  and  he  alone,  who 
possessed  both  the  power  and  the  will  to  punish, 
to  destroy,  and  to  exterminate  from  before  his 
face,  both  nations  and  individuals  who  gave  them- 
selves up  to  the  crimes  and  wickedness  for  which 
the  Canaanites  were  notorious.  Nothing  of  this 
sort  would  have  appeared,  or  with  the  same  evi- 
dence however,  from  an  earthquake,  or  a  plugue, 
or  any  natural  calamity.  These  might  not  have 
been  attributed  to  divine  agency  at  all,  or  not  to 
the  interposition  of  the  God  of  Israel. 

Another  reason  which  made  this  destruction 
both  more  necessary  and  more  general  than  it 
would  have  otherwise  been,  was  the  consideration, 
that  if  any  of  the  old  inhabitants  were  left,  they 
would  prove  a  snare  to  those  who  succeeded  them 
in  the  country;  would  draw  and  seduce  them  by 
degrees  into  the  vices  and  corruptions  which  pre- 
vailed amongst  themselves.  Vices  of  all  kinds,  but 
vices  most  particularly  of  the  licentious  kind,  are 
astonishingly  infectious.  A  little  leaven  leaven- 
eth  the  whole  lump.  A  small  number  of  person."? 
addicted  to  them,  and  allowed  to  practise  them 


592 


J3ERM0NS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


with  impunity  or  encouragement,  will  spread 
them  through  the  whole  mass.  This  reason  is 
formally  anu  expressly  assigned,  not  simply  for 
the  punishment,  but  for  the  extent  to  which  it 
was  carried,  namely,  extermination.  "  Thou  shalt 
utterly  destroy  them,  that  they  teach  you  not  to 
do  after  all  their  abominations  wliich  they  have 
done  unto  their  gods." 

To  conclude:  In  reading  the  Old  Testament 
account  of  the  Jewish  wars  and  conquests  in  Ca- 
naan, and  the  terrible  destruction  brought  upon 
the  inhabitants  thereof,  we  are  constantly  to  bear 
in  our  minds,  that  we  are  reading  the  execution 
of  a  dreadful  but  just  sentence  pronounced  by 
God  against  the  intolerable  and  incorrigible  crimes 
of  these  nations — that  they  were  intended  to  be 
made  an  example  to  the  whole  world  of  God's 
avenging  wrath  against  sins  of  this  magnitude 
and  this  kind :  sins  which,  if  they  had  been  suf- 
fered to  continue,  might  have  polluted  the  whole 
ancient  world,  and  which  could  only  be  checked 
by  the  signal  and  public  overthrow  of  nations  no- 
toriously addicted  to  them,  and  so  addicted  as  to 
have  incorporated  them  even  into  their  religion 
and  their  public  institutions — that  the  miseries  in- 
flicted upon  the  nations  by  the  invasion  of  the 
Jews  were  expressly  declared  to  be  inflicted  on  ac- 
count of  their  abominable  sins — that  God  had 
borne  with  them  long — that  God  did  not  proceed 
to  execute  his  judgments  till  their  wickedness  was 
full — that  the  Israelites  were  mere  instruments  in 
the  hands  of  a  righteous  Providence  for  the  eflec- 
tuating  the  extermination  of  a  people  of  whom  it 
was  necessary  to  make  a  public  example  to  the 
rest  of  mankind :  that  this  extermination,  which 
might  have  been  accomplished  by  a  pestilence,  by 
fire,  by  earthquakes,  was  appointed  to  be  done  by 
the  hands  of  the  Israelites,  as  being  the  clearest 
and  most  intelligible  method  of  displaying  the 
power  and  righteousness  of  the  God  of  Israel ;  his 
power  over  the  pretended  gods  of  other  nations, 
and  his  righteous  hatred  of  the  crimes  into  which 
they  were  fallen. 

This  is  the  true  statement  of  the  case.  It  is  no 
forced  or  invented  construction,  but  the  idea  of 
the  transaction  set  forth  in  Scripture ;  and  it  is  an 
idea  which,  if  retained  in  our  thoughts,  may  fair- 
ly, I  think,  reconcile  us  to  every  thing  which  we 
read  in  the  Old  Testament  concerning  it. 


SERMON  XXX. 


NEGLECT  OF  WARNINGS. 


Oh  that  they  were  wise,  that  they  understood 
this,  that  they  would  consider  tlieir  latter  end! 
— Deut.  xxxii.  2i). 

Thkre  is  one  great  sin,  which  nevertheless 
may  not  be  amongst  the  number  of  those  of  which 
we  are  sensible,  and  of  which  our  consciences  ac- 
cuse us;  and  that  sin  is  the  neglect  of  warnings. 

It  is  our  duty  to  consider  this  life  throughout  as 
a  probationary  state,  nor  do  we  ever  think  truly, 
or  act  rightly,  but  so  long  as  we  have  this  consi- 
deration fully  before  our  eyes.  Now  one  charac- 
ter of  a  state,  suited  to  qualify  and  prepare  rational 
and  improveable  creatures  for  a  better  state,  con- 
sists in  the  warnings  which  it  is  constantly  giving 
them ;  and  the  providence  of  God,  by  placing  us 


in  such  a  state,  becomes  the  author  of  these  wurn- 
ings.  It  is  his  paternal  care  which  admonishes 
us  by  and  through  the  events  of  life  and  death 
that  pass  before  us.  Therefore  it  is  a  sin  against 
Providence  to  neglect  them.  It  is  hardiness  and 
determination  in  sin  ;  or  it  is  blindness,  which  in 
whole  or  in  part  is  wilful;  or  it  is  giddiness,  and 
levity,  and  contemptuousness  in  a  subject  which 
admits  not  of  these  dispositions  towards  it  without 
great  oflence  to  God. 

A  serious  man  hardly  ever  passes  a  day,  never 
a  week,  without  meeting  with  some  warning  to 
his  conscience;  without  something  to  call  to  his 
mind  his  situation  with  respect  to  his  future  life. 
And  these  warnings,  as  perhaps  was  proper,  come 
the  thicker  upon  us  the  farther  we  advance  in 
life.  The  dropping  into  the  grave  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, and  friends,  and  relations;  what  can  be  bet- 
ter calculated,  not  to  prove,  (for  we  do  not  want 
the  point  to  be  proved,)  but  to  possess  our  hearts 
with  a  complete  sense  and  perception  of  the  ex- 
treme peril  and  hourly  precariousness  of  our  con- 
dition 1  viz.  to  teach  this  momentous  lesson,  that 
when  we  preach  to  you  concerning  heaven  and 
hell,  we  are  not  preaching  concerning  things  at  a 
distance,  things  remote,  things  long  before  they 
come  to  pass ;  but  concerning  things  near,  soon 
to  be  decided,  in  a  very  short  time  to  be  fixed  one 
way  or  other.  This  is  a  truth  of  which  we  are 
warned  by  the  course  of  mortality ;  yet  with  this 
truth  confessed,  with  these  warnings  before  us, 
we  venture  upon  sin.  But  it  will  be  said,  that  the 
events  which  ought  to  warn  us  are  out  of  our 
mind  at  the  time.  But  this  is  not  so.  Were  it 
that  these  things  came  to  pass  in  the  wide  world 
only  at  large,  it  might  be  that  we  should  seldom 
hear  of  them  or  soon  forget  them.  But  the  events 
take  place  where  we  ourselves  are ;  within  our 
own  doors  ;  in  our  own  families  ;  amongst  those 
with  whom  we  have  the  most  constant  corres- 
pondence, the  closest  intimacy,  the  strictest  con- 
nexion. It  is  impossible  to  say  that  such  events 
can  be  out  of  our  mind  ;  nor  is  it  the  fact.  The 
fact  is,  that  knowing  them,  we  act  in  defiance  of 
them  :  which  is  neglecting  warnings  in  the  worst 
sense  possible.  It  aggravates  the  daringness,  it 
aggravates  the  desperateness  of  sin ;  but  it  is  so 
nevertheless.  Supposing  these  warnings  to  be 
sent  by  Providence,  or  that  we  believe,  and  have 
reason  to  believe,  and  ought  to  believe,  that  they 
are  so  sent,  then  the  aggravation  is  very  great. 

We  have  warnings  of  every  kind.  Even  youth 
itself  is  continually  warned  that  there  is  no  reli- 
ance to  be  placed,  either  on  strength,  or  constitu- 
tion, or  early  age ;  that  if  they  count  upon  life  as 
a  thing  to  be  reckoned  secure  for  a  considerable 
number  of  years,  they  calculate  most  falsely ;  and 
if  they  act  upon  this  calculation,  by  allowing 
themselves  in  the  vices  which  are  incidental  to 
their  years,  under  a  notion  that  it  will  be  long  be- 
fore they  shall  have  to  answer  for  them,  and  be- 
fore that  time  come  they  shall  have  abundant  sea- 
son for  repenting  and  amending ;  if  they  sufl^er 
such  arguments  to  enter  into  their  minds,  and  act 
upon  them,  then  are  they  guilty  of  neglecting  God 
in  his  warnings.  They  not  only  err  in  point  of 
just  reasoning,  but  they  neglect  the  warnings 
which  God  has  expressly  set  before  them.  Or  if 
they  take  upon  themselves  to  consider  religion  as 
a  thing  not  made  or  calculated  for  them ;  as  much 
too  serious  for  their  years ;  as  made  and  intended 
for  the  old  and  the  dying ;  at  least  as  what  is  un- 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


393 


necessary  to  be  entered  upon  at  present ;  as  what 
may  be  postponed  to  a  more  suitable  time  of  life : 
whenever  they  think  thus,  they  think  very  pre- 
sumptuously ;  they  are  justly  chargeable  with  neg- 
lecting warnings.  And  what  is  the  event  1  These 
postponers  never  enter  upon  religion  at  all,  in 
earnest  or  effectually ;  that  is  the  end  and  event 
of  the  matter.  To  account  for  this,  shall  we  say 
that  they  have  so  offended  God  by  neglecting  his 
warnings,  as  to  have  forfeited  his  grace  1  Certain- 
ly we  may  say,  that  this  is  not  the  method  of  ob- 
taining his  grace ;  and  that  his  grace  is  necessary 
to  our  conversion.  Neglecting  warnings  is  not 
the  way  to  obtain  God's  grace ;  and  God's  grace 
is  nece^^sary  to  conversion.  The  young,  I  repeat 
again,  want  not  warnings.  Is  it  new  1  is  it  un- 
heard of?  is  it  not,  on  the  contrary,  the  intelli- 
gence of  every  week,  the  experience  of  every 
neighbourhood,  that  young  men  and  young  wo- 
men are  cut  off'l  Man  is  in  every  sense  a  flower 
of  the  field.  The  flower  is  liable  to  be  cut  down 
in  its  bloom  and  perfection  as  well  as  in  its  wither- 
ing and  its  decays.  So  is  man :  and  one  probable 
cause  of  tins  ordination  of  Providence  is,  that  no 
one  of  any  age  may  be  so  confident  of  hfe  as  to 
allow  himself  to  transgress  God's  laws  ;  that  all 
of  every  age  may  live  in  constant  awe  of  their 
Maker. 

I  do  admit  that  warnings  come  the  thicker  upon 
us  as  we  grow  old.  We  have  more  admonitions, 
both  in  our  remembrances  and  in  our  observations, 
and  of  more  kinds.  A  man  who  has  passed  a  long 
life,  has  to  remember  preservations  from  danger, 
which  ought  to  inspire  him  both  with  thankful- 
ness and  caution.  Yet  I  fear  we  are  very  defi- 
cient in  both  these  qualities.  We  call  our  preser- 
vations escapes,  not  preservations ;  and  so  we  feel 
no  thankfulness  for  them ;  nor  do  we  turn  them 
into  religious  cautions.  When  God  preserved  us, 
he  meant  to  warn  us.  When  such  instances, 
therefore,  have  no  effect  upon  our  minds,  we  are 
guilty  before  God  of  neglecting  his  warnings. 
Most  especially  if  we  have  occasion  to  add  to  all 
other  reasons  for  gratitude  this  momentous  ques- 
tion, What  would  have  become  of  us,  what  would 
have  been  our  condition,  if  we  had  perished  in  the 
danger  by  which  our  lives  were  threatened  1  The 
parable  of  the  fig-tree,  (Luke  xiii.  ver.  6,)  is  a 
most  apt  Scripture  for  persons  under  the  circum- 
stancx's  we  have  described.  When  the  Lord  had 
said,  "cut  it  down;  why  cumbereth  it  the  ground  V 
he  was  entreated  to  try  it  one  year  longer ;  and 
then  if  it  proved  not  fruitful  to  cut  it  down. 
Christ  himself  there  makes  the  application  twice 
over,  (verses  3d  and  5th,)  "  except  ye  repent,  ye 
shall  all  likewise  perish.''  If  the  present,  or  if  the 
then  state  of  our  conscience  and  of  our  souls  call 
up  this  reflection,  then  are  we  very  guilty  indeed, 
if  such  preservations  leave  no  rehgious  impression 
upon  us ;  or  if  we  suffer  the  temporary  impression 
to  pass  off  without  producing  in  us  a  change  for 
the  better. 

Infirmities,  whether  they  be  of  health,  or  of  age, 
decay,  and  weakness,  are  warnings.  And  it  has 
been  asked,  with  some  degree  of  wonder,  why 
they  make  so  little  impression  as  they  do "?  One 
chief  reason  is  this:  they  who  have  waited  for 
warnings  of  this  kind  before  they  would  be  con- 
verted, have  generally  waited  until  they  are  be- 
come hardened  in  sin.  Their  habits  are  fixed. 
Their  character  has  taken  its  shape  and  form. 
Their  disposition  is  thoroughly  infected  and  in- 
4F 


vested  with  sin.  When  it  is  come  to  this  case,  it 
is  difficult  for  any  call  to  be  heard,  for  any  warn- 
incr  to  operate.  It  is  difficult,  but  with  God  all 
things  are  possible.  If  there  be  the  will  and  the 
sincere  endeavour  to  reform,  the  grace  of  God  can 
give  the  power.  Although,  therefore,  they  who 
wait  for  the  advances  of  age,  the  perception  of 
decay,  the  probable  approach  of  death,  before  they 
turn  themselves  seriously  to  religion,  have  waited 
much  too  long,  have  neglected,  and  despised,  and 
defied  many  solemn  warnings  in  the  course  of 
their  lives ;  have  waited  indeed  till  it  be  next  to 
impossible  that  they  turn  at  all  from  their  former 
ways :  yet  this  is  not  a  reason  why  they  should 
continue  in  neglect  of  the  warnings  which  now 
press  upon  them,  and  which  at  length  they  begin 
to  perceive  ;  but  just  the  contrary.  The  effort  is 
greater,  but  the  necessity  is  greater :  It  is  their 
last  hope,  and  their  last  trial.  I  put  the  case  of  a 
man  grown  old  in  sin.  If  the  warnings  of  old 
age  bring  him  round  to  religion,  happy  is  that  man 
in  his  old  age  above  any  thing  he  was  in  any  other 
part  of  his  life.  But  if  these  warnings  do  not  af- 
fect him,  there  is  nothing  left  in  this  world  which 
will.  We  are  not  to  set  limits  to  God's  grace, 
operating  according  to  his  good  pleasure ;  but  we 
say  there  is  nothing  in  this  world,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  course  of  nature  and  the  order  of  human 
affairs,  which  will  affect  him,  if  the  feelings  of 
age  do  not.  I  put  the  case  of  a  man  grown  old  in 
sin,  and,  though  old,  continuing  the  practice  of  sin : 
that,  it  is  said,  in  the  full  latitude  of  the  expres- 
sion, describes  a  worse  case  than  is  commonly  met 
with.  Would  to  God  the  case  was  more  rare  than 
it  is !  But,  allowing  it  to  be  unusual  in  the  ut- 
most extent  of  the  terms,  in  a  certain  considera- 
ble degree  the  description  applies  to  many  old  per- 
sons. °Many  feel  in  their  hearts  that  the  words 
"  grown  old  in  sin,"  belong  to  them  in  some  sense 
which  is  very  formidable.  They  feel  some  dross 
and  defilement  to  be  yet  purged  away  ;  some  deep 
corruption  to  be  yet  eradicated;  some  virtue  or 
other  to  be  yet  even  learnt,  yet  acquired,  or  yet, 
however,  to  be  brought  nearer  to  what  it  ought  to 
be  than  it  has  hitherto  been  brought.  Now  if  the 
warnings  of  age  taught  us  nothing  else,  they 
might  teach  us  This :  that  if  these  things  are  to  be 
done,  they  must  be  done  soon  ;  they  must  be  set 
about  forthwith,  in  good  earnest,  and  with  strong 
resolution.  The  work  is  most  momentous ;  the 
time  is  short.  The  day  is  far  spent;  the  evening 
is  come  on :  the  night  is  at  hand. 

Lastly :  I  conceive  that  this  discourse  points  out 
the  true  and  only  way  of  making  old  age  comfort- 
able ;  and  that  is,  by  making  it  the  means  of  re- 
ligious improvement.  Let  a  man  be  beset  by 
ever  so  many  bodily  complaints,  bowed  down  by 
ever  so  many  infirniities,  if  he  find  his  soul  grown 
and  growing  better,  his  seriousness  increased,  his 
obedience  more  regular  and  more  exact,  his  in- 
ward principles  and  dispositions  improved  from 
what  they  were  formerly,  and  continuing  to  im- 
prove ;  that  man  hath  a  fountain  of  comfort  and 
consolation  springing  up  within  him.  Infirmities, 
which  have  this  effect,  are  infinitely  better  than 
strength  and  health  themselves;  though  these, 
considered  independently  of  their  consequences, 
be  justly  esteemed  the  greatest  of  all  blessings  and 
of  all  gifts.  The  old  age  of  a  virtuous  man  ad- 
mits of  a  different  and  of  a  most  consoling  de- 
scription. 

1      It  is  this  property  of  old  age,  namely,  that  'ts 
50* 


594 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


proper  and  most  rational  comfort  consists  in  the 
consciousness  of  spiritual  amendment.  A  very 
pious  writer  gives  the  following  representation  of 
this  stage  of  human  life,  when  employed  and  oc- 
cupied as  it  ought  to  be,  and  when  life  has  been 
drawn  to  its  close  by  a  course  of  virtue  and  reli- 
gion. "  To  the  intelligent  and  virtuous,"  says  our 
author,  "  old  age  presents  a  scene  of  tranquil  en- 
joyment, of  obedient  appetites,  of  well  regulated 
affections,  of  maturity  in  knowledge,  and  of  calm 
preparation  for  inunortality.  In  this  serene  and 
dignified  state,  placed,  as  it  were,  on  the  confines 
of  two  worlds,  the  mind  of  a  good  man  reviews 
what  is  passed  with  the  complacency  of  an  ap- 
proving conscience,  and  looks  forward  with  hum- 
ble confidence  in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  with  de- 
vout aspirations  towards  his  eternal  and  ever  in- 
creasing favour." 


SERMON  XXXI. 

THE    TERRORS    OF    THE    LORD. 

What  is  a  man  profited,  if  he  shall  gain  the 
whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul?  or  what 
shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his  soul? — 
Matt.  xvi.  26. 

These  words  ask  a  question,  the  most  home  to 
every  man's  concern  of  any  that  can  possibly  en- 
ter into  his  thoughts.  What  our  Saviour  meant 
to  assert,  though  proposed  to  his  hearers  in  the 
form  of  a  question  (which  indeed  was  only  a 
stronger  and  more  affecting  way  of  assertijig  it,) 
is,  that  a  man's  soul,  by  which  term  is  here  meant 
his  state  after  death,  is  so  infinitely  more  important 
to  him,  so  beyond  and  above  any  thing  he  can  get, 
or  any  thing  he  can  lose,  any  thing  he  can  enjoy, 
or  any  thing  he  can  suffer  on  this  side  the  grave, 
that  nothing  which  the  world  offers  can  make  up 
for  the  loss  of  it,  or  be  a  compensation  when  that 
is  at  stake.  You  say  that  this  is  very  evident :  I 
reply,  that  evident  as  it  is,  it  is  not  thought  of,  it 
is  not  considered,  it  is  not  believed.  The  subject, 
therefore,  is  very  proper  to  be  set  forth  in  those 
strong  and  plain  terms  which  such  a  subject  re- 
quires, for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  for  it  some  de- 
gree of  that  attention  which  each  man's  own  deep 
interest  in  the  event  demands  of  him  to  give  it. 

There  are  two  momentous  ideas,  which  are  in- 
cluded in  the  expression — the  loss  of  a  man's 
soul;  and  these  are,  the  positive  pain  and  suffer- 
ings which  he  will  incur  after  his  death,  and  the 
happiness  and  reward  which  he  will  forfeit.  Upon 
both  of  these  points  we  must  go  for  information  to 
the  Scriptures.  No  where  else  can  we  receive  any. 
Now  as  to  the  first  point,  which  is,  in  other  words, 
the  punishment  of  hell,  I  do  admit  that  it  is  very 
difficult  to  handle  this  dreadful  subject  properly ; 
and  one  cause,  amongst  others,  of  the  difficulty  is, 
that  it  is  not  for  one  poor  sinner  to  denounce  such 
appalling  terrors,  such  tremendous  consequences 
against  another.  Damnation  is  a  word,  which  lies 
not  in  the  mouth  of  man,  who  is  a  worm,  towards 
any  of  his  fellow  creatures  whatsoever ;  yet  it  is  ab- 
solutely  necessary  that  the  threatenings  of  Al- 
mighty God  be  known  and  published.  Therefore 
we  begin  by  observing,  that  the  accounts  which  the 
Scriptures  contain  of  the  punishment  of  hell,  are 
for  the  most  part  delivered  in  figurative  or  meta- 
uhorical  terms;   that  is  to  say,  in  terms  which  re- 


present things  of  which  we  have  no  notion,  by  a 
comparison  with  things  of  which  we  have  a  notion. 
I'herefore  take  notice  what  those  figures  and  me- 
taphors are.  They  are  of  the  most  dreadful  kind 
which  words  can  express :  and  be  they  understood 
how  they  may,  ever  so  figuratively,  it  is  plain  that 
they  convey,  and  were  intended  to  convey,  ideas 
of  horrible  torment.  They  are  such  as  these : 
"  Being  cast  into  hell,  where  the  worm  dieth  not, 
and  where  the  fire  is  not  quenched."  It  is  "  burn- 
ing the  chaff  with  unquenchable  fire."  It  is  "  go- 
ing into  tire  everlasting,  which  is  prepared  for  the 
devil  and  his  angels."  It  is  "being  cast  with  all 
his  members  into  hell,  where  the  worm  dieth  not, 
and  the  fire  is  not  quenched."  These  are  heart- 
appalling  expressions:  and  were  undoubtedly  in- 
tended by  the  person  who  used  them,  (who  was 
no  other  than  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  himself,)  to 
describe  terrible  endurings ;  positive,  actual  pains, 
of  the  most  horrible  kinds.  I  have  said  that  the 
punishment  of  hell  is  thus  represented  to  us  in 
figurative  speech.  I  now  say,  that  from  the  nature 
of  things  it  could  hardly  have  been  represented 
to  us  in  any  other.  It  is  of  the  very  nature  of 
pain,  that  it  cannot  be  known  without  being  felt. 
It  is  impossible  to  give  to  any  one  an  exact  con- 
ception of  it,  without  his  actually  tasting  it.  Ex- 
perience alone  teaches  its  acuteness  and  intensity. 
For  which  reason,  when  it  was  necessary  that  the 
punishment  of  hell  should  be  set  forth  in  Scripture 
for  our  warning,  and  set  forth  to  terrify  us  from 
our  sins,  it  could  only  be  done  as  it  has  been  done, 
by  comparing  it  with  sufferings  of  which  we  can 
form  a  concejition,  and  making  use  of  terms  drawn 
from  these  sufferings.  When  words  less  figura- 
tive, and  more  direct,  but  at  the  same  time  niore 
general,  are  adopted,  they  are  not  less  strong, 
otherwise  than  as  they  are  more  general.  "  In- 
dignation and  wrath,  tribulation  and  anguish,  upon 
every  soul  of  man  that  doeth  evil."  These  are 
St.  Paul's  words.  It  is  a  short  sentence,  but 
enough  to  make  the  stoutest  heart  tremble ;  for 
though  it  unfold  no  particulars,  it  clearly  desig- 
nates positive  torment.  The  day  of  judgment  it- 
self, so  far  as  it  respects  the  wicked,  is  expressly 
called  "  a  day  of  wrath."  The  Lord  Jesus,  as  to 
them,  shall  be  revealed  in  flaming  fire.  How  ter- 
rible a  fate  it  must  be  to  find  ourselves  at  that  day 
the  objects  of  God's  wrath— the  objects  upon  whom 
his  threats  and  judgments  against  sin  are  now  to 
be  executed,  the  revelation  of  his  righteous  judg- 
ment and  of  his  unerring  truth  to  be  displayed — 
may  be  conceived,  in  some  sort,  by  considering 
what  stores  of  inexhaustible  misery  are  always  in 
his  power.  With  our  present  constitutions,  if  we 
do  but  touch  the  smallest  part  of  our  bodies,  if  a 
nerve  in  many  places  goes  wrong,  what  torture 
do  we  endure !  Let  any  man  who  lias  felt,  or 
rather,  whilst  he  is  feeling,  the  agony  of  some  bo- 
dily torment,  only  reflect  what  a  condition  that 
must  be,  which  had  to  suffer  this  continually, 
which  night  and  day  was  to  undergo  the  same, 
without  prospect  of  cessation  or  relief,  and  thus 
to  go  on ;  and  then  ask,  for  what  he  would  know- 
ingly bring  himself  into  this  situation  ;  what  plea- 
sure, what  gain  would  be  an  inducement?  Let 
him  reflect  also,  how  bitter,  how  grinding  an  ag- 
gravation of  his  sufl^erings,  as  well  as  of  iiis  guilt, 
it  must  be,  that  he  has  wilfully,  and  forewarned, 
brought  all  this  upon  himself — May  it  not  be  ne- 
cessary that  God  should  manifest  his  truth  by  ex- 
ecuting his  threats  1 — may  it  not  be  necessary  that 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


595 


he  should  at  least  testify  his  justice  by  plncinga 
wide  difft?rence  between  the  good  and  the  bad  1 
lietween  virtue,  whieh  he  loves,  and  vice,  which 
he  abhors  1  which  difference  must  consist  in  the 
the  different  state  of  happiness  and  of  misery  in 
which  the  good  and  bad  are  finally  placed.  And 
may  we  not  be  made  deserved  sacrifices  to  this  dis- 
pensation 1 

Now  if  any  one  feel  his  heart  struck  with  the 
terrors  of  the  Lord,  with  the  consideration  of  this 
dreadful  subject,  and  with  the  declarations  of 
Scripture  relating  thereto,  which  will  all  have 
their  accomplishment ;  let  him  be  entreated,  let 
him  be  admonished  to  hold  the  idea,  tremendous, 
as  it  is,  fully  in  his  view,  till  it  has  wrought  its 
effect,  that  is,  till  it  has  prevailed  with  him  to  part 
with  his  sins;  and  then  we  assure  him,  that  to 
alarm,  fright,  and  horror,  will  succeed  peace,  and 
hope,  and  comfort,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost. 
There  is  another  way  of  treating  the  matter,  and 
that  is  to  shake  off  the  idea  if  we  can;  to  drown 
it  in  intemperance ;  to  overpower  it  with  worldly 
business ;  to  fly  from  it  in  all  directions,  but  mostly 
in  that  which  carries  us  to  hurrying  tumultuous  di- 
versions, to  criminal  indulgencies,  or  into  gross 
sensuality.  Now  of  this  course  of  proceeding  it 
is  certain,  that  if  it  lay  the  mind  in  any  degree  at 
ease  in  this  Ufe,  it  is  at  the  expense  of  the  inevita- 
ble destruction  of  our  souls  in  the  next ;  which  is 
enough  to  say  against  it ;  but  in  truth  it  answers 
even  its  present  purpose  very  imperfectly.  It  is  a 
way  of  getting  rid  of  the  matter,  with  which  even 
we  ourselves  are  not  satisfied.  We  are  sensible 
that  it  is  a  false,  treacherous,  hollow  way  of  acting 
towards  our  own  souls.  We  have  no  trust  in 
what  we  are  doing.  It  leaves  no  peace,  no  hope, 
no  comfort,  no  joy. 

But  to  return  to  the  direct  subject  of  our  dis- 
course. The  Scriptures  uniformly  represent  the 
wicked  as  not  only  suffering  positive  misery,  but 
also  as  having  lost,  by  their  wickedness,  the  hap- 
piness of  heaven,  and  as  being  sensible  of  their 
loss.  They  are  repeatedly  described  as  cast  out, 
or  as  shut  out,  into  outer  darkness:  whilst  the 
good  are  entering  into  the  joy  of  their  Lord.  This 
imports  a  knowledge  of  their  own  exclusion.  In 
the  parable  of  the  rich  man  and  Lazarus,  the  rich 
man  being  in  torments,  is  made  to  see  Lazarus  at 
rest.  This  teaches  us,  that  the  wicked  will  be  so 
far  informed  of  the  state  of  the  good,  as  to  per- 
ceive and  bewail,  with  unutterable  anguish  and 
regret,  their  own  sad  fate  in  being  refused  and  re- 
jected, when,  had  they  acted  differently,  they 
would  have  been  admitted  to  it.  This  is,  strictly 
speaking,  losing  a  man's  soul :  it  is  losing  that 
happiness  which  his  soul  might  have  attained, 
and  for  which  it  was  made.  And  here  conies  the 
bitter  addition  of  their  calamity,  that,  being  lost, 
it  cannot  be  recovered.  The  heaven  we  hear  of 
in  Scripture,  and  the  hell  we  hear  of  in  Scripture, 
are  a  heaven  and  hell  depending  upon  our  be- 
haviour in  this  life.  So  they  are  all  along  spoken 
of  "  Indignation,  wrath,  tribulation,  and  an- 
guish, upon  every  soul  of  man  that  doeih  evil:" 
meaning  evidently  the  evil  done  by  him  in  this 
life ;  no  other  evil  was  in  the  apostle's  thoughts. 
Or  again,  more  expressly,  "  we  must  all  appear 
before  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ,  that  every  one 
may  receive  the  things  done  in  the  body,  accord- 
ing to  that  he  hath  done,  whether  it  be  good  or 
bad." — "  The  things  done  in  the  body,"  are  the 
things  taken  into  the  account. 


Now,  by  the  side  of  this  immense  consequence 
of  saving  or  of  losing  our  immortal  souls,  place 
any  difl'erence  that  the  things  of  this  life  can  make 
to  us ;  place  riches  and  poverty,  grandeur  and  hu- 
mility, success  or  misfortune  ;  place,  more  especi- 
ally, the  difference  between  possessing  and  sacri- 
ficing an  unlawful  gratification  ;  between  compas- 
sing and  renouncing  an  unjust  purpose;  making 
or  giving  up  an  unfair  gain ;  in  a  word,  between 
the  pleasures  and  temptations  of  vice,  and  the 
self-denials  of  virtue ;  and  what  do  they  amount 
to?  The  objects  themselves  are  nothing  when 
put  in  competition  with  heaven  and  hell. — Were 
it  true,  which  it  is  not,  that  real,  solid,  inward 
happiness  was  proportioned  either  to  outward  cir- 
cumstances, or  the  indulgencies  of  our  appetites 
and  passions ;  that  the  good  things,  as  they  are 
called,  and  pleasures  of  life,  were  as  satisfactory 
to  the  possessor,  as  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  de- 
ceitful and  disappointing,  still  their  duration  is 
nothing.  The  oldest  men,  when  they  cast  back 
their  eyes  on  their  past  life,  see  it  in  a  very  nar- 
row compass.  It  appears  no  more  than  a  small 
interval  cut  out  of  eternal  duration,  both  before 
and  after  it ;  when  compared  with  that  duration 
as  nothing.  But  we  must  add  to  this  two  other 
questions.  Can  life  be  counted  upon  to  last  to 
what  is  called  old  age  1  No  man,  who  observes 
the  deaths  that  take  place  in  his  neighbourhood, 
or  amongst  his  acquaintance,  will  so  compute. 
Or,  secondly,  do  the  pleasures  of  sin  last  as  long 
as  our  lives'?  We  may  answer,  never ;  with  the 
single  dreadful  exception  of  the  sinner  being  cut 
off  in  his  prime.  Whoever  looks  for  permanent 
happiness  from  the  pleasures  of  sin  will  find  him- 
self miserably  mistaken.  They  are  short,  even 
compared  with  our  short  lives  ;  subject  to  casual- 
ties and  disasters  without  number  ;  transitory,  not 
only  as  the  things  of  this  world  are  transitory,  but 
in  a  much  greater  degree.  It  will  be  said,  how- 
ever, that  though  this  oi)servation  may  be  true  of 
the  pleasures  of  sin,  yet  an  advantage  gained  by 
sin,  that  is,  by  unrighteous,  unconscious  means, 
may  nevertheless,  remain  an  advantage  as  long  as 
we  live.  This  may  sometimes  be  the  case ;  and 
such  advantage  may  be  so  long  enjoyed,  if  that 
can  be  enjoyed  which  has  a  fearful  expectation 
and  looking-for  of  judgment  annexed  to  it.  But 
what  is  the  term  of  that  enjoyment  compared  with 
the  sequel  1  It  is  a  moment,  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  compared  with  a  day  ;  an  hour  compared  with 
a  year ;  a  single  day  with  a  long  life.  It  is  less 
than  these ;  for  all  these  comparisons  are  short  of 
the  truth.  Well  therefore  doth  our  Saviour  ask, 
"  What  doth  a  man  profit  if  he  gain  the  whole 
world  and  lose  his  own  souH"  That  world, 
when  gained,  he  could  not  keep;  nor,  if  he  could, 
would  it  make  him  happy. 

But  our  Saviour  delivered  his  powerful  admo- 
nition, not  so  much  for  his  disciples  to  reason  upon, 
as  to  carry  into  practice ;  that  is,  that  his  words 
might  strike  into  their  souls  upon  these  occasions 
(which  are  but  too  many,)  when  the  business,  the 
bustle,  or  the  allurements  of  the  world  are  in  dan- 
ger of  shutting  out  futurity  from  their  thoughts. 
— These  are  the  times  for  calling  to  mind  our  Sa- 
viour's question.  Whenever,  therefore,  we  are 
driving  on  in  the  career  of  worldly  prosperity; 
meeting  with  success  after  success ;  fortunate,  rich, 
and  flourishing ;  when  every  thing  appears  to  thrive 
and  smile  around  us;  hut  conscience,  in  the  mean- 
time, little  heeded  and  attended  to;  the  ju.?ticfi,  the 


596 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


integrity,  the  uprightness  of  our  ways,  and  of  our 
deahngs  seldom  weighed  and  scrutinized  by  us  ; 
religion  very  much,  or  entirely,  perhaps,  out  of 
the  question  with  us ;  soothed  and  buoyed  up  with 
that  self-applause  which  success  naturally  begets; 
— in  this  no  very  uncommon  state  of  soul,  it  will 
be  well  h'we  hear  our  Saviour's  voice  asking  us, 
what  does  all  this  prosperity  signify  1  if  it  do  not 
lead  to  heaven,  what  is  it  worth?  When  the 
scene  is  shifted,  if  nothing  but  death  and  darkness 
remain  behind ;  much  more,  if  God  Almighty  be 
all  this  while  offended  by  our  forgetfulness  both 
of  his  mercies  and  his  laws,  our  neglect  of  his  ser- 
vice, our  indevotion,  our  thoughtlessness,  our  diso- 
bedience, our  love  of  the  world  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  consideration  of  Him;  if  we  be  assured,  and 
if,  in  reality,  it  be  the  case,  that  his  displeasure 
shall  infallibly  overtake  us  at  our  death  ;  what  in 
truth,  under  all  this  appearance  of  advantage,  are 
we  getting  or  gaining  1  The  world  may  amuse 
us  with  names  and  terms  of  felicitation,  with  their 
praises  or  their  envy,  but  wherein  are  we  the  bet- 
ter in  the  amount  and  result  of  substantial  happi- 
ness 1  We  have  got  our  aim,  and  what  is  the 
end  of  it  1  Death  is  preparing  to  level  us  with 
the  poorest  of  mankind ;  and  after  that,  a  fearful 
looking-for  and  expectation  of  judgment ;  no  well 
founded  hopes  of  happiness  beyond  the  grave ;  and 
we  drawing  sensibly  nearer  to  that  grave  every 
year.  This  is  the  sum  of  the  account.  Or,  which 
is  another  case  no  less  apposite  to  our  present  ar- 
gument, is  it  some  sensual  pleasure  that  tempts 
us,  some  wicked  enjoyment  that  has  taken  such 
hold  of  our  passions,  that  we  are  ready  to  rush 
upon  it  whatever  be  the  consequence  1  If  we 
gain  our  object ;  if  we  possess  our  wishes,  we  are 
happy  :  but  what,  if  we  lose  our  own  souls  1  what, 
if  we  find  ourselves  condemned  men  for  hardily 
venturing  upon  crimes,  which  will,  and  wliich  we 
were  forewarned  that  they  would,  render,  us  the 
objects  of  God's  final  indignation  and  displeasure  1 
Will  any  gratifications  which  sin  affords  be  a  re- 
compense or  a  consolation  1  Are  they  so  even 
for  the  diseases,  shame,  and  ruin,  which  they 
often  bring  upon  men  in  this  world  1  Ask  those 
who  are  so  ruined  or  so  diseased.  How  much 
less  then  for  the  gnawings  of  that  worm  which 
dieth  not;  the  burnings  of  that  fire  which  will  not 
be  quenched  1  In  hopeless  torment,  will  it  as- 
suage our  suflerings,  or  mitigate  the  bitterness  of 
our  self- accusation,  to  know  that  we  have  brought 
ourselves  into  this  state  for  some  transient  plea- 
sure which  is  gone,  lost  and  perished  forever  1  Oh 
that  we  had  thought  of  these  things  before  as  we 
think  of  them  now  !  that  we  had  not  been  infidels 
as  touching  our  Lord's  declaration  !  that  we  had 
believed  in  him ;  and  that  believing  that  he  had  a 
perfect  knowledge  of  the  future  fate  of  mankind, 
and  of  the  truth  of  what  he  taught,  we  had  listen- 
ed in  time  to  his  admonition  ! 

Universally  the  true  occasion  for  remembering 
and  applying  the  passage  of  Scripture  before  us  is, 
when  we  are  deliberating  concerning  the  conduct 
we  are  to  pursue  in  the  contests  which  arise  be- 
tween temptation  and  duty,  between  the  flesh 
and  the  world,  or  between  both  united  and  our 
own  souls.  Be  the  temptation  what  it  will,  either 
in  kind  or  strength,  this  is  the  thought  to  be  for 
ever  set  against  it.  That  if  we  give  way,  we  give 
way  in  exchange  for  our  own  souls ;  that  the  per- 
dition of  the  soul  is  set  forth  in  Scripture  in  tenns 
most  tremendous,  but  not  more  tremendous  than 


true ;  that  the  sinner,  the  man  involved  in  unre- 
pented,  unforsakcn  sins,  can  never  know  how 
soon  he  may  be  reduced  to  this  state. 


SERMON  XXXII. 

PRESERVATION  AND  RECOVERY  FROM  SIN. 

Por  the  grace  of  God,  that  bringeth.  salvation, 
hath  appeared  unto  all  men,  teaching  us,  thai 
denying  ungodliness  and  worldly  lusts,  we 
should  live  soberly,  righteously,  and  godly  in 
this  present  world. — Titus  ii.  11,  12. 

There  are  certain  particular  texts  of  Scripture 
which  are  of  inestimable  use ;  for  that  in  a  few, 
short,  clear  words,  they  show  us  the  sum  of  our 
duty.  Such  texts  ought  to  be  deeply  infixed  and 
imprinted  upon  our  memories ;  to  be  written,  in- 
deed, upon  our  hearts.  The  text  which  I  have 
read  to  you,  is  entitled  to  this  distinction.  No 
single  sentence  that  ever  was  written  down  for 
the  direction  of  mankind,  comprises  more  import- 
ant truth  in  less  room,  The  text  gives  us  a  rule 
of  life  and  conduct;  and  tells  us,  that  to  lay  down 
for  mankind  this  rule,  and  enforce  it  by  the 
promise  of  salvation,  was  a  great  object  of  the 
Gospel  being  published  in  the  world.  The  Gos- 
pel might  include  other  objects,  and  answer  other 
purposes ;  but  as  far  as  related  to  the  regulation  of 
life  and  conduct,  this  was  its  object  and  its  pur- 
pose. The  rule,  you  hear,  is,  that,  "  denying  un- 
godliness and  worldly  lusts,  we  should  live  soberly, 
righteously,  and  godly  in  this  present  world." 
We  must  begin  "  by  denying  ungodliness  and 
worldly  lusts,  which  means,  that  we  must  resist 
or  break  off  all  sins  of  licentiousness,  debauchery, 
and  intemperance;  for  these  are  what  are  specifi- 
cally meant  by  worldly  lusts.  And  these  must  be 
denied;  that  is,  they  must  either  be  withstood  in 
the  first  instance,  or  the  evil  courses  into  which 
they  have  drawn  us  must  be  broken  off. 

When  a  rule  of  morals  is  plain  and  positive,  it 
is  seldom  that  there  is  any  advantage  in  enlarging 
upon  the  rule  itself  We  only  weaken  it  by  di- 
lating it.  I  shall  employ,  therefore,  my  present 
discourse  in  offering  such  heads  of  advice  as  may 
be  likely,  by  God's  blessing,  to  assist  us  in  render- 
ing obedience  to  the  rule  laid  down  for  us ;  an 
obedience  upon  which  salvation  depends. 

First,  then,  I  observe  concerning  licentious 
practices,  that  it  is  most  practicable  to  be  entirely 
innocent ;  that  it  is  a  more  easy  thing  to  withstand 
them  altogether,  than  it  is  to  set  bounds  to  their 
indulgence.  This  is  a  point  not  suflficiently  un- 
derstood; though  true,  it  is  not  believed.  Men 
know  not  what  they  are  doing  when  they  enter 
upon  vicious  courses :  what  a  struggle,  what  a 
contest,  what  misery,  what  torment,  they  are  pre- 
paring for  themselves.  I  trust  that  there  is  hardly 
a  man  or  woman  living  who  enters  into  a  course 
of  sin  with  the  design  of  remaining  in  it  to  the  end ; 
who  can  brave  the  punishment  of  hell ;  who  in- 
tends to  die  in  that  state  of  sure  perdition,  to  which 
a  course  of  unrepented  sin  must  bring  him  or  her. 
No ;  that  is  not  the  plan  even  of  the  worst,  much 
less  of  the  generality  of  mankind.  Their  plan  is 
to  allow  themselves  to  a  certain  length,  and  there 
stop ;  for  a  cert.ain  time,  and  then  reform ;  in  such 
and  such  opportunties  and  temptations,  but  in  no 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


597 


more.  Now,  Ic.  such  persons,  and  to  such  plans, 
I  say  this,  that  it  would  not  have  cost  thein  one 
tenth  of  the  mortification,  pain,  and  self-denial,  to 
have  kept  themselves  at  a  distance  from  sin,  that 
't  must  and  will  cost  them  to  break  it  ofl';  adding 
the  further  consideration,  that,  so  long  as  men 
preserve  their  innocence,  the  consciousness  of 
Joing  what  is  right  is  both  the  strongest  pos.sible 
support  of  their  resolution,  and  the  most  constant 
source  of  satisfaction  to  their  thoughts ;  but  that 
when  men  once  begin  to  give  way  to  vicious  in- 
dulgences, another  state  of  things  takes  place  in 
.-  Iheir  breasts.  Disturbance  at  the  heart,  struggles 
and  defeats,  resolutions  and  relapses,  self-reproach 
and  self-condemnation,  drive  out  all  quietness  and 
tranquillity  of  conscience.  Peace  within  is  at  an 
end.  All  is  unsettled.  Did  the  young  and  un- 
experienced know  the  truth  of  this  matter;  how 
much  easier  it  is  to  keep  innocency  than  to  return 
to  it ;  how  great  and  terrible  is  the  danger  that  they 
Jo  not  return  to  it  at  all;  surely  they  would  see, 
and  see  in  a  light  strong  enough  to  influence  their 
determination,  that  to  adhere  inviolably  to  the 
rules  of  temperance,  soberness,  and  chastity,  was 
their  safety,  their  wisdom,  their  happiness.  How 
many  bitter  thoughts  does  the  innocent  man  avoid  1 
Serenity  and  cheerfulness  are  his  portion.  Hope 
is  conlitmally  pouring  its  balm  into  his  soul.  His 
heart  is  at  rest,  whilst  others  are  goaded  and  tor- 
tured by  the  stings  of  a  wounded  conscience,  the 
remonstrances  and  risings  up  of  principles  which 
they  cannot  forget ;  perpetually  teased  by  return- 
ing temptations,  perpetually  lamenting  defeated 
resolutions.  "  There  is  no  peace  unto  the  wicked, 
saith  my  God."  There  is  no  comfort  in  such  a 
life  as  this,  let  a  man's  outward  circumstances  be 
what  the}'  will.  Genuine  satisfaction  of  mind  is 
not  attainable  under  the  recurring  consciousness 
of  being  immersed  in  a  course  of  sin,  and  the  still 
remaining  prevalence  of  religious  principles.  Yet 
either  this  must  be  the  state  of  a  sinner  till  he  re- 
cover again  his  virtuous  courses,  or  it  must  be  a 
state  inlinitely  worse;  that  is,  it  must  be  a  state  of 
entire  surrender  of  himself  to  a  life  of  sin,  which 
will  be  followed  by  a  death  of  despair;  by  ruin 
final  and  eternal ;  by  the  wrath  of  God ;  by  the 
pains  of  hell. 

But,  secondly,  In  what  manner,  and  by  what 
methods  are  sins  to  be  broken  ofJl  for  although 
the  maxim  which  we  have  delivered  be  perfectly 
and  certainly  true,  namely,  that  it  is  case  and  hap- 
piness to  preserve  innocence  entirely,  compared 
with  what  it  is  to  recover  our  innocence,  or  even 
to  set  bounds  to  guilt,  yet  it  is  a  truth  which  all 
cannot  receive.  1  do  not  mean  that  all  will  not 
acknowledge  it,  for  I  believe  that  those  will  be 
most  ready  to  give  their  assent  to  it,  who  feel 
themselves  bound  and  entangled  by  the  chain  of 
their  sin.  But  it  is  not  applicable  to  every  man's 
case;  because  many  having  already  fallen  into  vi- 
cious courses,  have  no  longer  to  consider  how 
much  better,  how  much  happier  it  would  have 
been  for  them,  to  have  adhered  closely  to  the  laws 
of  virtue  and  religion  at  first,  but  how  to  extricate 
themselves  from  the  bad  condition  in  which  they 
are  placed  at  present.  Now  to  expect  to  break 
off  sin  in  any  manner  without  pain  and  difficulty, 
is  a  vain  ex})ectation.  It  is  to  expect  a  moral  im- 
possi!)ility.  Such  expectations  ought  not  to  be  held 
DUt,  because  they  are  sure  to  deceive;  and  because 
they  who  act  under  such  encouragement,  finding 


themselves  deceived,  will  never  persist  in  their  en- 
deavours to  any  purpose  of  actual  reformation. 
All  mankind  feel  a  reluctance  to  part  with  their 
-sins.  It  must  be  so.  It  arises  from  the  very  na- 
ture of  temptation,  by  which  they  are  drawn  into 
sin.  Feeling  then  this  strong  reluctance,  it  is 
very  natural  for  men  to  do  what  great  numbers 
do,  namely,  projiose  to  themselves  to  part  with 
their  sins  by  degrees;  thinking  that  they  can 
more  easily  do  it  in  this  way  than  in  any  other. 
It  presents  to  their  view  a  kind  of  compromise  ;  a 
temporary  hope  of  enjoying,  for  the  present  a^ 
least,  the  criminal  pleasures  to  which  they  have 
addicted  themselves,  or  the  criminal  advantages 
they  are  making,  together  with  the  expectation  of 
a  final  reform.  I  believe,  as  I  have  already  said, 
that  this  is  a  course  into  which  great  numbers  fall; 
and  therefore  it  becomes  a  question  of  very  great 
importance  whether  it  be  a  safe  and  successful 
course  or  not.  What  I  am  speaking  of  is  the  try- 
ing to  break  off  our  sins  by  degrees.  Now,  in  the 
first  place,  it  is  contrary  to  principle.  A  man  is 
supposed  to  feel  the  guilt  and  danger  of  the  prac- 
tices which  he  follows.  He  must' be  supposed  to 
perceive  this,  because  he  is  supposed  to  resolve  to 
quit  them.  His  resolution  is  founded  upon,  springs 
from  this  perception.  Wherefore,  I  say,  that  it  is 
in  contradiction  to  principle,  to  allow  ourselves 
even  once  more  in  sin,  after  we  have  truly  become 
sensible  of  the  guilt,  the  danger,  and  the  conse- 
quences of  it.  It  is  from  that  time  known  and 
wilful  sin.  I  own  I  do  not  see  how  the  plan  of 
gradually  diminishing  a  sinful  habit  can  be  con- 
sistent with,  or  can  proceed  from  sincere  religious 
principles  ;  for,  as  to  what  remains  of  the  habit,  it 
implies  an  express  allowance  of  ourselves  in  sin, 
which  is  utterly  inconsistent  with  sincerity.  Who- 
ever continues  in  the  practice  of  any  one  known 
sin,  in  defiance  of  God's  commands,  cannot,  so 
continuing,  hope  to  find  mercy :  but  with  respect 
to  so  much  of  the  habit  as  is  yet  allowed  by  him 
to  remain,  he  is  so  continuing,  and  his  continu- 
ance is  part  of  his  plan.  These  attempts,  there- 
fore, at  gradual  reformation,  do  not  proceed  from 
a  true  vital  reUgious  principle ;  which  principle, 
succoured  by  God's  grace,  is  the  only  thing  that 
can  stand  against  sin,  strengthened  by  habit.  So 
I  should  reason,  upon  the  case,  looking  at  it  in  its 
own  nature.  The  next  question  is.  How  is  it  in 
fact  1  Is  it  in  fact  better,  is  it  in  experience  more 
successful,  than  from  its  nature  we  should  expect 
it  to  he'l  Now  I  am  much  afraid,  that  all  the 
proof  which  can  be  drawn  either  from  observation 
or  consciousness  is  against  it.  Of  other  men  wn 
must  judge  by  observation  ;  of  ourselves  by  con- 
sciousness. What  happens  then  to  gradual  re- 
formation'? Perpetual  relapses,  perpetually  defeat- 
ed and  weakened  resolutions.  The  principle  of 
resistance  is  weakened  by  every  relapse.  Did 
the  mortification  of  a  defeat  incite  and  quicken 
men  to  stronger  efforts,  it  would  be  well.  But  it 
has  a  contrary  effect ;  it  renders  every  succeeding 
exertion  more  feeble.  The  checked  indulgences, 
which  in  the  progress  of  our  fancied  amendment 
we  allow  ourselves,  are  more  than  sufficient  to 
feed  desire,  to  keep  up  the  force  and  strength  of 
temptation  ;  nay,  perhaps  the  temptation  acquires 
more  force  from  the  (tartial  curb  which  we  impose 
upon  it.  Then,  while  the  temptation  remains 
with  unabated,  or  perhaps  augmented  strength, 
our  resolution  is  sufiering  continual  relaxation; 


598 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


our  endeavours  become  unsatisfactory  even  to  our- 
selves. This  miserable  struggle  cannot  be  main- 
tained long.  Although  nothing  but  persevering 
in  it  could  save  us,  we  do  not  persevere.  Finding 
not  ease,  but  difficulty  increased,  and  increasing 
difficulty,  men  give  up  the  cause;  that  is,  they  try 
to  settle  themselves  into  some  mode  of  thinking 
which  may  quiet  their  consciences  and  their  fears. 
They  fall  back  to  their  sins:  and  when  they  find 
their  consciences  easier,  they  think  their  guiltless; 
whereas  it  is  only  their  conscience  that  is  become 
more  insensible ;  their  reasoning  more  treacherous 
and  deceitful !  The  danger  is  what  it  was,  or 
greater ;  the  guilt  is  so  too.  Would  to  God  we 
Could  say,  that  gradual  reforms  were  frequently 
su-ccessful ;  They  are  what  men  often  attempt; 
they  are,  alas  !  what  men  usually  fail  in. 

it  is  painful  to  seem  to  discourage  endeavours 
of  any  kind  after  amendment ;  but  it  is  necessary 
to  advertise  men  of  their  danger.  If  one  method 
of  going  about  an  important  work  be  imposing  in 
expectation,  and  yet  in  truth  likely  to  end  in  ruin  ; 
can  any  thing  be  more  necessary  than  to  set  tbrth 
this  danger  and  this  consequence  plainly?  This 
is  precisely  the  case  with  gradual  reforms.  They 
do  not  very  much  alarm  our  passions :  they  soothe 
our  consciences.  They  do  not  alarm  our  passions, 
because  the  absolute  rupture  is  not  to  come  yet. 
We  are  not  yet  entirely  and  totally  to  bid  adieu 
to  our  pleasures  and  indulgences,  never  to  enjoy 
or  return  to  them  any  more.  We  only  have  in 
view  to  wean  and  withdraw  ourselves  from  them 
by  degrees ;  and  this  is  not  so  harsh  and  formida- 
ble a  resolution  as  the  other.  Yet  it  soothes  our 
consciences.  It  presents  the  semblance  and  ap- 
pearance of  repenting  and  reforming.  It  confesses 
our  sense  of  sin  and  danger.  It  takes  up  the  pur- 
pose, it  would  fain  encourage  us  with  the  hope, 
of  delivering  ourselves  from  this  condition.  But 
what  is  tke  result  1  Feeding  in  the  mean  time  and 
fomenting  those  passions  which  are  to  be  con- 
trolled and  resisted;  adding,  by  every  instance  of 
giving  way  to  them,  fresh  force  and  strength  to 
habits  which  are  to  be  broken  off,  our  constancy 
is  subdued  before  our  work  is  accomplished.  We 
continue  yielding  to  the  importunity  of  temptation. 
We  have  gained  nothing  by  our  miserable  endea- 
vour, but  the  mortification  of  defeat.  Our  sins 
are  still  repeated.  The  state  of  our  salvation  is 
where  it  was.  Oh  !  it  is  a  laborious,  a  difficult,  a 
painful  work  to  shake  off  sin  ;  to  change  the 
course  of  a  sinful  life;  to  quit  gratifications  to 
which  we  have  been  accustomed,  Ijccause  we  per- 
ceive them  to  be  unlawful  gratifications ;  and  to 
find  satisfaction  in  others  which  are  innocent 
and  virtuous.  If  in  one  thing  more  than  another 
we  stand  in  need  of  God's  holy  succour  and 
assistance,  of  the  aid  and  influence  of  his  blessed 
Spirit  upon  our  souls,  it  is  in  the  work  of  reform- 
ation. But  can  we  reasonably  expect  it,  whilst 
we  are  not  sincere  ]  And  I  say  again,  that  the 
plan  of  gradual  reformation  is  in  contradiction  to 
principle,  and  so  far  insincere.  Is  there  not  rea- 
son to  believe  that  this  may  in  some  measure 
account  for  the  failure  of  these  resolutions  ] 

But  it  will  be  asked  of  us,  what  better  plan 
have  we  to  offer  ']  We  answer,  to  break  off  our 
sins  at  once.  This  is  properly  to  dcntj  ungod- 
liness and  worldly  lusts.  This  is  truly  to  do, 
what,  according  to  the  aywstle,  the  grace  of  God 
teaches  us  to  do.  Acting  thus,  we  may  pray,  we 
may  humbly  hope   lor   the   assistance   of  God's 


Spirit  in  the  work  and  struggle  through  which 
we  have  to  go.  And  I  take  upon  me  to  say,  that 
all  €>xpcrience  is  in  favour  of  this  jilan,  in  prefer- 
ence to  that  of  a  gradual  reform ;  in  favour  of  it, 
both  with  respect  to  practicability,  and  with  re- 
spect to  ease  and  happiness.  We  do  not  pretend 
but  that  a  conflict  with  de.sire  must  be  supported , 
that  great  resolution  is  necessary  ;  yet  we  teach 
that  the  pain  of  the  eflbrt  is  lessened  by  this 
method,  as  far  as  it  can  be  lessened  at  all.  Passions 
denied,  firmly  denied  and  resisted,  and  not  kept 
I  up  by  occasional  indulgences,  lose  their  power  of 
]  tormenting.  Habits,  absolutely  and  totally  dis- 
;  used,  lose  their  hold.  It  is  the  nature  of  man. 
i  They  then  leave  us  at  liberty  to  seek  and  to  find 
happiness  elsewhere,  in  better  things;  to  enjoy 
as  well  as  to  practise  virtue  ;  to  draw  comfort  from 
religion;  to  dwell  upon  its  hopes;  to  pursue  its 
duties;  to  acquire  a  love,  a  taste,  and  relish  lor 
its  exercises  and  meditations. 

One  very  general  cause  of  entanglement  in 
habits  of  sin  is  the  connexion  which  they  have 
with  our  way  of  life,  with  our  business,  with  the 
objects  that  are  continually  thrown  in  our  way, 
with  the  practices  and  usages  which  prevail  in  the 
company  we  keep.  Every  condition  of  lile  has 
its  particular  temptation.  And  not  only  so,  but 
when  we  have  fallen  into  evil  habits,  these  habits 
so  mix  themselves  with  our  method  of  life,  return 
so  upon  us  at  their  usual  times  and  places,  and 
occurrence  of  objects,  that  it  becomes  very  difficult 
to  break  the  habit,  without  a  general  change  of 
our  whole  system.  Now  I  say,  whenever  this  is 
a  man's  case,  that  he  cannot  shake  off  his  sins 
without  giving  up  his  way  of  life,  he  must  give 
up  that  also,  let  it  cost  what  it  will ;  for  it  is  in 
truth  no  other  sacrifice  than  what  our  Saviour 
himself  in  the  strongest  terms  enjoins,  when  he 
bids  his  disciples  to  pluck  out  a  right  eye,  or  cut 
off  a  right  hand  (that  is,  surrender  whatever  is 
most  dear  or  valuable  to  them,)  that  (hey  be  not 
cast  with  all  their  members  into  hell  fire.  If  a 
trade  or  business  cannot  be  followed  without 
giving  into  practices  which  conscience  does  not 
approve,  we  must  relinquish  the  trade  or  business 
itself  If  it  cannot  be  followed  without  bringing 
us  into  the  way  of  temptation  to  intemperance, 
more  than  we  can  withstand,  or  in  fact  do  with- 
stand, we  must  also  relinquish  it,  and  turn  our- 
selves to  some  safer  course.  If  the  company  we 
keep,  the  conversation  we  hear,  the  objects  that 
surround  us,  tend  to  draw  us,  and  do  in  fact  draw 
us,  into  debauchery  and  licentiousness,  we  must 
fly  from  the  place,  the  company,  and  the  objects, 
no  matter  with  what  reluctance  we  do  so,  or  what 
loss  and  inconvenience  we  suffer  by  doing  it. 
This  may  appear  to  be  a  hard  lesson:  it  is,  never- 
theless, what  right  reason  dictates,  and  what,  as 
hath  already  been  observed,  our  Saviour  himself 
enjoins,  in  terms  made  as  strong  and  forcible  as 
he  could  make  tliem. 

Sometimes  men  are  led  by  prudential  motives, 
or  by  motives  of  mere  inclination,  to  change  their 
employment,  their  habitation,  or  their  station  of 
life.  These  occasions  afford  excellent  and  invalua- 
ble opportunities  for  correcting  and  breaking  off 
any  vicious  habits  which  we  mav  have  contracted. 
It  is  when  many  associations,  wbich  give  strength 
to  a  sinful  habit,  are  interrupted  and  dissolved  by 
the  change  which  has  taken  place,  that  we  can 
best  resolve  to  conquer  the  sin,  and  set  out  upor 
a  new  course  and  a  new  life.     The  man  who 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


599 


iocs  not  take  advantage  of  such  opportunities 
ivhen  tliey  arise,  has  not  the  siilvation  of  his  soul 
at  heart ;  nevertheless,  they  are  not  to  be  waited 
for. 

But  to  those  sudden  changes  which  we  recom- 
mend, will  it  be  objected  that  they  are  seldom 
asting  1  Is  this  the  fact  1  Are  they  more  liable 
tO  fail,  than  attempts  to  change  gradually  ?  I 
think  not.  And  there  is  always  this  difference 
between  them.  A  sudden  change  is  sincere  at 
the  time ;  a  gradual  change  never  is  such  truly 
and  properly :  and  this  is  a  momentous  distinc- 
tion. In  everv  view,  and  in  every  allowance,  and 
in  every  plea  of  human  frailty,  we  must  distin- 
guish between  what  is  consistent  with  sincerity, 
and  what  is  not.  And  in  these  two  methods  of 
setting  about  a  reformation,  by  reason  of  their  dif- 
ferent character  in  this  respect,  the  first  may, 
though  with  fear  and  humility,  expect  the  help  of 
God's  aiding  Spirit,  the  other  hardly  can.  For 
whilst,  not  by  surprise  and  unpremeditatedly,  we 
fall  into  casual  sins,  but  whilst,  by  plan  and  upon 
system,  we  allow  ourselves  in  licenses,  which, 
though  not  so  many  or  so  great  as  before,  are 
still,  whenever  they  are  indulged,  so  many  known 
sins ;  whilst,  in  a  word,  though  we  imagine  our- 
selves to  be  in  a  progress  of  amendment,  we  yet 
deliberately  continue  to  sin,  our  endeavours  are  so 
corrupted,  I  will  not  say  by  imperfection,  but  by 
insincerity,  that  we  can  hardly  hope  to  call  down 
upon  them  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God. 

Reformation  is  never  impossible ;  nor,  in  a  strict 
sense,  can  it  be  said  to  be  doubtful.  Nothing  is, 
properly  speaking,  doubtful,  which  it  is  in  a  man's 
power  to  accomplish;  nothing  is  doubtful  to  us, 
but  what  is  placed  out  of  the  reach  of  our  will,  or 
depends  upon  causes  which  we  cannot  influence ; 
and  this  is  not  the  case  with  reformation  from  sin. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  we  look  to  experience,  we 
are  compelled,  though  with  grief  of  heart,  to  con- 
fess that  the  danger  is  very  great  of  a  man,  who 
is  engaged  in  a  cour.se  of  sin,  never  reforming 
from  his  sin  at  all.  Oh !  let  this  danger  be  known. 
Let  it  stand,  like  a  flaming  sword,  to  turn  us  aside 
from  the  road  to  vice.  Let  it  ofler  itself  in  its 
full  magnitude.  Let  it  strike,  as  it  ought,  the 
souls  of  those  who  are  upon  the  brink,  perhaps, 
of  their  whole  future  fate  ;  who  are  tempted  ;  and 
who  are  deliberating  about  entering  upon  some 
-  course  of  sin. 

Let  also  the  perception  and  convincement  of 
this  danger  sink  deep  into  the  hearts  of  all  who 
are  in  such  a  situation,  as  that  they  must  either 
reform  or  perish.  They  have  it  in  their  power, 
and  it  must  be  now  their  only  hope,  by  strong  and 
firm  exertion,  to  make  themselves  an  exce[)tion  to 
the  general  lot  of  habitual  sinners.  It  must  be  an 
exception.  If  they  leave  things  to  their  course, 
Aey  will  share  the  flite  in  which  they  see  others, 
mvolved  in  guilt  like  themselves,  end  their  lives. 
It  is  only  by  a  mo.st  strenuous  effort  they  can 
rescue  themselves  from  it.  We  apprise  them, 
that  their  oest  hope  is  in  a  sudden  and  complete 
change,  sincerely  begun,  faithfully  persisted  in  ; 
broken,  it  is  possible,  by  human  frailty,  but  never 
changed  into  a  different  plan,  never  declining  into 
a  compromised,  partial,  gradual  reform  ;  on  the 
contrary,  resumed  with  the  same  sincerity  as  that 
with  which  it  set  out,  and  with  a  force  of  resolu- 
tion, and  an  earnestness  of  prayer,  increased  in 
proportion  to  the  clearer  view  they  have  acquired 
•of  their  danger  and  of  their  want  ' 


SERMON  XXXIII. 

THIS  LIFE  A  STATE  OF  PROBATIOX. 

It  is  good  for  me  that  I  have  been  afflicted,  that 
I  might  learn  thy  statutes. — Psalm  cxix.  71. 

Of  the  various  views  under  which  human  life 
has  been  considered,  no  one  seems  so  reasonable 
as  that  which  regards  it  as  a  state  of  probation  ; 
meaning,  by  a  state  of  probation,  a  state  calculated 
for  trying  us,  and  calculated  for  improving  us.  A 
state  of  complete  enjoyment  and  happiness  it  cer- 
tainly is  not.  The  hopes,  the  spirits,  and  the 
inexperience  of  young  men  and  young  women 
are  apt,  and  very  willing,  to  see  it  in  tliis  light. 
To  them  life  is  full  of  entertainment ;  their  relish 
is  high  ;  their  expectations  unbounded :  for  a  very 
few  years  it  is  possible,  and  I  think  barely  possi- 
ble, that  they  may  go  on  without  check  or  inter- 
ruption ;  but  they  will  be  cured  of  this  delusion. 
Pain  and  sorrow,  disease  and  infirmity,  accident 
and  disappointment,  losses  and  distress,  will  soon 
meet  them  in  their  acquaintance,  their  families,  or 
their  persons.  The  hard-hearted  for  their  own, 
the  tender  for  others'  wo,  will  always  find  and 
feel  enough  at  least  to  convince  them,  that  this 
world  was  not  made  for  a  scene  of  perpetual  gayety 
or  uninterrupted  enjoyment. 

Still  less  can  we  believe  that  it  was  made  for  a 
place  of  misery :  so  much  otherwise,  that  misery 
is  in  no  instance  the  end  or  object  of  contrivance. 
We  are  surrounded  by  contrivance  and  design. 
A  human  body  is  a  cluster  of  contrivances.  So 
is  the  body  of  every  animal ;  so  is  the  structure  of 
every  plant;  so  is  even  the  vilest  weed  that  grows 
upon  the  road-side.  Contrivances,  therefore, 
infinite  in  number,  infinite  also  in  variety,  are  all 
directed  to  beneficial  purposes,  and,  in  a  vast  plu- 
rality of  instances,  execute  their  purpose.  In  our 
own  bodies  only  reflect  how  many  thousand  things 
must  go  right  for  us  to  be  an  hour  at  ease.  Yet 
at  all  times  multitudes  are  so:  and  are  so  without 
being  sensible  how  great  a  thing  it  is.  Too  much 
or  too  little  of  sensilnlity,  or  of  action,  in  any  one 
of  the  almost  numberless  organs,  or  of  any  part 
of  the  numberless  organs,  by  which  life  is  sus- 
tained, may  be  productive  of  extreme  anguish  or 
of  lasting  infirmity.  A  particle,  smaller  than  an 
atom  in  a  sun-beam,  may,  in  a  wrong  place,  be 
the  occasion  of  the  loss  of  limbs,  of  senses,  or  of 
life.  Yet  under  all  this  continual  jeopardy,  this 
momentary  liability  to  danger  ami  disorder,  we 
are  preserved.  It  is  not  possible,  therelbre,  that 
this  state  could  be  designed  as  a  state  of  misery, 
because  the  great  tendency  of  the  designs  which 
we  see  in  the  universe,  is  to  counteract,  to  prevent, 
to  guard  against  it.  We  know  enough  of  nature 
to  be  assured,  that  misery,  universal,  irremediable, 
inexhaustible  misery,  was  in  the  Creator's  power 
if  he  had  willed  it.  Forasmuch,  therefore,  as 
the  result  is  so  much  otherwise,  we  are  certain 
that  no  such  purpose  dwelt  in  the  divine  mind. 

But  since,  amidst  much  happiness,  and  amidst 
contrivances  for  happiness,  so  tar  as  we  can 
judge,  (and  of  many  we  can  judge,)  misery,  and 
very  considerable  portions  of  it  do  exist,  it  becomes 
a  natural  inquiry,  to  what  end  this  mixture  of 
good  and  evil  is  properly  adapted  1  And  I  think 
the  Scriptures  place  before  us,  not  only  the  true 
(for,  if  we  believe  the  Scriptures,  we  must  believe 
it  to  be  that,)  but  the  most  rational  and  .satisfac 


600 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS'. 


tory  answer  which  can  be  given  to  the  inquirj'-; 
namely,  that  it  is  intended  for  a  state  of  trial  and 
probation.  For  it  a])pears  to  me  capable  of  proof, 
both  that  no  state  but  one,  which  contained  in  it 
an  admixture  of  good  and  evil,  would  be  suited  to 
this  purpose ;  and  also  that  our  present  state,  as 
well  in  its  general  plan  as  in  its  particular  proper- 
ties, serves  this  purpose  with  peculiar  propriety. 

A  state,  totally  incapable  of  misery,  could  not 
be  a  state  of  probation.  It  would  not  be  a  state  in 
which  virtue  or  vice  could  even  be  exercised  at  all 
— I  mean  that  large  class  of  virtues  and  vices, 
which  we  comjirehend  under  the  name  of  social 
duties.  The  existence  of  these  depends  upon  the 
existence  of  mi.sery  as  well  as  of  happiness  in  the 
world,  and  of  different  degrees  of  both ;  because 
their  very  nature  and  difference  consists  in  pro- 
moting or  preventing,  in  augmenting  or  diminish- 
ing, in  causing,  aggravating,  or  relieving  the 
wants,  sufferings,  and  distresses  of  our  fellow- 
creatures.  Compassion,  charity,  humanity,  bene- 
volence, and  even  justice,  could  have  no  place  in 
the  world,  if  there  were  not  human  conditions  to 
excite  them;  objects  and  sufferings  Ufion  which 
they  miglit  operate  ;  misery,  as  well  as  happiness, 
which  might  be  affected  by  them. 

Nor  would,  in  my  opinion,  the  purposes  of  trial 
be  sufficiently  provided  for,  by  a  state  in  which 
happiness  and  misery  regularly  followed  virtue 
and  vice ;  T  mean,  in  which  there  was  no  happi- 
ness, but  what  was  merited  by  virtue  ;  no  misery 
but  what  was  brought  on  by  vice.  Such  a  state 
would  be  a  state  of  retribution,  not  a  state  of  pro- 
bation. It  may  be  our  state  hereafter;  it  may  be 
a  better  state;  but  it  is  not  a  state  of  probation,  it 
is  not  the  state  through  which  it  is  iitting  we 
should  pass  before  we  enter  into  the  other ;  for 
when  we  speak  of  a  state  of  probation,  we  speak 
of  ft  state  in  which  the  character  may  both  be  put 
to  the  proof,  and  also  its  good  qualities  be  confirm- 
ed and  strengthened,  if  not  formed  and  produced, 
by  having  occasions  presented  in  which  they  may 
be  called  forth  and  re(iuired.  Now,  besi(.le  that, 
the  social  qualities  which  have  been  mentioned 
would  be  very  limited  in  their  exercise,  if  there 
was  no  evil  in  the  world  but  what  was  plainly  a 
punishment,  (for  though  we  might  pity,  and  even 
that  would  be  greatly  checked,  we  could  not  ac- 
tually succour  or  relieve,  without  disturliing  the 
execution,  or  arresting,  as  it  were,  the  hand  of 
justice;)  beside  this  difficulty,  there  is  another 
;lass  of  most  important  duties  which  would  be  in 
a  great  measure  excluded.  They  are  the  severest, 
the  sublimest,  perhaps  the  most  meritorious,  of 
which  we  are  capable;  I  mean  patience  and  com- 
posure under  distress,  pain,  and  affliction ;  a 
steadfast  keeping  up  of  our  confidence  in  God, 
and  our  dependence  upon  his  final  goodness,  even 
at  the  time  that  every  thing  present  is  discourag- 
ing and  adverse;  and,  what  is  no  less  difficult  to 
retain,  a  cordial  desire  for  the  happiness  and  com- 
fort of  others,  even  then,  when  we  are  deprived  of 
our  own.  I  say,  that  the  possession  of  this  tem- 
jjer  is  almost  the  perfection  of  our  nature.  But  it 
IS  then  only  possessed,  when  it  is  put  to  the  trial : 
tried  at  all,  it  could  not  have  been  in  a  life  made 
up  only  of  pleasure  and  gratification.  Few  things 
are  easier  than  to  perceive,  to  feel,  to  acknowledge, 
to  extol  the  goodness  of  God,  the  bounty  of  Pro- 
vidence, the  beauties  of  nature,  when  all  things 
gi)  well ;  when  our  health,  our  spirits,  our  circum- 
stances, conspire  to  fill  our  hearts  with  gladness, 


and  our  tongues  with  praise.  This  is  easy ;  ♦hi.s 
is  delightful.  None  but  they  who  are  sunk  in 
sensuality,  sottishness,  and  stupefaction,  or  whose 
understandings  are  dissipated  by  frivolous  pur- 
suits ;  none  but  the  most  giddy  and  insensible  can 
be  destitute  of  these  sentiments.  But  this  is  not 
the  trial  or  the  proof  It  is  in  the  chambers  of 
sickness ;  under  the  stroke  of  affliction ;  amidst 
the  pinchings  of  want,  the  groans  of  pain,  the 
pressures  of  infirmity ;  in  grief,  in  misfortune , 
through  gloom  and  horror — that  it  will  be  seen 
whether  we  hold  fast  our  hope,  our  confidence, 
our  trust  in  God ;  whether  this  hope  and  confi- 
dence be  able  to  produce  in  us  resignation,  ac- 
quiescence, and  submission.  And  as  those  dispo- 
sitions, which  perhaps  form  the  comparative  per- 
fection of  our  moral  nature,  could  not  have  been 
exercised  in  a  world  of  unmixed  gratification,  so 
neither  would  they  have  fuund  their  proper  office 
or  oliject  in  a  state  of  strict  and  evident  retribu- 
tion ;  that  is,  in  which  we  had  no  sufferings  to 
submit  to,  but  what  were  evidently  and  manifest- 
ly the  puni.shment  of  our  sins.  A  mere  submis- 
sion to  punishment,  evidently  and  plainly  such, 
would  not  have  constituted,  at  least  would  very 
imperfectly  have  constituted  the  disposition  which 
we  speak  of,  the  true  resignation  of  a  Christian. 

It  seems,  therefore,  to  be  argued,  with  very 
great  probability,  from  the  general  economy  of 
thing.?  around  us,  that  our  present  state  was 
meant  for  a  state  of  probation  ;  because  positively 
it  contains  that  admixture  of  good  and  evil  which 
ought  to  be  found  in  such  a  state  to  make  it  an- 
swer its  purpose — the  production,  exercise,  and 
improvement  of  virtue  ;  and,  because  negatively, 
it  could  not  be  intended  either  for  a  state  of  abso- 
lute happiness,  or  a  state  of  absolute  misery,  nei- 
ther of  which  it  is. 

We  may  now  also  observe  in  what  manner 
many  of  the  evils  of  life  are  adjusted  to  this  parti- 
cular end,  and  how  also  they  are  contrived  to 
soften  and  alleviate  themselves  an<l  one  another. 
It  will  be  enough  at  present,  if  I  can  point  out 
how  fir  this  is  the  case  in  the  two  instances,  which, 
of  all  others,  the  most  nearly  and  seriously  affect 
us — death  and  disease.  The  events  of  life  and 
death  are  so  disposed,  as  to  beget,  in  all  reflecting 
minds,  a  constant  watchfulness.  "What  I  say 
unto  you  I  say  unto  all,  watch."  Hold  yourselves 
in  a  constant  state  of  preparation.  "  Be  ready,  for 
you  know  not  when  your  Lord  com-^th."  Had 
there  been  assigned  to  our  lives  a  certain  age  or 
period,  to  which  all,  or  almost  all,  were  sure  of 
arriving:  in  the  younger  part,  that  is  to  say,  in 
nine  tenths  of  the  whole  of  mankind,  there  would 
have  Iieen  such  an  absolute  security  as  would 
have  produced,  it  is  much  to  be  feared,  the  utmost 
nefflect  of  duty,  of  religion,  of  God,  of  themselves; 
whilst  the  remaining  part  would  have  been  too 
much  overcome  with  the  certainty  of  their  fate, 
would  have  too  much  resembled  the  condition  of 
those  who  have  before  their  eyes  a  fixed  and  ap- 
pointed day  of  execution.  The  same  consequence 
would  have  ensued  if  death  had  followed  any 
known  rule  whatever.  It  would  have  produced 
security  in  one  part  of  the  species,  and  despair  in 
another.  The  first  would  have  been  in  tne  high- 
est degree  dangerous  to  the  character;  the  second, 
insupportable  to  the  sjiirits.  The  same  observa- 
tion we  are  entitled  to  repeat  concerning  the  two 
cases — of  sudden  death,  and  of  death  brouglit  on 
by  long  disease.  If  sudden  deaths  never  occurred. 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


GOl 


those  who  found  themselves  free  from  disease 
would  be  in  perfect  safety;  they  would  regard 
themselves  as  out  of  the  reach  of  danger.  With 
all  apprehensions  they  would  lose  all  seriousness 
and  all  restraint :  and  those  persons  who  the  most 
want  to  be  checked  and  to  be  awakened  to  a  sense 
of  the  consequences  of  virtue  and  vice,  the  strong, 
the  healthy,  and  the  act^e,  would  be  without  the 
greatest  of  all  checks,  that  which  arises  from  the 
constant  liability  of  being  called  to  judgment.  If 
there  were  no  sudden  deaths,  the  most  awful 
warning  which  mortals  can  receive  would  be  lost: 
That  consideration  which  carries  the  mind  the 
most  forcibly  to  religion,  which  convinces  us  that 
it  is  indeed  our  proper  concern,  namely,  the  pre- 
cariousness  of  our  present  condition,  would  be 
done  away.  On  the  other  hand,  if  sudden  deaths 
were  too  frequent,  human  life  might  become  too 
perilous:  there  would  not  be  stability  and  depend- 
ence either  upon  our  own  lives  or  the  lives  of 
those  with  whom  we  were  connected,  sufficient 
to  carry  on  the  regular  offices  of  human  society. 
In  this  respect,  therefore,  we  see  much  wisdom. 
Supposing  death  to  be  appointed  as  the  mode 
(and  some  mode  there  must  be)  of  passing  from 
one  state  of  existence  to  another,  the  manner  in 
which  it  is  made  to  happen,  conduces  to  the  pur- 
poses of  warning  and  admonition,  without  over- 
throwing the  conduct  of  human  affairs. 

Of  sickness,  the  moral  and  religious  use  will  be 
acknowledged,  and,  in  fact,  is  acknowledged,  by 
all  who  have  experienced  it ;  and  they  who  have 
not  experienced  it,  own  it  to  be  a  fit  state  for  the 
meditations,  the  offices  of  religion.  The  fault,  I 
fear,  is,  that  we  refer  ourselves  too  much  to  that 
state.  We  think  of  these  things  too  little  in 
health,  because  we  shall  necessarily  have  to  think 
of  them  when  we  come  to  die.  This  is  a  great 
fault ;  hut  then  it  confesses,  what  is  undoubtetlly 
true,  that  the  sick-bed  and  the  death-bed  shall  in- 
evitably force  these  reflections  upon  us.  In  that 
it  is  right,  though  it  be  wrong  in  waiting  till  the 
season  of  actual  virtue  and  actual  reformation  be 
past,  and  when,  consequently,  the  sick-bed  and 
the  death-bed  can  bring  nothing  but  uncertainty, 
horror,  and  despair.  But  my  present  subject  leads 
me  to  consider  sickness,  not  so  much  as  a  prepa- 
ration for  death  as  the  trial  of  our  virtues;  of  vir- 
tues the  most  severe,  the  most  arduous,  perhaps 
the  best  pleasing  to  Almight}'  God ;  namely,  trust 
and  confidence  in  him  under  circumstances  of  dis- 
couragement and  perplexity.  To  lift  up  the  fee- 
ble hands  and  the  languid  eye ;  to  draw  and  turn 
with  holy  hope  to  our  Creator,  when  every  com- 
fort forsakes  us,  and  every  help  fails ;  to  feel  and 
find  in  him,  in  his  mercies,  his  promises,  in  the 
works  of  his  providence,  and  still  more  in  his  word, 
and  in  the  revelation  of  his  designs  by  Jesus 
Christ,  such  rest  and  consolation  to  the  soul  as  to 
stifle  our  comjilaints  and  pacify  our  murmurs;  to 
beget  in  our  hearts  tranquillity  and  confidence  in 
the  place  of  terror  and  consternation,  and  this  with 
simplicity  and  sincerity,  without  having,  or  wish- 
ing to  have,  one  human  witness  to  observe  or  know 
it, — is  such  a  test  and  trial  of  faith  and  hope,  of 
patience  and  devotion,  as  cannot  fail  of  being  in 
a  very  high  degree  well-])Ieasing  to  the  Author  of 
our  natures,  the  guardian,  the  inspector,  and  the 
rewarder  of  our  virtues.  It  is  true  in  this  instance, 
as  it  is  true  in  all,  that  whatever  tries  our  virtue 
strengthens  and  improves  it.  Virtue  comes  out  of 
the  fire  purer  and  brishter  than  it  went  into  it. 
.     4G 


Many  virtues  are  not  only  proved  but  produced 
by  trials :  they  have  properly  no  existence  with- 
out them.  "  We  glory,"  saith  St.  Paul,  "  in  tri- 
bulation also,  knowing  that  tribulation  worketh 
patience,  and  patience  experience,  and  experience 
hope." 

But  of  sickness  we  may  likewise  remark,  how 
wonderfully  it  reconciles  us  to  the  thoughts,  the 
expectation,  and  the  approach  of  death ;  and  how 
this  becomes,  in  the  hand  of  Providence,  an  ex- 
ample of  one  evil  being  made  to  correct  another. 
Without  question,  the  difference  is  wide  between 
the  sensations  of  a  person  who  is  condemned  to 
die  by  violence,  and  of  one  who  is  brought  gradually 
to  his  end  by  the  progress  of  disease ;  and  this  dif- 
ference sickness  produces.  To  the  Christian 
whose  mind  is  not  harrowed  up  by  the  memory  of 
unrepented  guilt,  the  calm  and  gentle  approach 
of  his  di-ssolution  has  nothing  in  it  terrible.  In 
that  sacred  custody  in  which  they  that  sleep  in 
Christ  will  be  preserved,  he  sees  a  rest  from  pain 
and  weariness,  from  trouble  and  distress :  Gra- 
dually withdrawn  from  th?^  cares  and  interests  of 
the  world  ;  more  and  more  weaned  from  the  plea- 
sures of  the  body,  and  feeling  the  weight  and  pres- 
sure of  its  infirmities,  he  may  be  brought  almost 
to  desire  with  St,  Paul  to  be  no  longer  absent 
from  Christ;  knowing,  as  he  did,  and  as  he  as- 
sures us,  that  "  if  our  earthly  house  of  this  taber- 
nacle were  dissolved,  we  have  a  building  of  God, 
a  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  hea- 
vens." 


SERMON  XXXIV. 

THE  KNOWLEDGE  OP  ONE   ANOTHER   IN   A    FUTURE 
STATE. 

^]llom  ice  preach,  warning  every  man.  and 
teaching  every  man  in  all  wisdom,  that  we 
may  present  every  man  perfect  in  Christ  Je- 
sus.—Co\.  i.  -28. 

These  words  have  a  primary  and  a  secondary 
use.  In  their  first  and  most  obvious  view,  they 
express  the  extreme  earnestness  and  anxiety  with 
which  the  apostle  Paul  sought  the  salvation  of  his 
converts.  To  bring  men  to  Jesus  Christ,  and, 
when  brought,  to  turn  and  save  them  from  their 
sins,  and  to  keep  them  steadfast  unto  the  end  in 
the  faith  and  obedience  to  which  they  were  called, 
was  the  whole  work  of  the  great  apostle's  ministry, 
the  desire  of  his  heart,  and  the  laliour  of  his  life : 
it  was  that  in  which  he  spent  all  his  time  and  all 
his  thought ;  for  the  sake  of  which  he  travellec. 
from  country  to  country,  warning  every  man,  as 
he  speaks  in  the  text,  and  exhorting  every  man. 
enduring  every  hardship  and  every  injury,  ready 
at  all  times  to  sacrifice  his  life,  and  at  last  actually 
sacrificing  it,  in  order  to  accomplish  the  great  pur 
pose  of  his  mission,  that  he  might  at  the  last  day" 
present  his  beloved  converts  perfect  in  Christ  Je- 
sus, This  is  the  direct  scope  of  the  text.  But  it 
is  not  for  this  that  I  have  made  choice  of  it.  The 
last  clause  of  the  verse  contains  within  it,  indirect- 
ly and  by  implication,  a  doctrine  certainly  of  great 
personal  importance,  and,  I  trust,  also  of  great 
comfort  to  every  man  who  hears  me.  The  clause 
is  this,  "  That  we  may  present  every  man  pcrf'ecl 
in  Christ  Jesus :"  by  which  I  understand  St.  PauJ 
51 


603 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


to  express  his  hope  and  prayer,  that  at  the  general 
judsrincnt  of  the  world,  he  might  present  to  Christ 
the  fruits  of  his  ministry,  the  converts  whom  he 
had  made  to  his  faith  and  religion,  and  might  pre- 
sent tlieni  perlect  in  every  good  work.  And  if 
this  be  rightly  interpreted,  then  it  allbrds  a  mani- 
fest and  necessarj'  inference,  that  the  saints  in  a 
future  life  will  meet  and  be  known  again  to  one 
another;  for  how,  without  knowing  again  his  con- 
verts in  their  new  and  glorilied  state,  could  St.  Paul 
desire  or  expect  to  present  them  at  the  last  day  ] 

My  brethren,  this  is  a  doctrine  of  real  conse- 
quence. That  we  shall  come  again  to  a  new  life ; 
that  we  shall,  by  some  method  or  other,  he  made 
happy,  or  be  made  miserable,  in  that  new  state, 
according  to  the  deeds  done  in  the  body,  according 
as  we  have  acted  and  governed  ourselves  in  this 
world,  is  a  point  affirmed  absolutely  and  po.sitive- 
ly,  in  all  shapes,  and  under  every  variety  of  ex- 
pression, in  almost  every  page  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment. It  is  the  grand  point  inculcated  from  the 
lieginning  to  the  end  of  that  book.  But  concern- 
ing the  particular  nature  of  the  change  we  are  to 
undergo,  and  in  what  is  to  consist  the  employ- 
ment and  happiness  of  those  blessed  spirits  which 
are  received  into  heaven,  our  information,  even 
under  the  Gospel,  is  very  limited.  We  own  it  is 
so.  Even  St.  Paul,  who  had  extraordinary  com- 
nmnications,  confessed,  "that  in  these  things  we 
see  through  a  glass  darkly."  But  at  the  same 
time  that  we  acMcnowledge  that  we  know  little,  we 
ought  to  remember,  that  without  Christ  we  should 
have  known  nothing.  It  might  not  be  possible, 
ill  our  own  present  state,  to  convey  to  us,  by  words, 
more  clear  or  ex|)licit  conceptions  of  what  will 
hereafter  become  of  us;  if  possible,  it  might  not 
be  fitting.  In  tliat  celebrated  chapter,  the  15th 
of  1st  Corinthians,  St.  Paul  makes  an  inquisitive 
person  ask,  "  How  are  the  dead  rui-sed,  and  with 
what  body  do  they  come  V  From  his  answer  to 
this  question  we  are  able,  I  think,  to  collect  thus 
much  clearly  and  certainly :  that  at  the  resurrec- 
tion we  shall  have  bodies  of  some  sort  or  other: 
tiiat  they  will  be  totally  diderent  from,  and  greatly 
excelling,  our  present  bodies,  though  possibly  in 
some  manner  or  other  proceeding  from  them,  as  a 
plant  from  its  seed  :  that  as  there  exists  in  nature 
a  great  variety  of  animal  substances ;  one  flesh  of 
man,  another  of  beasts,  another  of  birds,  p.nother 
of  lishes;  as  there  exists  also  great  differences  in 
the  nature,  dignity,  and  splendour  of  inanimate 
substances,  "  one  glory  of  the  sun,  another  of  the 
moon,  another  of  the  stars;"  so  there  subsist,  like- 
wise, in  the  magazines  of  God  Almighty's  crea- 
tion, two  very  distinct  kinds  of  bodies,  (still  both 
bodies.)  a  natural  body  and  a  spiritual  body:  that 
the  natural  body  is  what  human  beings  bear  about 
with  them  now;  the  spiritual  body,  far  surpassing 
the  other,  what  the  blessed  will  be  clothed  with 
hereafter.  '■  Flesh  and  blood,"  our  apostle  teaches, 
"  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God ;"  that  is,  is 
by  no  means  suited  to  that  state,  is  not  capable  of 
,  it.  Yet  living  men  are  Hcsh  and  blood;  the  dead 
in  the  graves  are  the  remains  of  the  same  :  where-  i 
fore  to  make  all  who  are  Christ's  capable  of  en- 
tering into  his  eternal  kingdom,  and  at  all  fitted 
for  it,  a  great  change  shall  be  suddenly  wrought. 
As  well  all  the  just  who  shall  be  alive  at  the 
coming  of  Christ,  (whenever  that  event  takes 
place,)  as  those  who  shall  be  raised  from  the  dead, 
shall,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  be  changed. 
Bodies  they  shall  retain  still,  but  so  altered  in  form 


and  fashion,  in  nature  and  substance,  that  "  this 
corruptible  shall  put  on  incorruption ;"  what  is 
now  necessarily  mortal  and  necessarily  perishable, 
shall  acquire  a  fixed  and  permanent  existence. 
And  this  is  agreeable  to,  or  rather  the  same  thing 
as,  what  our  apostle  delivers  in  another  epistle, 
where  he  teaches  us,  that  "Christ  shall  change 
our  vile  body,  that  it  may  be  hke  his  glorious 
body  ;"  a  change  so  great,  so  stupendous,  that  he 
justly  styles  it  an  act  of  omnipotence:  "accord- 
ing," says  he,  "  to  the  mighty  working,  whereby 
he  is  able  to  subdue  all  things  to  himself."  Since, 
then,  a  great  alteration  will  take  place  in  the  frame 
and  constitution  of  the  bodies  with  which  we  shall 
be  rai.sed,  from  those  which  we  carry  with  us  to 
the  grave,  it  -requires  some  authority  or  passage 
of  Scripture  to  prove,  that  after  this  change,  and 
in  this  new  state,  we  shall  be  known  again  to  one 
another;  that  those  who  know  each  other  on 
earth,  will  know  each  other  in  heaven.  I  do  al- 
low, that  the  general  strain  of  Scripture  seems  to 
suppose  it;  that  when  St.  Paul  speaks  "of  the 
spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect,"  and  of  their 
"coming  to  the  general  assembly  of  saints,"  it 
seems  to  import  that  wc  should  be  known  of 
them,  and  of  one  another;  that  when  Christ  de- 
clares, "  that  the  secrets  of  the  heart  shall  be  dis- 
closed," it  imports,  that  they  shall  be  disclosed  to 
those  who  were  before  the  witnesses  of  our  ac- 
tions. I  do  also  think  that  it  is  agreeable  to  the 
dictates  of  reason  itself  to  believe,  that  the  same 
great  God  who  brings  men  to  life  again,  will 
bring  those  together  whom  death  has  separated. 
When  his  power  is  at  work  in  this  great  dispen- 
sation, it  is  very  probable  that  this  should  be  a  part 
of  his  gracious  design.  But  for  a  specific  text,  I 
know  none  which  speaks  the  thing  more  posi- 
tively than  this  which  1  have  chosen.  St.  Paul, 
you  see,  expected  that  he  should  know,  and  be 
known  to  those  his  converts;  that  their  relation 
should  subsist  and  be  retained  between  them  ;  and 
with  this  hope  he  laboured  and  endeavoured,  in- 
stantly and  incessantly,  that  he  might  be  able  at 
last  to  present  them,  and  to  present  them  perfect 
in  Christ  Jesus.  Now  what  St.  Paul  appeared 
to  look  for  as  to  the  general  continuance,  or  rather 
revival,  of  our  knowledge  of  each  other  after 
death,  every  man  who  strives,  like  St.  Paul,  to  at- 
tain to  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  may  expect, 
as  well  as  he. 

Having  discoursed  thus  far  concerning  the  arti- 
cle of  the  doctrine  itself,  I  will  now  proceed  to 
enforce  such  practical  reflections  as  result  from  it. 
Now  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  observe,  that  all 
which  is  here  produced  from  Scripture  concerning 
the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  relates  solely  to  the 
resurrection  of  the  just.  It  is  of  them  only  that 
St.  Paul  speaks  in  the  1.5th  chapter  of  1st  Co- 
rinthians. It  is  of  the  body  of  him,  who  is  accept- 
ed in  Christ,  that  the  apostle  declares,  that  it  "is 
sown  in  dishonour,  but  raised  in  glory :  sown  in 
weakness,  raised  in  power."  Likewise,  when  he 
s])eaks,  in  another  place,  of  "Christ's  changing 
our  vile  bodies  that  they  may  be  like  his  glorious 
body,"  it  is  of  the  body  of  Christ's  saints  alone, 
of  whom  this  is  said.  This  point  is,  I  think, 
agreed  upon  amongst  learned  men,  and  is  indeed 
very  plain.  In  like  manner,  in  the  passage  of  the 
text,  and,  I  think,  it  will  be  found  true  of  every 
other  in  which  mankind  knowing  one  another  in 
a  future  life  is  implied,  the  implication  extends? 
only   to    those   who  are   received   amongst    the 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


603 


blessed.  Whom  was  St.  Paul  to  know?  even 
those  whom  he  was  to  present  perfect  in  Christ 
Jesus.  Concerning  the  reprobate  and  rejected, 
whether  they  will  not  be  banished  from  the  pre- 
sence of  God,  and  from  all  their  former  relations ; 
whether  they  will  not  be  lost,  as  to  all  happiness 
of  their  own,  so  to  the  knowledge  of  those  who 
knew  them  in  this  mortal  state,  we  have,  from 
Scrijiture,  no  assurance  or  intimation  whatever. 
One  thing  seems  to  follow  with  probability  from 
'he  nature  of  the  thing,  namely,  that  if  the  wicked 
be  known  to  one  another  in  a  state  of  perdition, 
their  knowledge  will  only  serve  to  aggravate  their 
misery. 

What  then  is  the  inference  from  all  this  1  Do 
we  seek,  do  we  covet  earnestly  to  be  restored  to 
the  society  of  those  who  were  once  near  and  dear 
to  us,  and  who  are  gone  before  1 — It  is  only  by 
leading  godly  lives  that  we  can  hope  to  have  this 
wish  accomplished.  Should  we  prefer,  to  all  de- 
lights, to  all  pleasures  in  the  world,  the  satisfac- 
tion of  meeting  again  in  happiness  and  peace, 
those  whose  presence,  whilst  they  were  among  us, 
made  up  the  comfort  and  enjoyment  of  our  lives  ] 
— It  must  be,  by  giving  up  our  sins,  by  parting 
with  our  criminal  delights  and  guilty  pursuits, 
that  we  can  ever  expect  to  attain  this  satisfaction. 
Is  there  a  great  difference  between  the  thought  of 
losing  those  we  love  for  ever;  of  taking  at  their 
deaths  or  our  own  an  eternal  farewell,  never  to 
see  them  more — and  the  reflection  that  we  are 
about  to  be  separated,  for  a  few  years  at  the  long- 
23t,  to  be  united  with  them  in  a  new  and  better 
state  of  mutual  existence  1  Is  there,  I  say,  a  dif- 
ference to  the  heart  of  man  between  these  two 
things  ?  and  does  it  not  call  upon  us  to  strive  with 
redoubled  endeavours,  that  the  case  truly  may 
turn  out  so  1  The  more  and  more  we  reflect  upon 
the  difference  between  the  consequences  of  a  lewd, 
unthinking,  careless,  profane,  dishonest  life,  and  a 
life  of  religion,  sobriety,  seriousness,  good  actions 
and  good  principles,  the  more  we  shall  see  the 
madness  and  stupidity  of  the  one,  and  the  true 
solid  wisdom  of  tlie  other.  This  is  one  of  the  dis- 
tinctions. If  we  go  on  in  our  sins,  we  are  not  to 
expect  to  awaken  to  a  joyful  meeting  with  our 
friends,  and  relatives,  and  dear  conne.\ions.  If  we 
turn  away  from  our  sins,  and  take  up  religion  in 
earnest,  we  may.  My  brethren,  religion  disarms 
even  death.  It  disarms  it  of  that  which  is  its  bit- 
terness and  its  sting,  the  power  of  dividing  those 
who  are  dear  to  one  another.  But  this  blessing, 
like  every  blessing  which  it  promises,  is  only  to 
the  just  and  good,  to  the  penitent  and  reformed, 
to  those  who  are  touched  at  the  heart  with  a  sense 
of  its  importance;  who  know  thoroughly  and  ex- 
perimentally, who  feel  in  their  inward  mind  and 
consciences,  that  religion  is  the  only  course  that 
can  end  well ;  that  can  bring  either  them  or  theirs 
to  the  presence  of  God,  blessed  for  evermore ;  that 
can  cause  them,  after  the  toils  of  life  and  struggles 
of  death  are  over,  to  meet  again  in  a  joyful  deli- 
veraniuj  from  the  grave ;  in  a  new  and  never 
ceasing  happiness,  in  the  presence  and  society  of 
one  another. 


SERMON  XXXV. 

THE   GENERAL   RESURRECTION. 

The  hour  is  coming,  in  the  uhich  all  that  are  in  | 


the  graves  shall  hear  his  voice,  and  shall  come 
forth;  they  that  have  done  good,  unto  the  re- 
surrection of  life  ;  and  they  that  have  done  evil, 
unto  the  resurrection  of  damnation. — John  v 
28,29. 

These  words  are  so  important,  that  if  Jesus 
Christ  had  never  deUvered  any  other,  if  he  had 
come  into  the  world  and  pronounced  only  this 
simple  declaration,  and  proved  the  truth  and  cer- 
tainty of  it  by  the  miracles  which  he  wrought,  he 
would  have  left  enough  to  have  guided  his  follow- 
ers to  everlasting  happiness  :  he  would  have  done 
more  towards  making  mankind  virtuous  and 
happy,  than  all  the  teachers  and  all  the  wisdom, 
that  ever  appeared  upon  earth,  had  done  before 
him.  We  should  each  and  every  one  of  us  have 
owed  more  to  him  for  this  single  piece  of  intelli- 
gence, than  we  owe  to  our  parents,  our  dearest 
friend,  or  the  best  benefactor  we  have.  This  text 
is  the  poor  man's  creed.  It  is  his  religion ;  it  is 
to  be  imprinted  upon  his  memory,  and  upon  his 
heart :  it  is  what  the  most  simple  can  understand: 
it  is  what,  when  understood  and  believed,  excels 
all  the  knowledge  and  learning  in  the  universe : 
it  is  what  we  are  to  carry  about  with  us  in  our 
thoughts ;  daily  remember  and  daily  reflect  upon ; 
remember  not  only  at  church,  not  only  in  our  de- 
votions, or  in  our  set  meditations,  but  in  our  bu- 
siness, our  pleasures,  in  whatever  we  intend,  plan, 
or  execute,  whatever  we  think  about,  or  whatever 
we  set  about;  remember,  that  "they  that  have 
done  good,  shall  come  unto  the  resurrection  of  hfe ; 
they  that  have  done  evil,  unto  the  resurrection  of 
damnation." 

Reflect  what  great  things  this  short  sentence 
contains.  It  teaches  us,  beyond  contradiction, 
that  all  does  not  end  here :  that  our  happiness  or 
misery  is  not  over  at  our  death  ;  that  a  new  state 
of  things  will  begin  with  every  one  of  us,  and  that 
in  a  short  time.  This  point,  I  say,  our  Saviour 
proves  beyond  contradiction ;  and  how  does  he 
prove  it  1  By  healing  the  sick,  by  restoring  sight 
to  the  bhnd,  by  raising  the  dead,  by  various  as- 
tonishing and  incontestible  miracles ;  and  above 
all,  by  coming  himself  to  life  again,  after  being 
three  days  dead  and  buried,  he  proved  that  God 
Almighty  was  with  him;  that  he  came  from  God; 
that  he  knew  what  passed  in  the  other  world ; 
that  he  had  God's  own  authority  to  say  and 
promise  this  to  mankind.  Upon  the  faith  and 
trust  of  this  promise,  we  know  that  we  sliall  rise 
again ;  all  are  equally  assured  of  it,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest.  Wise  and  learned  men 
thought  indeed  the  same  thing  before ;  they  con- 
cluded it  to  be  so  from  probable  argument  and 
reasonings ;  but  this  was  not  like  having  it,  as  we 
have  it,  from  God  himself;  or,  what  is  just  the 
same  thing,  from  the  mouth  of  a  person,  to  whom 
God  gave  witness  by  signs  and  wonders,  and 
mighty  deeds.  They  were  far  short  of  our  cer- 
tainty, who  did  study  it  the  deepest.  There 
were  but  few  who  could  study  or  comprehend  it 
at  all.  Blessed  be  God,  we  are  all  informed,  we 
are  all,  from  the  most  learned  to  the  most  ignorant, 
made  sure  and  certain  of  it. 

Having  then  this  great  doctrine  secured,  that 
we  shall  all  come  again  into  a  new  world  and  a 
new  life,  the  next  great  point  which  every  serious 
mind  will  turn  to,  the  second  grand  question 
to  be  asked  is,  who  are  to  be  happy,  and  who  will 
be  miserable  in  that  other  state  ]     The  text  satis- 


604 


SERMONS  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 


fies  us  complctel}'  upon  this  head.  You  ask,  who 
shall  come  to  the  resurrection  of  hfe  ?  The  text 
rejilies,  they  that  have  done  good.  Observe  well, 
and  never  forget  this  answer.  It  is  not  the  wise, 
the  learned,  the  great,  the  honoured,  the  professor 
of  this  or  that  dcx-trine,  the  member  of  this  church, 
or  the  maintainer  of  that  article  of  faith,  but  he 
that  doeth  good  ;  he,  of  whatever  quality  or  con- 
dition, who  strives  honestly  to  make  his  life  of 
service  to  those  about  him ;  to  be  useful  in  his 
calling,  and  to  his  generation ;  to  his  family,  to  his 
neighbourhood,  and,  according  to  his  abihty,  to 
his  country,  and  to  mankind — "  he  that  doeth 
good."  All  the  rest,  without  this,  goes  for  no- 
thing: though  he  understand  the  things  of  religion 
ever  so  well,  or  believe  ever  so  rightly ;  though  he 
cry.  Lord,  Lord  ;  be  he  ever  so  constant  and  de- 
vout in  his  prayers,  or  talk  ever  so  much,  or  so 
well,  or  so  earnestly  for  religion;  unless  he  do 
good ;  unless  his  actions,  and  dealings,  and  beha- 
viour come  up  to  liis  knowledge  and  his  discourse, 
correspond  with  his  outward  profession  and  belief, 
it  will  avail  him  nothing ;  he  is  not  the  man 
to  whom  Jesus  Christ  hath  promised  in  the  text, 
that  he  shall  come  to  the  resurrection  of  life.  The 
issue  of  life  and  death  is  put  upon  our  conduct 
and  behaviour ;  that  is,  made  the  test  we  are  to  be 
tried  by. 

Again :  Wlien  we  read  in  Scripture,  when  we 
know  from  positive  and  undoubted  authority,  that 
misery  and  destruction,  ruin,  torment,  and  dam- 
nation, are  reserved  for  some,  it  is  surely  the  most 
natural,  the  most  interesting  of  all  inquiries,  to 
know  for  whom. — The  text  tells  us,  "  for  them 
that  have  done  evil.'' 

Here  let  the  timorous  conscience  take  courage. 
It  is  not  any  man's  errors,  or  ignorance;  his  want 
of  understanding,  or  education,  or  ability,  that 
will  be  laid  to  his  charge  at  the  day  of  judgment, 
or  that  will  bring  him  into  danger  of  the  damna- 
tion which  the  Gospel  threatens ;  it  is  having 
done  evil;  having  wilfully  gone  about  to  disobey 
what  he  knew  to  be  the  will  and  command  of  his 
Creator,  by  committing  mischief,  and  doing  wrong 
and  injury  to  his  fellow-creatures. 

Let  the  bold  and  presumptuous  sinner  hear  this 
text  with  fear  and  trembling.  Let  him  who  cares 
not  what  misery  he  occasions,  what  evil  and  harm 
he  does,  if  he  can  but  compass  his  purpose,  carry 
his  own  end,  or  serve  his  wicked  lusts  and  plea- 
sures ;  let  him,  I  say,  be  given  to  understand,  what 
he  has  to  look  for;  "  he  that  doeth  evil  shall  come 
to  the  resurrection  of  damnation  ;"this  is  absolute, 
final,  and  peremptory ;  here  is  no  exception,  no 
excuse,  no  respect  of  person  or  condition. 

They  that  have  done  good,  shall  come  a^ain 
unto  the  resurrection  of  life.  But,  alas!  I  hear 
you  say,  What  good  can  I  dol  my  means  and  my 


opportunities  are  too  small  and  straitened  to  think 
of  doing  good. —  You  do  not  suthcicntiy  reflect 
what  doing  good  is.  You  are  apt  to  confine  the 
notion  of  it  to  giving  to  others,  and  giving  liberal- 
ly. This,  no  doubt,  is  right  and  meritorious;  but 
it  is  certainly  not  in  every  man's  power;  compara- 
tively speaking,  it  is  indeed  in  the  power  of  very 
few.  But  doing  good  is  of  a  much  more  general 
nature;  and  is  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  practi- 
cable by  all ;  for,  whenever  we  make  one  human 
creature  happier  or  better  than  he  would  have 
been  without  our  help,  then  we  do  goad ;  and, 
when  we  do  this  from  a  proper  motive,  that  is, 
with  a  sense  and  a  desire  of  pleasing  God  by  doing 
it,  then  we  do  good  in  the  true  sense  of  the  text, 
and  of  God's  gracious  promise.  Now  let  every 
one,  in  particular,  reflect,  whether,  in  this  sense, 
he  has  not  some  good  in  his  power:  some  within 
his  own  doors,  to  his  family,  his  children,  his 
kindred;  by  his  labour,  his  authority,  his  example; 
by  bringing  them  up,  and  keeping  I  hem  in  the 
way  of  passing  their  lives  honestly,  and  quietly, 
and  usefully.  What  good  more  important,  more 
practicable  than  this  is  7  Again,  something  may 
be  done  Ijeyond  our  own  household :  by  acts  of 
tenderness  and  kindness,  of  help  and  compassion 
to  our  neighbours.  Not  a  particle  of  this  will  be 
lost.  It  is  all  set  down  in  the  book  of  life ;  and 
happy  are  they  who  have  much  tlicre.  And  again, 
if  any  of  us  be  really  sorry  that  we  have  not  so 
much  in  our  power  as  we  would  desire,  let  us 
remember  tliis  short  rule,  that  since  we  can  do 
little  good,  to  take  care  that  we  do  no  harm.  Let 
us  show  our  sincerity  by  our  innocence ;  that,  at 
least,  is  always  in  our  power. 

Finally,  Let  us  reflect,  that  in  the  habitations 
of  life  are  many  mansions  ;  rewards  of  various  or- 
ders and  degrees,  proportioned  to  our  various  de- 
grees of  virtue  and  exertion  here.  "  He  that 
soweth  plenteously,  shall  reap  plenteously."  We 
can  never  do  too  much ;  never  be  too  earnest  in 
doing  good ;  because  every  good  action  here  will, 
we  are  certain,  be  an  addition  of  happiness  here- 
after; will  advance  us  to  a  better  condition  in  the 
life  to  come,  whatever  be  our  lot  or  success  in  this. 
God  will  not  fail  of  his  promise.  He  hath  com- 
missioned his  beloved  Son  to  tell  us,  that  they 
that  have  done  good  shall  enter  into  the  resurrec- 
tion of  life.  Let  us  humbly  and  thankfully  accept 
his  gracious  offer.  We  have  but  one  business  in 
this  world.  It  is  to  strive  to  make  us  worthy  of  a 
better.  Whatever  this  trial  may  cost  us, — how 
long,  how  earnestly,  how  patiently  soever,— 
through  whatever  difficulties, — by  whatever  toils 
we  endeavour  to  obey  and  please  our  Maker,  we 
are  supported  in  them  by  this  solid  and  never 
ceasing  consolation,  "that  our  labour  is  not  in 
vain  in  the  Lord." 


THE  END. 


B  (D)  ®  IE  § 

PUBLISHED   AND   FOR   SALE  BY 

CRISSY   8l    MARKLEY, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


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BERQUIN'S  CHILDREN'S  COJIPANION,  from  the  French ;  with  cuts. 
BERQUIN'S  STUDY  OF  NATURE,  from  the  French ;  with  cuts. 
BKUQUIN'S  VILLAGE  STORIES,  from  the  French;  with  cuts. 
THE  DIAMOND,  a  Pre.sent  for  Young  People;  with  cuts. 
RAMBLE'S  VISIT  TO  THE  GRAND  MENAGERIE;  with  cuU 
RAMBLE'S  BIRDS  OF  THE  AIR;  with  cuts. 
RAMBLE'S  BOOK  OP  FISHES;  with  cuts. 
SERGEANT  BELL  AND  HIS  KAREE  SHOW;  with  cuts. 

SCHOOL    BOOKS. 

LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON,  written  for  the  use  of  Schools,  by  John  Marshali,,  late  Chief  Justice  of  tha 

Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  12mo. 
PENNSYLVANIA  BIOGRAPHY,  for  Schools;  containing  the  Lives  of  celebrated  Pennsylvanians,  12mo. 
HUGH'S  EXPOSITOR;  containing  Tables  of  Words,  from  one  to  seven  Syllables,  inclusive;— accontcd, 

explained,  and  divided  according  to  the  most  approved  method  of  Pronunciation.    To  which  are  added 

many  other  Tables. 
FROST'S  FRENCH  READER.— Selections  from  Classical  French  Writers. 
LADREYT'S  NEW  SYSTEM  OF  FRENCH  PRONUNCIATION.— A  New  Practical  System  for  teaching 

and  Learning  the  French  Pronunciation,  in  Seven  Lessons.    By  C.  Ladrett. 
PRIMARY  BOOK,  No.  1,  or  Gradations  in  Spelling  and  Reading,  from  the  Alphabet  to  three  Syllables. 
PENNSYLVANIA  SPELLING  BOOK,  No.  2. 


«3-  ARITHMETICAL  TABLE  CARDS,— MULTIPLICATION   AND  DIVISION  TABLES,— PUBLIC 
SCHOOL  PRIMARY  SPELLING  LESSONS,  from  No.  1  to  8.    Two  on  a  Card,  cap  size. 

«ir  C.  &  M.  having  purchased  the  Stereotype  Plates  and  Copyrights  of  POPE'S,  PALEY'S  and  NEW 

TON'S  WORKS,  and  BUCK'S  THEOLOGICAL  DICTIONARY,  from  J.  J.  Woodward,  are , 

prepared  to  furnish  the  Trade  with  the  above  Works,  on  reasonable  terms. 


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